Short Shorn Poems

pastoral meadow
newly shorn sheep grass mulching
woolly mammoth bones...

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The pathless path which we embark upon ~
Needs ego shorn that soul be here reborn...

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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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light reveals nakedness 
nakedness causes shame
garment of ego is our disguise
shorn when we undress in our heart...

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Out of the death of crucified Christ
Has for us our redemption sufficed
Had not that man ever been born
We would not of our sins be shorn....

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Winter Morn

Winter cold morn
The trees their leaves have shorn
Barren bitter born
This day shall I not mourn

by Diane Garcia
1/29/2021...

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ivory feathers
   splayed upon the bones of fall-
             autumn requiem
  spring's phoenix, birthed of frost
       flairs it’s ice shorn wings...

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i'll be damned and i'll be forlorn
but I've never seen a green sheep shorn
like mowing the grass
off a chia pet's back
they say that's the way they were born...

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Posting then before I’m 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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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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There once was an amazing unicorn,
Whose coat was confusedly shaved and shorn,
She’s a little bit mad.
Called the barber a cad,
And was a moment, a little forlorn....

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Sarina bought a hula-hula skirt
Was so long it swept up the garden dirt 
When she mowed the lawn
Her hula was shorn 
Now poor Sarina is known as Flirt Girt....

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Noodles kept fluffy and warm
   Peas from the can shorn
Water drained from tuna's can
     Now, bachelor man
       Add all the mayo
         You can stand
              Feast!...

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Baby animals being born
Sheep are getting shorn

Robins are singing
Bees are stinging

Flowers are growing
Dandelion fluff blowing

Frogs are a hopping
Raindrops are a plopping...

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On Shortest Day bright 

our camellia shone pink

alone among the high 

grass lawn as most

locally cannot be sane 

unless their lawns are

shorn of all hope 

as neatness is a trope....

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little boy bugle come blow your horn
the sheep are in the coffee, they need shaved and shorn
Don’t you mean little boy blue? I asked my friend, Mrs. McDorn.
I don’t shave people she said, giving me a glare of scorn....

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Posters painted
By law tainted
Rosaries rattling
Prayers prattling
Police swoop
Spirits droop
Whisked away
Because they pray
For children unborn
Innocent lives shorn
In abortion clinics
Cold cash for callous cynics...

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I don't like poodles when they're shorn
They should stay as they were born
Not with pompoms on tail and crown
This really gets these canines down
Then they're primped up to be on show
They even have to wear a bow
Oh No!...

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The cloud-enshrined sun
The waves leaching away the sand
A whole world undone

Rose rayonnante de perle
Soleil soudé aux nuages
Un sourire de mère

Mussed baby petals
A rose-stem cut ere the thorn
A life rudely shorn...

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Fabric Wool

I no longer cry “BAA.”
Now I’ve been sheared and shorn,
knitted in fashion to be worn.

Strength and sinew, have I 
daring back winter’s chill.
A moth is my enemy still.

11/8/17...

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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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can it be that this rose
that wilted then, now grows?
ah, it’s just a dreary dream
of youth we all have deemed
a cruel lot besides
being a dream that dies.
it is only a rose then 
that’s shorn
of rose’s scent
before it's grown....

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Sheep are shorn
not because it’s Spring wool has grown too long

Shivering as Winter’s blades dig in
furthering suff’ring’s wrong

The shepherd unsheathes his sword,
“vengeance is mine,” the Lord’s song

7/28/2020...

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BOUQUET OF FLOWERS

Bouquet of flowers
Linger in the frosty morn
For it’s October
Many of the leaves are shorn
By northern windy lancers

Yet the flowers dance
Sparkle in the morning sun
The date defied
Happy mission just begun
Summer’s passing molified...

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wreathed in silent torment
waking moments snap
at each breath of air

gnarled
echoes of pasts filter by

sleep eludes
weaves and teeters
numbing the weary mind

awake each thought
like splintered thorns
assault the dead of night

dreamless

devoid of hope
shorn of light...

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