i must be getting more compassionate
when a visit from an itsy bitsy spider
doesn’t send me in a tailspin
and elicit a scream
it’s either that or i’m loosening up
this creepy-crawly fear of mine
well hello there, girl
move along in peace
Tag: nature
Joni Caggiano
Sadness Moans
shooting pain lurches like a stranger in the blackest night
where monsters live releasing their copies, swarming past, out of sight
jealousy walks on rugged stones stealing from the gifted
holding hands of small cactus plants until the desert sands are shifted
behind their peering eyes a Judas runs to throw a stone
whiffs of his betrayal, climbing to the top of the field, I hear his moan
trust a blanket, with a thousand promises, tickling me
deceit, painful rubbing of an alligator’s bony plates, I run to a forest tree
a stranger in this house of horrors, yet I have to live
stealing glances, taking chances, as I taste the bitter love I cannot give
Luna Moth and Her Lover
intense eyes open imaginary shutters
her green wings, the luna moth flutters
she mates once has no mouth, dies, lays eggs in wooded covers
would I give my life for one more night
knowing death would be my one last flight
with you, my darling, keeper, and lover of my heart, I just might
Rumor Damage
rumor is a spineless seed dipped in fertile shadow dirt
that multiplies and causes pain and unexpected hurt
silence, a bed partner that takes but never gives back
as a man tells a buddy how easy he got her in the sack
black spots jump off potatoes and out of a perfect dish
surviving boiling water and a blemish on an ideal wish
misfortune of a hammer that averted a four-inch nail
a hungry man begs for food and becomes a vulgar tail
her legs jump from flower to flower, hoping for a treat
for sleeping alone with her legs and scheming little feet
jealousy and deceit was the cause of their blue demise
scissors cut paper, and true words, well – their end is no surprise
Uncle’s House
memories grow roots that spring up like dandelions on a freshly mowed lawn
hiding among floating clouds, unwanted hands, or those thin leafless limbs
the taste of cigars on lips or the slimy feel of uncles’ probing thick tongue
he took me to church, like to watch me dance and listen when I sang hymns
lots of summer afternoons, I sat for hours while the birds sang songs to God
his lap was big, and it felt good to have someone to care what I liked to do
summer days remind me of candy, fishing, and rum bottles hiding everywhere
the smell of marigolds or that living room and wiggling to get away from you
Mermaid’s Lost Love
seaweed, green, like my eyes, harbor me in this woeful abyss
waning as my golden blueish scales morph into blackness
shadow life, and inquisitiveness died and bled the colors of the
Bolivian orange-red sunset, which calls to your land’s hummingbirds
as their darting ceased, when my only child died not far from your brown banks
caught in a mile-long fishnet with a dolphin, and sea turtle friends
a triangle of death as I watched her die slowly as I tore my fingers
trying to save my little mermaid child as my blue tears floated skyward
a mere full moon later my merman swam into a black pool of thickness
unable to swim, black death covering his scales, cocooned as he died a painful death
I visit a river that has ancient trees with long gray hair, our family knew
my sorrow theirs, for they would clap as we would sing our odes
large white stones for basking, close to flowers that smell of love, and hope
braiding the morning glories, red swamp hibiscus, and white gardenias
into black hair as reminders of the lifeless and those that will follow
our world under and above the sea is dying from white man’s greed
regret and sorrowfulness breaks my heart into pieces
soon cut into ribbons like the seaweed I will die from sorrow
for no longer do I wish to see the sunrise, no, not one more tomorrow
Old News Is Not Old News
whites of fearsome eyes looking up from blood-soaked boards
black bodies stretched naked, branded, and shackled to floors
fifty women drowning overboard that enslaver’s work quickly done
another coast, heavily greased black muscles, glimmer in the sun
2021 computers on – I listen while today’s news on a video rolls
spinning lies another bright young man died as this story unfolds
choked, gaged, sprayed, or flayed, old news nothing fresh today
sadness is killing me daily, as I think, what will their mothers say
another way of killing folks instead of hanging on a hoary oak tree
black people want to live their lives, be respected, and to be free
I am sick and tired, of being sick and tired, of the filthy shocking pace
of how white men keep eradicating people, not included in their race
~~~
Joni’s blog is Rum and Robots. Her national and international publications can be found here: https://the-inner-child.com/publications/. She is a surviving Adult Child of Alcoholics. Joni is a retired nurse and paralegal. Since the age of six, she has been writing songs and poetry. Joni is an avid environmental advocate. She was first featured on The Short of It in December 2020, and her work was published in the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.
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Goutam Dutta
Autumn
Season of fall
Few fallen leaves cling to us…
We carry the memories.
Lockdown during pandemic
Lockdown…
Hospital full of Corona patients
Empty local train.
Re-opening post 2nd wave
Post lockdown….
Swimming towards morning walkers
Fishes at the lake.
Twilight hues
Vibrant twilight hues…
The sky resplendent in pink
Conch shells herald dusk
Riding through country roads
Swathe of green and blue
Hues bordering the road…
Traveller’s delight.
Onset of Monsoon
Onset of monsoon…
Parched earth scans the horizon
Sweat oozes from pores.
Onset of monsoon…
Blotch of black at horizon
Dance of the peacock.
Onset of monsoon…
Dark clouds come floating with breeze
Fingers type a poem.
Onset of monsoon…
Hanging raindrops swing with breeze
Shades of grey all day.
~~~
Goutam is passionate about poetry and writes whenever something or someone touches his heart. His poetry finds space in a number of anthologies, including The Sound of Brilliance. Hues of Life (Notion Press) is another collection of his poetic works. Living in Kolkata, India, he can be reached at gdutta17@gmail.com Goutam was first featured in The Short of It on October 23, 2020.
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City Life
Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #227 & Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Dewdrops
hustle and bustle
their next stop on their minds
mindlessly plodding each next step
beware of collisions!
auto or man
the hectic encountered here
is nothing like dewdrops on blades of grass
remaining stationery
or slow and lazily falling wherever
Nature’s Lament
Inspired by Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Dusk & Reena’s Exploration Challenge #226
the fiery sky
begs me at dusk
come
see nature’s bounty
unburdening
each step i take
mires me to its message
relinquishing the day
i listen for the confessions of the dark
mother cries
her beauty is vanishing
her children the cause
Sylvia Simmons
Jazz
Jazz, voice music
swinging me smooth
giving me now
Words From a Dream
In the coolness of the day
when the evening sun goes down
There I will take my rest
when I hear the Robin sing
it’s the sign of Spring
My thoughts drift to you and
the love we knew
Love You
I love you more than words can say
I love you in a grand way
It’s beyond love, my passion for you
There is nothing I wouldn’t do to prove my love is true
~~~
Sylvia Simmons, a retired public affairs specialist, began writing poetry in her teenage years. As founder and president of SiHoWa Publishing, she authored Feelings Collection, three novels: Anything but Love, An Affair with a Stranger, and Beyond Love. And, A Cancer Survivor’s Journal – The Longest Day of My Life. This is Sylvia’s first feature on The Short of It.
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Marjorie Maddox
Double the Consonant, Shorten the Vowel
That’s what comes from majority rule:
the T’s stretching their crossbeams further
across better, G’s claiming they’re bigger,
L‘s lazily lounging with their political pull,
P‘s too dippy with twin happiness to notice
their former association with pain and poverty.
O O‘s and silent A‘s,
diminutive i’s, E‘s eager to please and acquiesce,
and, of course, the once ubiquitous U,
whoop, roar, hoot, scream, screech
above the clamor of consonants
already claiming house control of hubbub,
commotion, applause.
There Is a Rat in the Middle of Separate
not just his teeth, as pointed as before-test pencils,
but his entire seamy body gleams
with lasciviousness and longing for the lost
spelling bee, its airborne script
intercepted by the evolved, phonically
abused, and chomping pterodactyl,
who took the tiny sting like a man
sucking on sore taste buds,
and flew off to a museum to sulk.
The rat’s tail snaps out like nun-chucks,
reels in the red meat of the rational,
the tough but tenuous topic sentences tied together
just-so with brown-paper and transitions,
but no address,
“Undeliverable” stamped across the letters
before they’re tossed.
In this garbage can of sound and lost vowels,
there must be, the rat sneers,
bones worth chewing, homonyms half-digested,
picked over and passed on
by Spelling Checkers. And he digs deeper
into the pile of mismatched prefixes,
misspelled bannanna peals; he digs deeper
into the tunnels of proclaimed typos; he digs deeper
sniffing, sniffing, sniffing,
day-dreaming always of Limburger
accurately spelled.
I Take My Coffee with Two E’s
two F‘s and no artificial sweetener;
my sherbet, please (so low-fat), with an extra r;
my filet mignon with its g and n
tenderly underdone.
Ah vichyssoise à la Ritz,
bouillabaisse, asparagus vinaigrette,
salmon dipped and smoked;
Ah, Grand Marnier soufflés,
peppermint-chocolate mousse, why wait
for the weight of words
to ingest each letter
by letter? Such sweet
seasoning to the palate,
basted sound and roasted syllable.
Ah, Messieurs et Madames,
the delicacy, the delight,
the culinary delectableness of language
skillfully marinated, prepared,
and presented by that master
Webster.
A Double Helping of S, Please
Yes, I’ll take another s in my dessert,
another slice of strudel,
an extra sampling of strawberry shortcake,
a smidgen more of spritz, twin pecan tassies,
double cheesecake snack squares.
No thank you, please, not a single desert,
that dusty Sahara sandbox
where I crave scores of sibilations
to satisfy this persistent thirst
for all that’s sweet and sugary.
Earth Day: 2020
Hell, yes, open the window
and reel in some sanitized breeze,
some O-Say-Can-You-See-the-Sky
and Hey-Can-You-Feel-the Sea
(with each properly scrubbed toe)
but please don’t.
cough or sneeze your unhealthy
memories of bliss or shimmy up
too close to any trees six feet apart
and frost-bitten at their blooms
from last week’s blizzard.
Or don’t patriotically salute or
mourn Ma Nature’s
50th year celebration of today’s
Call to Action brought to you
in living color from the living room.
No, nothing’s dead yet except
excuses to not deep-clean
such continued devastation. Until then,
let Her breathe.
Then There’s That
A hand, a slap, a fist.
The morning dew, the question
“Who is the stranger with such fragile fingers
straightening today the ironed collar of your shirt?”
The bruise pooling beneath skin,
the skin taut across belly,
the faint heartbeat beneath
the scuttle of punctuated No’s.
And the exclamations of joy,
the em-dash of hope,
the comma of sigh typed expertly
at 120 words a minute
into the narrative of hand
protecting the other.
There’s that.
And the first glance and the last
blow, and the morning and the evening
of the broken bones, and the stitched-together
hellos and the swollen goodbyes, and the repeat
ritual bend, mend, pretend, upend, transcend, descend…
And then there’s that.
~~~
Professor of English at Lock Haven University, Marjorie Maddox has published 11 collections of poetry, the story collection What She Was Saying; 4 children’s/YA books, Common Wealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, and Presence (assistant editor). Begin with a Question and Heart Speaks Is Spoken For are forthcoming in 2021/22. www.marjoriemaddox.com Marjorie was first featured in The Short of it on September 4, 2020. She also had three pieces featured in The Sound of Brilliance.
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A Climb To The Top
Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #125
day of hiking ends
body aches, mind is free
nature’s therapy
Akhila Siva
Aureate waves
Dusky rays
dive into the depths of ocean
to strip off the chores of a day
Littered waves
flown in aureate color
wake up a star-studded sky
Woman
She is like a hurricane
never try to tame her waves
you will be blown away
But reach for her eyes
she will smile like a confetti
and let you dance in the core
To the mind
Dear mind,
I am never ever giving you up
for you are pouring indefinite closeness
I am never ever letting you go dull with time
for you are pressed deep within my heart
I will keep on writing for you
and make you bloom like a euphoric moon
as poetry is nothing but a POisEd TheRapY!
Fallen flowers
Petite petals of Bougainvillea,
wild, pink, and purple
adorning the silence of a season.
She feels everything, but not heavy
lying unappreciated on the ground
she embroiders a cobblestoned street.
You’re the beautiful wilderness on fire
My love quotes are all about a single person,
a clear crystal which is the Armour of my heart
He came as a flutter into my soul
and kissed my heart like an unending confetti
He holds my hands and pulls me closer to him
letting me crown his kingdom
His adventures brush my lush storms
intoxicating my hard and scrubby skin in his arms
And at the edge of every naked hot hug, he whispers
‘you’re the beautiful wilderness on fire’.
~~~
Akhila Siva is a plant-woman breathing poetries, a self-motivated lifelong learner decoding signs from the universe, and a blogger bleeding out all the intoxicated imperfections of her soul through her words. Her works have been featured in several online publications and anthologies. She is the founder and sole contributor of Words and Notion and Quality Notion. Akhila was first featured on The Short of It in 2020, published in The Sound of Brilliance in 2021, and showcased on I Write Her a few times too. You can find all the links HERE.
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It’s All VJ’s Fault ;)
Well, maybe. But more accurately, it’s my fault! lol But she did inspire me with her comment recently.
I read her piece Respite, I commented, and then she responded with “Thanks, Susi. Nature is a balm.” Of course, as sometimes happens, my brain went to an interesting place. And this meme is what came out of it. I truly could see Snoop Dogg saying this, BTW. Enjoy!
Oh, and if anyone knows him personally, please do share it with him. 🙂
I Write Her 