my limbs feel weaker
lines creasing deeper
annual cycles coming faster
i beg this deterioration slows
now possessing a stronger mind
owning a wisdom a long time coming
i’ve fully grown into myself
feeling fully human
and grounded
i know who i am
Tag: aging
It Escapes Me
a writer’s nightmare
a speaker’s disability
an old person’s curse
it’s on the tip of the tongue
the mind scrambling to recall
a most important word
lethologica strikes
at the most inopportune times
it happens to us all
Reblogs – Candice Louisa Daquin
One thing you can be assured of, Candice will give you intensity in every read. Enjoy!
Body
I have abused you
when the day seemed eternal and the night longer
I threw myself into the ether and struck the match
body
I have loathed you
picking apart the various seams with the ingratitude of the well
complaining a luxury
body
I have shunned you
railed, swore, sucked in, brutalized with curses, prematurely ageing
the right for skin to breathe without shame
body
I have denied you
pleasure and equality, I wrote the rule book and it
held no regard for your right to be beautiful as you were
I said instead
you were thick trunked, imperfect,
unwanted, freckled, pallid, flabby, old
yogurt nobody wanted to eat when pancakes were at the table
I spent many years envying and giving away
years like dance cards
body
now you wear down, tired of my eternal scorn
you talk in collapses
here take that says sciatica
you think you can shun me? Says paining stomach
you can’t outrun your design, hisses genitals
we will drop you in it, whispers loosening skin
see if you live well then, without us, cries bone
remember the ten year old who has hidden
behind the folds tucked away
remember when you just ran out
dressed silly and not caring a jot
and the world was kind to you because you were a child
they didn’t point at your flaws
but gave you ice cream on the beach front
did you hate me then?
When did you learn to use dislike as a language?
Did it make you happy to?
Did you forget how to just be?
Who taught you to loathe so thoroughly?
Is hate the legacy you want to excel in?
And my hand holding the quill piercing skin.
Body
forgive me
even as it’s almost too late
and you bear the scars of my dismissal
my unkindness, my neglect, my fury
forgive me the error of not appreciating
you held me up
all these damn long years
more gracefully than I ever had
a right to
Sentences aren’t only written on paper
What do you resort to?
If you’re eaten inside out
And the garters of your guts pinch hollow cheeks
What do you resort to?
Listening to time perishing the rubber life raft keeping you afloat
Holes the size of mouths . Holes the size of mouths
A day is exhaustion
The gluttony of energy
Fragile in her deluge
She gives and takes like unstable drug
You watch the faces of those who should care
Because they’ve worked with you for years
Because they share your blood, your bed, your humanity
Still
Still you matter no more than
A stranger ordering tea will matter
The drink cooling in frigid hunger
For the next minute, the next chance
O to be seen without unkindness
You live in the cavitied mouth of people waiting for thrills
Cheap tricks
Expensive mistakes
Just excite me
Please, now, yes, harder
Be different, be worshipful, be erasable or fashionable
and if you can’t please us voraciously
If you’re just you, well then …
You, don’t thrill us one bit, you remind us
Of all the things we don’t like about ourselves
The wan face
The unbuttoned exhaustion
The pockets filled with stones readied for a-sinking
There’s nothing fucking new about you
We turn our eyes away, as we would
Our own reflection, a dog minding not the sharp
Whip of indifference
If you stand in the doorway like you did as a child
Waiting for tenderness
You’ll die standing there
As an old adult with sunken features
Trying to hack it in a cut throats world
Are you fucking kidding?
Even your mother doesn’t like you
What the fuck do you expect
Pariah
Hear the guitar, it sings your dirge
It is a horse and the night is a filigree tambourine
And you are a colander without holes
Whole without leaking
A spinning void unable to give birth
Counting your tarnish with slippery fists
You stand in hallways, wait for time to arch backward
Where you might be able somehow
Undo those wrong knots
Find the way you stop dying as you live
Feel whole without bones
The carpet of your skin a loose mask
That despite itself
Keeps slipping slipping slipping
Changes
Inspired by Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Revelation &
Reena’s Exploration Challenge #266
hustle is the game at the start
the steam propels the drive
setting the pace of our youth
then aging signals the revelation
that life is slowing down
adjustments are made to lifestyle
accommodating the new stride
mental agitations are felt in our bodies
because we desire to achieve more
as time slips by
Ken Gierke
Milestone
Well worn,
our path together,
though not
well-traveled.
Our destination
nowhere near
the one we chose.
Where we parted,
all that remains
is a milestone
of what once was
our life together.
Reading Between the Lines
Expression
Fine lines, creases
Framing the lips
Corners of the eyes
Within those eyes
A gleam of enthusiasm
The dull shade of weariness
Regarding those lips
The glimmer of teeth
A solemn line of doubt
Impression
A gleam in the eyes
Taken for joy
Or is it anger?
Teeth shown in anger
Or is that a hint of laughter?
The lips might say
Or is it all weariness?
The answer lies in both
Behind the mask
Shorter Still
Far from brief, the time left
when viewed in the past.
A lifetime to shape a future,
with no end in sight.
Shorter now, it seems.
The slideshow of bygone images
little more than a time-lapse,
details fewer each day.
Shorter still, ahead.
The end on the horizon,
while goals slip beyond,
their time misspent, gone.
Beneath the Waves
Nearly whispering, I say,
“Every wave that ever passed over
this shell is held inside for you to hear.”
Eyes wide, you ask, “When I get bigger,
can I dive with you and hear the shells in the water?”
And so your thirst for knowledge was born.
Yours is now a world of numbers,
but you have known wizards and knights,
poetry and prose, music and art.
And, from time to time,
you still hear the waves
washing over that shell.
In the Dark
What transpires in a week? In a month?
You show a different face, revealing more, yet less.
There is a cloud hanging over you. Below,
around you. Are there secrets you would share
under different circumstances? The greater the light,
the less I know of you. Are you more open to another,
while I am left in the dark? You make no promise
I’ll see you this evening. We play this game,
you keeping your distance as I try to read you, each day
the window ever smaller, till you fade from sight, again.
Passing Madness
There’s a madness to it
this rush to color
From a blanket of green
to red
yellow
blazing orange
and, finally,
to brown
We are seasoned in this experience
And so we wait
for the return of green
Until, once again,
the madness of color
that marks the passing of the seasons
Path to Winter
golden leaves
warm light on cold day
honeyed tea
maple leaf
on path to winter
will not wait
fallen leaves
carried by river
memories
bare branches
seen in fading light
shorter days
single leaf
clinging stubbornly
winter wind
~~~
Ken Gierke has been published in The Short of It, Vita Brevis Press, Silver Birch Press, and Amethyst Review, as well as in The Moons of Autumn from Word Weaving and easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles, from D Ellis Phelps. His poetry blog: https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/ Ken also had pieces selected for the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
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Lisa Tomey
Memories Sweet Taste
Taste the memories
Harvests after sweat and spade
Earth has its own soul
This Thing About Trees
leaves tangle in her hair
from aging trees
roots locked
in shared vibrations
spring brings growth
rings stretch the girth
age is crowned with colors
changing in time
sangria scented lips
tease in her shade
youth finds folly
yet, the wisdom
of the sage
overseer
prevails
there is no way for youth
to escape the elder court
its shadows and arms
hold all there is to know
about the beating
of the drum
of the heart
There Was A Night in Raleigh
Twinkling little lights
captured my attention
stars about the night
A celebration
clinking glasses
over charcuterie
I walked to the window
once formalities are done
I gaze downward
My eyes are drawn
to the thrift shop
on the corner
Bright lights spill
to the sidewalk
an elder struts his girth
Another day of gratitude
to make a scuff and repast
to take the flavors in
And we haven’t had dessert
but the man wrapped
in the blue blanket
sleeping on the bench
warmed to a cotton-filled dream
which was just enough to forget
the planets did not align
for him or his kind
Sprinkle, twinkle
make a fire in the barrel
warm the hearts
of humanity
Dessert is best served
to those who deserve
the sweetness
let him have mine
An Uncertain Life
he cuts through the night
with the sharpest knife he finds
from his busy mind
fast pacing his life
he stumbled over leaf piles
not noting the signs
waiting for the train
a kitten rubs against him
he shoos her away
coffee and bagel
riding the speed track subway
ready to get off
panhandler plays harp
he calls his job to check-in
stops dead in his tracks
what he heard is how
this day ends all his ventures
now he’s on his own
he sits on a bench
full of angst stares at his cell
not sure what to do
he stands up and looks
at all that surrounds him now
could he be the man
with harmonica
maybe the bagel schmear guy
how about those leaves
blowing, floating, gone
they’re no longer in his path
lost at the turning
~~~
Lisa Tomey is a poet, writer, & publisher from Raleigh, NC. She is an editor for Fine Lines and manager of the poetry circle of the Garden of Neuro Institute. Follow her on ProlificPulse.blog & ProlificPulse.com. Lisa was featured twice on The Short of It – May 2020 and October 2020. Her piece, Silence, featured in the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
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.
#TheShortofIt
Chanah Wizenberg
The Demise of Mr. Smith
He was an evil man, bullying, belligerent.
Then, he hit her.
On his phone coming down the stairs,
I screamed,
he startled and tumbled down,
landing in a grotesque arabesque.
I sniffed his nose, satisfied,
returned to my place in the sun,
purring, with my tail neatly tucked in.
Wake Up!
There is nothing like
loving pets
a dog and cat
both rescues
both quirky sweet
and comical
They are my alarm clock
punctual proud and prompt
they wake me each morning
Marmalade first
head butts and purring songs
pouncing on my back and
springing off again
Asha’s turn
her specialty
a wet willy
with that
cold nose
If that doesn’t work
nibbles to my neck
The Call and Response of Spring
The trees stand tall and proud
their branches dip and bend
with the wind’s gentle push
the Kelly-green leaves
sway and dance their
call and response
The squirrels chase each other
spiraling up and down the great oaks
and slim pines across the ground
and back up again chattering their
call and response
The birds glide and soar
and sweep around and past
each other until they take a
timeout on a branch high
or low to the ground singing their
call and response
Birthday Discovery
For twelve years
my birthday
was celebrated
on April 7th
And then
Searching for a vet record
I came upon my birth record
A truth was revealed
my birthday is
April 9th
Birthday, Oy
61 Oy, I don’t relate.
Feel like thirty-eight.
Looking in the mirror
I hear my father say,
“Who the hell is that?”
I contemplate,
who is that?
Salt and pepper hair,
double chin,
turkey neck,
Oy.
Don’t look!
Go for a swim instead.
Revel in the compliments.
Ambiguous Sunrise
Exhaustion permeates our beings
autopilot kicked in last Tuesday
or was it this Tuesday?
None of us know
it’s the holiday season
you know
the time of year chefs
bakers and candy makers
are in full steam production mode
the time when sunrise can be
sunset and sunset can be sunrise
the lights the same
the fatigues the same
Whether it’s sunrise or sunset
we’re on automatic
cranking out the croissant
Rolling out the pie dough
knotting up the bread dough
and shaping the marzipan
Circumference
Expanding circumferences abound
pandemic bellies world around
Baking bread loaves perfectly round
with mounds of butter
to wash it down
Circle back around
bound for seconds
even thirds
No wonder rounder bodies abound
Martini Heaven
Chilled glass
four parts gin
one part vermouth
extra olives
Ice cold and breezy
smooth and piney
notes of evergreen
And the olives
salty effervescence
It’s heaven
~~~
Chanah Wizenberg received her BA from Hunter College in English and Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in several magazines and anthologies. Chanah has been a professional ballerina, a pastry chef, and an English teacher. She resides in Raleigh, North Carolina with her dog, Asha, and her cat, Marmalade. This is Chanah’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,
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Duane L. Herrmann
MIRACLE FLAMES
Steady candle flames
did not dance
but bent horizontal
in unison,
then stood upright again,
then bent opposite
and stood again
with no wind
in closed room.
GRANPA’S HANDS
My Granpa’s hands
were always old
as I am now.
I watched him age
as I am now,
and now, too,
a grandfather
with wrinkled hands.
BIRTH WELCOME
Purple streaks across the sky,
oranges and reds,
set the autumn sun
over prairie grasses,
tan and yellow blowing,
waving under wind.
Any wonder why
I love this world
which welcomed me?
SCULPTURES OF A FORMER TIME
Tractors, mowers, rakes,
even manure spreaders,
find new homes
in retirement
by grandsons
of the farmers who
had worked them,
now resting
in the front yard!
PASSED LITTLE BRIDGE
Bridge by the side of the road
in the ditch
where road once was,
bridge remains
making the way
to small cemetery
new road goes around,
as I do too.
FINDING EARTH
We thought we
were going to the moon
but found the earth instead:
blue-white ball
suspended, alone and single
in expanse of empty space:
one home
for one mankind,
we are one together.
~~~
The work of Duane L. Herrmann has been published in print and online, in over a hundred journals, more than fifty anthologies, plus seven volumes of poetry, more chapbooks, a history, and a sci-fi novel; all despite a traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, and PTSD. Duane was first featured on June 19, 2020, and again on December 4, 2020. Some of his thoughts were also selected and published in The Sound of Brilliance.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
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Joe Wells
I’VE SAVED ENOUGH FOR SHADY PALMS
I’ve saved enough to go in Shady Palms,
assuming I die at the end of the week.
If I reach old age, or get dementia,
then I’m surely up shit creek.
I find it hard to understand the system,
which pays if it’s your leg that’s broke.
You pay though if it’s your head that’s ill,
and to me that’s not a joke.
I have no desire to go in Shady Palms,
to find I’m fading and walking toward the light.
I want to stay home, then one day on waking,
find I’ve gone and died in the night.
GINGER ROGERS, BACKWARDS AND IN HEELS
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
with Ginger Rogers made a pair.
Her fancy footwork always appeals,
amazing, as it’s backwards and in heels.
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
did tap with Ginger with such flair.
Moving fast as light with flashing feet,
man oh man dig that rhythm, dig that beat.
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
rehearsed for hours with no care,
No thought for Ginger her feet so sore,
taking off her shoes and the blood would pour.
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
hit the top in the floodlights glare.
Asked the secret of his success to explain,
he thought for a while then said, no pain no gain.
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
then Ginger’s thoughts did share.
My feet bleeding until dances he perfects,
I am proving women really are the stronger sex.
Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
with Ginger Rogers made a pair.
Her fancy footwork always appeals,
amazing, as it’s backwards and in heels.
JRR TOLKIEN AND THE NOBEL PRIZE
JRR Tolkien, author of great repute
was nominated for a Nobel Prize
by C S Lewis, a writer and his friend,
then suddenly came a surprise.
His Lord of the Rings books were rejected
the jury called them second rate,
poor storytelling was also cited
as the reason they met this fate.
I wonder if the author JRR Tolkien,
these comments cut him in half
but as a bestselling author,
he certainly had the last laugh.
WOKE IN THE UK
As an older fellow, I would like to reach out to the younger members of society in a vain attempt to retain my sanity going forward for there are certain expressions and phrases which are used by the youth of today which are causing me anxiety and are interfering with my mental health, some of which I have placed in bold type.
For example, starting a sentence with So punctuating it with Like talking with a Multicultural London accent emphasising any word ending with ility and now I find I’m having to contend with Woke.
I’m getting a little sick and tired of it all and would like to go back to English as a language and for modern Woke people to stop taking offence on behalf of others who are probably more capable of dealing with the situation themselves.
That’s the end of my minor rant for now but I am certain I have missed a multitude of things and will no doubt think of more going forward, sorry I mean in the future.
BACK BENCH MP’S
In Great Britain, we have numerous traditions and peculiar habits which I personally love, especially the ones that make no sense at all, an example being The House of Commons.
A person can stand for Parliament and when elected become a Minister of Parliament and assuming they continue their way up the greasy pole of Politics can become a Member of the Cabinet, an example of which is the Minister for the Cabinet Office, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, or slightly stranger the post of Minister Without Portfolio, which is a post for a Cabinet Minister with no specific responsibilities.
I’m sure all this makes perfect sense to all those of you who may not live in our rather wonderful country but just to throw a spanner into the works, should one of these Ministers cause a bit of a hoo-ha by having an affair and groping his secretary and breaking the current Covid restrictions he or she will lose their Ministerial position and be banished to the back benches of Parliament, this is rather like becoming one of the naughty children on a school trip who sits at the back of the bus and causes a commotion, although smoking is not permitted in the Chamber.
There you are, the British Parliament in a nutshell, I hope it all makes sense to you!
~~~
Joe is a retired actor, author, and blogger. thediaryofacountrybumpkin.com is an amusing take on the more quirky aspects of modern life. His books are available on Amazon, the latest of which is a murder mystery set in 1947 and is called The Case of the Grease Monkey’s Uncle. Joe was first featured on The Short of It on March 6, 2020, and then published in our first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
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A Visit From Charlotte
i must be getting more compassionate
when a visit from an itsy bitsy spider
doesn’t send me in a tailspin
and elicit a scream
it’s either that or i’m loosening up
this creepy-crawly fear of mine
well hello there, girl
move along in peace
I Write Her 