Short Dross Poems

He gave me gold
For the old dross
Sin sold to me...

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Lived for our lies and loss
 cursed to a cross
…died in a dross...

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Since 'dross' doesn't rhyme with 'gross'
     (as it could)
 
  I'm glad that it rhymes with 'boss'
     (as it should!)...

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Needle

in a haystack:

--- that muffled sound ... logic? --- :

no matter, the rest's dross, pry good -

sense loose....

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tell the lovely lieing  loss
to send the devilish dancing dross
to the cursed cruel cross
but wait to see the boasting bending boss...

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Sifting slurry through my word sieve
occasional bright flashes give hope
but there is so much dross and the
yellow flakes in my quicksilver amalgam
may be naught but fool’s gold....

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Was it about you
or were they talking
of me
not looking flash
on a diamond encrusted bike
let us both
fulmigate
against the tide
of perception
and then maybe
we'll earn the last word....

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It wasn't three spikes,
Keeping Jesus on the cross;
But His incomparable love,
Caused Him to bleed;

On Golgotha's Hill He took,
 All my sin and dross;
After crying " it is finished",
From sin I'm freed....

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Always Suspicious About

We have always been suspicious of AXIOS;
Have spread many rumors and are verbose;
Breaking rules;
Draining pools (And swamps),
And like Trump we wish would die a dross.

Jim Horn...

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The lovely life I have so far lived
..Is a result of my cry at Calvary’s cross;
I was once getting the glorious God grieved
Until I left the luggage of lies and loss,
And forsook the Devil’s deceitful dross....

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The Rolling Stones
  Gather no moss
Not with Mick Jagger
  Their peripatetic boss

They travel first-class
  Partake of the sauce
As the globe they crisscross

Sipping the finest liquers
  ~ Discarding the dross...

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...for Sylvia Plath
 

Her grasp of things is gone,
she fiddles, and is lost 
with no prospect of redress.

She hovers shapeless,
rudderless, 
in a storm-toss'd mess.

Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
merely dross....

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...for Sylvia Plath


Her grasp of things is gone,
she meddles and is lost 
with no prospect of redress.

She hovers shapeless,
rudderless in a
storm-toss'd mess.

Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
only dross....

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Morning Prayer
7-9-2016

Lord, 
Bless the soul that’s encrusted with dross, 
Who receives and has no heart for giving. 
Who hasn’t been informed about the cross,
And is searching for justification for living;
Tom
...

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...for Sylvia Plath
 

Her grasp of things is gone,
she fiddles, and is lost 
with no prospect of redress.

She hovers shapeless,
rudderless, 
in a storm-toss'd mess.

Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
merely dross....

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If I’m sinning, I’m sinking
In a sour sea that’s stinking
My lovely light will be blinking
Even if the sky is willing and winking

If I’m lying, I’m dying
Selling dross and not buying
As my faith keeps failing…flying
My heart keeps crooning… crying...

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in the cataract of anxiety
The rock gets worn away
The misty water hides his deity
Noise drowns my voice when I pray 
The love of the world, Lord, take it away
The love of self first, then fear
I cannot stand in water, I am clay
Fire me, till no dross is there....

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As the sun filters through branches
Brown crackled blooms exposed
No longer hidden by bright blossoms
Which spring had just transposed

The sunlight's angle is now changed
Revealing hidden parts
Only the dross is bad_ grotesque
Secrets deep in one's heart   ...

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A desolate shore reaches,
its gritty scree taunts
a green and tumbling sea.

Breakers slap an
umpteenth juncture.

Kelp sea pods dilate,
foam swirls in the shingle,
barren wombs drink.

Krill churns out
of a sandy dross.

Waves carry their children away....

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CONTRIBUTIONS
  airless
yesteryears
egregarious
 wearisome
 awaits
credulity
enthroned
to
 convey
a
populust
niche
as
floating
dross
 enamelled
&
replicated

a
pedestrian
 precursor
enamoured
uncanny
glazed
&circled
so strange
in
camaderie
thronged
in uniform
belief...

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Glowing, golden orb is lost,
    plunged into a molten fire.
        reduced to streaks of red and dross,
            victim of the night’s swift ire:
refined, but not without a cost.


—————

for the Bite Size Poem no.47 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gauthier
Written on 06/19/2022
...

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Discriminations, good or poor, made
When poets’ virtues are weighed
Separate dross from real art
And talent from mere heart.
For craft is needed too,
To strengthen the poetic brew:
Those poets who would inspire
Their readers with divine fire
Must in the end acquire
The thirst to rise higher.

April 1, 2019...

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Heaven or Hell
Written: by Tom Wright
2/20/2013 

We must all travail our lifespan,
To receive a boarding pass;
Or to the fire from fry-pan,
Where souls will go en masse;
God granted option at the cross,
To select our destination;
Accepting, he forgives our dross,
And ensures us of salvation;
...

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I hold disdain for the dizain,
Prefer bananas to plantains,
The tail-rhyme over the quatrain,
The trivial to the inane,
And, frankly, like my ice cream plain.
Some folks prefer a chocolate sauce
But I am rather at a loss
To suggest one I’ve come across,
So keep the gold and skim the dross.
Vanilla bean, man, that’s the boss....

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Great Christ
When you come to your kingdom
Without pain and grimace
For the cost of so much dross
That we pandering to pride become
And I
Skin blackened in the furnace
Sigh for a stronger dye
Than fire
Like the night that mirrors thy soul
Since a black being
Must have a black desire
Remember me
Longing so to love
And glisten love like gold...

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