Best Sheered Poems
FROM DEATH TO LIFE
HIS FLESH
circumference of thorns
holes in hands ~ those healing palms
feet fastened – nail chains
HIS WORDS
Father forgive them
for they know not what they do
(And) It is finished
HIS DEATH
violent earthquake
up from the grave ~ walking dead
wind-sheered curtain splits
THREE DAYS
abysmal weeping
terrified person denies
the cock crows three times
EASTER SUNDAY
empty gaping hole
world’s paying attention now
dawning of new day
EVERY DAY
spurs our hearts and souls
salvation’s glorious hope
King of kings ~ all bow
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
I took root in a stand of golden aspen trees
My bark resembled dark eyes all over me.
I am the oldest of the ancients in my grove,
spared thus far from the fires of a stove.
Every fall I'm forced to forfeit my dense leaves.
They're taken by the wind, and my heart grieves
but nature has to obey and follow its course...
for there's no escaping its incredible force.
My Spring clothing turned into golden dresses
that appear to be sheered as if they were tresses
upon my branches and limbs, curved and bent,
Another season passes me by; another year spent.
I'll have to face another Winter, arms laid bare
for my leaves were taken, and none were spared
to keep me warm on those cold January nights
but I will dream of Spring instead of my plights.
Giant of justice has visited Baba Umkulukulu
The lion that gave in to wolves like sheep
To be sheered for our own freedom has died
Father of the black and white
Mentor and hero of freedom
Our own Madiba has died
Anti apartheid hero sleeps with grey hair
As we dress in sackcloth to mourn the great Lion
Rolihlahla Son of Thembu has rested
Though We mourn millions with pain
But for the son of Xhosa
We pray for
Instead of mourning
We praise
Praise our own
Rest in peace Mandela
Hollow is the chilling winds of October,
Frozen solid is the lunar moon that illuminates the night,
Fears lost kindred roam the ice fields of limbo,
Under the clarity of forbidden warmth, that has been
Shielded beyond the reach of the spiritually deprived,
And depraved.
Spirit wonders drifting amongst the snow packs,
These lost members of humanity, hanging on the sheered
Edge of mankind’s reality, the doomed stalkers whom
Wailing cries haunt, split the chilling silence of winter
By depth degree, in an eerie shroud of the forgotten and
Betrayed.
Hatred’s chains of malice’s intent drag behind them, these
Ghosts of winter, tangled roots of ignorance are left intertwined
Mangled amongst the shades of life’s regrets, clanging linkages
Of harden steel, the bass metal of kindness tarnished by greed’s
Deist, and financial lust for profits high cost in flesh and bone.
Shadow figures placing their hands of frost, against the window
Pains that gleam with the flickering lights of the seasonal
Celebration called Christmas.
Harken this message my friends. is it not the time for
Forgiveness, let us then the living raise a toast of holiday cheer,
In these beings honor, for the harsh road hey tread is a lonely
Venue unto nowhere.
Live each day to the fullest, let the true meaning of Christmas
Swell within your heart and envelope thy soul, and just maybe
The ghosts of winter will rest at peace at last.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Holy lamb
pride of the shepherd
oh, Lamb, you were among the first
to greet Me in the Holy manger
that first Christmas Eve
lamb so holy
your fleece was sheered
to cover Me on a snowy night
offering a warm welcome
lambs and shepherds
saw the star of Bethlehem
traversed pristine drifts
to share this holy moment
My Father sees His flock
all are lambs in his eyes
but holiest are those
who choose to follow His path
holy is the lamb
though many are called
only truly holy lambs choose
to dwell in My Father’s kingdom
the choice is yours
holiest of lambs
make each moment
an act worthy of My Father’s grace
behind the shepherd
holy is the lamb
who follows
through the gates of eternal life
*Written September 23, 2014
shivering they weep...
frightened in their Sheppard’s keep
recently sheered sheep
My mind sheered me to self-doubt,
led me to procrastination,
missed opportunities
No drive; no ambition
you destitute my spirit,
you left me wrecked
Let your mischievous style
gain the best from me,
lost touch with reality
Lost myself worth,
murdered the courage to live
found me in despair
Alcohol became my companion
till it became my foe
drove to multiple personalities
Personalities that took fault,
the fault for my mishaps,
misfortune to inner conflicts
Chess
Let us play a game.
We will act like there are two sides,
and the scales are even.
I have seen the metal weights,
they keep under the table.
They are real,
and made to cheat reality,
in favor of fantasy.
Starving people are easy to control.
Those that have no weapons,
have no defense at all.
Sheep go to the pens,
and believe they will be sheered,
and spared, for another day.
Instead, they will be served to the diners,
on plates of gold and silver,
hammered from melted wedding rings,
and fillings.
Death stalks the unwary,
but does not kill right away.
No. Instead it chooses to play,
with its toys, its food, and its treasures,
depending on the time of day,
the wanton moment,
or the ever-repeating cycle
of the full moon.
Wolves choose sides,
as even they know there will be a culling.
They don't want to die with the rest.
They try to hide among the innocent,
to be spared... the knife.
Heroic men will take note.
The only question is
"Will their heroism exceed
their sense of personal fear?"
Men of old
had sons and daughters.
Their lines still exist.
They are the Watchers.
Real men fight,
hand to hand, sword to sword~
ten paces and shoot...Putin, a little
man, missing a backbone, uses boot
after boot: a larger army, a bigger gun --
to the long list of cowardly madmen,
history now must add
yet another evil one:
The Russian Bear, sheered of his fur
not so fierce a fellow; exposed now,
naked to the world, killer of women
and children, his true color appears
all yellow....
He sits apart, a lengthy table,
fearful of even his own, in
close quarters – a man who
respects no other's borders~in the open
yet hidden, just like our false-face
Biden....
sunlit tendrils simper
through knot twisted tree fingertips
ember ambers of umber
a missed mist of glitter glistened gossamer
rises like a sheered chiffon smoke
and dawns voice is spoke
Righting Words
Righting Words
Another poem for my Violet Flower and Mary
I like to right,
I am doing all write.
I do it with my mite.
I am swiping at a might.
I have my site,and
I can see you at my sight.
I am very slough,but
they slow as they go by.
AND the way is sheared
by all the wind,
AND the way is sheered
by all the dressers.
Love is a word you knoe,
but luv is knot,it does not
even register,but you still
have thyme to find a rhyme
I do knoe its time.
Charles R HIce
Copyright ©2006 Charles Hice
My Pallor, Swordsey, Chaos, and Chalice,
Your trots are worth more than just a lot.
Gallant and smooth the winds soar beneath all of your running feet’s.
The competition shall withstand not ones untimely defeat.
I shall cast every one of you forget me nots by lots.
Up and away new Moons are sheered and marked.
Lo and behold you are outrunning the race from the very start.
Lightning’s and thunders to galore I might not forget to add.
But the skies are lit and you are the world’s greatest fad.
My Chalice, Chaos, Swordsey, and Pallor you’re remarkably grand!
Even the dust trailing clouds you left stirring up in the sand!
White Ted looked flat;
that hair and pyjama bed smell.
She was getting heavier
My bleary eyes trying not to sleep.
Bone protruded from flesh,
blooded the seat and gearstick;
leaning in best I could
to cannulate, set up drip by torchlight
as Firefighters started cutting.
She smiled and tightened her grip;
I kissed her forehead
still feeling the bitter cold.
Fluorescent coat bulkily hindering
as cracking metal sheered;
dressing the open bloody carnage.
Suddenly toast popped up,
"Have a good day at school" I said,
fighting my tiredness.
The mangled wreck still lingered
as I put my daughter down,
heading for bed, another shift tonight.
I put my hand out to find just space
those I'd help nowhere to trace
learnt my judgement was misplaced
oh how good bonds go to waste
finding out it's all one way
false personas ran the play
fake facades fade to grey
actions don't match what they say
and I stand striped
a nudie dude
as hands don't grip
a rude delude
everything I had is gone
they all say I get things wrong
as their dance don't fit my song
I'll put steps where I belong
wonder why I write these words
they have group hugs and a herd
reassurance does occur
but nothing true to how we were
believe the worst that I smoke crack
tell the world as though a fact
blind delusion lacking tact
whilst others see your desperate act
and you forget I know you all
limited and predictable
easy routes which move the fool
comfortable in cotton wool
but the herd still gets hunted
individually confronted
quick to shed consulted fronting
as bottoms sheered receive a punting
as that hole in your very face
is seen a maker of bull waste
goals through fouls not to taste
when all see you a fowl disgrace
Before me, less does allay
For scenery
Than quicken the blood as a form
Of spectacle.
Of mismatched broken pieces
Sheered off, crashing
Mountain-boulded and branched into
Its thawed icicle.