thought after thought
shaped delicately in my mind
needs to be freed
and so begins the written
short and sweet
or long and detailed
the words drip off the end of my fingertips
as the waves of narrative escape my body
hitting the page with a purpose
the jumbled tumbles forth
as the incoherent becomes understood
and finally, the significance is shared
TORMENTED
Boisterous ocean has one voice suppressed
Darkness encompasses dreary hollow
Podium destroyed where she once professed
Daisies wither with fallen leaves of grey
Synchronization of gloom will follow
Bewildered sun fights to save battered ray
No melody to fly in ascension
Grappled moment mere taste to not swallow
Plethora of scars too much to mention
Blurry moon forever shape of crescent
Gnarled road condemns maze one can borrow
Ruinous whirlwind wrecks past and present
Comfort dissipated by harsh wayside
Sadness dominion coercing wallow
In cheerful robin compelled to confide
Yearn for freedom as carefree apollo
Pensiveness always permit such sorrow
Boisterous ocean has one voice suppressed
Podium destroyed where she once professed
EVENING HOUR
caged bird chirps aloud
ember sunset fades away
warm red hibiscus
BYGONES
memory flashes
touch of worn kitchen table
tears begin to stream
AFTERGLOW
cherry tree dampness
streak of raindrop upon rock
distant croak echoes
LOST ANCHOR
Erroneous are my deepest thoughts,
Thinking forever and a day belongs to me.
Serendipity just a corner away,
And a brilliant moon will brighten the night sky,
In its exclusive fashion,
Because of my inner and undying love.
A desire that eagerly burns,
Within the walls of my soul.
Am I blinded by my memories?
Calculated scenarios that engulf my mind?
Carousel thoughts circulate inside my head.
I ponder occasionally,
Try to make stern sense.
If not anything else,
To know if I’m in an intricate realm,
Unaware to comprehend any distinction,
Between fact and fiction,
Between truth and falsity.
In the mouth of madness,
Winding road of uncertainty,
With chapters yet still unwritten
The journey continues…
~~~
Monica St Hillaire considers herself to be a “warrior of words.“ Writer of poetry and lover of free verse and haiku, she aspires to one day publish books of poems and short stories. Her first feature was in 2020. You can find her previous features HERE.
If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submission guidelines.
#TheShortofIt – Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance and Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations on Amazon
preoccupied while driving long distances
or being kept up at night
faking attention while allegedly fixed
on conversations at lunch
always hidden in my skull
constantly sorting out the information
or reevaluating what’s tucked away
in all the brain drawers
thoughts about the annoyingly plangent
to the mundane and everything in between
the barrage of endless mental whirring
holds me prisoner
torturingly so
while i ache for peace
from these mental gymnastics
Inspired by Ivor Stevens – he mentioned “words don’t grow on trees” during the book launch of Cadence, and I beg to differ! Thank you for providing the inspiration for this piece!
we think, we write, and we edit our thoughts
words don’t grow on trees, he said
but they do end up on them, i thought
the process is an arduous one
yet so worthy is the endeavor
to transplant something visceral felt
unto pages we can all hold and savor
Sounds of Autumn
The sough of the breeze in the trees.
The crunch of leaves underfoot.
The tap of acorns dropping.
The call of geese overhead.
The bluejays cry, snatching a peanut.
The chaos of crows counseling.
The splashing of water over rocks.
The song of raindrops on puddles.
The buzzing of the bees farewell.
The luffing of a sail.
The snap of a halyard.
The silence of a sunrise.
Water’s Edge
At the water’s edge
constant change
ebb and flow
ripples here, satin-smooth there
sparkle of dancing sunbeams
dulled to flatness by clouds
When the angle of the sun permits
reflective light sways across the walls
and ceiling, hanging sun catchers add color,
it all but dazzles the eye
Day dropped slowly into gloaming
silent at night but for the snap of halyards
morning comes and there she stands
shrouded in the mist, Mother Nature
in all her glory
Raw Beauty
Just there is a skeleton of a tree
stripped bare and gawking
anxious to escape, fearing
it doesn’t belong there
Surrounded by frilly green
to be so exposed feels raw
your boldness spoke to me
no hiding years decay
Gone from strength to fragility
life, too soon fades.
My Little Window on Waterfowl
So many males
So few females
Posing, posturing
Diving, dozing
Choosing, chasing
Paired and partnered off
Followed by knights in waiting
They speed up the chase, circling
Chests popping, heads bobbing, wings flapping
Performance repeated seasonally
Audience…….ignored.
Dream Walk
I am a poem
A flower that never fades
I wake and wander into the garden
To seek a scented poem
A crimson rose
At the still point of opening
Seen through a vapor
Of morning mist
In awe, prose denied
Not beautiful, but beauty itself
~~~
Christine Hickey is inspired by living on the edge of a creek that empties into the Chesapeake Bay. Christine is involved in Poetry and Creative Writing workshops. Her words have been published in the Bay Weekly and the Maryland Bards Poetry Review 2023. Her poems and art have been exhibited in Maryland galleries in the past year. This is Christine’s first feature with The Short of It.
If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submission guidelines.
#TheShortofIt – Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance and Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations on Amazon
the greatest phrontistery
a warm comfortable bed
with pillows separating
and cushioning all body parts
being horizontal as novel ideas swirl
amidst rapid random thoughts
the natural light grazes the curtains
helping to evoke the next great plans
time passes
yet stands still
as invisible lines connect
one thought to the next
daydreams become reality
maybe
a myriad of segments
populate my days
obscured truths
wanting to be seen
obvious joys
wanting to be felt
unexpected pain
wanting to injure
surprising developments
wanting to stoke the imagination
inner perspectives haunting me
wanting to hold me back
potential opportunities for growth
wanting to land (and stick)
a daily bombardment of thoughts
populate my ways
Inspired by Reena’s Xploration Challenge #285 & Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Amused
my thoughts
just like my dreams
disturbing
day and night dreaming
leaves me waking in sweat
shaking it off with a smile
i don’t know
whether to be amused or afraid
my mind’s productions mystify
reworking a piece
epiphany, must edit now
striving for perfect
what would life look like
to think purposefully
not intrusively
being bombed by 50k thoughts
all of the time
unwelcome thoughts derailing my mind
everyday
unknown
never experienced before
sleeping is the closest i’ll come
and even then
i’m unaware
as to what that peace feels like
maybe this is why i write
hoping the words fall out
instead of staying in my head
the chaos of thoughts
becoming organized on paper
I Write Her 