Monica St. Hillaire

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SINGLE TO MINGLE

In the dead of night,
A nightingale sings aloud;
Ants crawl near the nest.

SHOWDOWN!

Bighorn sheep combat!
Simultaneous headbutt;
Lamb runs down mountain.

DINNER DATE

Two glasses of wine,
Enhance festoon laid table;
Violinist plays…

BEASTS OF BURDEN

Alongside the barn,
Harnessed Oxen stride forward;
Axe lays near the shed.

PITTER PATTER

Stratus clouds above,
Combined with misty morning;
Warm tea rests on porch.

HOMESTEAD HERO

On a cattle farm,
Dog’s bark alarm Steers to flee;
Red fox walks away.

~~~

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Monica St Hillaire: Aspiring Writer – Writing has always been a passion of mine. Compiling words together will always be a challenge I shall withstand. My desire, to be the best Wordsmith I can be. A lover of traditional and modern Haiku, a field I hope to one day master.

 

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Lorraine Lewis

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COME AGAIN LOVE

Willow
I hide in you
Where the pale winter dwells
Waiting for light to come again
Darkest
Nights cry
In silent solitude for love
Once held in softest hands
Come again love
Call me

STRIPPED

Stripped by winter’s darkest rays
I lie in sorrow’s deep embrace
Tears erupt fill empty days
Disappear in rising haze
Light comes again in unknown ways
Stripped by winter’s darkest rays
I lie in sorrow’s deep embrace

WHERE LIGHT IS BORN

Stuck in
The damp dark earth
My fingers scrabble cries
Rising silently to heaven
The veil
Is torn
By unimaginable pain
I dwell in the darkness
Where light is born
Screaming

CALL ME

Call me
As the snowdrops
Die in pure innocence
While the wild winds roar their rage
Holy
Sacred
Is the silence now as death comes
Sighing in the stillness
Of the last breath
On earth

LAST BREATH

Come lie
In my sighing
Sadness caress me now
As I breathe in woe my last breath
Leaving
Behind
You whom I love dearest of all
Whisk me to the darkness
Quickly now cry
No more

GIFTED

In sun’s
Pure light blinded
I see an open door
With the eyes of my heart softened
By tears
Gently
Dancing with the stars in my eyes
Gifted to me by love
Unseen unknown
Before

~~~

My name is Lorraine Lewis.  I have always written poetry but began to write more in earnest following having serious advanced blood cancer and going blind and becoming wheelchair-bound.  I greatly enjoy experimenting with different forms of poetry, preferring the shorter forms.

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Tina Stewart Brakebill

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living love

I.

dancing to their song

eyes flickering with passion

the night too fleeting

 II.

a faithful promise

of harmonic convergence

binding him to her

 III.

singing a duet

as the days pass too quickly

lifted by their song

 IV.

breathing in true joy

between the tiny moments

two hearts forever

~~~

Tina Stewart Brakebill is a former history professor and (twice) published biographer. Now she spends her days writing for a local magazine and her nights scribbling flash fiction, travel essays, and haikus, including pieces for The Drabble and Pure Haiku. Find out more by visiting her at www.tinastewartbrakebill.com. Tina photo

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Bruce Jewett

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across my cold quilt
a street lamp and moonlight
play shadow games

~~

gravestones with speakers
a tattered and torn screen
ruins of a drive-in

~~

thought I heard a bee
it was the tabby snoring
not even spring yet

~~

rained-on stone buddha
are you any the wiser
sitting in the mud

~~

dark and secluded
forest embraces the lost
never lets them go

~~~

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Joe Wells

A MAN ENTERED THE BAR.

A man entered the bar,
He appeared to be moving like a sailing boat,
tacking against the wind.
With trouser belt above the waist, he stopped,
swayed back upon his heels,
and taking first position in a dancey sort of way,
he did a little plié.
He ordered a pint of snakebite, a Guinness,
and a crème de menthe,
then having downed the lot he proceeded to sing,
from the La Marseillaise.
Pulling down his trousers, like a man possessed
he waved his bits about,
and bending down to touch his toes he struck a match,
and lit a massive fart.
A blue flame shot all the way across the bar,
causing scorching damage.
The crowd erupted in spontaneous applause,
and cheers of joyous laughter.
Then it seemed almost in the blinking of an eye,
he had disappeared.
The man had left the bar.

~~

Pay attention boy!

I entered a competition to write some prose and duly sent in my entry whereupon I received a reply saying I should have sent three, which reminded me of my school days which were spent mostly looking out of the window daydreaming.

The teacher would gain your attention by throwing a heavy wooden board rubber at your head which would land with a crack and bring a tear to your eye, on reflection I’m amazed more boys didn’t suffer from concussion.

It was the norm in those days for the teachers to have carte blanche to inflict any number of corporal punishments from a slap across the knuckles with a ruler, a whack on the bottom from a size 11 plimsoll to the full-blown six of the best with a bamboo cane.

The strangest thing though was having to say, “thank you Sir” after being beaten. 

Happy days!

~~

It could always be worse!

My life of late has not been great,
I’ve had an awful time.
My wife has left, the kids gone too,
I don’t know what to do.
This tale of woe began a year ago,
when I sadly lost my job.
No money left to pay the bills,
I foolishly turned to crime.
How hard I thought to rob a house,
I’ll try the one next door.
I dressed in black and took a sack,
in which I put the swag.
They say that crime it doesn’t pay
and sadly, they are right.
For now, I’m serving thirteen months,
in a dingy prison cell
I must say life inside is not all bad,
for I’m now a prison wife.
He’s not perhaps my ideal mate,
but in here you don’t say no.
If I behave, I’ll be out soon and
make sure I don’t come back.

~~~

 

 

 

Joe Wells is a retired actor, he has a radio play Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori produced by the Wireless Theatre Company, a book of plays, one called The Battle of Barking Creek and illustrated children’s books published for sale at Amazon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Matt Snyder

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Male Persona

By definition
Way above neanderthal
Refined, caring, sweet

Work Persona 

His face a facade
A work ethic to behold
Inside a failure

 Artist Persona 

A Prolific Man
He can be misunderstood
Never giving up

~~~

Matt Snyder is a Northeastern Pennsylvanian multidisciplined artist/writer that has been in the game since 1988. He can be found blogging art at  A Prolific Potpourri, photography at 365 SCBW and as arts editor at The Finest Example of…

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Ken Gierke

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clear moon on cold night
traveler without shelter
shadows walk on snow

~~

clouds part as rain slows
garden seen under new light
stepping carefully

~~

empty tree branches
silhouetted in the mist
moon wakes as fog clears

~~

high above river
eagle soaring on updraft
cedar clings to cliff 

~~

stars bow to rainfall
leaves drink in welcome relief
hope alive in dreams

~~

the path of water
journey of many unknowns
each drop returning

~~~

Ken Gierke started writing poetry in his forties but found new focus when he retired.  This gave him new perspectives, which come out in his poetry, primarily in free verse and haiku.  He has been published at The Ekphrastic Review, Vita Brevis, Tuck Magazine,  and Eunoia Review. His website: RIVRVLOGR

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Eugenia Hoffman

quilted clouds steel gray
so dreary makes me weary
menace in the skies 

~~

the skies predict moods
blissful thoughts within my grasp
I applaud nature 

~~

bare trees sway wildly
fragile limbs weak and timid
timber plentiful 

~~

noise assaults the air
crows convoked a committee
gossips voice concerns

~~~

Eugi’s Causerie – I enjoyed a dedicated career in the insurance industry for over 20 years being rewarded both professionally and personally. Now it’s time for me to follow my dreams by doing things I enjoy…spending time with family, traveling, writing poetry and encouraging others to pursue their goals. 

 

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Goff James

Editor’s note: The following haiku and senryu are the very first pieces to be showcased here on The Short of It. I’m thrilled with the response so far and hope to publish these exclusive pieces frequently! For those interested, please keep them coming! And please do share the submission guidelines with individuals who you know enjoy writing micro-poetry or very concise stories and wish for some recognition of their work! Thanks!

 

Love’s Carousel

’Pon Love’s carousel
Life’s tragic symphonies played
Many broken hearts


As Wild Horses Run

As wild horses run
The blithe spirit in his soul
Sets him ever free


Darkness

Searching for release
Unhinged in dreams’ dark madness
Finding no escape


Scars

Mem’ries bloodstained weep
Love’s lingering presence felt
Heartache’s scars unhealed

~~~

Goff James is a grumpy eccentric who, in the darkness of night, plays with words and tries to write poetry. His work displays an interest in that which can be seen and unseen, that which is heard and unheard and all those things that go unnoticed in between.