Tag: birds

Lisa Smith Nelson

Published on by Susi Bocks5 Comments
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Feathered Messenger

poised on the lamp post 
raven’s keen dark eyes stare down
harbinger of news 

Silent Muse 

the poet fails, sobs
words have left him, blank paper
laying on his desk
mock the once great man of verse
his muse no longer whispers

Benny 

my house panther snores
a big boy once, now wasted
spends last days with me 

Moon Music

sultry summer night
cicadas shrill serenade
nocturne in moonglow

~~~

Lisa lives in Southern Oregon, where she spends her time gardening, reading mysteries, playing with her dog, and writing poetry. She inherited her love of poetry from her parents, both published poets. You can find Lisa at theversesmith.blogspot.com This is Lisa’s first feature.

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Colleen S. Harris

Published on by Susi Bocks4 Comments
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Cinquain for Soldiers

We lay
prostrate, gore-cauled,
crying for our mothers.
And so we end as we begin, 
in blood.

A Tanka for Tragedy’s Aftermath

The sea drives itself 
to shore making promises 
it will take thousands
of years to keep, same as not 
keeping them at all.

Migration

Birds
fly
due south
for winter warmth
I get as far as 
Cabo before my heart thaws out.

Long Island Winter

Earth,
sky,
ocean
breezes
and toppling
waves making merry
in the chilled New York Atlantic 

Camarillo, California

Fire,
smoke, 
traffic,
evacuation. 
So little fits in a suitcase.

~~~

Colleen S. Harris holds an MFA from Spanding University. Her most recent poetry collections include The Light Becomes Us (Main Street Rag, 2025) and Toothache in the Bone (boats against the current, 2025). Her poems appear in Berkeley Poetry Review, The Louisville Review, Salvation South, among others. Follow at https://colleensharris.com. This is Colleen’s first feature with The Short of It.

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#TheShortofIt– Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance, Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations,
and Vol 3 Natures Discovered, all on Amazon

John Grey

Published on by Susi Bocks5 Comments
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WHIPPOORWILL

I hear 

a whippoorwill’s
bodiless
chirp

dusk’s 
inimitable mating call –

the bird world
opens a window

but doesn’t turn
a light on

DESERT MORNING

the sun of old
reveals an empty landscape

shines on every cliff-face
the prospect of heaven

steamrolls with light
the thick, hardened clay

wakes the stones
to another blind day

CROPS

black earth
can only bury
for so long
a seed’s
steel boldness

FIRE ON FIRST STREET

A house burns.
Throngs of flame 
overwhelm firemen’s hoses.
The family is safe,
look up in horror 
from the opposite side of the street.
In one collective searing raspberry,
a great red tongue
pokes and pffts 
through every window.

AFTER THE BREAKUP

like salmon 
swimming upstream

you too return
to your birthplace

flop on your old bed

and die a little

MEDALS

Survived a helicopter crash,
was shot three times
and badly wounded 
from a roadside bomb explosion,
of his chest full of medals,
his very favorite was his chest.

TAKE PLEASURE

Through my window,
I spy a sky worth waking to,
the blue of Dutch pottery,
and thin strips of cloud.

No tenements.
No factories.
No smoke-stacks.
No traffic.

Looking up
gets me out of the city.

POST-DIVORCE

the hands drifted apart

and the hearts
were now for everyone else

yet remained unwanted

in the lonely years to come

~~~

John Grey is an Australian poet, a US resident, and has recently published in New World Writing, River And South, and The Alembic. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters,” and “Between Two Fires,” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review, and Cantos. John has been with The Short of It since its very first feature, and received a Push Cart Nomination from TSI for his 2024 piece – Handoff.

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#TheShortofIt– Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance, Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations,
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Stuffed

Published on by Susi Bocks39 Comments
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Inspired by What do you see #328

front row to buffet
the berries are delicious
i’ve eaten too much

Glenis Moore

Published on by Susi Bocks8 Comments
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Edges 

Walking the field edge
birds rise up at my approach
dust motes on the wind

Snow flakes 

There’s snow in the air
fluttering faintly downwards
the white flakes glinting
like falling stars lost in space
until they land and just fade.

Threat

Squawking, fluttering furiously
the goldfinch battles his opponent,
stabbing wildly and savagely in vain
at his own reflection
in the window pane.

Waiting 

Sunlight
through spotted glass
throws misshapen shadows
into the forsaken room while
time waits. 

Differences

I notice her hands are bent, the fingers
sloping away from the index. However,
it does not prevent her from writing long letters.
I think of our time on Milford Sound,
the clouds watering the land, tears of joy in our eyes
and I ask her if she has mentioned that trip.
She looks up: “I just remember the rain”,
she says and simply carries on writing.

~~~

Glenis Moore is a poet who currently lives in the flatlands of the Fens just outside of Cambridge, UK, with her partner and three rescue cats. When she is not writing, she knits, cycles, and runs 10K races slowly. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Pond Life.

This is Moore’s first feature with The Short of It.

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#TheShortofIt – Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance, Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations,
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Pretty Birdie

Published on by Susi Bocks11 Comments
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Inspired by What do you see #319

nuthatch cutie pie
blue, grey, orange, black, and white
you make me smile so

Defiant

Published on by Susi Bocks21 Comments
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Nik – Unsplash.com

Inspired by What do you see #296

stand at attention!
both observing each other
my dude! just relax

Pink Flamingo Club

Published on by Susi Bocks18 Comments
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Inspired by What do you see #289

flamboyance gathers
feeds together in silence
solidarity

Mamacita

Published on by Susi Bocks8 Comments
Image Credit – Susi Bocks

huddling love and care
nature perpetuating
little mom protects

Jane Ayres

Published on by Susi Bocks7 Comments
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duet
 
your last breath
shifts
sheds skin
for oilslick
feathershine
finds sweet voice
with blackbird
becomes avian
 
dawn chorus
 
continuous
melody
glitters
mends
my broken heart
 
ascension
 
on the windowsill
your favourite robin
stands sentry
his beloved song
keeps company
a gift
the perfect soundtrack
as you diminish
finally slip from
this world &
take the next flight
 
the intricate rhythms of tiny birds
 
this morning
I opened a book
& a tiny bird flew out
 
although
his wings
seemed to
            	        grow
 
as he got closer
to the light
from my window
 
the unassuming sky
 	         soft colours
 	         & whispering angels
                                     	                          waiting 
 
the myth of the crimson kiss (love bites)
 
blood on the curtain
still warm to the touch
aren’t we all monsters
in our own way? 
 
Stitching Time
 
I put a seashell to my ear
& we walk softly. Sad, lost,
fallen things. Caustic strangers.
 
Melancholy (cryptic companion)
has tenacious shadowy roots &
I put a seashell to my ear,
 
watching, waiting. Lives
entangled. Entwined
fallen things, caustic strangers
 
knotted, tightly shackled. I
carry them in my heart & head &
I put a seashell to my ear
 
when we walk. I
remember moments, stillborn
fallen things. Caustic strangers
 
losing a loved one. We
reflect on all the others lost.
I put a seashell to my ear.
Fallen things, caustic. Strangers.
 
The algorithms of concealment
 
Rose knows
Rose knows but doesn’t care
Clare doesn’t care either
but then she doesn’t know
what Rose knows
 
Is keeping a secret     
the secret to
forged friendships?
 
flow
 
familiar drops
of blood
splash
 
into soapy water
pinking
greasy crockery
 
another nosebleed
relieves the
pressure

~~~

Jane Ayres has work in publications that include Magma, The North, and Lighthouse. In 2021, she was shortlisted for the Aesthetica Creative Writing Award, a winner of the Laurence Sterne Prize, and her first collection edible was published by Beir Bua Press (July 2022). Website: janeayreswriter.wordpress.com  Twitter: @workingwords50  https://www.youtube.com/@slowgallop451 Jane was first featured in 2022 and was nominated for the 2022 Pushcart Prize for her piece – remembering.

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