drinking – I Write Her

John Grey

Published on November 1, 2024May 15, 2024 by Susi Bocks4 Comments

THE POEM THAT SAYS SORRY

Dawn discovered me,
at the end of previous night,
down a slope by the side of the road,
double-crossed by thirst.

Stomach handcuffed,
gaze stupid,
accused by my conscience,
laughed at by the field sparrows –

I was man as nothing more than body,
swollen in some places, rubbed raw in others,
in the arms of a ditch,
when they could have been a woman’s.

What can I say?
I was restless. I was bored.
I shined myself up
and went looking for alcoholic favors.

But drink did me none.
Merely heavied my head like lead.
Lit up my chest with whiskey fire.
Beat up on my guts, barely let them live.

I’m sorry dear.
I should have been with you.
But you were in your dreams.
And I was true to life.

JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN’T KNOW

I am from a different
English language.

Even now, when I’m writing anew,
I’m confronted by old phrases.

The spelling, the pronunciations,
will always be here,
for imagination
is as much echo as creation.

My birthplace doesn’t betray me,
but it relies on my thoughts for survival.
And it speaks with an accent broad enough
to let in daylight from the other side of the world.

So pardon me my colour, my theatre,
the “sh” in my schedule.
my round red tom-ah-to,
and the petrol in my tank.

I may look like you
but my voice is from another place.

I do my best to disguise it,
but it’s like some people in this country.
Even to save itself,
it won’t wear a mask.

REACTION

If a gunman came down the road snarling
and pointed his revolver at your chest
and said to you, “Here, choose,
would you like it in the gut, the heart,
or the head
whichever is the quickest,
though it don’t bother me
one way or the other,”
would you stand there
and mutter something like,
“Go ahead and pull the trigger.”

A woman expresses her love
right there in your presence,
first with her eyes, then
with words themselves,
and you ought to be stunned
but you’ve always been
prepared for the situation,
so you take it all in,
then softly, deliberately,
whisper, “I love you too.”

In other words, the gunman
doesn’t realize you’re armed as well,
reach for your weapon,
shoot him in the chest.

No need to pick the woman
up off the floor.
She’s overjoyed.
That’s nowhere near dead.
The bang is silent
but deadly.

~~~

John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident, recently published in New World Writing, California Quarterly, and Lost Pilots. Latest books – Between Two Fires, Covert, and Memory Outside the Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, LaPresa, and Doubly Mad. John was first featured in 2020 and then again in 2022. You can click HERE to review them. Selected pieces of his work were published in The Short of It – Volume 1 – The Sound of Brilliance and Volume 2 – Reflections & Revelations. This is his second feature this year.

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Intrique

Published on June 13, 2023June 10, 2023 by Susi Bocks9 Comments

Redux

You
give me
just enough
to ask a few
more questions. Hey, are you married, my friend?

Chanah Wizenberg

Published on October 7, 2022May 6, 2022 by Susi Bocks6 Comments

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 7^th

And then
Searching for a vet record
I came upon my birth record

A truth was revealed
my birthday is
April 9^th

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.

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Jia-Li Yang (Cassa Bassa)

Published on September 2, 2022April 22, 2022 by Susi Bocks3 Comments

Wisdom

Older and wiser
Acting more silly

Unintended Strategy

She’s always his unrequited.
That’s how she won him over.

Love

I love you most
When you say very little
And do what’s needed
To keep me smiling

Cracked

I drink too much
Because I cannot bear
To see my sober self
In the mirror
It reminds me of
Every bit of
what’s wrong with me
The day you left

~~~

Jia-Li Yang (Cassa Bassa) works with disadvantaged people. She is constantly inspired by their resilience and strength. Her work has been published in the Australian Poetry Journal; The Poets Symphony, Creation and the Cosmos published by Raw Earth Ink.; Heart Beats published by Prolific Pulse. Her blog https://flickerofthoughts.com This is Yang’s first feature on The Short of It.

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Accidents

Published on June 27, 2022 by Susi Bocks4 Comments

Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #140

fun times organized
too much for some attending
waste of alcohol

Aged Well

Published on December 2, 2021 by Susi Bocks20 Comments

barrels of liquor in a basement — ***Eric Cook – Unsplash***

Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #210 – On entering a tunnel &
Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Notable

the hush and echo
bounces off peeling walls
as steps taken add more tones

on entering a tunnel
filled with the notable remnants of the past
an appreciative glance escapes my face

spirit-filled adventures await
challenging me for more exploration
and invested imbibing

beverage shaker with skull mug — ***Rinck Content Studio – Unsplash***

Joe Wells

Published on March 6, 2020May 28, 2020 by Susi Bocks4 Comments

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.