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Category: My poems

My poems

Short Form Poetry

Writing short form poetry produces finished poems quickly while working on longer poems that take multiple edits. They are also good for therapy: when you are down-in-the-dumps, a quick impromptu haiku works wonders to remind of God’s beautiful nature, a healing force.

Cinquains are close in form to the tanka. The five line stanza has a syllable count of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2.

Some view dandelions as weeds, I don’t.

Dandelions

Yellow
sun, it's scent left
imprint under my nose.
Chain two four six eight and tie two
again.

Have a blessed weekend!

My poemsPoetry

Joshua Trees

Palm trees line one side of the straight-stretch asphalt road. The smell of the second rain is still heavy, as I drive my 1969 Mustang convertible through the base gate and on my way to the state park. As I approach the monument gate, I notice and smile at the sand flowers that bloom. An empty unmarked patch appears almost immediately; the gear seemingly shifts into neutral by itself as I apply the brake. A chill greets me as I open the door, so I grab my jeans jacket from the passenger seat, tying the arms around my waist. I want to feel the cold of the desert, remembering forever. A short walk and I am then scrambling up the lowest boulder where rock formations are solid, foundational. I see the Joshua trees spread out before me in asymmetrical fashion, growing out of the beautiful brown landscape. The shadows are disappearing, the first stars are peeping through the charcoal-washed sky. I close my eyes, focus my ears and hear the sound of silence. It is lovelier than a songbird tree or an orchestra playing Gershwin. I sit there transfixed until my backside is numb and chill bumps rise on my arms and legs. Stretching my limbs, I stand, untying the jacket arms. I listen for the last time.

wild flowers grow
on concrete monument
wild child speaks still

My poems

Byte Me

Deplatforming the social Truth,
Our necks smothered by your jack boots byte me.

Algorithms echo the plan,
Pinging between our ears en route byte me.

Manufactured zeros and ones –
Methods dispatched to prostitute byte me

Daemons intercept a five code.
Towers stand still null and deaf-mute byte me.

Nano teeth chew the circuit fruit.
Each dot swallowed, Packman, you brute, byte me.

Trained by the hot alphabet soup
Tied us to the straitjacket suit bytes me.

Stealth soldiers post the rock hard Truth.
Train in word warfare the recruits, byte me!

God utters without wires and air.
My poetry, my dance compute bytes me.

My poems

Red Redress

Lord, let my people go,
break the chains from us.

See how the magicians’ snake staff mocks You in man’s court.
Watch the synchronization chariots mock You on the streets.
Listen to the mob mimic snatches of words.
Look how the magicians repeat Your red carpet of water.

They hide in plain sight, others can’t see the parade.
They take pleasure in plausibility
They bow their heads to blue pages of papyrus.

Lord, lift up your staff one last time.
Open up the red carpet of redemption.
Send Your angels to the head of the line.
Script the chariot wheels to stick in the mud.

Lord, let my people go,
restore Your Son to us.

My poems

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