Ronald Shields

Rookie - 0 Points (2/12/1956 / New York City)

Ronald Shields Poems

1. Some Amazing Grace 7/28/2012
2. To Victoria Neale, Where Ever She Be 7/28/2012
3. Autumn 7/28/2012
4. The Fall 7/28/2012
5. Take Care 7/28/2012
6. Chirping 7/28/2012
7. What Would You Give* 7/28/2012
8. Water Into Words 7/28/2012
9. Comings And Goings 7/28/2012
10. The Hunt 7/28/2012
11. The Voice I Remember 7/28/2012
12. Dust To Dust 7/28/2012
13. In So Many Words 8/10/2012
14. An Angry Poem, Because So Many Flags Are At Half Staff 8/12/2012
15. The Weight 8/29/2012
16. A Simple Dedication 9/5/2012
17. Ci Oyate* 9/17/2012
18. We Know How Much A Man Contains* 9/20/2012
19. Memories In The Old Brain 12/2/2012
20. Lament For My Religion 12/5/2012
21. Homeless In A Dream 12/10/2012
22. Not Suicide 1/4/2013
23. Problem Solved 1/4/2013
24. A Love Poem To The Higgs Boson 1/4/2013
25. Magic 1/4/2013
26. Easy As Pie 1/4/2013
27. Workshop 1/4/2013
28. Mystery 1/5/2013
29. City Of Stone 7/26/2012
30. The Photograph Album 7/28/2012
31. Nature 7/28/2012
32. Moonlight Sonata 7/28/2012
33. Station 7/28/2012
34. Tinted Images 7/28/2012
35. Lakeside 7/28/2012
36. The Invitation 7/28/2012
37. A Few Last Questions 7/28/2012
38. Promise Land 7/28/2012
39. Saddled 1/5/2013
40. Speeding Through The Rez 1/7/2013
Best Poem of Ronald Shields

Eat

Cold and dark in the morning
talk comes with a price
it is a bargain for the waitress
and diners get what they need.

The eggs are served with sympathy
for another birthday missed
the road is more than miles for
the trucker who takes them over hard.

Booth number 9 is an omelet and oatmeal
a preacher and acolyte looking for a church
the preacher's collar is frayed and yellowed
in service to a god who speaks too softly.

At the table by the door the farmers drink
coffee and talk of weather tractors prices
they have the look of a dying breed not...

Read the full of Eat

City Of Stone

This City is old,
wrapped in the skin of a
maiden whose time is past.
Abandoned by her ghosts
-fled to the countryside
where graves are tended
and people remember.
The buildings speak, no one
listens anymore. The mortar

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