our combustion a triumph of the senses you reveal your need i quiver with desire this is one way lovers communicate with a sigh the moment fades the fire cracking no more an expansive breath is taken in the curtains filter out the early sun as we recover from being undone i… More
As a poet, I prefer being a loner. I should say usually. Recently, however, I decided to step out of my comfort zone a bit and collaborate with David of The Skeptics Kaddish. What prompted me to was the beauty of ALL the pieces which have been posted to date. David is a wonderful poet who complements the original inspiration. The poetry he produces enhances them so beautifully!
I hope you enjoy this collaboration and please do visit his blog for more incredible writing!
Poetry Partners #38
it’s my nature
for no reason at all
i retreat to a safe space
like bear cubs denning
i’m not languishing
i’m dormant with melancholy
seeking shelter protects my soul
giving respite and comfort
surrounded by nothing but time
it revives me
Dormant with melancholy, defeated,
I seek shelter like a wounded yeti;
surround myself with simple memories;
and hibernate. Depleted by drama,
paws torn in frantic escape, I’m a pup–
py, fearful, distrustful, fitful in sleep.
Everywhere, even within me, foes lie,
anticipating my imminent plea.
Respite’s always brief. Would I had armor
against the greed, gossip and media
nonsense. Ultimately, I always bow in
concession, perhaps the greatest cynic
ever. That’s how I can stand to surface.
Agonizing over chaos – whatever form it may take. Haven’t we all been there?
A broken Heart is caused by synchronized chaos
The result is:
shortness of breath,
a gaping mouth
promises are like water to me
for you they quench temporarily
all that i fear for you and us
like the thirst of the dying
i can stop making promises
that i won’t agonize over the shit disease insanity violence and utter hell that we both see
we can compromise and believe
that there will be promises of better life
like we will plant flowers
but they might not smell like roses
as the smell of decay clings
promises can be multi everything
disciplinary lateral purpose conscience
promises are sugar and wine
one daft note fleeting in the wind
a fart or love
i can’t tell where we are going
or how to get on this new road
let’s not make promises anymore
let’s just stay eye to eye
let’s just see what i will do
how i will move and act and love and lose
i refuse to promise that i will not turn the other way
if you don’t promise that you will make this inferno go away
i will say that i can accept my heart broken
and that when the camera flashes your way
remember that humility diligence and hard work are the better red carpet accessory
our queen of us lost angels
A serious reflection
i see our world as splitting up
coming apart at the seams
politics, pollution, people
i don’t know how much longer
i can keep it together
teetering on the top of the world
looking down with grief
A funny take
I don’t know how much longer I can keep these two peaks together. My calf and thigh muscles are killing me! But I just can’t let the Earth split in two!
The room grew dim as a cloud passed over. So much so that I couldn’t see any part of the book I was reading. My hands balled into a fist with frustration.
I heard the caw of a raven, drums and women chanting. They were huddled around the big rock below my window. I began to slide open the window wider to speak to the women on the west side of my two-story home.
“What are you doing here?” I screamed at them.
“We are trying to blend our will and nature in this coven circle to end worldwide suffering.”
*NOTE – I’ve recently become acquainted with a new kind of wordle that has apparently sparked an international craze. It’s not a game app but rather a link you can find HERE. If you are anything like me, you’ll look forward to it every day! Have fun! 🙂 Do tell me in the comments if you’ve tried it and if you have, what you think of it.
these shiny gifts
we always tell stories
things that shine
– allure –
a lure for
let daydreams be poems
& poems daydreams
lilac and yellow freesias
warm sugared milk
there are years of wasps
& years of
but most of the time
the consultant said a shadow was showing on the scan
try not to worry
but once the words were out
veiled darkness began seeping
birthing shadow spawn & we knew
from now on
there would always be shadows
a moment sitting with grief that twists I pause - a sip of strong coffee - a bite of whisky-infused chocolate (redundant birthday gift) you are still here & I am (still) afraid
*TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE*
We can keep trying, he says. We won’t give up.
She washes freshly red-spotted sheets, pegs them on the line, listens to the merciless wind smothering hope. Later, she dreams about finding a sparrow’s nest in the hedge, hears hungry soft-feathered downy babies crying to be fed. But when she looks again, they have disappeared.
We can keep trying, she says. We won’t give up.
UK-based writer Jane Ayres completed a Creative Writing MA at the University of Kent in 2019 aged 57. She has work in Dissonance, Confluence, Lighthouse, Streetcake, The North, The Poetry Village, Door is a Jar, Kissing Dynamite, (mac)ro(mic), Versification, Crow & Cross Keys, Ample Remains, Sledgehammer, and The Forge. This is Jane’s first feature on The Short of It.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submissions guidelines.
The lament of letting people, precious or otherwise, down—humanity’s consistent occurrence. In pain, we continue to pass on agony, and alone we grieve.
A sharp pain I felt
Like a dagger plunged
Deep into my heart
The anguish, the agony unbearable
I teetered, held out my hand for support
It met empty air………
There was no one there
To hold my hand, to console
This aloneness has taught me a lot
A valuable lesson to rely
Only on myself and myself alone
The pain still hurts sometimes
But the anguish has died down
My courage has lulled it to sleep
I am not quite sure exactly what
Some parents expect of their children
In terms of success and failure
Because of course each individual is unique
In their own belief system developed through life
Though I do know exactly what
Some middle-aged men and women
Expect of their parent’s, which is
Love and Understanding that
Love and Understanding means more to them
Than any award or prize, delusions of wealth
And superfluous measures of success
Handed down from Great-Grandfather to Grandfather
Then Father to Son who’s soul purpose it often seems
Is to belittle the latter, like some draconian wheel
Turning itself in circles, only to cause
An endless cycle of fear and inferiority
Leading nowhere fast, leading nowhere good
On an endless road of resentment and ill worth.
And we don’t ask for this. We are born to this.
We are flesh and bone
Fueled by the imperfections of our father’s
Father’s, father’s son
Who one day will understand he did nothing wrong
Oh Mother, dear mother
What have we done?
Thank you to all the staff at Indie Blu(e) for this wonderful and unexpected feature on your blog! I am so fortunate that you’ve selected many of my pieces for the anthologies you’ve published. I am eternally grateful to be alongside all the wonderful voices you selected, and that we spoke to many important issues of our time, and revealed our humanity. A special thanks to Candice for what she has written and shared, making me blush more than once reading the positive compliments, reminding me how fortunate we are to have become such good friends. ❤ Thank you so much for sharing more about me with your readers. I appreciate that very much!
One idea we had that we thought might be fun is to highlight some of the authors, artists and writers IN Indie Blu(e) Anthologies. So with some regularity that’s the plan. If you have had work in an Indie Blu(e) anthology we’d LOVE to hear from you about your latest work and plug it here.
Indie Blu(e) believes passionately in getting to know our authors/artists/writers and this is one way the rest of you can find out more about the incredible people we’ve had the honor to host in our anthologies. Perhaps it will also bewitch you into purchasing a copy, but first and foremost, we want you to meet our talent.
With that in mind I’d like to introduce you to Susi Bockswho has been in several Indie Blu(e) anthologies including SMITTEN – This Is What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women for Women, Through the Looking…
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Roughly translated from German:
Music is love.
It can laugh with me.
It can cry with me.
It can bring together what was once separated.
Music can tell me what lips are afraid to say.
Music can bring back what I lost.
Music alone therefore is chosen.
Margarete Kernbach is my grandmother on my mother’s side. I found this parchment with her words following my mother’s death in 2012. It was among the things she left behind, very simply preserved in a plastic frame. I never knew my Oma wrote poetry. Nor do I know if this was the only poem or if there were ever any other writings by her. I only know of this one.
Discovering this little poem ties me to my grandmother in a profound way, at least for me it does. Not that I realized it at that moment though. I…
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