Redux
I
can see
the better
life shining clear,
can almost taste it.
But it’s just out of reach.
Down again, gave in again
to the temptations of my sins.
Every so often I regret it.
Shame, guilt, anger, sickness, hunger for death.
Self-medication, self-flagellation;
It’s all I seem to know anymore.
The bruises of the bottle stain
my life a shade of dingy
and gray in this bright world.
Can I escape it?
I would like to
just get out
of this
hell.
Originally posted 4/7/2019 on I Write Her.
Redux
Time for bed, long day over.
her thoughts slow
tired
needs her bed now
slides under clean sheets
sighing now
her nerves easing up
last minute thoughts swirl
one more solution eeked out
returning to calm
tiny drips of rain
nature’s language speaks outside
lulling her to sleep
wind
wafting through
the open window
caresses her blonde hair
sweetly
But this woman named Bocks
mightily tossed and turned her locks.
Diligently tried to get settled,
to feel tucked in and nestled.
Shouldn’t have had whiskey on the rocks.
She
wishes
for a quick
turn into the
void.
It’s
slow to
happen though.
Turning, tossing
She asks “When will this sleep finally come?”
slowly
but surely, dear
your dreams are calling you
today becomes a memory
drifting
Finally, she sleeps!
Eyes fully closed and relaxed.
Slight snores can be heard
escaping from her moist lips.
Little tics move her fingers.
dreaming
floating on air
meeting her younger self
the mini-me says hi to her
hugs, kisses, joy, and fun to be had now
playing high in the clouds with glee
such a good time they had
with each other
dreaming
But
now it’s
time to go
back to the real
world again. So sad.
Wake up, says the alarm!
Time to get up for work now.
A new day to do it over
again, only to head back to this
bed once more to slumber very deeply.
Can you identify all the styles?
Originally published April 1, 2019, on I Write Her.
Redux
Oh,
please see
that you must
protect me now.
I’ve given so much
for your survival here.
Take care of me. It’s your turn.
Give to me what will sustain you.
I was beauty, strength, and nourishment.
Your treatment of me shows something ugly.
Originally posted November 14, 2018, on I Write Her.
Delicate leaf
delicate last leaf,
succumbs to strong gust of wind,
as a new leaf springs.
Spring Beauties
bees dance eagerly,
around vibrance of roses,
stashing up nectar,
cuckoo’s joyous song,
calls to open summer blooms,
melody’s rhythm.
Summer Relief
crows pause awhile to,
seek elixir of life, those,
endless summer days,
colours splash across,
as rainbow draws curtain to,
a much awaited spell,
orange flowers,
brighten up dull city roads,
long past summer days.
Winter’s round the corner
as lakes fill up, seek,
refuge from winter at home,
migratory birds,
brightest star takes break,
and darkness hurries to dawn,
know winter’s around,
remnants of fire,
warming up memories from,
a cold winter night.
An Emperor’s Penance
journeys into middle of an ice-filled
landscape, guards an egg, his very own,
freezing, battling unearthly climes,
in company of his men,
journey to fatherhood,
after lady lays,
she walks away,
he stays strong,
until,
she,
comes,
and takes,
chick back to,
sea, together,
without a morsel,
until then; he braves cold,
Antarctic climes for his young,
an emperor penguin’s penance,
like no other here – year after year,
cold environs cradle warmth of father.
~~~
Aishwarya a.k.a kittysverses loves writing poetry. Her poems have been published in Spillwords, Visual Verse, and Word Weaving Journal. She blogs at kittysverses@wordpress.com. This is Aishwarya’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,
click here for the submissions guidelines.
I feel you
In the breeze that blows
I feel thee, caressing me
Tender and gentle
The thing about death
Death
dealing
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
You
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
now
Butterfly
Flitting
bright, beautiful
speckled wings, deep blue; white tips
in the blink of an eye, flies
away
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.
Inspired by Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Bewitched
Come
into
my humble
abode, filled with
all that you may need.
Spells, potions, artifacts,
or do you prefer a séance?
Who is that special someone you’d
like bewitched and have under your spell?
My price, whatever you need, is $150 dollars.
Who
sorts out
the poet
giving a voice
to your unuttered
despair left in the wake?
I cannot run to you now.
We survived the end of our world,
unfortunately not each other.
Paths once united, just dust from our past.
This
is an
oddly strange,
crazy feeling.
How could I predict
what would happen to me
in the very next moments?
Am I losing my sanity?
It feels quite impossible to know
I am experiencing this again.
The
evening
hours are when
I begin to
plan some needed joy
for the next new morning.
A surprise breakfast perhaps?
A juicy love note tucked inside
my lover’s lunch tote filled with goodies?
He might not even want to go to work!
The
masses
deluded.
This criminal
has them enchanted.
Making him an idol.
They drank the kool-aid so fast,
pledging their allegiance and souls,
putting all others in harms way too.
Never seeing it would be our demise.
Only wonder women can save us now…
I Write Her 