"shay" poems
I sit
Helping my mom
Sticking stickers on various ribbons
I look back on today's swim meet.
During freestyle, I was put in a heat only with a girl who hardly knew the stroke
I touched the wall over five seconds before her, scoring a new high score for my freestyle time; 42 89, which is 42 seconds and 89 milliseconds.
Next, I had backstroke to do with a friend of mine a lane over
Although I was placed for success, I barely came in last for my heat.
Then, all I had to do was read.
Pretties, by Scott Westerfield sat open in my hand, with me absorbing all of the words as if I wrote them myself
Tally was watching her former friend Shay become a monster. Nice story.
After awhile, I started helping my mom put identifying stickers on ribbons.
How lovely
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Cast Iron comb held freedom between its teeth
Release me from these naps- it’s straightness I seek
Praying I don’t get burned and have to pay a price
Just to get someone to notice and say my hair looks nice
It’s blowing in the wind just as smooth as you please
Fingers don’t get stuck; they flow through with ease
Walking down the street I catch a few winks and stares
I’m flowing with my hot combed hair without a care
Thunder rolls and lightning strikes...cumulus clouds gather
Umbrella in the car😳, this is no laughing matter!
Minutes pass and strangers still smile as they stroll by
I couldn’t muster the energy to figure out why
My hair, no longer straight, must be ***** and knotted by now
I looked in the mirror and still gathered compliments but didn’t know how
I thought for a moment about how carefree I felt as the sun came into view
I realized I’d just been released from those sad old hot comb blues.
Shay
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 2:04 PM UTC
Here's to the friends who will drop anything to be there when I need them.
Here's to the friends who sit with the intent to listen,
not to speak.
Here's to the friends who fill my head with constant laughter instead of cold silence or harsh words.
Here's to the friends who know how terrible a home can be so they take me in whenever I need.
Here's to the friends who tell me right away if I've done something wrong.
Here's to the friends who know how to communicate.
Here's to the friends that watch The Golden Girls with me and don't ask me to change the channel because they know I've never had a grandmother of my own.
Here's to the friends who don't cancel plans because they get a better offer.
Here's to the friends who keep me going and child like while the world is growing into a cold adult.
Here's to the friends that dream with me and talk as if they will be a reality some day.
Here's to the friends that miss me when I'm gone.
Here's to the friends that understand my love for Shay Mitchell.
Here's to the friends who call me a ******* but join in on the fun anyway.
Here's to the spontaneous road trips,
the unplanned adventures,
the nights with too much alcohol,
and too little food.
Here's to the friends who come over to watch football even though they don't like it but they know you do.
Here's to the friends who don't exclude you on family days but invite you along because you are family.
Here's to the friends who kick my *** when they find a razor in my room because if I want to feel pain they might as well get some fun out of it all.
Here's to the friends that say I'm sorry and mean it.
Here's to the friends that tell me it will be okay and mean it.
Here's to the friends that say I love you and mean it.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
Although I dont know her all to well
With a first impression flawed
Ive wrote this poem to show and tell
her happy birthday! I KNOW, this is odd-
Who writes a poem as a birthday gift?
So personal yet incomplete-
Its because im here so spirits lift
And to show remorse for my deceit
Im not really as rude as i was;
Not nearly as mean of a *****
Still im unfiltered, simply because -
When around lucie hehe, sometimes I switch
So Shay,
im sorry
for unleashing my inner *****
Happy 24th Birthday- from me, to you-
Im too poor to buy presents
So I hope this will do.
With words incandessence
Do you boo boo!
May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 4:33 PM UTC
quanta is better understood outside of physics,
on a grander scale -
quantum is a quality suggestion that
makes two (to, too) things auto-suggestive
as pertaining in the matter -
never mind - take the concept of quanta
out of physics and you get
a man readying himself for a controlled
coma having his wisdom teeth removed,
with the anaesθetician asking about
the readers' digest, the patient replying
quo vadis? / dokąd idziesz? then
the great sleep plateau - 'where are you going?'
puts any man off, whether boxer,
or paediatrician - ****** lays dead floored
for a minute, plays the dog game: play dead,
tongue hanging ready for a guillotine.
CHOP! and there goes the tail of a Doberman
(jamnik / dachshund on stilts)
and a ρoττł-
y
woo woo woo chim chimney
cha cha cha ooh
the rotting wail - rottweiler -
-ειλερ;
you never mention the u with the v due to
the chisel ease, then again, you don't
say double-o'h but say double u -
too shay frowning at a shave;
****** i'll make your language my playground
given all these post-colonial ***** aiming
for a signature and credentials,
this **** could pass the London brigade,
but take it to York, it would be a massacre
of a bureaucratic lapse of credentials...
a viking invasion more-or-less;
oh **** quantum physics, Charles Dickens
and the Victorian Era - Jack the Ripper the antonym,
both are the desired cages of energy requiring expression
to make testimony that such an age existed,
a particular congregate of expression, never universal,
boxes and pockets, however much inside one
is a question of your dietary requirement,
quantum physics is better explained with history
than hard science, and atoms, or the craze of subs,
people need a bigger picture, not everyone own
a ******* microscope or a telescope,
teach quantum physics using history:
Philippe Augustus of France mattered,
at the Battle of Bouvines - Otto IV? not so much.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Letting his pome to Siri
Hopefully will make us 2.[period]
I got it matters what I say
Should probably change it anyway
Still out the 10 at home to Siri
I don't think contacts it should be
Around so cool be made out of me
Still grumbling to choke
So I don't waste too much rope
If anyone doesn't turn out too funny
After the person's coming
Bowman mentioned you running
Three more specific
It's more bulimic
Did everything go a plenty
Wonderwall things are
Fly high above All-Stars
Do you think that it's June,
That there Brazelton blue,
If they held and the press really hard?
So this is the phone from Siri
Not feeling quite weary
To Shay' pasta please process he,
Or just a foster for you' [apostrophe]?
I guess we'll just have to see...
I'm writing this poem through Siri,
Hopefully it won't make us to teary,
I doubt it matters what I say,
she'll probably change it anyway,
Still I'll dictate my poem through Siri.
I don't think complex it should be,
Or else a fool will be made out of me
Still I'll grumble and I'll choke
So I don't raise too much hope
If in the end it doesn't turn out too funny.
After this verse it is coming
A poem that might send you running
Though to be more specific
It's more of a limerick
Than anything full of cunning.
I wonder where wild things are,
That fly high above all the stars?
Do you think that it's true,
That their face will turn blue,
If they held in their breath really hard?
So this is the poem from Siri
And now I'm feeling quite weary
For did I say 'pasta please',
Or just 'apostrophe'?
I guess we'll just have to ask Siri.
7/3/14
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
LET us go out of the fog, John, out of the filmy persistent drizzle on the streets of Stockholm, let us put down the collars of our raincoats, take off our hats and sit in the newspapers office.
Let us sit among the telegrams-clickety-click-the kaiser's crown goes into the gutter and the Hohenzollern throne of a thousand years falls to pieces a one-hoss shay.
It is a fog night out and the umbrellas are up and the collars of the raincoats-and all the steamboats up and down the Baltic sea have their lights out and the wheelsmen sober.
Here the telegrams come-one king goes and another-butter is costly: there is no butter to buy for our bread in Stockholm-and a little patty of butter costs more than all the crowns of Germany.
Let us go out in the fog, John, let us roll up our raincoat collars and go on the streets where men are sneering at the kings.
2.1k
Sally sit & stare at the blank white wall.
Expressionless & stiff like a plastic doll.
Her blue grey eyes show no thoughts at all.
But in Sally's head is an escape route.
She dreams of a tall thin man in a fancy suit,
on there dates they have picnics with lots of fruit.
In Sally's head life is quite swell.
But in reality Sally was very ill.
She can't see the difference between real & fake.
Sally's real life is no piece of cake.
Her childhood history would make the bravest shake.
But in Sally's head she is safe,
so inside Sally's head, she will stay.
That is until she met Shay.
They became best friends through thick & thin.
Finally now Sally could truly see again.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
The rose of love withered on the vine
In lifeless disposition she'd remain
Her syrupy nectar slowly did decline
A bewailing sorrow in ending twain
No recapture of a past happiness
The petals perished browning to dark
Disappearing elation's gleefulness
A flower's heart minus her loving spark
Without the touch of fondness on the bloom
Her brilliant brightness faded well away
Those wondrous days were replaced by gloom
Sombre melancholy of saddest pall's shay
As dusk's hour turns to the dying closeness
Reflect on the rose's mood of dimness
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
Don’t let me sleep
It’s all I pray of you
Don’t let the monsters
Come back to scream and weep
In my ear
Just please don’t let me sleep
If you do, it all comes back
The screaming, the pleading
My hell, everything’s going black
All in my web of insomnia
Of my insanity
My sanity or lack thereof
Was a short trip to lose?
It only could have been
A simple year or two
That’s my insomnia of insanity
Tricked by the light
Let loose in the night
I have to shay away from
All that is and will be bright
Calling me yours
Was your last mistake
And now look at me
I’m a wreck
I’m about to break
I could say it was all you
But that would not be fair
No, all of you are to blame
And I will pass my judgment
On all of you
Killing me softly
Killing me you’ll see
Is what has brought
On my insomnia
Of insanity
And now you lay me
Down to sleep
That little white pill
Taking effect
Chained to a bed
Shrouded in white
For this, no,
This time I might not wake up
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
A tranquil & serene sunny afternoon
Lying on the couch,
Watching the sun go down.
My black cat kneading,
Rhythmically pawing the
Front of my pants.
What’s going on here?
Some-sort of Animal Kingdom *** signal?
Some zoological parallel to ponder
Whenever one tries to
Make sense out of one’s own
Polymorphous perversity?
But I digress.
I listen to the M/C
Music Choice Channel
Which Comcast.com - Comcast®
Gives out free, from the Basic Tier on up.
Jazz, not Smooth Jazz,
And certainly not The Blues:
“I think I’ll give up livin’
I think I’ll go shopping instead.
Think I’ll give up livin’
Think I’ll go shopping instead.
Gonna buy myself a tombstone
And pronounce myself dead.”
Again, I digress.
Another sunny afternoon in Bernalillo;
Bernalillo, New Mexico:
Where Coronado bivouacked,
Prior to saddling up again
On his fabled quest, his search for
The 7 Golden Cities of Cibola.
It’s nice to be back.
Got in last Thursday evening,
After an 11-hour Honda Civic trip--
The coupe packed to the gills
With household items—
And 2 cats sharing a
1-cat cat-carrier.
(Sarcastic) Please.
Did somebody say, “Meow?”
Digress, I doodle-lee-do.
Kelly came over Friday night.
What a treat!
I cooked Italian.
Saturday night to the Tamaya Resort,
Specifically, The Corn Maiden,
Certainly new and un-starred as-yet,
By sane suave critics who decide
Such things;
Sautéed asparagus on
Sunday morning, and
Off she goes again to
Canyon de Chelly
(pronounced: DA-SHAY)
Arizona: one of the more
Cosmopolitan cities on the
Vast high mesa that is the
Navajo Reservation.
So what’s my point?
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
in a cozy nest
the sect of snakes
did reside
with the chief asp
holding a strong
preside
none would ever move
until he gave an okay
to defy his edicts they'd
be thrown out of the shay
an uncomfortable position
the servile vipers were in
each of them had disclosed
secrets to the overlord's ear tin
after a time the snug abode
imploded on the leader of the sect
the underlings obtained some smarts
and wouldn't willingly genuflect
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
When you’re feeling melancholy,
take the bus down the road.
Smile at the driver,
look out the window.
Give your seat to Mrs Shay,
She’s always loaded with grocery bags
and you’ll see Yappy,
the spaniel, if it’s a Saturday.
Greet the family going to church
Mary and Elizabeth all knitted out in their Sunday best;
Smile reassuringly at the college kid, who’s sitting for a test.
Ah! There you are! My stop’s not too far, was it?
But you’re no longer feeling melancholy now;
Don’t forget to visit!
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
such charming colour every bloom
richly decorating the room
a Grecian vase held an array
spring's loveliest hues did display
the eye captured by flowers
profuse each ones gorgeous powers
of orange and white highlighting shay
with olive green leaf midst the lay
portraying an artistic glory
petals of impressionist's story
the painter scented beauty at play
applying the tones of May
such charming colour every bloom
on applying the tones of May
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
As grease
green as
shay near
beef where
action shot
her bear
that duty
ready deserved
honor and
criminal tied
worship then
in vain
seized fore
Philadelphia awaited
inner city
flight of
doves return.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
My duas folded hands with wishing wells,
wonder if sinner pray their daily 5,
20 years of slaves to my creator,
ironic why am I chained to this life,
Times where broken bills don't carry change,
and money taste like shay-tan,
When clouds grows there horns out,
not enough good deed get rains on,
This world need to get refurbished,
paid work shifts don't excuse refused worship,
just like when death chuck deuces,
don't mean it mean the peace signs,
Im dead tired with strength alive
enough to poke holes through a loopholes
I cant allow ourselves to dumb it down,
if we come to bring truth to the pseudos,
I cant discriminate with y'all
Son of your God, we see as messenger,
You say only god can judge me ,
like you forget judgement day come with hot temperatures?
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
(Dedicated to Jamie)
You’ll never know what you did for me,
You were much more than a friend;
You were the anchor that saved my life,
As the waves were crashing in.
As I was still recovering, from the loneliest life I’d know,
You formed a tight-knit family where I could love myself and grow;
I used to hate myself and couldn’t stand to be awake,
Until I found myself surrounded by the love that you’d create;
We were lost for different reasons just looking for some hope,
And then you brought us all together and gave us all a home.
- Brendon Shay Sawyer
(2023)
(I love you Jamie. We miss you. We will make you proud ❤️)
Mar 12, 2023
Mar 12, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
hi dudes and dudettes
i am just here to say that in the 70s a big thing
happened in the cosmos, you see bobby darin died
in 1973 and from that moment he performed music on the moon
like if yo see a gentlemen bee around a little bee buzzing
and do a dear a female deer ra a tropical golden sun
me a name i call myself and far a long long way to run
and every time i looked up at the moon i saw bobby darin performing up there
and he played you must have been a beautiful baby
and many more of his songs he wrote back in the early days
and bobby told buddha he wasn’t ready to stage an earth body
because when he died it was 4 years after neil armstrongs moon landing
and bobby darin wanted to control the moon by entertaining the undead
you see in the cosmos bobby played baseball and the moon was champions
in 1978 and 1979 and it was then when he entered the ****** of his next life’s mother
so, he could control the earth and look after future lives like from friends and future children
and when it came time to re enter the earth as shaycarl as he is known today
who is a youtube family entertainer and a farmer with a few cows and cats and dogs
bobby darin is making sure that shaycarl helps in the future of this planet
by making sure the world sees what his family is up too
and in 2010, he turned 30 and now he is turning 36
this year, and he through bobby darin his last life
is trying to make his family have a lot of fun
his youngest son jackson was my cat lucky and my old school mate scott mcdonald
and there are more former famous people in their family
you see shaycarl to me looks like he admired neil armstrong
and another thing too bobby darin is watching the shaytards on earth TV in outer space
everything that shaycarl does is made to turn more viewers to him
as i listen to multiplication, i hear the voice of shay car;
and i watch shaycarl on the shaytards and yes, bobby darin has lived on
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
So before I start this poem I'd like to acknowledge some helpful folks in my life.
First off, I want to thank my literary agent, Richard Shelby for suggesting I take my current frustrations out through poetry (He's a big fan of Whitman). I, however, was never much of a fan of poetry; although in High School I was taught Horace, Wordsworth, Milton. Yeah, they actually had us blokes memorize poems!;
*What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair...*
Secondly, I'd like to give a big thanks to lawyer Dawn Young for pointing me to this particular website, Hellopoetry. I haven't read much of anyone's work, but I doubt I'll have any difficult time fitting in.
Lastly, and most importantly, a big shout to for my jezebel of a wife, Courtney for inflicting upon me all this unnecessary pain by means of a quarter million dollar divorce. We were High School sweethearts up until my 48th birthday. She thought it would be the best time to drop the bomb that she was in love with my old Rugby ally, and Rutgers roommate, Henry O' Shay.
I have to admit life has been ***** ever since then.
Well, here's to new beginnings.
My poem starts now.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
*Standing in the clear piedmont blood ,
with understanding , with unchecked curiosity
along the jagged edgeways
Ardent Yellow Perch skipping her countercurrents ,
painted turtles at liberty atop driftwood memorials
Hardwoods sash -shay the moss painted root bound
architecture , sunbeams expose the river bottoms ,
Blue Herons and Redtailed Hawks stand on silent
watch , birds of every color and unique song pass ,
command these silver blue corridors*
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.
hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas, dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
all those "expectations" mingling with a babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
looks nice, doesn't it?
see how honest other people can become...
that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****
oh sure, i can switch off...
i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
It's dark tonight
I jolt awake
The sound of your voice startles me
Low and angry
It's a too familiar sound
I'm afraid now
In my mind I'm telling myself
It'll be okay
You can fight him off
I can barely finish my thought
Before your hands are around my wrists
Pulling me up out of my bed roughly
I can feel my shirt trying to adjust
From how it was while I was asleep
Your grip around me is so tight that I don't dare move
You drag me to the stairs
Even if I did dare to move I'm to frighten to
I'm frozen to the spot
Are you going to throw me or drag me
You choose to drag me
Making sure each step hurt just as much as the last
We get near the bottom I can make out the lights in the kitchen
I don't want to be in the light
I don't want to see the anger in your eyes
The dark soulless look you give me
You loosen your grip
I pray you're going to let me go
Instead you grab at me until you find the perfect spot
The perfect spot to put all your force into
You throw me across the living room
I skid to a stop in the kitchen
You walk over to me
I know it's not over
I scream for help but nobody's there
I know I have to wait until he's done
I'll slowly and painfully climb back up those same stairs
Mentally imaging the bruises that each one left
I crawl into bed again
Hoping I'll be safe for the rest of the night
I can't close my eyes
Behind them I see his
Dark and angry
I'll never forget tonight
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
The room went quite quiet for what seemed like 3 hours.
3 minutes had never seemed so long.
It was harsh, unromantic and plain coward,
The walk down the steps had never seemed so wrong.
It was eyes strained and fixated on me, it was loud music
a big door but a small key.
It was questions the next morning and answers by night.
It was disgust and distrust
It was my fears on the cusp
It was 'forget, forget forget', but remember denied just that.
It was mistakes I want to take back.
It was me that did just that.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
Little fuzzy elephant
chasing her first
LION
Do the hot chili pepper dance
Vooooooo Dooooo woman
Bow to HER, clay-man, walker in the day, man
all servants to shay-tan
Cherry cotton blossom killer
slumlord white powder thriller
****** sticks to kids
****** sticks to kids
****** sticks to kids
No god can forgive our sins
There is no life without
an end
Stainless steel I bend
under rail road cars as my
head spins
**** me now, coward
do me that favor
I'm a warrior with flavor,
so like it, life I will savor
Help me God, por favor
nessicito Allah, my soul is pour
My eyes turn to pitchers as
my brothers turn into 1 man martyrs
Victims of every veterans second war,
the war inside & at home
Surah An Nas 100 times tonight
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 3:15 AM UTC