Carolyn Crossley

Spirit

I am the fire spirit risen
from Aries, I have been riven,
on the birthday of Artemis
I was born of a stardust promise.

I am to be sought not bidden.
From in a dark place hidden.
On the cusp of the gloaming,
I may be found the hillsides roaming.

Passion

Summer nights, running through forests of love
Entwined like tree branches intimacy found.
Lips kiss as if greedily taking in water.
Bodies intermingled like vines, sought and received
Wrapped in each other’s arms, passion sated.

First Born

In the November snowfall.
Through the darkness of night. My courage in both hands.
The hours drifted by. The pain was numbed by gas and air.  Suddenly, you were there – belovéd firstborn.

Unequal

When one loves
more than the other
no good can
come of it.
The other cheats and tells lies
A divorce follows.

Estrangement

the saddest thing is
to be mourning the living,
our estranged children

Eternity

October sorrows
recalled memories – birth, death,
awaiting rebirth
our promised eternity
free from human pain at last!

~~~

Carolyn Crossley, ©🦊VixenOfVerse, is a poet and writer from the Northwest of England. Previously published in the first The Short Of It book – The Sound of Brilliance, she has also been published in the anthologies, Poetic Vision and Purrfect Poems. Carolyn has a thriving WordPress blog: Backfromdarknesstolight.com containing haiku, senryu, and other poetry forms. Carolyn’s first feature on The Short of It was on November 20, 2020, and featured again this year on 5/27/2022.

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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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Wounds

Redux

Revised from the original posted on I Write Her:

deep scars embedded in our psyche
we were marred by loved ones we should call traitors

we feel the need to hide the frayed nerve endings deep inside
the repeated shocks to our system and sensibilities can make us mute

but let’s not go quietly

our enemies expect silence from us
but we deserve better than remaining restrained

not screaming to the rafters calling out their crimes
buys them a better life than they are due

the one we were owed

be strong, be loud, and let your wounds heal

Beginning, Middle, End

by chance
life begins amongst strangers
a start of birthed possibilities
propelled without consent

entering this world
substantive expectations spur entities on
with an unconscious hope for empathy and guidance

yet living is a potluck
one possibly enjoyed
but for them
probably not

filled with variables beyond their control
with only but a few moments
bent favorably in their direction

too soon
the barely living
trudge towards the inevitable
a half-achieved existence for most

with regret
many pass
with tears
they leave in agony
their death
the unfortunate finish they’d not hoped for

Seeking Light

dysfunction, years in the making
substantive love denied
fuckery freely given
innocence betrayed

rough starts
and disastrous endings
inhaling the methane of my own shit
lungs never quite breathing freely

almost at the end
sinking the lowest
gave rise to aspiration
and just like that, there was hope

Behind Closed Doors

Victoria Strukovskaya – Unsplash

Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #81 &
VJ’s Weekly Challenge – What could you talk about for 30 minutes without preparation?

thick green creepers
a beautiful cover
on locked unit 28-5

the lush foliage slyly hides
the horrors
behind those doors

mutti wouldn’t approve
barring anyone entrance
revealing her shameful secrets

**VJ’s prompt – For those who are unaware of my dysfunctional relationship with my mother, Mutti would be the topic I could speak about without preparation for at least 30 minutes, if not a lifetime.

With Manic Efficiency

She takes the large dish in hand
rinsing it well before feeding it to the dishwasher,
noticing the stains in the sink.

With care and with rubber gloves,
she bleaches the darkness out of existence,
being careful not to inhale the fumes.

Next, all the messes, in every room
awaiting her professional touch,
laundry, toilets, floors and more.

It’s important to have it all in order,
she tells herself, a function of stability.
A calm exterior belies the mess inside.

She’s become the facilitator of happiness,
taking care of everyone else’s this and that
of expectations, a role of dependability.

What does it get her beyond the praise
left unspoken far too often
in the doing and undoing in the messes of others?

It’s been said “Cleanliness is next to godliness,”
also “Cleanliness becomes more important when godliness is unlikely,”
Nice sentiments. She just wants to be whole.

Too many times, she gave away too much of herself,
so that there’s nothing left, now that they have left her.
She’s running on repetition and it’s all that she knows.

Frozen

she was incapable
of doing what was right
wasn’t moved
to undo the damage her actions left behind

no remorse
no empathy
no compassion
no connection

narcissists can’t be what we need
nor do what we deserve
nor heal themselves enough
to give us a desired remedy

it’s like time stood still
in the formation of their soul
solid and impenetrable
never truly warming to us

What Is Left Behind

i ask myself bigger questions
as i near my end
trying to predict what will remain into eternity

will i leave a legacy of uniqueness
perhaps inciting social awareness
or just gracing this world with beauty

my hope is positive contributions linger on
being touchstones for future greats
through impact, influence, and inspiration

for i know my aspiration
shaping dysfunction into being unimpaired
has to mean something

The End Of Hope

only some children
can claim that life is easy
only some adults
have a life that is easy

for there are many whose dreams
shattered before their eyes
heartbreak and heartache
the sum of their existence

when what is spoken is not true
when deceit dominates
yet forgiveness is expected
escape to better living is excruciating