"sheryl" poems
Best Week Ever
Just had my best week of all time,
I'm 42 but still in my prime.
Spent some time with Brittany Spears,
I left her begging and in tears.
After a night with Beyonce,
she wanted me to be her fiance.
Just one night with Pink,
now she can't even blink.
Had a date with Katy Perry,
she asked me to pop her cherry.
Spent some time with J-Lo,
she was more sloppy than a joe.
Rihanna likes to play rough,
**** she looks good in the buff.
Me and Fergie ate some black eyed peas,
then we were joined by Alicia keys.
Had a blast with Taylor Swift,
we did it on a ski lift.
Avril Lavinge wanted it never to end,
now she wants to be her boyfriend.
I turned Miley Cyrus back into Hannah Montana,
its a secret what we did with a banana.
Me and Kesha sang her hit Tik Tok,
then she ****** on my clock.
Selena Gomez is a witch no more,
I turned her into my little *****
Carrie Underwood won't slash my tires,
the heat between us started some fires.
Gwen Stefani left the singer from Bush,
she loved the way I smacked her ****
Lady Ga Ga showed me her poker face,
with her I reached every base.
Me and Lita Ford kissed each other deadly,
then she sang me a **** medley.
Madonna said I was her best,
we spent no time dressed.
I was man enough for Sheryl Crow,
let me tell you, she can really blow.
As the week ended, I had Shakira moving her hips,
then I woke up and it was an **** with Gladys Night and her Pips.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard... i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those pedophile(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.
it's sheryl crow
for fuck's sake...
it's not
katty perry...
that debut:
was... pristine..
seminal...
sure... my feet stink...
what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...
a change?
***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...
it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...
no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?
n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
hand in my pocket...
right through you...
so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!
no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...
Disney princesses my ***
head over feet...
now... that's a song.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
I love God, but I know fruits do not increase rapidly.
Growth takes decades.
God's love tugs at my center to become;
a lifelong progressive journey of changing towards glory, light with no shades.
The acceptance within grace is often overlooked and belittled in this vague sense of tolerance.
Like Sheryl Ralph and Jennifer Lewis said, look into the mirror and speak love over your whole body.
You are to love what's challenging to approach within the self.
See- observe- with the same soft gaze you give to children and elders.
Celebrate what you can do.
Celebrate what you can't.
Growth within decades.
I love God, and I know fruit does not increase when rushed.
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 11:58 PM UTC
.oh look, i can take a screen-shot... so i don't appear as some rambling internet lunatic... sorry about the outcome of what my original ought to have looked like... out of my Pontius' hands... just like a retired person doesn't understand mobile phones... me and a.i.? can we go back to when i could have understood Dunkirk?!
ever notice this?
the NPC meme...
see the transformation
when you insert...
eyebrows?
\ /
. .
/_
_
oh look, a rabbit?!
volatile buggers...
listen...
what?!
i didn't say anything!
i couldn't get the angle right...
does vvvv or wwwww
represent a grrr: of frustration
of clenched teeth?
let's see...
\ /
. .
/_
_
satan! oh, hey bro, thanks
for coming...
\ /
. .
/_
vvvv
**** that's not going to work...
you can't craft memes using
letters, letters are too complicated
for a meme...
you need the reserve bank of
punctuation and "punctuation"
markers...
****
my bad...
you know... the nights that i spend
listening to music,
and not listening to alt. media
commentators?
SLOUGH, S'LOW,
SL'OH....
the hours pass, slow...
if they ever translate...
oh look... 'ere one...
'ere one for the memes...
__
ΙΧΘΥΣ ιχθυς / __ /|
|__ |/
kevin & perry go large...
what?
*big fish, little fish,
cardboard box*?
don't know the dance routine?
it's a ******* classic...
a bit like the Sheryl Crow
debut album.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 10:23 PM UTC
colour me Pink
blushes of Rose
I think
the colour Blue
looks nasty on you
and Green clashes
with your eyes
and just makes you look
Feral
Red bleeds from nails
that like to imbed
while they score
tracks down your back
but um
I'm not Sheryl...
So please refrain
from another's name
while so deep inside me
you can't hide from me
and I won't need to find
another reason why
you are a stranger
preying on anger
Share the blame
and I'll be glad
to change
my name...
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
Please leave your message after the tone, though I’ll probably never get back to you.
Gaffer, Phil here, can you drive a car with three wheels.
Paul, Sheryl, I’m leaving you for a Canadian lumberjack, don’t try and talk me out of it.
Gaffer, Micky here, that bird Tasmin you hooked me up with, she wants to try the buddha position, what the hell is it.
Gaffer, Phil, I’ve been arrested, ******* fifty quid in the license, you ********
Paul, Sheryl, you would just let me go off with a Lumberjack, you *******
Mr Gaffney, do you know you’re entitled to five thousand pounds for that accident you had three years ago. Phone us.
Paul, Linda here, I’ve left Tony, can I crash at yours for a few days.
Paul, Nurse Jackie here at the Psychiatric hospital, just an update from the doctor, he’s still in two minds.
Gaffer, Phil here, can you come and bail me out.
Paul, Sheryl, I’ve dumped the Lumberjack, going out with Hans now, my soul mate.
Paul, Tracy down at the STD clinic, your tests are clear, and no, I don’t want to celebrate with you.
Gaffer, Micky, that Tamsin's a guy, what the hell is wrong with you.
Gaffer, Phil, are you coming or what.
Paul, Linda, We’re going to give it another go.
Paul, Sheryl here, I’m giving you one more chance, I could have my pick of guys, why the hell I picked you only god knows, I’m coming round now.
Paul, This is the sunshine retreat holiday company, your immediate sabbatical is now ready when you are.
Paul, nurse Jackie here at the Psychiatric hospital, is the doctor at yours.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Nasty-Jim comments
“That’s an ugly baby!”
Sharon feels shocked, insulted, appalled.
She hugs her baby protectively,
feeling hurt.
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Civil-Sheryl comments
“Congratulations on your beautiful baby!”
Sharon feels joyful and happy.
She hugs her baby warmly
kisses him on the head
and says “I love you little one”.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
my oh my
Why do die?
I dip. I dive.I'm feeble minded.
I ride along trees
Sheryl Crow. Abuse
a list of rhetorical questions
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
I *** in the shower
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
When is it enough?
How do we get over those people that we once loved?
If I were to describe what I wanted in one word what would it be?
Do I make a positive impact? Or at least one more positive than negative?
Why do I miss him so badly?
Is there a god? Or at the very least somebody who will just ******* listen?
I have all of these holes and I know now that sometimes they cannot be filled and that I just have to live with them but sometimes they feel so big, like they're eating away at my insides and if I don't put a plug to it then I'll just disappear.
It's 4 am and part of me wants to just sleep and part of me is scared that you will be in my dreams and then I'll wake up and you won't be here and I will cry and I am so **** tired of that.
It's too early to stay up and watch the sunrise, but god. I do love those colors.
My cat wants to sleep with me.
At least somebody does.
#foreveralone #catlady
I heard a Sheryl Crow song that goes "the first cut is the deepest" but I know that for me that's never true.
For me, it's the second cut.
When I realize that, **** I didn't do enough damage and goddanmit if I'll ever be good enough so let's make it ******* rain.
Lets build a hole into my skin, because god knows there aren't enough on my heart.
I don't usually cut. I self-harm in other ways.
I used to cut to abuse myself, but now it's just loneliness that I feel.
I'm so scared of people leaving that I push them away before they get the chance to go.
What if I never meet you because I push you away?
What if there's nothing after this?
And what if my dreams are as good as it gets?
Sitting at my computer, writing ****** poetry at 4 in the morning. I just watched 16 episodes of the first season of One Tree Hill.
This is me.
I am romance on shows and poetry and coffee and too hot but I still use my blanket and I have a stuffed animal that I snuggle with.
I am me.
And I am ****** up and messed up and wanting for love and lustful tonight and I just want to be hugged and kissed and given a doughnut.
I'm going to bed.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Don't ever let anyone say that nobody loves you. Because I do.
Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite, darling.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
ever hear
a voice in the garden
that
made you become
startled,
inquiring:
what
the **** was that?!
huh?!
i was the object
of said "what"?
RAP?
exclusion remarks
in the realm of poetics.
i died....
and Homer went
blind.
oh...
oh
oh.....
oh...
the part
where i don't
care to mind,
and the part where
you...
but i wasn't
the white boy
who subjected
your people
to perform
jew...
oh... sowwy, whaat?
legal nomad..
thingy...
peoples doing
**** with jewels,
in hobo,
in...
roma bracelets...
******* squirt worth a ****
vodoo!
******* vodoo!
tripod:
that one thing legged...
standing on 'a' 'un leg...
merry ******* christmas
come northern ireland...
savvy?!
you bet... beat
the bacon!
fucking hare krishna...
i die, and the warning sign
says:
scrap through
the "gravy"...
lucky loser,
no. 2!
bricktop:
people doing ****
with diamonds...
utter.. bonkers...
me... you...
hush-hush...
bonkers-brigade....
******* east london
vowel crisp
cut and pig-me...
loose ends...
******* shy of a boxing munch...
take your tirade to
a recital of Macbeth
via...
Tehran...
you...
*******
wanker!
otherwise?
w'ha are 'e'
lovelies?
eh?
you skill or somethin'
more, or w'ha?
bricklayer 'ert or
sum'fin worth the fix?!
give me 'um some *******
cajole!
meaning! news!
you fork's worth
of a nibble on a use
of a *****
******* pansie...
fucking ******
start ********
or bitch-yourself into
an ease...
with warring-to-come...
ye'... gobshite i ain't buying...
tough man tought
mouth...
punched bit a little...
god...
i'm gagging!
itchy sort...
like... you want to sort
the sort from the sort!
******** **** glug *******
wanna scrap them
on the guillotine of
scratch of
the tongue lick
of: a...
shaven-lick...
sheryl crow...
grammy award album...
1997...
30 or so years later?
good luck hitchhiking
with a jukebox interlude.
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
Though reading horror stories (macabre),
an only every now and again
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
(subsequently fueling
desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
critical opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself (by all counts once
a bad little kid) deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence, an instantaneous
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
viz flight or fight blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife shined!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
Summer’s in the rearview mirror,
re-experience it at your peril,
it’ll only distract you now, and maybe depress you.
Summer shifts your orbit, from classrooms and remote zooms,
to lollygagging by beaches and snuggling in cozy hotel rooms.
As intense and vital as last summer was - as they all are -
it’s already blurring in memory.
Soon only the memory of sensations will remain,
like the warmth of the breeze and the sun on my skin
and sigh the warmth of a certain boy’s skin on my skin.
Those flashbacks ache, late at night, like phantom limbs.
.
.
Songs for this:
All I Wanna Do by Sheryl Crow
Aug 30, 2024
Aug 30, 2024 at 9:50 PM UTC
(a piece from high school (I’ve been reorganizing))
I am simply at my worst these days.
Wild and unpredictable emotions rush on me - it's a place where the layer of control and composure are very thin.
This school year has been an endless working, always desperate, collection of days.
Each passing week seemed to unmask some flaw in me.. Like peeling a rotten onion.
Emotionally, spiritually, I’m drubbed—I droop like a hanged man.
It's not the work—I survive (piano) competitions and academic battles as if by some brand of magic..
No, it's more.
I have lost my goal. Like biblical engineers raising the tower of Babel on the plain of Sennaar, I am struck by a lack of focus. My direction, my original plans, seem shallow—I stand purposefully gelded.
It's worse because I'm somehow so much less who I want to be.
Like an asymptotic curve I constantly miss my ideal. I am hunted, internally, by my own inner voice, that ruthless, pittyless, seeker of perfection.. it lurks like the prowling wolf, stalk bent walk.. sifting my every thought, my every action for flaws.. until like the wing weary hunted pray I could almost welcome the killers warmth for sweet silence
In a mood somewhere between cowardly and courageous I finally approached my mom..
In a speech from the scaffold, I told her of my black, tight, treacherous spiral.. of my doubts about everything.
I expected the worst.. a disappointment, in less than cryptic, ciphered messages, a slow sharpening of her claws on me for endless shortcomings..
Instead, I got miracles..
as if rigid constellations had shifted.. an atmosphere of freedom earned.. and at least for that moment, the mom who used to sing me awake in the mornings as a girl.. and a delicious summer of rest.
.
.
A song for this:
Everyday Is A Winding Road by Sheryl Crow
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_02.mp3
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 2:11 PM UTC
We can't just go on feeling like this
A kick, a comment, refused a goodbye kiss
That verbal black eye that might have well have been a fist
People around you not really giving a ****
You'll be OK, just think of the others, they're stuck in a rut
Not me, oh no, I need a change of luck
So where do I start and what direction to take
A new job, a new start, a spruce of my CV with grades that are fake
That boss that can have a laugh, taking me on out of good grace
A change would do you good once sang Sheryl Crow
Start a new path and leave the rest in tow
Waking up with a perk instead of feeling so ****** low
Coursing that path is an easy thing to write
Jumping in-front of that speeding traffic, yes its a big fright
But you have to move your story and take that daring bite
For this cannot carry on forever as somethings has to be arranged
Sail for new seas on a ship and to be blown in a different way
As this is what I need, new shores, new goals, something so simple
Yes,
A change.
JJB
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Many miles divide our longing hearts
A great distance keeps you from I
We must rely on our one common sky
To keep our love alive
I know somewhere, you lie in wait
In a sun that burns with passion deep
Under a crescent moon in which wee’ll dream
Until we finally get our chance to meet
I’ll see you in every star I find
In every sunray as they shall peak
In he breaths of wind beneath my feet
Let’s grasp these moments when we feel weak
We share one world, one sky, one love
For miles is just a measurable means
Turn to the sky darling you will find me there
The distance will not be as bad as it seems
Pending the moment I can hold you close
Aspiring the kiss on your longed for face
I will utilize the powers of all my faith
Until we both stand in one common place
I will meet you under the sky
.
Author Sheryl Lin Hayes
If Life Was Made On Canvas
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
Sitting alone staring at this blank page,
wondering what I could fill it with.
Words swirl around in my head as I start to write them down,
who will read them since all have gone away.
No longer do they call or clamor for attention.
Those who meant a lot to me have vanished in the haze,
leaving a distant memory behind.
Time is a fleeting ship out on the ocean,
it sails faster and farther away as I sit here on the shore.
Watching and waiting to hear from you.
The ones that vanished in the haze, forgotten and abandoned.
Oh wait, that's me.
Sheryl Lynn Ratliff
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
i drank,
i went up to heaven,
had one of my eyes
plucked out.....
listened to
some Sheryl Crow...
and then....
figured...
whatever
the **** i had to...
figure out,
was more about a juggling
act...
plucked out my eye-lashes?!
so the dinosaurs are dead,
and god is alive... dangling
off a cross?!
the satan tempted
with the wine, the judas ate...
wait...
grape is not the forbidden fruit?!
i thought you made cider from
apples?!
and wine from grapes...
DA ****
what's the ******* point
of a son of god... drinking wine?!
i swear the posit for an argument
came from, apple...
i'm not seeing anything close
to apples in the... what
do you call it... the... new... testament?
i'm not buying it!
cider, *****
forbidden fruit my ***
wine is grape,
apples?
hm.m... cider...
no...
this is the point where you agree with me...
poetry is.... dead..
and god? has just become revived.
basic ******** just doesn't
pass the sieve...
no...
wine, cider,
grape contra apple tree...
too many metaphors...
some ******** will simply not stick
or rather, be kept, intact.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC