Long Sheered Poems
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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.
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 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.
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....
RK: "smokey drifted through once like mountains sheered off like cotton candy colored clouds nipped at the purpose of the rootbound ridgeback dragons."
Lucifer: "They decant no, somber but ready for some gift of virtue, and where abundance and prosperity are so fulsome such a dream."
Aurora: "Likewise the sorely wrong believe themselves wronged as sure as the swallows that hum soft cadences for bees which splint the flower's pollen for spreading."
Kate: "I've held the oceanic waters so nimbly let pour the caught rhythms of deliquescent moored stalwarts."
Helel: "The fife has enruined the walkway so esplanade does explaining this cause arouse such pomp?"
PW1: *disavows that he is stronger now and progresses*
The forbidden one: *cooly saunters towards a more comfortable position in the shade*
Uraeal: "I ask they do, I move they aim for a moonshot, is not the billowing cloudshares like those enroute to pebbly shores?"
DR dragon: "Pervasive this shifting moon which changes like wire frames sent into the hues."
arophc varuag: "I fed the farms such broken dreams but here they so replete, and should I ask the moon to share, another captured strike to snare."
Zeus: "The gambling is all but done, but here we save the swollen stumps that brick-by-brick were truly wood but means not that to cooped up fools."
---End of act IV---
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
The pale gleaming box, sits with its glow,
Hiding its tunes that one would like to know,
A pretty sight it will be when,
A c carousel, laying on your table seat,
Mimicking, the moon shine,
And Dressed In Ivory Wine,
The Little Mares twirl So graceful, like a decadent Swan,
A blissful site, it will be in the glowing stretch of Dawn,
AH !, The slow melody is so sheered And carefully woven like the threads of fate,
The song flows to your ears in a form , so intricate,
But worry not the heavenly tunes could be heard again,
Just turn the golden key again and again,
Wish that comes from every mind to be a child once more,
So happens to be granted by this box, leaving you stun by the floor,
She sings the mothers lullaby,
OH !, The melody can make one cry,
The silver dressed, horses, go round, and round on the top,
Gracefully dancing to the tune and mirthfully trying to hop,
It is, a carefully crafted box which resembles the moon,
The spectacle is so proud that it makes you forget your worries soon,
It pulls out your fantastical thought,
By the end of the song, might I say it changes you a lot?
The cheerful, glistening toy ,
That is laced and tiered with gold , brings you nostalgic joy,
This ivory music box sits quietly by the Moon beams,
This ivory music box, carefully, caresses, and hold your dreams.
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