Best Shorthand Poems
"Black Cockatoo"
I was white
as pure snow cotton
thread through the eye of God's needle
Black
he was,
not Egyptian, more ancient
he walked
in the Dreamtime
with the forgotten people
obsidian
We swam the
well known swan song
like a diamond river snake long
Swimming naked in a billabong
Light I was, white watching black
He shone, glistening a white freshwater pearl smile
He wrote the song
in Ochre, eyes black ink
slow lines feather light fingers along
the curves of my body
powder white
painted against his shadow
our hands
entwined together
against a grey granite wall
native bush plum ripe
on my raised lips
I stroked white lines
against his walk about hot fire opal skin
lost in the Dreamtime
somewhere found
metronoming
black fingers
stroking a ghost white heart
language running lost in meaning
along a lush sweet breast those fingers ran
towards the long legged
cross road torn apart
emu running
evoking
bushfire burning
lizard tale fingers shorthand painting
scorching the place where
the creek born runs
spits paint all over
charcoal stone heart
a wall beckons
a throat to flow like a river
where the words are trapped
and damned,
he stands
I have delivered
the ransom
caged minds in silence
speak and glow
hard lips kiss
Tongues speak
Love knows
Black Cockatoo Sings
White girl
walking Black Mountain
lost in the Never Return
In the Demons' Land
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
Being Taciturn
(TASS-uh-tern)
By: Miracle Man
8/29/2018
She’s often outwardly taciturn in a group setting,
Opting to be inconspicuous, “Like a fly on the wall.”
Being attentive to others while mentally vetting,
Often, her shorthand is chosen method of scrawl.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning light finds the cracks first~
those rivers mapped by laughter,
by squinting at horizons now behind me.
My knees complain like rusty hinges,
but they still bend.
My hands, spotted with time,
still remember how to write shorthand,
how to cradle a newborn’s head.
I collect aches like souvenirs,
each one a receipt for living~
the hip that remembers the fall,
the shoulder that recalls the weight
of carrying someone else.
The young sprint past me,
their bodies loud with urgency.
I linger by the lilacs,
learning the art of standing still,
the slow art of gathering shadows,
and knowing which ones to lean into,
which ones to outrun.
Aging is marvelous.
Aging is strange.
Aging is wearing a coat
that can’t be returned.
I crashed into a language barrier
So they put me in an induced comma
As they re-calibrated my damaged grammar
Transforming my full stop into a full start
As I wake from my abbreviation
I feel tense in the present
Realising that an apostrophe is now all
and nothing more I will ever be
I have a kindled yearning to compound
my spoken words with good intention
But I’ve become a symbol
that marks a past behaviour into memory
I stand in place of the person
whose ending is, with my start, synonymous
A person with their own tale
which I can read but can’t understand
It’s my story, but a rougher drafted version
Reading it I feel anonymous
Is this where I’m killed off but my character returns?
I find asylum asking questions, with an ampersand
And…
…The blurb on the back of life gives me the shorthand:
This is the punctuation that brings order
In the arc of your lived life
And if you see problems with recalled quotations
Then choose to learn, or live with strife
And…
I’m not ready to die
So here I am
Prepared with notation
The things I’ve seen and learned combined
Swapping the chip on my shoulder
For an indentation
And…
Don’t ever put down the pen while you’re still writing your history
And…
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com
Micro-Feasting
by Odin Roark
To propagate the dung heap of ignorance,
Is to place on low simmer
A main course of illiteracy.
How festive the chefs of mental starvation
Make the tables of 140-character-feasting,
Luring the gullible
Along with the lazy,
The doltish
And the lost,
To gorge, then purge,
Then ignore the noxious vapor
Of sentience becoming residue waste.
So stirs this caldron of abbreviated ingredients,
Stifling taste buds for savoring delectable elocution,
Reducing vocabulary to bulimic shorthand
And expecting all to join this achromatic work-around.
Hopefully, the language of full syllabic enunciation
Will return with a vengeance,
Sending expression’s drive-by expediency
Into its all too deserving exile.
Consideration pauses in the distance.
One can hear the echoes of dismay,
“Does this mean we’re expected to read…
AGAIN?
“Phoenix Dreams in the Realm of Crows”
wake up
shake up
kaleidoscope girl
jigsaw
see saw
fit the pieces
she
another world
away
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
curious kaleidoscope
stories to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
time’s racing
discharge fear
or remain
feathers spreading
in the realm
of crows
poetic
messengers
casting their spells
for opening
tombs turning
dead leaves to tomes
in the crowded hideaway
where shorthand, fixed tight to masts,
swings suspended for transcribing
dark nights,
where soft and fierce
treasure dwells
feathers spreading
cunning cuneiform for ghosts
who speak in tongues
transformative
strange letters
unfurling
spreading
deep indigo and
jesserant jet feathers
swords and keys
for plundering
and opening
impromptu places
mysterious better nests
for hidden golden eggs
broken yoked,
freed
spilling silver spoons,
curl love drunk
into warm skinned
velvet embryos
hugging new bodies
of work, slick palaces
for bedding
better never-endings
never ending,
electric muses
flocked
and kissing
sated singing
dreams
in the realm
of crows
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
bejewelled St Elmo
phoenix fire stories lit, to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
astral charting
glossy winged stars
albatross angels
waxing lyrical
follies and flights
ignited, illuminating
phoenix dreams
in the realm
of crows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Hideaway”/ Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/2dcbcic06vw
"Let It Happen" / Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/NMRhx71bGo4
"Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control"/Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/C1VelTQ3hdY
Crow Symbolism
https://www.onthefeeder.com/crow-symbolism/
LYRICS/ “Hideaway”, Queens of the Stone Age
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/hideaway.html
LYRICS/"Let It Happen", Tame Impala
https://genius.com/Tame-impala-let-it-happen-lyrics
@ lst catchin on 2 my celfne wz a relief
thN txtN came on2 d scene n brawt me nu grief.
I couldn’t evn lern shrth& wen I wz in skool.
txtN S 2much lk dat, so I’ll stay “un-cool!”
I’ve gotten thru a lfetme w/o uzn it.
n wouldn’t uno it, no symbl 4t rhym sh-t
Translation:
At last catching on to my cell phone was a relief.
Then texting came onto the scene and brought me new grief.
I couldn’t even learn shorthand when I was in school.
Texting is too much like that, so I’ll stay “un-cool!”
I’ve gotten through a lifetime without using it.
And wouldn’t you know it, no symbol for the rhyme sh-t
"The Croquis"
I draw what is required
from the Russian Doll
embracing my mind
Heart-shaped,
a planchette to guide
the necrophonic void
eternal,
recalcitrant,
answers back like a child
automatic
white chalk drawing
whispers from a Ouija board
guided by spectral voices
charcoal shadows dark
cling fast to all the sharp
cobwebbed corners
directing and pulling
invisible refined strings
the poetry's ectoplasm is outlined
in moments softened
smudged into the rough draft
canvassing the remnants of a life
unseen
yet on-demand
shards of light cut
some kind of spiralled bliss
rippling unclear
like moon gloaming ocean
waves across my nemesis
the Croquis
letters in pitman shorthand
old school hieroglyphics, to you
are all mine
some future
I will be
your most desired haunting
closer in séance
yet still moving fluid
out of view
somewhere
ashes scattered
over sea
like a siren selkie
calling you
back into me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“White Chalk” / P.J. Harvey
https://youtu.be/5YKbcWQNtE0
croquis
séance / meeting
planchette /
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planchette
LYRICS/"White Chalk", P.J. Harvey
https://genius.com/Pj-harvey-white-chalk-lyrics
Restless soccer moms,
whose kittens have all become mature,
got plenty of suburban boredom
Time enough for sure
to get hooked on every advertised lure
As daytime soaps and gossip kitsch
are the mundane, daily double feature
So they buy themselves some
beautiful, youthful promises,
packaged in a slick cardio video
Victoria got some bedroom secrets
that frustrated spouses wanna know
Put the proper promotional letters
in the slotted payment space
Then they sit back and anticipate,
let that warm scented water luxuriate
their uncaged primal thoughts:
That lackluster romantic routine
with the half-interested spouse
has become so very predictable
Mannequin lovemaking so emotional sterile
When expedited delivery late evening come,
they strike their favorite sexy pose,
in their most come-hither revealing clothes
But such meticulously planned foreplay
gets the usual NITM treatment today
This last straw has stirred these tigress spirits,
but not in a good way
When the Good Wives Club start breaking bad,
there’s gonna be divorce hell to pay
Those Ladies Night Out
now grinds to an adulterous sway
Neglected desires are maritally hated,
lost fidelity mourned in Goth black
Intimacy ignored is so cold calculated;
bad math, write digits for call back
Cougars don’t like being domesticated,
coyote ugly do love to run in a pack
Foxy motives ain’t hen house overrated,
passionate predators are on the attack
Suburban lionesses on a stag hunting mission,
got dark jaguar urban jungle keen night vision
Painted panthers on a one-night-stand prowl,
coy cheetahs moving fast with their claws out,
Hot, feral women with cougar pent-up emotions,
are lethal loving leopards with spotted devotions
Passionate predators,
only lascivious hearts dare venture
If you got a taste for the forbidden,
then you got a wish to be eaten
Acronym alert:
NITM
(Not in the mood)
**Poetic shorthand —
Romantic Warrior
Death and life—literal or figural?
Maybe both,
Now that there can be death in life or life in death,
As for poets, notably, Bharati and Yeats.
The dialogue between Arjuna and Krishna:
Is it interpersonal or intrapersonal?
Darsan or Epiphany—cling to it we would,
For seeing is believing.
The commandments, though heard,
Had to be attested by the burning bush.
Aha! Come to think of it,
Could Darsan as well be figural—
As is vipasana?
As is epiphany for Joyce?
A shorthand like light years?
***
I walked into my school at noon one day, straight from a bland boring counseling meeting and no one was there.
No receptionist, no secretary, no nurse, no vice principal, no custodian, oh, where were they, where?
I sat down and started answering the phone, because how often they let me do this is very rare.
"A MOTHER IS COMING UP HERE, AND SHE'S MAD," Principal said. "I've called security, can you answer the phones for now?"
Oh, boy, could I! I love answering the phones. You never know what nut case will call. The principal ran back out, and the phone rang.
A female's voice started yelling "You tell that blankety blank principal, that I'm coming up there with my brothers, and we are going to blankety blank someone up, me and my gang."
I take rapid shorthand, so, yes, I had it all. I repeated it back to her, "Is that all?" I asked her. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" I'm here to serve, after all.
"I'm not going to stand for that blankety blank handbook that says that my daughter cannot....who is his anyway?" She asked, as her tirade became a much slower crawl.
"This is Caren Krutsinger," I told her. I had visited her son in the hospital, just the other day,
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Krutsinger!" she said, her voice lilting upward, in a sing songy 'I like you' kind of way.
"And if that blankety blank principal gives my daughter a detention I am going to blankety blank her up. I'll be there in five minutes all in all."
I foolishly told the principal about this call. "Oh, good, you get along with her," the principal said."When she comes up here, you can go in the conference room with them, in case she brings her giant brothers, mean and tall."
Luckily security arrived first, and the entourage of angry stomped into the conference room raging and ranting and stomping and shouting without me after all.
Ice Sleep Quickly...
Slowly counting backwards from one hundred
if restless, yet most every night/early morning,
when tiredness defeats ability to remain alert
though rarely these days no difficulty to dream
way before mentally mouthing the number zero,
a segue way into unconscious state disengages
awareness, nor does yours truly recount numb
burr, nor REM member upon awakening hours
later how far from first triple digit to nought, I
ceased noiselessly iterated theoretical string of
symbols (representing whole sum quantity), the
likes linkedin to the Hindu-Arabic numeral cyst-
stem attributed to two Indian mathematicians awk
credited with developing mode to abstract former
lee bird den some assignation expressing a short
shorthand to conveniently represent a numerical
value, honor belongs to Aryabhata of Kushuma-
pura developed the place-value notation in the
fifth century, and about one hundred years later
Brahmagupta introduced important symbol for
zero, without such (now obvious) methodology,
this nocturnal primate, would most likely resort
to awkward, bulky, clumsy, et cetera alternative,
sans Roman numerals silently with eyelids shut
tight, thus imagine if ye will this sir soundlessly
enunciating c, xcix, xcviii...praying to dog never
reaching the lowest solitary i, cuz this mister, he
would never be accountable waking bolt upright
resembling a zombie emitting nought a peep, cuz
this suddenly duped frenzied hotmail, would have
zero choice!
Gemini magic oozes from my soul
Interested in everything, I flit from one thing to another
Dressed in my butterfly disguise, I land, but fly away fast.
I have had over thirty jobs, and quit some before noon.
I want the best for everybody.
If it is not a good fit for me,
they deserve better and so do I.
I have never written a whole page in cursive, for it would not be me.
I draw pictures, use cursive, shorthand and long hand.
Not necessarily in that order.
I am creative, and funny, and I love to laugh.
Not at people but at their idiocincrocies.
I have empathy, and passion. I have love in buckets.
I am easily hurt, but you will never know for I lick my wounds in private.
Listening to others stories, but keeping mine down inside my soul
to bother no one. I am a Gemini. I am woman. I am a warrior.
I am magic, I am mystery, I am here and if I fall in love with you watch out.
I am a giant puppy, that will follow you home and love you to death.
That is what a Gemini does.
This gray sky
Of May does lie
In lackluster color
A futile eye
With birds too shy
To sing, or fly
Through April's chill
March lingered still
Soaking in chains
Of rain's domain
Why this delay
Of lilac days?
If I could task
A humble ask
A bit of warmth
To bloom, to bask
On cloudy spheres
Which seldom clears
If I should seek
The season's heat
Beneath a leaf's misty rise
Will I find flowers
In disguise?
I am fated to wait
In this northern land
On a summer created
By shorthand
Where silver threads
Of rays are spun
Into an alabaster sun
05/06/24
LOL, LOL, LOL
Letting you know
That I am laughing across this cell
But not really, you won't know.
OMG OMG OMG
You said you loved me!
what is my response to that?
want to get some P?
Everyone in such a rush
we don't have the time
to communicate anymore
or even text a real line.
That's cool! Seriously?
Really? Hit ya later.
wasssssup wit ya, playa
Don't be such a hater.
And if you don't get my drift
and you might call my bluff.
I'll let you just how I feel
Like "You're a Failure, sweet hot stuff!"