Goutam Dutta

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Indian summer 

Fallen leaves, yellowed.
Hot winds blast during the day.
Sweet Mangoes beckon.

Festival of Colours-Holi 

Hues of fire on trees.
Festival of hues on cheeks.
Pristine moonlit night.

Monsoon Hues-India 

Wet stray on road,
Searching for shelter from rain.
Thunderclaps exhort.

An entry in Lockdown Dairy 

Bare roads, sans human.
Nature sets up symphony,
With birds, bees and breeze.  

The beautiful Taj Mahal-India 

On Yamuna’s bank,
Love’s monument pristine white;
With the moonbeams vie.

Indian Winter nights 

Winter nights-
Sitting around a fire
Waiting for the morn.

A cough,
Cold air’s whiplash;
Invites sufferers’ curse.

Long nights
In a donated quilt.
A homeless prays in sleep.

~~~

Goutam is passionate about poetry and writes whenever something or someone touches his heart. He lives in Kolkata, India and writes poetry in English, Hindi and Bengali. His book on English poetry “Hues of Life” (Notion Press) can be found at Amazon. He can be reached at gdutta17@gmail.com. Goutam blogs at Straight from Heart.

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Wordle #478

Little Maddie could feel the sting on her skin, right below the bend of her arm. She cried so hard; it broke my heart as I watched her pull on the frilly lace of her sleeve. The wasp had pricked through on a recent scar—first, the trike accident, now this.

I scanned the list of numbers on the fridge and made the call to the doctor. He suggested a couple of tabs of Tylenol and to spread some anti-itch gel on the sting, making sure to remove the stinger first. Naturally, I managed to spill it all over my hands.

Akhila Siva

resilient

bougainvillea seeds,
resilient and wild; they’ve
mastered the alters

concealed

The beats of ocean
buried in a dew as feels of
blue sky in a cloud

imperative

Strong are the roots
which are in a relation
with impenetrable rocks

detached

That dew on the leaf;
there, just ’cause it has to
not there, since shaken off

~~~

Akhila is the founder and sole contributor of the two blogs – Words and Notion and
Quality Notion. She is a self motivated life long learner who loves to decode signs from the universe. She is the author of the General Knowledge book “Know them, One answer to many questions”. She tweets @wordsandnotion.

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Spiders And Challenges

Oh, look. A spider on the wall of my shower.
He doesn’t look scared of me. But maybe he’s petrified.
I wonder why he’s still staring, ballsy-like. Makes me think
it’s in his nature, survival above all else.

Got me to ponder further, about humans.
We probably react the same way – stay stuck in place or be primed for action.
Challenges to overcome are just opportunities to tackle life.
If we can, that is.

Now, I’m not a fan of the arachnoids,
so I think I’ll force a standoff as I already have the showerhead in hand.
Water should do the trick nicely, as I slowly begin to aim in its direction.
The spider propels towards the tub on its silken thread like a professional.

Not today, Mr. Spider! Not in my shower or anywhere!
A wave of water forces him down the drain.
Let the showering commence until the soap suds are gone.
Oh, look. The spider was tougher than I thought as I watch him climb up out of the drain.

Life’s like that sometimes.
Good thought as I head out to start my day.
Take no shit, keep going.
Thanks, Mr. Spider!

Monica St. Hillaire

CLASH OF THE SYMBOLS

Along nature park,
Ladybug roams Petunia;
Swallow perched on branch.

AMBIENCE

Courtyard stroll displays,
Tulips tucked as Jasmine bloom;
Cloud covers full moon.

KING’S VICTORY

Amidst forest road,
Cheetah concedes Lion’s lunge;
Carcass near tree stump.

WHAT LIES AHEAD

Midday at seaside,
Sail of ship roughened by waves;
Lightning strikes land.

PUREST MORNING

Gardenias petals;
Hold dewdrops moisture and heat –
Summer bees invade.

CIRCLE OF LIFE

Field of Daffodils;
Leaves wither on moth pupa –
Cardinal flies by.

~~~

This is Monica’s second feature on The Short of It. Passionate about writing, she is on a mission to make her mark in the world of wordsmiths. Her love for a challenge draws her to the unique poetry that is haiku; a field she hopes to eventually master. Her journey has only begun. You can read more of her work at Tiny Tots Poetry.

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Joan McNerney

Poet’s Note – These are all unstructured haiku.

Green new leaf
fits hand perfectly—the future
lies in your palm.

~~

Cool bright delicate.
Let me wear it around my neck,
this soft splash of rain.

~~

It is the white hour
between deep night and soft dawn.
Even the wren stares.

~~

Calculating….
a fish leaps to capture
bite of heaven.

~~

Today’s work is done.
The sun fell from the sky
for a bowl of stars.

~~

An outdoor concert.
Which is sweeter the flute
or bird song in woods?

~~~

Joan McNerney’s poetry is found in many literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Poet Warriors, Blueline, and Halcyon Days.  Four Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Spectrum Publications have accepted her work.  She has four Best of the Net nominations. 

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Marjorie Maddox

Duo of Dusk and Past

Always
the high notes crack
at the edge of sunset,
then slide past horizon into
never.

Never
into then. Past horizons slide
toward sunset. At the edge,
cracks sound high notes
always.

All Souls’ Day, 2018

Even now, awash in the world’s weeping,
Joyce, Richard, Rose,
they do not rise, but float,
bloated reminders of hope
Jerry, Cecil, David, drowned, drowning,
tense too often a matter of attention
to soul or soul-
full of what we’ve lost,
Bernice, Simon, Daniel,
the memory and the chanting
twinned tightly to whatever
belief we sing, whatever
Melvin, Irving, bodies we cradle
in the dark grave of corruptibility.
O slain cousins of ancient faith,
pray this day for us.

Not-so-hostile Takeover

All red-hot July,
            yellow bobs
                        in a sea of green
                                    until a blue breeze
                                                            and gray time
finally take aim,
            fire a whiff of wind
                        across wispy white seeds
                                    that parachute far and wide,
                                                            house to house, yard to yard
and all is gold,                             Gold,                                  GOLD!

The Day I’m Supposed to Read Poems on Blizzards a Blizzard Arrives

And it whirls me up into white—pages twirling
out and away, cold the stranger in the front row
I owe an ode to when all I have are ballads
on blizzards, like the one that uncovered
for my father a stranger’s still-pulsing pump
in a pile of wrecked cars, yes, that one,
plus other assorted disasters of the heart
and will, which—piled up these weather-
stricken days—did, I confess to sleet,
give me the survivor’s desire to not
careen down the blank highway
past ditches and near-misses
to read to an audience
of no one—everyone
else with a backbone
of sense/sensibility
hunkering down,
as I did after all,
here by my
electric fire
typing
ice.

A boy and a girl

hold my hands into the next decade,
their minute fingers tightening
by the second over the life-lines of my palms,
a Morse-code of blood tapping through the skin
we share, bodies clasped like chromosomes.
Our threesome two-step is together and apart,
similarly ticking our differences.
here will our feet and hands click us
on this new giant clock, calculating the years
with such loving and hostile precision? 

                        Snowboarding Live at the Olympics

               Lose the wheels and score with so-cool-you’re-cold,
       better-than-a skateboard, foot-sleds for snow that alley-oop
   through air with dare-you’s as slick as any acrobat’s triple flips,
          as tricky as a magician’s slight-of-wrist that’s now just
                  feet and hips jiving for that perfect winter 10.

~~~

Professor of English at Lock Haven University, Marjorie Maddox has published 11 collections of poetry, What She Was Saying (prose), 4 children’s/YA books, including Inside Out: Poems on Writing and Reading Poems with Insider Exercises; the anthology Common Wealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania (PSU Press), and Presence(assistant editor). www.marjoriemaddox.com

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