Short Shavings Poems

Angles accounted
Volumes and sweeping vistas
Shavings from pencil...

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dead pencil shavings
lifeless wood wings collect
born to give words life...

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sweet  strewn cedar shavings
Layered bedding soft in stalls
Raked and forked daily
With tender compassion 
Companion care for a horse...

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Veins s
______n
_____a
______k
_____i
______n
______g from oil slick blood
Thinnest wood just blown
like paper shavings
under sky skin
swarming with antibody clouds
Parasitically satirical...

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Whittling away another hour,
thoughts recycled into knife blades,

Forgive them, they but whittle you,
they shape the figure that sits and carves.

The shavings fall, the hour grows thin.
and when the work is done,

there will be no knife,

no reshaped figure,


only a hand -
whittling and writing....

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Little by little
others whittle
until there’s nothing more
while the shavings,
feeling the pain 
of each slice,
still believes 
that Love
will restore…

Slice by slice
others cut and dice
unwilling to make amends
while the dust
still believes
a glued amen
of Love
will eventually
mend…

© Debra Squyres...

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As we put putted out
into the estuary, the 
sounds of the city 
receded, the tang of 
sea filled my nostrils 
and the water turned 
from brown to aqua.
Danny  put out the lines
but all was quiet so I 
whittled a piece of spruce,
letting the shavings drift
in our wake, as I sucked 
a hard yellow candy 
waiting for my sockeye....

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Beautiful holly.
    Inspiring willows to weep
    In deep dark lavish forest.
    Cedar Christmas trees.
    Bring wonderful memories
    Blending smells unfolding as...
    Fragrance after rain.
    Creating vigil vapors... 
    Making memories that last.
    Shavings in a bag.
    Fragrant mixtures add water.
    Very good imitation....

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Take a glass
Less’n a gill
Add a heavy shot of coconut rum
a splash of  Myers Dark
A shot of  Triple sec
and a splash of creme de cocoa
Fill with black coffee
leave room for a little
light cream
If you’re hot
shave some ice into a larger glass 
and pour it in
If you’re not
Sip it ‘til it’s gone
mango shavings
are optional
So is a dash of
Disaronno...

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Guided by the writer's hand
it skates across page after page,
in complete abandon, 
relishing the journey.

A short visit now and then 
to the cut of the blade,
its red-lacquered coat 
shredded to shavings.

Down to the nub, its eraser gone,
a last soft gasp,
a Frisbee fling into the trash.

Its life springs forth
each time a reader
walks through the pages....

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My heart sandblasted,
shavings left upon your hands,
and at your feet.
Will you put them back together,
or will you simply brush your hands clean,
and sweep it away,
like an annoying pile of dust?
I think I know the answer,
but I want to hear those ruby red lips say it,
yet perhaps the silence,
has already said it.
Maybe I'm an idiot,
but I plead with you,
please pick up the pieces....

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dry white snow rasps the asphalt
attempting to reclaim the purity
of a metropolitan morning

coating the concrete pillars
brushing with tender touches
the grates and allies

dusting the bottom lands
of bordering belted swamps
with leggy aplomb

the icy shavings take flight
on the whoosh of winter
in hushed whispers they move on


First Published by The Tishman Review January 2015...

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sowing a melange 
of veined wafers 
viridescent shavings
leaves upon leaves
chaotically neat
layered in tranquillity
for the theatrical show
of first feet
premiere wellies
curtain up at dawn
cue the early walkers
after a night’s forlorn

which unseen hand
spritely close
knitted the forest
cross-stitched floor
taking their time
perfectionist
preparing fallen 
Jenga sticks 
behind the scenes
but never seen
Jack in the Green...

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Remain silent until it's time
 to love again

Finger touches and tongue tips
  dance again

Rain drops coursing leaf veins
 I want to stencil my name
all over your anatomy
   as if I never had before

Magnified insight
  finding new ways to envelop
    your light

Soul shavings on bad days
  don't need it all
 the tiniest portion of you
   will do

Sometimes my poetry needs
  time for you to seep into 
  my vocabulary

to understand that perfect ground
you fall upon....

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