Featuring โ€“ The Sound of Brilliance by Susi Bocks (Author)

Introducing the first anthology produced by The Short of It. This anthology features the brilliant work of 41 poets and writers. The pieces within these pages are the best of those submitted and showcased on The Short of It online magazine. The Short of It is the brainchild of none other than our fellow blogger, [โ€ฆ]

Featuring โ€“ The Sound of Brilliance by Susi Bocks (Author)

She waits for us

mbrazfieldm's avatarwords less spoken

no answer is also an answer

๐Ÿฆ… Hopi Proverb

to stare into the blank horizon

it lacks the pastel colors mother used to love

we the silent types proud and self assured cowards or lost fools

makes very little difference

to tighten my jaw as you purse your lips we know what we are thinking

we have no answer for what is happening to us

all we are not willing to admit that She is critical because of our silence

are we prepared for what comes this way as Her pulse tires and slows

the silence without bird songs is the vilest way to perish

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blue steel

iโ€™m feelinโ€™ like a blue steel gun

with my fine determined sharp lines

my edges separate the somethinโ€™ from the nothinโ€™

and the come-hither handlinโ€™ parts

sleek momma eye candy deluxe

making genitalia of all denomination shape and size

feel like a super daddy fuckinโ€™ stud

iโ€™m feeling like a blue steel gun

caught between your palm and thumb

a dialysis rig for your bad juice blood

my nuts bolts springs and inner workinโ€™s

the physics and reasons in me aching

of no interest to you your heart or your mind

iโ€™m feelinโ€™ like a blue steel gun

remember in that case where you found me

promises dowries certificated truths

stroking of the barrels looking into soot

my trigger and your raging accusinโ€™ fingers

you offered as my wedding band

iโ€™m feelinโ€™ like a blue steel gun

cast out after years of deeds gone wrong

silent spitting fire of your tongue

looking out my windaโ€™ late at night

wonderinโ€™ why you are the way you are

we chameleons tempering our feelinโ€™s

showcased on a devilโ€™s iron eye

cus weโ€™re both rusted raw on the inside

reason

home slightly gray moonย shadows of the catsjeweled eyes aglowscent of orange by couchi hesitate and sigh quietlyย like when i pretended to prayday long hard patches of humanity where tiny flowers growred like blood warmย like thunder roarsย when in your arms i wasbefore waking from that stagnant dreambland counter kitchen cleanย black red Japanese bowlholding my spaghettioswarm shower awaitsย ssssshhhhhhheeeeeeeit complainsย coconut patoulli soupย loofah scrub north to souththe sin is rinsed awayย beloved side of bedmy body you will takeinto uneasy rest

i want to rip my hair out

iโ€™ve seen multiple coroners tents these few weeks white tiny like a fortune tellerโ€™s but there are no chances no predictions no suspicions just finality iโ€™ve not felt myself murder being televised 5G capitalized on deathโ€™s dealings my smile and gentle nature up on stage demands the talent and strength of an opera singer the gall of most world viewed presidents laying down or standing still mind woodchips all of my plans palms to the sky warm sun light reminds me that there is a God iโ€™ve seen the death of my father dressed in blue he brought down by what he held up all of his life iโ€™ve seen the death of my mother and the sting of unfamiliarity that divided us i alien child no umbilical cord on my feet walking slightly off smell of medicinal debauchery from last night peppers the air snippets sensationalized wishing shards of words empty whirling eddies of promise obscure delicacy is what i want when i want to be alone middle age was always middle age at any point in time imbibed in the yolks of many situations took on the foil as well as the queen as well as the beggar as well as a fiend feeding rats in the alley in the middle of the day with words that mean nothing but carry weight just the same iโ€™ve seen too many coroners tents bottom line no one gives a fuck is the appropriate cause of death on the only certificate some of us will get privilege tells me to take some time trim my cherry tree smell the air inventory what i have and be grateful count the finches outside fighting on the bush that has a doctor and expensive fertilizer i want to tear my hair out at times rage knock over bureaucratic tables like Christ in Jerusalem