#shortpoemSunday
Maggie
There was a small maiden named Maggie
whose dog was enormous and shaggy;
the front end of him
looked vicious and grim -
but the tail end was friendly and waggy.
Anonymous.
Isn't that wonderful on a wet, miserable day?
Maggie
There was a small maiden named Maggie
whose dog was enormous and shaggy;
the front end of him
looked vicious and grim -
but the tail end was friendly and waggy.
Anonymous.
Isn't that wonderful on a wet, miserable day?
January 25, 2026 at 1:16 PM
#shortpoemSunday
Maggie
There was a small maiden named Maggie
whose dog was enormous and shaggy;
the front end of him
looked vicious and grim -
but the tail end was friendly and waggy.
Anonymous.
Isn't that wonderful on a wet, miserable day?
Maggie
There was a small maiden named Maggie
whose dog was enormous and shaggy;
the front end of him
looked vicious and grim -
but the tail end was friendly and waggy.
Anonymous.
Isn't that wonderful on a wet, miserable day?
transcendental poetry from Miłosz of course #shortpoemsunday
January 4, 2026 at 4:20 PM
transcendental poetry from Miłosz of course #shortpoemsunday
denise duhamel gets it and has always gotten it. blessed to have been exposed to her work as a teenager by an early mentor.
#shortpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
#shortpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
January 4, 2026 at 2:18 PM
denise duhamel gets it and has always gotten it. blessed to have been exposed to her work as a teenager by an early mentor.
#shortpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
#shortpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
#shortpoemSunday
Hutain
I tell myself that it's all wrong -
too early for the birds to sing
and primroses do not belong
in bleak December. They're for spring.
All this should make alarm bells ring...
but from the thrush's speckled throat
a miracle is issuing
with joy and hope in every note.
JWH
Hutain
I tell myself that it's all wrong -
too early for the birds to sing
and primroses do not belong
in bleak December. They're for spring.
All this should make alarm bells ring...
but from the thrush's speckled throat
a miracle is issuing
with joy and hope in every note.
JWH
December 28, 2025 at 7:00 AM
#shortpoemSunday
Hutain
I tell myself that it's all wrong -
too early for the birds to sing
and primroses do not belong
in bleak December. They're for spring.
All this should make alarm bells ring...
but from the thrush's speckled throat
a miracle is issuing
with joy and hope in every note.
JWH
Hutain
I tell myself that it's all wrong -
too early for the birds to sing
and primroses do not belong
in bleak December. They're for spring.
All this should make alarm bells ring...
but from the thrush's speckled throat
a miracle is issuing
with joy and hope in every note.
JWH
December 21, 2025 at 10:15 PM
#shortpoemSunday
I Heard a Bird Sing
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December
a magical thing
and sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to spring
than we were in September."
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
Oliver Herford.
(Delightful!)
I Heard a Bird Sing
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December
a magical thing
and sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to spring
than we were in September."
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
Oliver Herford.
(Delightful!)
December 7, 2025 at 12:00 PM
#shortpoemSunday
I Heard a Bird Sing
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December
a magical thing
and sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to spring
than we were in September."
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
Oliver Herford.
(Delightful!)
I Heard a Bird Sing
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December
a magical thing
and sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to spring
than we were in September."
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
Oliver Herford.
(Delightful!)
#shortpoemsunday
Autumn Shadows
Leaves shroud the path.
At dusk, lurking shadows
fox me like ghosts,
shadows of the past
foxing my memories,
fragile as leaves.
Fox crosses my path,
a living shadow,
leaf-russet.
(From my collection 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust')
Autumn Shadows
Leaves shroud the path.
At dusk, lurking shadows
fox me like ghosts,
shadows of the past
foxing my memories,
fragile as leaves.
Fox crosses my path,
a living shadow,
leaf-russet.
(From my collection 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust')
November 16, 2025 at 2:13 PM
#shortpoemsunday
Autumn Shadows
Leaves shroud the path.
At dusk, lurking shadows
fox me like ghosts,
shadows of the past
foxing my memories,
fragile as leaves.
Fox crosses my path,
a living shadow,
leaf-russet.
(From my collection 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust')
Autumn Shadows
Leaves shroud the path.
At dusk, lurking shadows
fox me like ghosts,
shadows of the past
foxing my memories,
fragile as leaves.
Fox crosses my path,
a living shadow,
leaf-russet.
(From my collection 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust')
September 28, 2025 at 8:38 PM
#shortpoemsunday
I read into things
So closely that I could hear
Each tap of the keyboard and
The weight behind each press.
I read into the titanium that is
Used in trucks.
I see the atoms and molecules
Of emotions and I'm their creator.
I am well read.
I read into things
So closely that I could hear
Each tap of the keyboard and
The weight behind each press.
I read into the titanium that is
Used in trucks.
I see the atoms and molecules
Of emotions and I'm their creator.
I am well read.
June 9, 2025 at 2:01 AM
#shortpoemsunday
I read into things
So closely that I could hear
Each tap of the keyboard and
The weight behind each press.
I read into the titanium that is
Used in trucks.
I see the atoms and molecules
Of emotions and I'm their creator.
I am well read.
I read into things
So closely that I could hear
Each tap of the keyboard and
The weight behind each press.
I read into the titanium that is
Used in trucks.
I see the atoms and molecules
Of emotions and I'm their creator.
I am well read.
The Reaper by Fernando Pessoa for #shortpoemsunday
March 16, 2025 at 2:07 PM
The Reaper by Fernando Pessoa for #shortpoemsunday
A monstrous little something for #shortpoemsunday, which originally appeared in Last Leaves Magazine.
#writing #poem #poetry #booksky
#writing #poem #poetry #booksky
Monster Alarm
The church bells rang on the hill above my houseWhile the children played below.The youngest from another neighborhoodAsked me what it was.”That’s the monster alarm,” I said.̶…
shortsurpriselife.com
March 2, 2025 at 9:41 PM
A monstrous little something for #shortpoemsunday, which originally appeared in Last Leaves Magazine.
#writing #poem #poetry #booksky
#writing #poem #poetry #booksky
#shortpoemsunday
Othello
Jealously, zealously,
sad Moor of Venice, he
foolishly credited
Iago's vile lies,
strangled his blameless wife
unjustifiably,
guilt and his dagger
made swift his demise.
(A double dactyl poem from my collection, 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust'.)
Othello
Jealously, zealously,
sad Moor of Venice, he
foolishly credited
Iago's vile lies,
strangled his blameless wife
unjustifiably,
guilt and his dagger
made swift his demise.
(A double dactyl poem from my collection, 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust'.)
February 23, 2025 at 8:55 PM
#shortpoemsunday
Othello
Jealously, zealously,
sad Moor of Venice, he
foolishly credited
Iago's vile lies,
strangled his blameless wife
unjustifiably,
guilt and his dagger
made swift his demise.
(A double dactyl poem from my collection, 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust'.)
Othello
Jealously, zealously,
sad Moor of Venice, he
foolishly credited
Iago's vile lies,
strangled his blameless wife
unjustifiably,
guilt and his dagger
made swift his demise.
(A double dactyl poem from my collection, 'Striped Scarves and Coal Dust'.)
#ShortPoemSunday #music #poetry It’s a cold day—colder days ahead too, & yet here’s Langston Hughes with a short, simple, & yet important statement.
A version performed with music here: frankhudson.org/2025/02/14/l...
A version performed with music here: frankhudson.org/2025/02/14/l...
February 16, 2025 at 6:00 PM
#ShortPoemSunday #music #poetry It’s a cold day—colder days ahead too, & yet here’s Langston Hughes with a short, simple, & yet important statement.
A version performed with music here: frankhudson.org/2025/02/14/l...
A version performed with music here: frankhudson.org/2025/02/14/l...
#shortpoemsunday
A farmer's son,
what did he know of war?
A sniper's gun,
a grave far away from home,
a plaque on the chapel wall.
(In memory of my mother's cousin, William John Evans, of Penuwch, Ceredigion, killed in 1944 and buried in Ranville War Cemetery. From 'Deep Roots, Wide Branches.)
A farmer's son,
what did he know of war?
A sniper's gun,
a grave far away from home,
a plaque on the chapel wall.
(In memory of my mother's cousin, William John Evans, of Penuwch, Ceredigion, killed in 1944 and buried in Ranville War Cemetery. From 'Deep Roots, Wide Branches.)
February 16, 2025 at 5:54 PM
#shortpoemsunday
A farmer's son,
what did he know of war?
A sniper's gun,
a grave far away from home,
a plaque on the chapel wall.
(In memory of my mother's cousin, William John Evans, of Penuwch, Ceredigion, killed in 1944 and buried in Ranville War Cemetery. From 'Deep Roots, Wide Branches.)
A farmer's son,
what did he know of war?
A sniper's gun,
a grave far away from home,
a plaque on the chapel wall.
(In memory of my mother's cousin, William John Evans, of Penuwch, Ceredigion, killed in 1944 and buried in Ranville War Cemetery. From 'Deep Roots, Wide Branches.)
For #ShortPoemSunday #shortpoemsunday. 14 lines is short, right? Here's "No Surprise," a love sonnet from my chapbook Like an Astonished Magician:
February 16, 2025 at 3:11 PM
For #ShortPoemSunday #shortpoemsunday. 14 lines is short, right? Here's "No Surprise," a love sonnet from my chapbook Like an Astonished Magician:
#shortpoemsunday
He lied before he left.
Hid his true intent into a ghost
That way the difficult conversation
Never had to happen. I've learned
To listen to what ghosts say
To avoid future ghosts and ghouls.
To avoid the pain.
To avoid everything. Now I'm
Left with the lies beside the
Open door
He lied before he left.
Hid his true intent into a ghost
That way the difficult conversation
Never had to happen. I've learned
To listen to what ghosts say
To avoid future ghosts and ghouls.
To avoid the pain.
To avoid everything. Now I'm
Left with the lies beside the
Open door
February 2, 2025 at 6:40 PM
#shortpoemsunday
He lied before he left.
Hid his true intent into a ghost
That way the difficult conversation
Never had to happen. I've learned
To listen to what ghosts say
To avoid future ghosts and ghouls.
To avoid the pain.
To avoid everything. Now I'm
Left with the lies beside the
Open door
He lied before he left.
Hid his true intent into a ghost
That way the difficult conversation
Never had to happen. I've learned
To listen to what ghosts say
To avoid future ghosts and ghouls.
To avoid the pain.
To avoid everything. Now I'm
Left with the lies beside the
Open door
#shortpoemsunday
I can see the mist
Crawling up from the ground
Kissing the sky and moon
The nature's envy shown in
Contrasting colors. A
Northern Lights show.
I can see the mist
Crawling up from the ground
Kissing the sky and moon
The nature's envy shown in
Contrasting colors. A
Northern Lights show.
February 2, 2025 at 6:37 PM
#shortpoemsunday
I can see the mist
Crawling up from the ground
Kissing the sky and moon
The nature's envy shown in
Contrasting colors. A
Northern Lights show.
I can see the mist
Crawling up from the ground
Kissing the sky and moon
The nature's envy shown in
Contrasting colors. A
Northern Lights show.
January 27, 2025 at 2:30 AM
Here’s Emily Dickinson singing so briefly too—only 8 lines—about our time.
Since the poem’s saying we sing, I sang it here: frankhudson.org/2024/09/24/i... #shortpoemsunday #poetry #music
Since the poem’s saying we sing, I sang it here: frankhudson.org/2024/09/24/i... #shortpoemsunday #poetry #music
December 29, 2024 at 5:06 PM
Here’s Emily Dickinson singing so briefly too—only 8 lines—about our time.
Since the poem’s saying we sing, I sang it here: frankhudson.org/2024/09/24/i... #shortpoemsunday #poetry #music
Since the poem’s saying we sing, I sang it here: frankhudson.org/2024/09/24/i... #shortpoemsunday #poetry #music
Here's a brief contribution to #shortpoemsunday. A Bastard Ghazal entitled Say. Stop. Go.:
December 22, 2024 at 7:31 PM
Here's a brief contribution to #shortpoemsunday. A Bastard Ghazal entitled Say. Stop. Go.:
Here’s a poem for #shortpoemsunday by Mary Carolyn Davies, a poet who was once considered alongside Mina Loy & William Carlos Williams. It’s from her sequence “Songs of a Girl.”
A bit more about her & a musical performance here: frankhudson.org/2021/05/26/s...
A bit more about her & a musical performance here: frankhudson.org/2021/05/26/s...
December 22, 2024 at 5:22 PM
Here’s a poem for #shortpoemsunday by Mary Carolyn Davies, a poet who was once considered alongside Mina Loy & William Carlos Williams. It’s from her sequence “Songs of a Girl.”
A bit more about her & a musical performance here: frankhudson.org/2021/05/26/s...
A bit more about her & a musical performance here: frankhudson.org/2021/05/26/s...
December 8, 2024 at 10:31 PM
Is #shortpoemsunday really a thing? If so, here’s my contribution.
December 8, 2024 at 10:03 PM
Is #shortpoemsunday really a thing? If so, here’s my contribution.
Shining mirror,
How when I stare into your eyes, your putrid form
Do I wish you were never born.
#poetry
#shortpoemsunday
#writersofbluesky
How when I stare into your eyes, your putrid form
Do I wish you were never born.
#poetry
#shortpoemsunday
#writersofbluesky
December 8, 2024 at 7:48 PM
Shining mirror,
How when I stare into your eyes, your putrid form
Do I wish you were never born.
#poetry
#shortpoemsunday
#writersofbluesky
How when I stare into your eyes, your putrid form
Do I wish you were never born.
#poetry
#shortpoemsunday
#writersofbluesky