steady yourself now
self-respect and compassion
both so important
finding the perfect balance
it is not an easy task
Tag: tanka
Carolyn Crossley
Spirit
I am the fire spirit risen
from Aries, I have been riven,
on the birthday of Artemis
I was born of a stardust promise.
I am to be sought not bidden.
From in a dark place hidden.
On the cusp of the gloaming,
I may be found the hillsides roaming.
Passion
Summer nights, running through forests of love
Entwined like tree branches intimacy found.
Lips kiss as if greedily taking in water.
Bodies intermingled like vines, sought and received
Wrapped in each other’s arms, passion sated.
First Born
In the November snowfall.
Through the darkness of night. My courage in both hands.
The hours drifted by. The pain was numbed by gas and air. Suddenly, you were there – belovéd firstborn.
Unequal
When one loves
more than the other
no good can
come of it.
The other cheats and tells lies
A divorce follows.
Estrangement
the saddest thing is
to be mourning the living,
our estranged children
Eternity
October sorrows
recalled memories – birth, death,
awaiting rebirth
our promised eternity
free from human pain at last!
~~~
Carolyn Crossley, ©🦊VixenOfVerse, is a poet and writer from the Northwest of England. Previously published in the first The Short Of It book – The Sound of Brilliance, she has also been published in the anthologies, Poetic Vision and Purrfect Poems. Carolyn has a thriving WordPress blog: Backfromdarknesstolight.com containing haiku, senryu, and other poetry forms. Carolyn’s first feature on The Short of It was on November 20, 2020, and featured again this year on 5/27/2022.
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.
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Accidentally Poetic
on the streets
a molested teen
knocked up by dad real young
then kicked out while gay
will be caught loitering now
on the seedy side of town
sweet smellin’ weed
it takes me off mark
my weightlessness calms me down
in peace I float high
smoke permeating all pores
drifting away from life’s crust
polluted
cough inducing life
it chokes my throat hot and raw
exhaust and anger
fury hangs in the air thick
rage blows up, innocence pays
~~~
AP’s confession – the words just started pouring out one day. Totally shy in real life but enjoys bold poetry about life. This is Accidentally Poetic’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,
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Tremaine L. Loadholt
Pressure
she sits on the sea’s floor
shaped by the world
above it–changed forever.
the workers of ancient
tongues sift through
her words, chanting
their dismissals.
the pressure from centuries
ago labels her again
and again.
is this the chosen path
home or not?
The Brave Girl Knoweth Not
enchanting winds sway
over the clandestine clouds
she speaks of hard times
the chosen few laugh
behind her back, valleys shift
to the hills of life
brave girl knoweth not
of love or impending storms
she prepares for pain
Good Dog
good dog sleeps alone
savors the sunlight of morn
drifting into dreams
human loves her more each day
Mother Nature gifts them peace
Winter Knocks But Isn’t Allowed Entry
Temperatures tank throughout
the day, mimicking winter blues.
We shuffle along in life, wrapping
our bodies in extra clothing.
We are layered for bitter chill,
the calm of every storm spits
in our direction–we war
our way through the hell of it.
A long walk lends frostbite to
the limbs–we shake ourselves
into warmth–turn the thermostat
up, shoot fire into the bones.
Winter knocks. It is premature.
We howl at its presence–fangs
sharp enough to slice through
hardened flesh.
We are not ready. We are not ready.
Forgotten Words
We aren’t the warriors
of the past. We have
different methods–different ways,
but we still work words
the way the ancestors intended.
What we say can
be misconstrued, but what we
mean, never is.
~~~
A North Carolina writer, Tremaine L. Loadholt has been published in literary journals, anthologies, and magazines, and published three poetry books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, and A New Kind of Down. Her artistic expressions are at A Cornered Gurl and Medium. This is Tremaine’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.
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Staged
coiffed and proper suit
maintaining elegant stare
model’s condition
showing their worth in a pose
many volumes of questions
Freya Pickard
Abyss
shriek into the void
dark shadows shatter, dissolve
still empty inside
alone in abyss
my screams no longer echo
finally absorbed
a soul-touching croon
expands to vast crescendo
calls me back to life
Alive
clasped closely
– I do not wish to escape
held by darkness
– his cold embrace, a refuge
he lives
– because of my blood
I am not yet dead
– he needs me alive
Victim
docile, I submit
ecstasy, then sudden pain
give myself freely
moonlit muscles enfold me
metallic kisses drown me
you cannot live without me
I need you to sustain me
what have you woken
in the embers of my soul –
dark flame of your heart
Attitude
with an
attitude as
bad as my boots, I strut,
swagger and sneer – untouchable
bite me!
killing for sheer adrenaline
no emotion this side
of death; why should
I care?
Suicide
no one hears me
therefore I do not exist
pale ghost in shadow
I step out into sunlight
erupt in blaze of glory
~~~
Freya Pickard is the author of The Kaerling series, an epic fantasy. She writes mainly fantasy tales and creates poetry in order to rest the prose side of her brain. She finds her inspiration in the ocean, beautifully written books, and vinyl music (particularly heavy metal and rock). Freya was featured twice in The Short of It – May 2020 and October 2020. Her piece, Sailing, featured in the first anthology – was selected for the Pushcart Prize.
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.
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Reblog – The River Flows On
I do love the structure of this poem, really has you rolling along the river, so to speak! Enjoy the ride. 😉
the
river
flows
on
profound
streaks
crease
the
landscape
formed
with
time
in
mind
consciousness
a
constant
stream
the river flows eternal
Reblog – Tanka: Black & White Memory
This piece has me coming back again and again. I can find many sentiments expressed in this. How about you?
defy the long sleep
dark circles shadow your eyes
bear the weight of life
brutal ignorance becomes
a black and white memory
Undone
touseled, wildish hair
a sexy scent lingering
your beard unruly
please come back to bed, sweet man
fuck me, leave me disheveled
Pondering
calmly hanging on
solidly rooted on perch
the streaming winds call
give up this wonderful view
or remain, that’s the question
I Write Her 