Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

How To Make A Poet (Though Making A Milk Jug Lantern Would Be Better)

I was delivering the mail.
No, the actual mail.
There were steps,
It was icy,
and bullshit bullshit bullshit...

I slipped.
Something deep inside my ears whispered to me:
Whee, whirlybird,
Going down.

I might still have been all right, except--
I landed in the spokes of some kid's bike
Left on the walk;
Then I was dead
Cos I broke my neck just like Mama always said.

Lady come out, lady say,
Omg, call the lawyer.

Then I was floating above my body,
And I thought,
No no no no.
I had almost finished reading a novel, and
I had thawed some hamburger for tonight and
I had a movie that came in the mail,
Set aside,
Like a a potentially distracting
Arranged bride.
So I can't die.

But I died.
I saw souls whipping into the light
Like their hair was on fire.
The love!
(they said.)
The well-being!
(they cried.)

Well, that's not how my experience went...

God looked at my life and then at me and said,
And I looked at my life and then at God, and said back,
I came back as a cat.

I peed the little potted tree,
I bit the hand that fed me,
I shed and shit and scratched and that was me.
I was angry.

Then I died again, and still,
No love for Shay.
I stood before God in her Radiance,
And was sent back as a geranium this time,
That I might learn patience
And the art of being still.

I was pink, and pretty,
And people said, how nice.
All the time inside I was screaming
Cos I was angry.
Then some kid, maybe the child of the one with the bike,
Said off with your head, 
And I said
Nothing after that.

I screeched at God, WTF?
And God said back, well, wtf?
I went back as a tropical fish
And an ant
And a dung beetle
And a labrador retriever,
The only one in history that bit.

I died and died and died and died.
And stood before God,
And got the trapdoor in the floor,
And a bon voyage.

It stopped being funny pretty fast.

So, after I was a monkey and a microbe and a
Frozen test tube baby in a basket,
God finally sighed.
One more time, She said, and 
Off I went.

My mama tried to kill me cos
She knew she bore a poet.
But I wouldn't die, not again.
No no no no no,
Not having it.

So I grew,
And scribbled, 
And went GAHHHHHHHHHH!, but
I did it pretty, so pretty.
I didn't love no men, and they didn't love me neither.
I loved some women til it made me cross-eyed,
But they said, we can be friends, such friends.

Then some dweeb at the mall told me God loves me,
And I smack him hard upside the head
With my latest volume.
I beat him
And beat him
And beat him
And beat him,
And that's the most use poetry ever was. 
I beat him, but I did it pretty, so pretty.

I went to jail and they said,
What's your name?
What's your gender?
What's your credit score?
What's your sign?

Then they gave me ten to fifteen years
To contemplate the Divine.

picture found on


  1. Funny and so shittily true and sharp.

    Did you get that all from slipping on some ice? CRAP!

    Still Jealous

  2. Not one thing can be added or removed from this. Not one thing I can say, either. This is the poem that speaks for itself.

  3. Fuckin' awesome & perfect. Not ONE wasted word. I have felt this, I have. I love your brain, Ms. Shay. xo

  4. Most excellent.

    Sums it up pretty well I d say.

  5. love all the grit in there..there is much that goes into a poet though isnt there...a bit broken here and there.

    happy saturday!

  6. If you would just embrace teh atheism, you would stop having these annoying conversations with things that can't talk. ;_) Seriously fine existential poem; I can feel the rage, and the questioning behind it that never gets an adequate answer. I would rather have your words to light the dark than any milk jug lantern, though.

  7. I tell God WTF all the time, this is the closest I have ever gotten to an answer

  8. Maybe you should start your own religion! You already have a lot of followers!

    BTW, LOVE your sidebar!

  9. Shay's brain on ??&&**% ~~ you name it! Whatever it is, I'm liking it a lot.

  10. After you slipped and hit your head you conjured this scenario in your dream state?
    Oh, the irony of this, was that it concluded it in your cell contemplating the Devine, Hmmmm, a philosopher? GAHHHHHHHHH,tsk, tsk, tsk. Ten to Fifteen yrs is about how long it took Plato. A short
    to spend at becoming a sage.

    By the way, your a fabulous developer and teller of stories.

    Love your creativity.

  11. Eleven lives! Cats ain't got nothin' on poets, or maybe just precedent for pissin' on the pretty geraniums and hissin' at God. Yes Mama, don't let your daughters grow up to be poets, especially grown-full poets. You never know what's going to pop outta their mouths next -- a bone, a stiletto pump or a razor-sharp om of poem ... God in Her radiance should be proud of her pilgrim. - Brendan

  12. The rage in this . . . wow. And, yet, funny, too. How do you do that?

  13. OMFG!!!!!!

    your brilliance is fucking blinding me, Shay! cease and desist at once or i'll be sending a report to God to let her know you need some more learnin' lives!!!

    {actually, my full name means "God judges me" ~ try living with that!}


Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?