Timo Schmitz

No one can hurt you again

I feel you in my veins
One touch ahead,
Don’t get mad,
I protect you! 

Toxic or not?

We are never on the same level,
yet we need each other so much,
is it toxic or did we lose sense
– for compromises? 

I want to listen

I want to listen to you,
I want to get along with you,
I always wish you just the best,
I hope this connection forever it lasts,
yet we are strangers…

Becoming and Deceasing

Rain is dropping on my head,
whether happy, whether sad,
rain is light and has no mood,
life giving on the earth clued,
but coming together, destructive,
dropping all life abductive.

~~~

Timo Schmitz is a language fanatic, philosopher, journalist, poet, and book author from Germany, where he lives and studies. He authored poetry books in German, English, and French. His poetry was also featured in Luna’s Poetry Bar as well as I Write Her. This is Timo’s first feature on The Short of It.

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Tremaine L. Loadholt

Pressure  

she sits on the sea’s floor
shaped by the world
above it–changed forever.
the workers of ancient
tongues sift through
her words, chanting
their dismissals.
the pressure from centuries
ago labels her again
and again.
is this the chosen path
home or not?

The Brave Girl Knoweth Not  

enchanting winds sway
over the clandestine clouds
she speaks of hard times
the chosen few laugh
behind her back, valleys shift
to the hills of life
brave girl knoweth not
of love or impending storms
she prepares for pain

Good Dog  

good dog sleeps alone
savors the sunlight of morn
drifting into dreams
human loves her more each day
Mother Nature gifts them peace

Winter Knocks But Isn’t Allowed Entry

Temperatures tank throughout
the day, mimicking winter blues.
We shuffle along in life, wrapping
our bodies in extra clothing.
We are layered for bitter chill,
the calm of every storm spits
in our direction–we war
our way through the hell of it.
A long walk lends frostbite to
the limbs–we shake ourselves
into warmth–turn the thermostat
up, shoot fire into the bones.
Winter knocks. It is premature.
We howl at its presence–fangs
sharp enough to slice through
hardened flesh.
We are not ready. We are not ready.

Forgotten Words

We aren’t the warriors
of the past. We have
different methods–different ways,
but we still work words
the way the ancestors intended.
What we say can
be misconstrued, but what we
mean, never is.

~~~

A North Carolina writer, Tremaine L. Loadholt has been published in literary journals, anthologies, and magazines, and published three poetry books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, and A New Kind of Down. Her artistic expressions are at A Cornered Gurl and Medium. This is Tremaine’s first feature on The Short of It.

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In The Air

Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #234 & Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Morning Fog

like the morning fog rolling in
this space between us
dampens the tonal quality of expression

what once was a volume-filled environment
has become silence weighted down
conversation consists of minor and
inconsequential snippets of banal noise

i yearn for spontaneous outbursts
thoughtful and articulated utterances
to spark a signal of trust again

make this isolation go away
make the air around us breathable again
communicate depth and some meaning
into this lackluster connection

No Pants

Inspired by Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Guiding Light & Reena’s Exploration Challenge #230

in today’s world of text messages and emails
confusion over interpretation mounts
face time, video chats, and zoom meetings
brings us together live
to determine intent and desired goals
our guiding light is honesty, openness, and cooperation
to achieve desired outcomes

well, mostly…

Disclosure

thoughts left aside
words deliverable
yet unspoken
become
all that
which is unknowable
connection remaining unattainable
when understanding remains hazy
in my purview

Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #215 – Unknowable & Unexplainable &
Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Hazy

Reblogs – Laura Denise & Timo Schmitz

So often we neglect to share our feelings or open our hearts to opportunities the truth can be spoken. Fear, perhaps? The insecurities or thoughts of rejection we may experience seem to guide us. But as Sarah Bareilles’s song Brave spells out quite nicely – “Let the words fall out.” May they not only remain bound in a journal. Do open up, do share your thoughts, and be amazed at what you can learn, experience, and feel!

Footprints & Silhouettes by Laura Denise

So many silent, untold stories 
in yesterday’s leftover footprints, 
in this morning’s sunrise-silhouetted 
figures in the distance. 

I am a people watcher, 
always curious about 
human nature, 
collectively and within each 
individual character. 

When the stage lights are unlit 
and the microphone off, 
I wonder about each’s 
private feelings and thoughts. 

We are not actors 
on life’s stage; 
we are each keepers 
of our own private plays, 

longing to be brave enough 
to raise the curtain, so you 
may get but a glimpse 
of a scene of what we’ve 
been going through. 

So many footprints and silhouettes 
crossing paths, 
so little we know of the bodies’ souls 
leaving the tracks. 

What lies inside the impression, 
what lies within the shadow, 
those are the mysteries 
I continuously wonder about. 

Which footprint seeped love, 
which footprint seeped grief, 
which figure is weeping, 
which figure rekindling dreams? 

Hearts upon sleeves 
are taken up by the wind, 
feelings in chests 
locked and buried again. 

So many untold stories, 
so many opportunities passed, 
to initiate conversation with another 
and simply ask. 

[Thought] You Were Gone by Timo Schmitz

Today when I saw you leaving, 
I knew, I will never see you again. 
It’s too late, I never dared to talk to you, 
We will remain strangers. Forever. 
No path crossing, you will never know me. 
And I know nothing about you, 
But I will never forget you. 
Never. 

Reblogs – Marisela Brazfield & Punam

Life is hard, relationships too. The reality is both take work, determination, and effort. And boy, is it exhausting.

whole of a part by mbrazfieldm

the rain has stopped and the sidewalks smell like dog piss and dying roses but i like the fragrance of my clove cigarette the stop lights change every two minutes nothing strange i can’t place my emotions today i feel pressured to rub elbows with the crowd across the street but i can’t i don’t feel well my body pains me and i want to cry taking a few steps away from the Tropical i breath in deep a few yards away is a pile of rubbish the bright colors make it look magical and comforting looking at the clock across the street it’s time for group and terror grips me around my ankles and chest again again again my head fills up inside with doubt and shame like a sinking vessel i try to be brave my hands shake and i grind my teeth nostrils flare and i anger myself enough to rip my feet out of their coma and move walking up the stairs i want to vomit but i trudge on through asphyxiating terror and tears welling up in my eyes i give up and i walk back down i run for a while and stop under the bridge and the rain begins and the sidewalks smell like earth and the stray dogs smell my fear and alert their masters they look on and drink from a bottle i plop on the curb and cry again confused and in pain 

you can keep me by Poetpas

you can keep me 
forever 
in your imagination 
but reality 
requires a tad more 
moderation 

Reblogs – Reena Saxena & Beth Haley

Silence in relationships, like anything else, can have positive or negative effects. May those moments you experience be more uplifting than detrimental.

Forgiveness by Reena Saxena

How do I put behind  
bleakness  
that darkens the way forward?  

How do I forget  
the cross   
I’m condemned to bear?  

How do I get you  
out of my system  
venom that flows in my blood?  

How do I speak  
words of forgiveness  
In the graveyard silence of life? 

Today’s Shot 273 by Beth Haley

The woods in November colors

Step away with me    
Quiet souls probe the silence    
Emptiness, refilled