Short 23 July 2025

I crafted short poetry.
Cut it off, kept it brief.
Longer, curt, A thief.
************
Money & Resources
Short on cash
Running short
A little short this month
Caught short
Come up short
Short-changed
Short end of the stick
Short supply

Time & Deadlines
Short on time
Time is short
Cut short
In short order
Short notice
Short window
Short-lived
A short fuse
Physical Height
Short stature
Fell short of the mark
Short man syndrome
Came up a bit short
The short one
Vertically challenged
Patience, Emotion & Behavior
Short-tempered
Short with sometimes
Short patience
Short shrif
Short fuse
Give someone short shrift

General / Other
Sell someonei short
Stop short
Shortn-sighted
A few cards short of a full deck
Short memory
A day late and a dollar short
Shortfall
Short circuit
******(((((
Drew up this brief word tree.
Condensed, went ai bee.

Below are eleven Buson haiku
beginning with the phrase
'The short night--'


The short night--
on the hairy caterpillar
beads of dew.

The short night--
patrolmen
washing in the river.

The short night--
bubbles of crab froth
among the river reeds.

The short night--
a broom thrown away
on the beach.

The short night--
the Oi River
has sunk two feet.

The short night--
on the outskirts of the village
a small shop opening.

The short night--
broken, in the shallows,
a crescent moon.

The short night--
the peony
has opened.

The short night--
waves beating in,
an abandoned fire.

The short night--
near the pillow
a screen turning silver.

The short night--
shallow footprints
on the beach at Yui.








User Submitted "The short night--" Haiku

Submit your own haiku beginning with the line
"The short night--"
and we'll post the best ones below!

Just dash off an e-mail to:

     [email protected]



The short night-
a watery moon
stands alone over the hill

     Maggie



The short night--
just as I'm falling asleep
my wife's waking up

     Larry Bole

What is short,
I mean what short is short,
I can't tell whatever is short ,
Can you tell me what is short ?
Can short be short?
Because everything can be short.

I hear people say life is short,
Other say problems live short,
Lies can be uncovered short,
But I don't think short is short ,
Long can be short?
Can long be short?

I fall just short on everyone's expectations
Just short-ly after the dead line.
Just short of the finish line
Just short in ALL expectations
Just short regarding all aspects of life
Just short from ever becoming someones wife
Just short of success
Just short of finesse
Just short of being a good part of society
Just sort on being a true friend
Just short of even having a broken heart to mend
Just short on being the right kind of daughter
Just short in being that leader I should of been
Just short I've fallen
Today yet again.

Life is too short, to stand by and hate your brother.  Life is too short, we need to learn to love one another.  
Life is too short, to live without a plan.  Life is too short, you should know where you stand.
Life is too short, to bully others around.  Life is too short, to speak words with a negative sound.
Life is too short, to constantly live in fear.  Life ts too short, barely making it through the year.
Life is too short, not to do something new.  Life is too short, not to say, " I love you".
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

You told me you liked short hair
I've always had long
Long hair helps you hide
The insecurities you feel inside

You told me you liked short hair
And I really liked you
So last summer I decided
I'd cut it because you said to

You said you liked short hair
And you said you liked mine
I didn't like my short hair
But I loved the way you made me feel inside

You said you liked short hair
But you didn't stay
Neither did my short hair
It grew long and it's stayed that way

You said you liked short hair
And she has short hair, doesn't she?
My long hair grew back
And I don't miss my short hair...

No,
not short poems.
honest to goodness
short shorts,
jean-like short shorts.

No,
not those kinds that
the young girls wear,
jean lookalike stretch fabric,
skin so tight it makes
their ole daddies' faces
wince the same color blue.

in the middle muddle of fall,
now you write of short shorts?

Well, I was told I could not write this
till after the summer was final gone
from the rear view mirror glass.

Once I wrote/imagined about
a woman of a certain age,
who emptied her armoire drawers,
time to transition and take things
that could no longer be,
to the thrift shop,
for others to be
thrifty in.

Except for one bathing suit,
a two piece back from the days,
when two pieces meant
you were proud
of what you had and
what you didn't have -

the same suit she was
wearing grabbing her little son,
then a man of six or seven,
(now a dad with a son,
of three or six or seven),
in the photo on the night table,
some thirty dreams ago.

Man you take a long time to make a point!
what's all this got to do with short shorts?

one summer day,
a woman I know,
an actual
fire-breathing dragon,
went thru the drawers
of her ***** blonde armoire.
there she "found" a pair of
shorts shorts, from some
thirty dreams ago.

it did not take
too much encouragement,
just a little courage
to try them on,
thirty dreams later.

now these short shorts
were the old fashioned kind,
they look liked cut off jeans
but were not, they had rolled up
cuffed bottoms to increase the illusion.

They no longer fit!
Yup.

******* short shorts were


loose


around that curvaceous waist,
known as my favorite place.,
where I rested my head once again,
after,
we celebrated.

that is my poem about short shorts
that I've been carrying round
until the curfew was lifted.

but even tho I like short shorts,
I'll never ask someone to wear them,
risking scorn and mockery,
but I know for a fact,
those short shorts did not



**get thrown out.

I lost track of time
& fell short of a lot,
like I fell short of
a body that could be
happy by itself.
& I fell short of basketball,
calisthenics, boyhood. Where
growth should be was misshapenness;
where rapid should be was idle;
where scrutiny should be
was massacre.

& I was terrifically sad
yet deemed not officially depressed,
though in front of the mirror I would
see bathed in motor oil the reflection
of my genitals, which is made of
calfskin and bruise. I also tried
various other things, like
licking my armpits, talking
to a tree, snorting
ammonia off public urinals;
every sample of grime I tried
to touch. Maybe just
to see if cleanse was a finite
thing, and if I was nearing
the end of my supply.

& I fell short of buzz cuts
and *******. Also, fighting
after school and legitimate
swagger from a legitimate
boy.
I looked too long
at differently colored lights
and stared too little at
women I was meant to
impregnate by some order
of prophecy — or the privilege
of *****. I trimmed
my nails each week and
waited for my beard to
grow. I didn’t own
any robes, and I didn’t
drink alcohol. I also
trusted too much and
ended up on the last
waves of a beautiful song,
jumping at the right
moment before siren
becomes pause.

& I fell short of bones,
breath, and humanly powers
of affection, and I waited
for someone to explain how
everything worked because
the gospels put the world
in a jar and threw
them between fire and cold
air. I would step inside
churches prepared to listen,
then at the pew I would
get lost in the tar pit
of my subconscious.

& I fell short of being
a son, a brother, a friend,
an avid decipherer of
the poetry that lands on
my palms and eats itself
if I don’t eat it first.

& I fell short of saving
the world every chance I got.

& I fell short of distinguishing
love from pity.

& I fell short of the
day a promise was supposed
to unfold
in the brink of disaster;
and it just so happens
I was asleep when miracles
occurred under my blanket,
and so to me healing
was just waking up to
an alarm clock.

& I fell short of days
I was to remain
in place as the planet
anchored itself to
the rungs of my rib
and flattened like a
gum under my command.
I was my own God, my own
whisperer of lies. I tried
to see beauty with
these eyes.

Each day, syrup.
Each day, sedation.
Each day, escaping lament.
Distortion was the
language I fell into
and bounced on.

& I fell short of
this poem, which I had intended
to make perfect sense.
Maybe to some of you
it will.

Sitting at the table
Cards have all been dealt
The direction of my future
Lies before me on the felt

I'll play the cards before me
I have to go all in
If I do not take the gamble
I guess I'll never win

I'm a dollar short of holding
I'll ride the highs and lows
I'm a dollar short of folding
I guess that's the way it goes
I'm a dollar short of holding
I'll ride the highs and lows
I'm a dollar short of folding
I guess that's the way it goes

The cards can tell your future
These cards tell mine so well
A dollar short of holding
It's my fear I smell

Do I bluff and risk my losing?
Do I fold and walk away?
The lord, he hates a coward
*******, I'm gonna play

I'm a dollar short of holding
I've got to go all  in
I'm a dollar short of folding
With not gamble, I don't win
I'm a dollar short of holding
It's up to me, just how I play
I'm a dollar short of folding
To live to see another day