Gathering darkness lies in the desert dead
Breathe the doom. Black birds will follow
Few things grow in the wasteland
Roses spring into action into April reds
Bloodied with their thorns along the edge
Nourished by rich soil from the plains
Cruel at best are their chances for survival
Where the bio changes divergent from wet to dry
At war with life and forces that came before
Dawn wakes with yellow birds escaping
Still tethered to the Earth which holds
All accountable to their task biological
To forces higher than the sky
There is a warning at the desert entrance
Water is absent as a Christmas gift or kiss
Thirst would hang you from a tree but alas
Wood and rope are scarce in the badlands
-What is missing-
The desert grows out by the mile
Wider by the dunes as their child
Into cities like granular specters
Tiny specs stretched, extended on the wind
Into marches, into riots. Into you life flows
Sand has no life beyond dry dead heat
At best it enters the eyes and covers bones
Gathering desert doom alone
Celestial, adult
in his relationship with flies
a flash of lightning
very hot summer
A few, smelly stinky flies
after the garbage
celeste dead, adult
his relationship with flies
a flash of lightning
Bakery hot noon
A few, stinky flies flying
because of pond scum
man been dead for weeks
maggots and worms do eat flies
flies in the dead heat
3/18/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Dead Heat
Fell through cracks pink slipped
His mirth sending her sweet home
Aglow in dead heat
connie pachecho
9/5/17
This I Will Repeat Horn Haiku
Those often repeat
Does winter have a dead heat
Melt snow it does greet.
Jim Horn
Motivated Poems By God
When equality we will want to make
Should give everyone a fair shake
And write poems for each one of you
Regardless of what may be point of view.
What we must do is always fairly treat
Even if race has been in another dead heat
Candidates comes closer and closer together
Not criticizing or all relations try to sever.
God filled me with spirit when I write
And supported me will all of his might
One more of his poems is in the making
That may be motivating and breath taking.
Each time when my poems you will visit
God's energy made all of them so exquisite
By the time you arrived at end of this page
Motivated poems from God will be latest rage.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Dead Heat with Delusion
I write prolific poems and am no stooge
You can tell after reading the huge deluge
Of poems as they start entering your mind
Which I am writing while I try to unwind.
Whether facing North, South, East or West
You will find that my poems are the best
So start reading and continue on and on
Until late at night from very, early dawn.
After you have absorbed each one and all
And Congress finally waited until next fall
Would someone really try to be so kind
Telling me exactly what was in their mind.
As usual you too continue to be confused
Always feeling mishandled and misused
And have come to an astounding conclusion
Congress had been in dead heat with delusion.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
sentimentality has its place
it's in my heart, it's on your face
in an edict of government, for a hungry child
in the middle of nowhere, all windy and wild
it's in scraped skies over citied tall buildings
it's on the Louvre's walls surrounded by gilding
it's buzzing the field of breeze-blown wheat
at the photo-finish of a horserace dead heat
it lies with the dog quietly resting by the door
the cat's contented purr, the babies quiet snore
it's in the oven, warming with scents
it's under the tree, wrapped in presents
it's written in stories we've all known for years
it's in people you know in your daily spheres
it's right here, on this screen that you're reading
it's after, and now, and time since proceeding
it's in her hair, with its satin-soft sheen
her coy smile at you, if you know what I mean
it's in his brash boast with eased confidence
to do something of import with good consequence
it's kissing your lips, warm and alluring
it's filling your heart and quietly assuring
it's sunning itself, on sweating work days
it's enjoying each other in so many ways
it's in the glint of light shown on my eyes,
to this life lived full, and what it implies
© Goode Guy 2011-11-13
I just put the “BAM!” in Bambi
Out there on the street
As the sunlight was all but vanished
Who should I happen to meet
But a cute and cuddly deer, Dear
Just prancing across the road
The van met her in the middle
I’m afraid they were both KO’d
I’d like to say that the dear vanished
With a look and a limp she walked away
I’d like to say nothing was damaged
But it didn’t go down that way
I didn’t have time to avoid her
I didn’t have room to stop
Bambi now lives with her mother
And the van’s going into the shop
And me, well my knees can’t stop shaking
And my heartbeat’s a mile a minute
In a battle ‘tween deer and an auto
It’s a dead heat and neither can win it
Mdailey 10/29/11
Written for a good friend who had a run in with a deer last evening.
I was goaded into writing another verse - - -
Twas the night that Bambi got busted
Out on a lonely road
This jay-walking deer got dusted
As out of the woods she strolled
I admit that my reflex have rusted
The outcome so easy forebode
To say the least, I was disgusted
To see Bambi – poor deer - explode
Dead Heat
Reflecting from the surface, bright and still
of my own pool of dismal memory,
your face, sometimes it glows, as if it will
present itself once more to what I see;
I shouldn't think about your flesh the way I do
though soft and eager for someone to touch,
but having loved the best, and that was you,
'tis near impossible to say how much
you filled my life, but then you died from me,
and all this love is unfulfilled today;
so I have taken it in hand, you see,
for no one's ever loved me that same way.
I close mine eyes, and you are almost there
the picture of fulfilling love somewhere.
INCIDENT ON HIGHWAY 12, SASKATCHEWAN 1977
Black ice early morning
I heard no radio warning
Truck coming east at sixty
Me heading west at seventy.
Closing at two hundred feet
Every second of my heartbeat,
Ten seconds from now we will meet
At a finish line : dead heat.
Black ice is always a surprise
Unseen with the eyes -
Begin to spin out of control
Drawn choking into that black hole.
Try to correct - impossible,
The surface of treachery’s invisible.
Aim for the ditch? Brake?
I can do nothing but slide as a snake.
Hold my breath to think -
He’ll be on me in a blink -
I slowly spiral into the oncoming fate -
He can do nothing but jack-knife it.
A voice shouts out loud for aid -
I’m afraid it’s my voice. God isn’t afraid.
At that moment I uncovered
What I’d once believed and covered :
The pretended atheist dropped
His child’s toy unwanted:
I suddenly outgrew it
In a slow-mo second split.
I missed the truck by a yard or so.
About one fiftieth of a second to go.
I see the trucker’s helpless face.
Still makes me shiver, can’t erase.
Time drifted
Through a dark and
familiar window!
You can spend days
gazing out this window.
The wind is scattered
while it picks itself up.
The days don't seem to matter
as our souls do an old, familiar somersault.
Memory is an excuse to smile.
So wait awhile,
and remember the tree in the yard
you jumped for in the sun.
It is the dark matter that matters
It is our dark windows that shatter
the stars from heat
Our love from a dangling bonnet
A toothless grin
In the dead heat hot love summer of Georgia.
This is time adrift.
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