Sonnet for Mother (Revised)

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Sonnet for Mother
By Shawn R. Jones

Her arms are walnut brown and warm like June.
Veins wind like vines around an oak tree branch.
Her love for me still makes my aged heart dance
Like cardinals bathing in sunlight of noon
Full of red pride more pregnant than full moons.
Thus, midnight voices do not have a chance
to rain more doubts on my blue circumstance.
Past lullabies still hush me in my room…

And now that I have children of my own,
Mom’s fairy-tales are just a fantasy
In golden age of young simplicity.
Yet, I adore her more now that I’m grown.
And even though we sometimes disagree,
Only my God can love me more than she.

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Sonnet for Mother

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Sonnet for Mother

By Shawn R. Jones

Her arms are walnut brown and warm like June.

Veins wind like vines around an oak tree branch.

My adversaries do not stand a chance

against her heart that holds sunlight at noon

with pride in me that’s fuller than full moons

and love for me that makes my child heart dance.

Though doubts rain more doubts on my circumstance,

Past lullabies still hush me in my room.

And now that I have children of my own,

Mom’s fairy tales are just a memory

with golden eggs of young simplicity,

yet I adore her more now that I’m grown.

And even though we sometimes disagree,

only God could love me more than she.

God Nods As They Move On

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God Nods As They Move On

 

By Shawn R. Jones

 

When the wooden porch is pollen caked

from lemon dust of flowers

quaking as they bloom,

winter cries a sad good-bye

to insects snared

in looming webs of spring

and no one writes their eulogies

but  millions of doves sing

across a moon-filled dawn,

“Small lives do

God’s purpose too 

before the day is gone.”

 

Shawn R. Jones is the 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

Queen Bee

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Queen Bee

 

When yellow rain showers

germinate goldenrod

flowers’ sweet nectar hour

I become queen.

Pollen baskets yield my fame,

until drones die to mate

then mate to die—

HIV of those who

fly beneath my wing.

I close my eyes,

respect their darkness,

and lick their short-haired shells.

Then realize as the skyline’s

kissed by dawn…

 

this moment is mine.

 

Shawn R. Jones

Reprinted from Womb Rain

(Finishing Line Press, 2008)

Womb Rain

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Womb Rain by Shawn R. Jones

It’s the unspoken phrases,

the too heavy, not ready
to release me

thoughts no one
can explain,

the one problem
I cannot share

and the many I regret sharing.

It holds my weaknesses,
my nightmares
and good dreams.

It’s the pulsing desire
no one
can tame

and equally the pain.

Copyright 2001 Shawn R. Jones

Where is My Dominion Over Death?

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Where is My Dominion Over Death?

By Shawn R. Jones

 

My aging dog progresses my own years.

I must confess that I am still afraid

Of sagging eyes and graying ’round the ears.

Together, our simple lives must fade.

 

Lord, where is my dominion over death?

A diaper wraps around its leaking tail

With mother thinning in a nursing home

As father wastes his last few years on meth.

 

God, do you hear demonic voices yell?

Shut open closets of their seething cell.

Don’t let them war with me while I’m alone.

 

Copyright 2013 Shawn R. Jones

Home Remedy 1968

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Home Remedy 1968

Debris had fallen months
before my unwanted arrival
when Grandmother gave
her unwed daughter
tar black pills to swallow
behind Tanqueray gin,
mixed turpentine and hot water
in a pea green bucket,
held mom’s flannel gown
around her stretched waist,

and told her to crouch down
as close as she could get.

Shawn R. Jones

Reprinted from Womb Rain
(Finishing Line Press 2008)
Womb Rain (New Women’s Voices, No. 61)