Winter Quickie Poem

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Winter Quickie Poem (untilted, for now)

When the writer’s laptop crashed, 
she looked at her bedroom windows. 
Grass green shades hung like sleepy eyelids. 
Drapes drooped white smiles 
like snow that covered branches, 
roof tops, and trashcan lids like icing. 
Everything was sweet, but she 
had never noticed before,

and this time when pine tree branches, 
too heavy with snow, nodded in the wind, 
she whispered, “Yes…”

Shawn R. Jones 2014

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Joyous Christmas

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Joyous Christmas

 

The tree is tall and bent and green like spring

with golden balls that hang like bows on braids

and shiny tinsel raining gold and jade.

Angelic wings flap as the children sing,

“The baby born is Christ, Our Lord and King…”

Small arms rise slowly as the music fades.

The audience breaks in most joyful praise.

Discouraged hearts are now able to dream.

 

Shawn R. Jones

*I am hoping to finish this sonnet someday : )

Let’s Pretend We Know Everything

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Let’s Pretend We Know Everything

Let’s pretend we know everything
and carry our religion
like a clutch.

We can carry it when
we wear certain outfits
certain places.

Let’s pretend we are God
and give everyone a key
who is like us

to the door of these
certain places
where people gather

who are certain
about all things
in the universe.

Let’s pretend we are right
until certain people
decide we are wrong

and lock the doors
to certain places
where everyone

is absolutely certain
about everything.

 

Shawn R. Jones

 

Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames   http://t.co/BxiNwWRG

and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain, 

http://www.amazon.com/Womb-Rain-New-Womens-Voices/dp/1599242699/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1337717218&sr=8-1

I Have Danced All My Life

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I Have Danced All My Life

 

If you peaked through

my windows tonight,

you found me tapping

on my laptop keys

in a tan recliner by the fire

with a knitted white blanket

across my feet.

You saw my husband sitting

a few feet away from me,

flipping through Hemmings

Motor News, adjusting

his bronze-framed glasses.

If you listened closely enough,

you heard the jittery fire pop,

sizzle, and crackle within

its brick walls.

Then, you heard me say,

“Fires do not dance,”

as I turned

away from the flame.

 

Shawn R. Jones (2013)