Reblog – Elements by Isha Garg

It’s as if nature is speaking for us in this piece. Enjoy the imagery, revel in the emotions!


I don’t know what I’m doing or where I stand
before these waves on this forlorn strand
will the waters inundate me and make me flow
or the wind push me away with its aerial force?

Lost in this giant abyss and life’s unbearable heat
I long for the shade, the faraway streets
exhausted beyond endurance, suffered beyond suffering
lone, melancholy, a troubled, broken thing…

Water, carry me now, or Earth, swallow me whole
Fire, leave no traces behind, when to the Air, you let me go…

© Isha Garg

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Joe Wells


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.








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Living Small

Mostafa Meraji – Unsplash

while you are playing at living
she creates a life
bold realness
versus attempting a performance

sad, little man
fraudulent and disingenuous
while she’s real
you’re under a cover

to hide your petite emotional stature
your true nature
one which will never blossom
to magnificence

a waste of skin and body parts

Reblog – Haiku – ‘Looking at Himself’ – A poem by Goff James

Goff does a wonderful job of giving us a visual about aging but in addition, I could see the weariness of sorrow from a hard life in this piece. I can even see the face of a man who’s made really bad decisions in his life and now having to live with those truths. Well done!

Art, Photography and Poetry

Image and Poem Attribution © goffjamesart/photography/poetry

Click here to read more haiku poems by Goff James

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Goff James

Editor’s note: The following haiku and senryu are the very first pieces to be showcased here on The Short of It. I’m thrilled with the response so far and hope to publish these exclusive pieces frequently! For those interested, please keep them coming! And please do share the submission guidelines with individuals who you know enjoy writing micro-poetry or very concise stories and wish for some recognition of their work! Thanks!


Love’s Carousel

’Pon Love’s carousel
Life’s tragic symphonies played
Many broken hearts

As Wild Horses Run

As wild horses run
The blithe spirit in his soul
Sets him ever free


Searching for release
Unhinged in dreams’ dark madness
Finding no escape


Mem’ries bloodstained weep
Love’s lingering presence felt
Heartache’s scars unhealed


Goff James is a grumpy eccentric who, in the darkness of night, plays with words and tries to write poetry. His work displays an interest in that which can be seen and unseen, that which is heard and unheard and all those things that go unnoticed in between.

Traversing The Minefield


tumbling thoughts ricochet
in the gray matter
plinking to the next
in the series
of many bubbling up
one after the other
filling up the braincase
a headache soon to follow
exhaustion too
but there is no stopping
resolution required
the emergency du jour
needs attention
life doesn’t stop
because we’re weary
but it ends
when we give up
and give in
braving existence
requires strength
the reserve we lose
with each assault
and gain back ten-fold
with each victory
a deposit
for the next onslaught of life
slapping into us
being in it
means caution
steps boldly planted
hoping for outcomes
giving space to skip freely
in this one life