Short Cropped Poems

Close-cropped, careless cast,
Body blunted by each week's
Doldrum-diving fast....

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butterflies in pain
their tender wings getting cropped
sadistic mad world

2 July 2021...

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rockers needed wigs for the ball
cause theirs did not fit well at all
for they dyed and cropped
and totally chopped
till they fit their daughter's toy doll....

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Artist Mary Cassat so ' Henry James'
helped collectors with their acquisitic games
With meaningful moments of the 'well-to-do'
in attractive pics cropped&true...

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So the first law of thermodynamics
Put simply is that if it tocks it ticks
Energy gets swapped
It never gets cropped
I think my first law of science just clicked...

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I'm currently in 
a velutinous mood; Hell 
were unable to 
find a specific purpose. 
But only until what grows
inside me, at last gets cropped.

(5-75-77-7)...

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Willy's hair looked like a ragged old mop
His loving wife told him, 'Go get it cropped!'
  He sat down in the chair
  Yawned, 'I've got hair to spare' 
Willy woke up with a shiny bald top...

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Have you seen the demons in your closet? 
No...their wearing me like a skin suit. 
Cropped up, 
smiling, 
looking nice 
and making
this weirdness seem as its me... 
but its an act not to see them in me....

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A paint of white within a black canvas
A haiku of lies
A silver lining underneath animation
A photograph cropped
A wall paper hidden under new paint
A speech too eloquently given
Together, they become art's montage...

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Vigorous, plentiful
vines, diligently pruned
venture trained upon wire,
vast leaves cropped for dolmas.
Valued for complex taste,
vermillion morsels make
vintage wine with patience.

5-4-2021
Pleiades V Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman...

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Bowl of Fruit
B ananas cut up
O ranges diced up
W atermelon cropped up
L emons separated

O live orange
F igs smash

F rozen grapes
R aspberry
U gli-fruits yum all
I n a glass bowl
T angerine and tomato mixed in also



09/23/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©...

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Three pedal pushers, pushed past,
mom, daughter, grand
icons of fashions.
Forms formed by the dictates of passion.
Hair cropped, brows plucked,
rural New England’s answer to
Dolly Parton.
Scooped necked and corseted
varying little from teen-queen to matriarch;
only the wrinkles told the tale....

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I presumed I perceived an abysmal sigh
The last time I called on my mother's sepulcher
She was though in agreeable amity thereby
Wallowing in God's vicinity and altar

No sooner had I my eyes sealed
She cropped up and resolved the zephyr
Annotating the decencies we've alas spoiled
Ascribe their soul tumult and sever....

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Crispy, crunchy, baked to perfection.
Sparkling, golden, a mouth-watering complexion.
That feeling of joy sparks through your soul,
As you reach into the overflowing bowl.
Your taste buds are totally astound,
As you bite on the chip, so perfectly round.
Lightly salted and thinly chopped,
Baked and flaked and cropped and popped....

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bald eagle circling bare fields

cropped grain in sharp focus -

hare fair game for nature’s call


waterfall refusing to rise above

climatic change to see for all -

central vision gravely impaired


cataracts speeding up shadows

snow fall veils scarred curtains-

crow cautiously picks bull’s eye


05th February 2020...

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Would that LIFE were like the magazine
each article proof read
buffed and polished to a fine sheen
edited and re-edited
pictures cropped as needed
photo shopped perfection
at odds with the “camera”.

A full faced “lie” on the cover
reveling in “romantic recall”
basking in the loneliness
of the present.


9/15/2021

“L” Contest New or Old Poetry Contest...

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I sit here
Hair all around
I am shorn
My hair has gone 
But my anxiety remains

Why?
Why do I feel so useless
Why do I feel that I have been torn apart
Only to be put back together
With a hole where my soul once lived

So I cut my hair
To be free
I am not free
I am without.
Now I must paint
Draw my soul
To return it to its place

Will I then be free of my anxiety.


Painting:  Self portrait with cropped hair...

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Morning’s first frost
Ghost sprawled to lawns

Horizon sun
Snowman’s head rolled from fog

The backs of deer
Cut atop the cropped bean fields
Like circling shark fins

On the way
To my last years at work
I wait like any other
As a bus fills up with cut-out children

Red lights flashing
Engine trembling from its hurdy gurdy

The last of our birdies
Has flown the nest

What will be left
Of us?...

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Two thin tangled medals
sway in the rearview mirror 
of your dirt-caked Jeep. 
Indented identification 
on polished silver surfaces
clang together a constant
reminder in your ears. 

I heard the anecdote once,
landmines and folded flags. 
My eyes began to fall 
on hints of gray
in cropped hair,
flat-lined lips 
and shabby strapped boots. 

I want to reach out, 
tug at the laces. 
Watch as you untie....

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Women Who Walk Like Men

They seem to be everywhere now,
women who walk like men.
With hair cropped in a paint brush, 
bullets for eyes and knives for noses,
they walk long halls, hips so still
they can have no pelvis.
Then one day you meet one
and become her friend.
A week later you still wonder:
Are all the women who walk like men
wildflowers, really,
locked in a hothouse, craving the sun?


Donal Mahoney...

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Aunt Ruth came to the door in her housedress and hairnet.
Her dark hair cropped short allowing only the smallest curl to float free.
It was right in the middle of her forehead. A spit curl I think they called it.
We would visit her weekly just so see how she was doing. Ruth was said to have bad nerves, a term used then to mean all kinds of things from anxiety to alcoholism.
I never really knew what it meant.
I think I do now....

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Despicable
Marie Antoine
dressed in puce
paraded
her gown,
with a queenly
high head,
the pretty
little tome
soon to be
cropped.
When the chopper 
had his way,
her head
came off
and her face 
turned puce.
Was it purple
or puke green?
Maybe that’s the 
reason puce is so
confusing.
In Marie’s case
she was not
confused,
just dead.
 

Kathryn McLoughlin Collins

for a contest about our favorite color.  I must admit it is not my favorite...

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up up and away
Shades of red, yellow and gold
   Never meant to stay
Beauty will cease to hold

   Try your hardest not to blink
Or you may just miss it leave
   There is no time to think
Despite what you believe

   We exist in the midst
Of an evolving tornado
   A subtle breeze persists
A calming, deadly blow

   The cycle won't be stopped
Despite the many tears
   Your story will be cropped
Moments turn to years...

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Beings, precious, small, frail, they
walk at a precise pace;
more wary than gaijin with their
large log-like feet,
of the other small precious lives;
the flight of tiny blue and gold faced birds,
the cream dipped moth on an errant breeze.

Close cropped- clean, cut trimmed 
and as clipped as their hedges,
edged like the bamboo fenced trees and lawns ;
the Japanese glide through their Tokyo
as the kanji glides across the page....

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When i just saw you my heart started to sing,
I promised myself that i would hold on to that ring.
We had the best time of our lives and loved it,
I couldn't stay away from your angel touch cause it is too sweet.

But now that i have gone, my heart had stopped,
the song in my heart sings as if it were cropped. 
I want that song to come back to my heart,
to make everything better, as it was in the very start. 

Dedicated to: Ilona Mudraya....

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