Submitted by Jane Dougherty

Each gust tears a little more of the scenery,
plucking dry orange-peel leaves, one by one
from windy branches, sending them fluttering
like small brown birds.
There were orioles in the trees once,
now robins lord it about the woodpile,
bramble patch shrinks where persistent donkeys graze
And the fox rambles after dark,
and the owls drift in the night,
here and there,
like ships lost at sea.
Morning comes, sometimes misty,
sometimes frosts crunch a bit more of the summer
and we forget how green was green.
Sky rolls in a kaleidoscope of cloudy colours,
where the moon drifts in the daytime,
and the sun wraps itself in pale veils.
No moment is the same as the one before,
no bird flash of wings or fluted call.
Just blink, and the little red deer is gone.


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Photo credit: Jan Both – Italiaans landschap met teknaar


Published by

The Vita Brevis Team

“Ars longa, vita brevis" (art is long, life is short). This maxim so moved us that it seemed only right to title our online poetry magazine after it. It may seem curious that we chose Vita Brevis (life is short) as our title instead of Ars Longa (art is long). But this choice was more than appropriate; after all, the aim of our journal is to publish work that shows a keen awareness of not only art’s beauty and immortality but life’s toils and finiteness. We want to revive and nourish the rich existential literature that forms when art and the human endeavor collide.

13 thoughts on “Moments”

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