Reblogs – VJ Knutson & Anonymously Hal

Maybe sometimes we need peace and rest, other times, maybe we just try to be there for one another?

Maybe by VJ Knutson

Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
I willed a horizontal shift; landed with intent.

Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success-driven persona.

Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.

Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts – a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.

Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.

Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge,
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.

Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment: hard-fought peace.

Taste by Anonymously Hal

You let your tears
patter gently
onto my face like rain…

And then I could
taste the saltiness
of all your sorrow
and your pain.

Franca Basta

Peonies

The peonies blush,
gossiping and basking in
sun-kissed harmony.

Watermelons

Still
evenings.
Juicy fruit.
Slices passed round,
Each pip a story.
I listen in wonder.
Laughter, disbelief, shivers.
Friends gather in an inclusive
circle. Ice clinks in enamel jugs.
Slices of fruit, slices of times gone by.

Expectations

Yes!
Love it!
Thanks a lot!
What I wanted!
I walk out of the hairdressers and cry.

You know me too well

Who are you? Reading my private thoughts and
looking deep inside of me.
Who are you? Oh. It’s me.

*TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABUSE*

Innocence dies

Please stop.
Forget my room.
I don’t like your smell or
voice or skin or words or shape. Please
let me dream about fairies and chocolate.
I want my mummy’s arms.
Not yours. Not yours.
Please stop.

~~~

Franca has an English tongue and Italian gesticulation. She’s been featured in various flash fiction anthologies and creative writing sites but felt the need to turn her hand to poetry. She loves to write with humour but sometimes the dark side of life comes to the fore. Pasta and chocolate always help. This is Franca’s first feature on The Short of It.

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Taking It All In

pxhere.com

at just the right moment
breathing in deeply
just slightly past full capacity
breathing out with purpose
expels my demons as relaxation fills every ache

stepping reverently on a wooded path
smiling as the sun trickles in between the leaves
bird noises and bug rustles follow my trek
breathing in nature’s clean scent
breathing out the tension of the day

watching my child’s eyes brighten
seeing the discovery take place in his mind
such a joy to behold this sweetness
breathing in hope for his future
breathing out satisfaction as a parent

peace, connection and boundless love
in those moments of sheer perfection
reflection upon them gives me peace
knowing i’ll be taking them with me
when old age gives me less and less of them

Enervated

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pxhere.com

this need for silence
where solace is found
oft leads to introspection
and homeostasis

a select few
can pass the walls
which protect
the emerging strength

when charged and available again
the world a playground
selecting longevity
in a world designed to ambush

but when it’s all too much
i’ll retreat again
to the cocoon
of my salvation