you made the happy days so much more fun you willingly provided comfort and a shoulder on the sad days your smile alone infused joy into the boring ones
now i can only…
wish for you on the happy days to make them even better
wish for you on the sad days so as to not weep silently and withdrawn
wish for you on the boring ones to not feel so alone
if only wishing worked…
because your love always wrapped me up in warmth and your joy was incredibly infectious you and your presence kept me sane
It can be said that all love starts like a star -atoms collide- stars in our eyes burn until gravitational pull puts our feet firmly on the ground -stars collapse- perhaps, not all love is like the death of a star
Dead Flowers Rise Again
from sadness, let spring rise from the darkness, sprout seeds from remembrance, that sunflowers shall shine once more
Beacon
slivers of moonlight shimmer between dancing leaves illuminating
Duplicitous
moonlight masks dark aspirations
Sky
crystal blue light everlasting
The Messenger
A mourning dove visited me one day. He did not coo, much to my pleasure, he bobbed his head all-knowing, walked about the garden as we once did.
~~~
Heather Carr-Rowe is an educator and tree lover living on the prairies. In her spare time, she loves to hike, weave, embroider, and write poetry inspired by nature. You can read more of Heather’s poetry at her blog,Sgeoil. This is her 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 only pretend to smell the roses when I kiss their petals with lips chapped by twenty years of thirst.
I never expected to live this long without you.
For the Bird who Smashed into my Window
All that remained airborne was a solitary feather on its final flight
Not understanding death drifting down
Galileo
Poets have been howling at the moon since before we invented language
Our ancestors gazed at the stars noticed five among thousands that wandered the skies like chariots
Astrologers and scientists tracked Jupiter as he marched along regularly retracing his steps at his most glorious
No one knew of his four escorts each brighter than the little dipper until Galileo pointed his telescope up — and revealed what had been hidden by the Jovian glare
And I mourn for the eons of reflected sunlight wasted on our puny human eyes
for Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto
A farmboy sees the ocean for the first time
I remember my first visit to The City, stepping onto a straight flat boulevard, shuddering at the endless street lights and buildings marching to the horizon.
I was afraid to cross traffic, be swept away by a river of iron, but trusted most drivers would stop if only to avoid insurance paperwork.
Now I stand on a beach and can’t see the other shore and the fear is different than it was among the works of men.
These waves are relentless, waxing and waning with their own logic, the guttural voice of the ocean propelled into the land, beckoning, compelling.
The fear is different here— The ocean does not care if I can swim and yet I step into the surf.
Liberation
Harder to jump my first boxcar than to leave my life behind no more cellphone leash no collar on my left ring finger no nine digit dog tag they’re all behind me now where the rails converge
But no more pleasant dreams beneath these naive stars the fear of being jumped the hunger of moldy food the cough that won’t go away
Freedom means detachment lost a tooth in the last fight lost a toe in the last cold snap lost my faith in mankind years ago though a Styrofoam of alms offered as though I were a monk reminds me we’re not all bad
Hope they won’t find my body that I’ll feed the earth that once fed me can’t stand the thought of being trapped in a box for all eternity
~~~
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit. www.bartbarkerpoet.com Bartholomew was initially featured in 2020 on The Short of It and had selected pieces in The Sound of Brilliance.
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.
Whether childhood trauma, devastating unexpected events, dysfunctional upbringing, or the daily grind wearing you down — rest, gather your inner strength, and begin anew. Continue on as who you were meant to be before life intervened.
They tell you to follow the sun as if night isn’t upon you as if the shadows aren’t real
but night is still upon you
The thing in your mouth, copper hush rage whispers silence screams until you sing your song of flames:
Let them come Oh, let them rage Let them find me in the shadows Let them say my name And quake
They tell you to let go as if you’ve unpacked your pain as if you’ve poured it into the earth
but hell still sits in a suitcase
The thing in your belly, it knows the magic lies in the coming apart in the middle of the wreck in your every season and every room it waits
Hurt is hard to feel but still the wound must speak and speak it does before you heal
They tell you to sit on the moon keep fishing dark skies for stars as if hope isn’t hanging by a thread of nostalgia as if you didn’t notice the rage behind the flowers before they were plucked from your garden
but his hands are still entangled in your hair
The thing in your center, it calls little by little in waves it comes
Pull up a chair, sorrow says out of body, slip you will rebuild yourself but first, rest
I live life now as my inner child She who lived in secret for so long Never allowed to come out and play Words tied to her tongue left unsaid Perceptions wrong every time Assumptions skewed Questions unasked Until finally freed Now her poetry tells the story of who I am now Unafraid and fearless Forever young
A big thanks to Joelcy Kay – Editor and Curator for accepting and publishing “Perpetual Pain” in the Edge of Humanity Magazine today! I really appreciate being showcased along with so much other amazing talent! THANK YOU!
the monumental woes sudden jolts to the psyche a shock of endless wounding ripples splintering into a cascade of emotions gigantic internal rifts open in us
flayed open in a jagged void
our mind, body and soul doing the symbiotic dance of intense unease putrid words heat up inside needing purged they force themselves up and out unintelligibly hot screamed tears flow down anguished cheeks
our reality forever changed
in time we hush our voice to gutteral moans the liquid from our eyes slows to a trickle the suffering seals us up within ourselves and the sadness clings to every fiber in our being arthritic pain felt everywhere there are no bones
How many of us have gone through this feeling of lost connections? Too many, I fear. When I first read this piece, it reminded me of a favorite song of mine – Lost on You by LP. It’s the same message – loss of a connection. Weronika echoed that song but compressed the sentiments into this exquisite short piece. Bravo!
In that moment I felt that there is a piece a piece of me which I’ve missed which cannot be found. By me by you by anybody. A piece that was lost many years ago amid desert’s sands of our relationship.
I Write Her 