Heather Carr-Rowe

Stars in Our Eyes

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


          slivers of moonlight
shimmer between dancing leaves


moonlight masks


crystal blue

The Messenger

A mourning dove
visited me one day.
He did not coo,
much to my pleasure,
he bobbed his head
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,
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Ken Gierke


Well worn,
our path together,
though not

Our destination
nowhere near

the one we chose.
Where we parted,
all that remains

is a milestone
of what once was
our life together.

Reading Between the Lines


Fine lines, creases
Framing the lips
Corners of the eyes

Within those eyes
A gleam of enthusiasm
The dull shade of weariness

Regarding those lips
The glimmer of teeth
A solemn line of doubt


A gleam in the eyes
Taken for joy
Or is it anger?

Teeth shown in anger
Or is that a hint of laughter?
The lips might say

Or is it all weariness?
The answer lies in both
Behind the mask

Shorter Still

Far from brief, the time left
when viewed in the past.
A lifetime to shape a future,
with no end in sight.

Shorter now, it seems.
The slideshow of bygone images
little more than a time-lapse,
details fewer each day.

Shorter still, ahead.
The end on the horizon,
while goals slip beyond,
their time misspent, gone.

Beneath the Waves

Nearly whispering, I say,
“Every wave that ever passed over
this shell is held inside for you to hear.”

Eyes wide, you ask, “When I get bigger,
can I dive with you and hear the shells in the water?”
And so your thirst for knowledge was born.

Yours is now a world of numbers,
but you have known wizards and knights,
poetry and prose, music and art.

And, from time to time,
you still hear the waves
washing over that shell.

In the Dark

What transpires in a week? In a month?
You show a different face, revealing more, yet less.

There is a cloud hanging over you. Below,
around you. Are there secrets you would share

under different circumstances? The greater the light,
the less I know of you. Are you more open to another,

while I am left in the dark? You make no promise
I’ll see you this evening. We play this game,

you keeping your distance as I try to read you, each day
the window ever smaller, till you fade from sight, again.

Passing Madness

There’s a madness to it
this rush to color

From a blanket of green
to red

blazing orange

and, finally,
to brown

We are seasoned in this experience

And so we wait
for the return of green

Until, once again,
the madness of color
that marks the passing of the seasons

Path to Winter

golden leaves
warm light on cold day
honeyed tea

maple leaf
on path to winter
will not wait

fallen leaves
carried by river

bare branches
seen in fading light
shorter days

single leaf
clinging stubbornly
winter wind


Ken Gierke has been published in The Short of It, Vita Brevis Press, Silver Birch Press, and Amethyst Review, as well as in The Moons of Autumn from Word Weaving and easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles, from D Ellis Phelps.  His poetry blog: https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/ Ken also had pieces selected for the first anthology – 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.


Katey Sutherland

Bloomin Awake 

With each passing minute
I unfurl and greet the day.
I am here.
Blessings as I expose myself fully.
My open stature beckons examination
As the beauty within is revealed.

Loves Me/Loves Me Not 

Oh, ox-eye daisy! Tell me of fortune today!
With sorrow, I destroy your beauty revealing my fate.
Forgive me.
But I must know – does he love me?

In Netherlands 

From the buried bulbs
Appear dizzying rainbow fields
Happy recipient


Poetry and nature are the only things that make sense for Katey. This is Katey Sutherland’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.


Lisa Tomey

Memories Sweet Taste

Taste the memories
Harvests after sweat and spade
Earth has its own soul

This Thing About Trees

leaves tangle in her hair
from aging trees
roots locked
in shared vibrations

spring brings growth
rings stretch the girth
age is crowned with colors
changing in time

sangria scented lips
tease in her shade
youth finds folly
yet, the wisdom
of the sage

there is no way for youth
to escape the elder court
its shadows and arms
hold all there is to know
about the beating
of the drum
of the heart

There Was A Night in Raleigh

Twinkling little lights
captured my attention
stars about the night

A celebration
clinking glasses
over charcuterie

I walked to the window
once formalities are done
I gaze downward

My eyes are drawn
to the thrift shop
on the corner

Bright lights spill
to the sidewalk
an elder struts his girth

Another day of gratitude
to make a scuff and repast
to take the flavors in

And we haven’t had dessert
but the man wrapped
in the blue blanket
sleeping on the bench
warmed to a cotton-filled dream
which was just enough to forget
the planets did not align
for him or his kind

Sprinkle, twinkle
make a fire in the barrel
warm the hearts
of humanity

Dessert is best served
to those who deserve
the sweetness
let him have mine

An Uncertain Life

he cuts through the night
with the sharpest knife he finds
from his busy mind

fast pacing his life
he stumbled over leaf piles
not noting the signs

waiting for the train
a kitten rubs against him
he shoos her away

coffee and bagel
riding the speed track subway
ready to get off

panhandler plays harp
he calls his job to check-in
stops dead in his tracks

what he heard is how
this day ends all his ventures
now he’s on his own

he sits on a bench
full of angst stares at his cell
not sure what to do

he stands up and looks
at all that surrounds him now
could he be the man

with harmonica
maybe the bagel schmear guy
how about those leaves

blowing, floating, gone
they’re no longer in his path
lost at the turning


Lisa Tomey is a poet, writer, & publisher from Raleigh, NC. She is an editor for Fine Lines and manager of the poetry circle of the Garden of Neuro Institute. Follow her on ProlificPulse.blog & ProlificPulse.com. Lisa was featured twice on The Short of It – May 2020 and October 2020. Her piece, Silence, featured in the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.


Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
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Reblogs – Murray Robertson & Frank J. Tassone

Seasons change, nature matures, and life continues leaving behind memories for us to recall and reflections raising concern.

Colchicum by Murray Robertson

autumn, in our 
garden is still 
a lively place 
things change 
as the light 
begins to fail 
while now, 
honey bees, 
are back 
and colchicum 
suddenly comes up 
(we had forgotten)  
from distant fires 
imported smoke 
has come again 
fueled by  
dry things,  
by some who 
do not care. 
our world burns up 
they think it 
is their world. 
but i don’t care 
whose name 
is on their deed. 
(their smoke is ours) 

il mio villaggio by Frank J. Tassone

a maple-lined street leading 
to the mountains 
I still listen for echoes 
of our children playing

Scott Richmond


branches reaching up
wanting to touch the bright sun
roots keep them grounded


turquoise blue waters
soft white sandy shoreline
paradise surrounds


rebirth, then living
gracefully ending, then death
cyclical weather


slithery rubber
some safe, some totally not
coiled up beautiful 


colors of rainbow
multiple shapes, mostly round
such joy for noses


human companion
best friends until very end
part of family


Scott Richmond worked in IT for many years, then discovered haikus, and has since become addicted. He lives in Southern California. This is Scott’s first feature on The Short of It.


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Lorraine Lewis


You once held time
Under the willow tree
But now eternity bursts out


Broken songs shiver
In the winter’s cold waiting 
Soon the ice will melt


Bare now naked
Stark in winter’s beauty
In vulnerability point


On the ground a tear
Glistens bright in the darkness
Love living in grief 


Catching in hair
Wild and wanton fire burns
In ecstasy we cry as one


Last rose
I watch you die
As your incense rises
On scented wind you live again


My name is Lorraine Lewis. I have always written poetry but began to write more in earnest following having serious advanced blood cancer and going blind and becoming wheelchair-bound. I greatly enjoy experimenting with different forms of poetry, preferring shorter forms. 

Lorraine’s work was originally featured in 2020 – March 27 & December 18, and published in The Sound of Brilliance. This year, she was also featured on June 3.


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Amee Redden

Into the Sunrise of Albuquerque 

The brilliant mass ascension,
five hundred plus hot air and gas balloons,
billowing a multitude of colors and shapes
while gracefully lifting up to the morning sky,
and removing all the air from the spectator’s lungs
as they gaze upward in awe.
The sunrise smiled
and accepted the new friends.

Sharing a Meal with Strangers 

Chance encounters, the prelude to an enchanted evening.
Friends of friends, invitations warmly extended.
Festivities are dotted with good food, good people, and good drink.
A lifelong memory of the best of times with locals.

Going Down with the Sun 

I watch from afar as the brave sail off a high cliff jutting sharply on the coastline, aiming their course directly towards the crescent of the sun. They hang in the air seemingly for an eternity until dipping too close to the turbulence of the ocean waves demands a return to the land. They ride out the last cushion of air to safety, and jubilant cheers from friends.


Amee Redden started writing at a very young age, mostly stories from traveling with her family. Amee imagines she will one day retire in a place she has come across. This feature is her first on The Short of It.


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Duane L. Herrmann


The hills are alive
with coyote chorus
excited tipping
of the young’uns
rolling over prairies
on the winds
as full moon shines
her silvery glow.
This is their land too.


Clear cold days
to wake the face:
bright sun
with no warmth
of no mind
for comfort
as winter
freezes on.


All have red blood,
and pumping heart.
All cry in pain
or distress.
Though varieties,
life is united
in simple ways –
why can we not see
these unities?


Memories can change
be overlaid,
gain new meaning,
a friend they weren’t
but effort,
must be made.


Daddy said he loved us
with all his heart, and cried,
then said to face the wall – quiet!

Then he brought the little ones
and told them to stand too.

He went up the line
one head at a time…


I ran!


The sign warns:
“Clean floors
prevent accidents.”

Just as truly
it can advise and mean:

      and mean:

prevent clean floors.”
True too!


The work of Duane L. Herrmann has been published in print and online, in over a hundred journals, more than fifty anthologies, plus seven volumes of poetry, more chapbooks, a history, and a sci-fi novel; all despite a traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, and PTSD. Duane was first featured on June 19, 2020, and again on December 4, 2020. Some of his thoughts were also selected and published in The Sound of Brilliance. His latest feature was posted on June 24, 2022.


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.