Reblog – Wet Death by Murray Robertson

The visual that this piece evokes almost has you imagining the leaves beneath your feet. But there’s so much more there too. Lovely!

Murray Robertson (photography & poems)

   rain falls
on cold
dead things
      from a
certain grace

green leaves
   lose some
sets in,

brown leaves
so indistinct
      lay on 
      the cold 
wet earth

      We witness,
almost silent
   as we pass

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The Projector – Part 1

The Brighton Plaza Cinema 5/2/21 – Katherine

In the hushed theater, the lights were dimming, and the opening credits began to roll out. The movie’s familiar theme song filled the darkened room, setting the mood for what was to come. Katherine wiggled herself into a more comfortable position, looking forward to seeing a rerun of her favorite classic, “Love Story.” She was in a mood for tears, knowing this movie would get her there. Katherine felt a bit lost this last week. After being dumped by her recent love interest, the accompanying sadness and anger had built up. It was time to just let it all go. Isolating from her friends probably hadn’t been the best idea, but she felt stupid that she’d fallen for his spiel hook, line, and sinker. He was a con man, swindling her out of a lot of money. She was handling her emotions as best she could, considering how it all ended. This movie would be a cleanse for her. Katherine was sure of it.

With her big bucket of butter slathered popcorn, a Kit Kat bar for a break from the greasy saltiness, and a large drink to wash down all the indulgences, she was ready to indulge in the over-the-top romance of this film. The boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, girl gets a terminal illness, then boy loses girl saga wasn’t just any old romance tale, it was like the Gone with the Wind of love tales. Ali McGraw and Ryan O’Neal were so in sync in this movie. It was no wonder it became a box office hit of the time and had, to this day, remained one for the younger generations too. The chemistry between the lovebirds was perfect and so natural, like a match made in heaven. It really was a shame she died in the end, but that’s why Katherine was here; she needed a good cry. And cry she did, buckets full.

Katherine had to sit there for a moment once the lights came back up. Dabbing at her face with the unused napkins, she cleaned her tear-stained cheeks. Katherine was super careful not to smear her mascara, pushing very lightly around her eyes. She wondered if she looked puffy.

It seems she’d purchased the right amount of concessions; nothing was coming home with her. Movie theater popcorn usually got stale if she took it home, so she was glad she could toss the empty bucket along with her candy wrapper and soda cup into the trash bin on the way out. The straw crossed her mind as she walked towards the exit. Hopefully, it wouldn’t end up in the ocean or a turtle’s nose.

As she passed the rows of people, Katherine was curious why a few of them laughed, and others looked very serious. They must be some stone-cold individuals; he lost the love of his life, people! She just shook her head and kept walking.

Katherine did feel better. This movie was just what she needed today.



Mother’s death was unexpected, so sudden and bizarre. I found her will; she’d cut me out. Not surprisingly, though, my mother did err. She had forgotten to sign the will making it void. State law dictated that I, as her daughter, was the rightful heir after all. I understood my mom’s base instinct, a vile need to wound, having lived through her cruelty for many years. It didn’t come as a shock that even in death, she would attempt to shake me up a bit. Her intention, like the twang of a bass guitar, low and guttural, certainly resonated. Rude.

Inspired by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix


they say only angels live high above
circling freely above us
gazing down on humanity

i wonder how to rise to this place
where mere men couldn’t touch me
and only the ethereal embrace me

to be free from pain
to float only in comfort
perhaps wings would look good on me

Reblog – My Daily #Haiku (5/30/20) by Frank J. Tassone

This piece will forever bring me back to the tragic event and aftermath.

Frank J. Tassone

5/30/20: chaos

“I can’t breathe…”
after justice denied
burning cities

#haiku #senryu #micropoetry #poetry #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd

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It Doesn’t Care

Hal had me pondering a bit more about this recent piece


It still astounds me
how fast and unforgiving
fate’s hands can be.

How can a life be so
quickly and relentlessly taken…

Without any fucking remorse?

As life comes at us, it certainly does feel like it has no remorse. At times, it feels relentless in providing us one lash of the whip after the other, doesn’t it? Bit of a sadist, I’d also say. After reflection, my answer to the question posed in the piece is simply this…

Nature is an immortal and indiscriminate serial killer.

What do you think? And what does it take to keep on going?

Reblog – only this moment by Ken G.

Eternity, now, reality, life, death – this poem has you pondering it all! Exquisite!


only this moment
without beginning or end
within the circle

This senryū is my response to
Carpe Diem #1802 New Beginnings … without beginning,
with regard to death (and life).

Image source:
On his deathbed, Zen Monk Shinsui (1720-1769), when asked to write a death poem,
is said to have drawn this circle with an ink brush.

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Lorraine Lewis


In between the cracks
Love and eternity peep
Soothing the chaos


Soft words deceived  me
Until I saw through the mask
Now I see clearly


Leaves crunch beneath feet
As  stones cry out in anguish
All now is dying


Nature holds her own
Gulls are shrieking overhead
Echoing our pain  


Journeying in death
I had to let go of you
I travel alone


Heaving the earth threw
Its dark embers into play
Until shoots peeked through


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. Editor’s note – This is Lorraine’s second feature on The Short of It.


If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It, click here for the submissions guidelines.


Smitha Vishwanath

I feel you

In the breeze that blows
I feel thee, caressing me
Tender and gentle

The thing about death

is easy;
so I believed.
When you have seen it
behaving callously
taking remorselessly –
my mother at just fifty-two
a friend who barely crossed thirty-two
you were ninety when you died, yet I cried.

Lessons from my grandma

were a
strong woman
who spoke little
You said, “A woman’s voice must not be heard.”
“To be strong you do not have to be loud.”
is what you said
to me too
I think


bright, beautiful
speckled wings, deep blue; white tips
in the blink of an eye, flies

10 word story

You did not even say, ‘Goodbye,’ to me before leaving.


Smitha Vishwanath likes to call herself an accidental writer. Having worked for 20 years in banking she began writing through her blog in 2016. Her poetry has been published by SpillWords Press, Rebelle Society, Silverbirch Press, Borderless Journal among others. Her first book of poetry – Roads – A Journey with Verses was published in 2019.


If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It, click here for the submissions guidelines.