Ronald Shields Poems

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

He is Hank to anyone who knows.
When he drinks it is just enough to
release something bright, alive (his soul?) ,
or stifle something dark, putrid (his soul?) .
...

The snow teaches me separateness,
the ice to be hard.
Though I was born in the desert,
where the teachers are sand and rocks,
...

You are a master of suspense
Hitchcockian so to speak.
The air is thick with confusion
I don't know whether to breathe in or out.
...

Going down to the river in ivory robes
seeking sacraments
and the white heat of some amazing grace.
The Ghost is circling the congregation
...

Victoria Neale is a true Nomad.
She walks the land on well feathered paths.
Her stride is long and bold.
Her journey wide eyed and full.
...

When there is nothing left to say
I will brush the cobwebs from my soul,
this rusted dented old soul.
Unfurl it, let it catch the freshening breeze
...

He fell so gracefully
for a moment it looked liked he meant it.
The fall was perfectly balanced like
the sweep of a dancer's arm in reverence
...

There is power in seeming certain - danger also.
When the Witch is dead you will be held to account for promises made.
Dorothy and her companions, scarred and fresh from the kill
demand something more than thirty pieces.
...

I have a story to tell. A familiar one of a kind tale.
Colored by pigment and biased with a name.
Breeding contempt or some other monstrous thing
in hearts that pump fear as if it was life itself.
...