Shorn Poems - Poems about Shorn

Summer, winter, autumnal and vernal Nature's tide freely flows through time eternal As our days are with abandon shorn Each year laid to rest is by nature reborn So let the champagne flow this last night of December To auld lang syne lift a glass so we may remember With buoyant glee we'll greet the bright new dawn As the new year...

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White horses unsure of flight they unfurl before dawn they had their chance alone in colours The man of gentle voice was only asking for a choice They sang of emptiness epoch making expanses of self determinism their forte...

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What was celebration years ago people's hearts were to their birth I walked and plagued my mind west was born as an after thought supplanting all others to pleasant lands we betrothed the winds came gently october sneered in a umpirish manner friends flaked the golden daffodils refugees shorn of rights to the dim lands shorn to the apology of the east now we are alone nothing to...

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Ceasing thinking, if so done, is in truth coming undone, wherein we see ego die, that we wingless fly....

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when we know the light is but see it not we are aware of separation from truth of our being denied and yet we may not seek that that is innate to us because the entity that seeks is not rather ego is veil of ignorance in passivity, silence and in activity, love these transcendent aspects illumine us erasing narrow identity which when drops,...

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Ego shorn, here now reborn By Unseeking Seeker Ego shorn, here now reborn Pruned gently by life’s lesson Honed like a sheep’s curly horn And empathy came as companion Lower a pride to calm the tide Allow Holy Spirit to grace and guide For a thing that’s hard to swallow Is just one big gulp for an ego And for a...

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What a zenith of stateliness is ego mine! Illuminating my worth, strength and charm divine; Positioned politely it does marvels many, When sharpened like knife or sword, harms it brings plenty...! Enriching the attributes of my inner mind, Keeping me socially accepted and refined; If clipped and trimmed and efficaciously maintained, The purpose of my life, here on earth, is attained...! Ego...

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An incessant rage; a tormented home Ego’s cruel tyranny reigns An exiled vagrant cursed to roam Not one shimmer of hope remains Ego shorn, tormenting flames now subside Cool winds arise as rivers flow Blessed peace, with you I’ll reside With your familiar and welcoming glow Beyond all time, beyond all sorrow All bonds to self-will sever There is no more today and no more...

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Facing the Storm Had my ego shorn and heart torn today The reason, I am hesitant to say I'll retain it to myself, no one else But then, who on earth would care anyway. On reflection someone out there does care All one needs do is kneel down in prayer Revealing one's heart, though the tears may start To God who’s always aware...

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Hong Kongs Big pong Five are tried heads hooded Hands tied Wolf like packs Claim a moral low Truth can't bestow The depth of facts Now for all to know Morals now obscene As today is seen, Humanity traded Weave of life torn Insanity in-braided A very aged norm.'...

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Ego shorn unlike the hairy back of cancer Taking all but life before even taking that She hoped to be a mother some day and her Life would be gone at 26 a hard fact I look at her in a hat of fur pink sweater that seems to soften What a loss of life in her Hearts sank lower...

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Post Covid, my scalp has been shedding Hair covers the pillow and bedding There’s tresses on the floor If I lose any more The prospect of baldness I’m dreading! A great deal of poetic licence about hair in the bed but since I’ve had covid I’ve noticed strands of hair on the floor and also a friend has...

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Sue loved to style her auburn hair, and adorn it with a cute bow.   Then cancer struck, life’s so unfair - treatment meant her long locks would go. She hoped in time new hair would grow, as baldness may cause folk to stare. Sue now wears a pretty bandeau, her cancer story I now share. Checked with how...

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Posting before the verse is done, the baby not quite born Feelings chase the words I write —the sheep not fully shorn (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)...

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Here looking inwards while sitting in wards. Never bored watching bulletins and staring out the window at the billboards with eyes that's been pulled before and my thoughts still talk forth. Still taunted and real torn. My brain is torn. My clothes are worn and I'm worn out like the clothes I've worn since I've been in...

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