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Who used to stay up late talking?
You were drunk and had no one else to listen

Love the invisible fishing line that hooked me directly through my gills even still to this day

You caught me without using a single piece of bait
Written 4-29-20
Nat Lipstadt Jul 14

walking the feeble line

there is a name for what is witnessed nearly nightly,
common ****** and/or scientific, when I awake circa
3 AM,  and the entire sky is overhung with a stolid,
calmly, ponderous inverted ******~single, sky-filling cloud,
with  faint, ragged line of far distant of didactic, urban and natural light, an imagery what s presumably the end of the world insofar as far as the human mind can interpolate the faraway mystique, for our
modern eyes see but cannot necessarily comprehend  the enormity and the simultaneous limiting granularity of the night horizon,
when it is
just outside through the clear glass, this enormous fog that is indescribable, an overwhelming, inconceivable conception that our ancestors took for granted as a natural demarcation of everything physical,
of our world’s entirety.

3:47 AM when the semi-roused mind bids the entirety of me
to awaken, ascertain the mystery of the sky and the sounds of rushing water within the confines of the cottage, both
which have no earthly reason to be simple, self-explanatory.

the parallel of external state to body internal,
comes first to mind when I creakily stand,
to better understand
the grandeur vision seeing, and the noises
so localized hearing, that a time/body disorientation disorder
is the sole explanation for my disrupted feeble state of mind,
physical and mental, occupational hazarding
  of my confused existence.

are you still here?
are u coming along with me on this journey?

amazing, if yes is your cognitive reply!

is this a poem, an essay, a plaintive wail for a general infirmity
that is irreconcilable with facts and the imagery of a mobile
man, who yet dodders and toddles, when stumbling stiffly through the fodders, them open spaces of his mind, and his physicality,
both stumbling erratically like that sort of
out there, sort of not,
feeble line in the sky,
and the feeble line inside him of a shuffling old man he knows or recognizes not, hence the title of the poem, created in a millisecond of cellular cognition, whose explanation, exploration
and expiation of his existence needing some kind of sensible

edging past 4AM, WITH NO answer for anything clouding through the rivulets of the mind, he summons up the time
in memoriam summary of all men, for all essential existence,

it is what it is,

that neither satisfies at all but just sufficiently,
that he could put down the imagined pen, pull the cover beneath the chin line, letting sleepy reign over him once more,
and perish the thought,
he will do it all over again,
tomorrow some twenty four hours hence, thankful the murk
of clouds prevents him from seeing
a battlefield of stars, which

too, comprehensively incomprehensible to the feeble
line he hopefully, is yet then still a straddle.

good night you boon companion,
meet you on the other side
of the line, which is what lines are for, a demarcation between
you and me that we welcome, to cross wordlessly and word fully,
and shall do, as is our due, again,
soon enough.

4:26 AM
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2022
Don't be late
dip your toes fast.

It's up to you
if you want to do it
at the same time
when the day too
melts down into
one more pith dark
finishing line.

The twilight has a
lot to digest then
as one more day
cools off into it's bold
deep painting splash
make sure you go first.

Before the waxing moon
scurries to the sea
looking for it's mirror  
on the deep shady water
only to discover
zillions overlooking stars
are already there!
GaryFairy Apr 2022
I get so high
I look up past the sky
I look back down
and I wonder why
I'm somewhere in between
I'm almost in a dream
monsters make me laugh
angels make me scream
I get so low
nowhere down to go
I look back up
and I just don't know
whether I will defy
what is right before my eyes
devils wear a path
angels wear a disguise
I said, "Keep going!"
Let's the pain be your friend!
Let's the pain feel that it's not enough to push you down!
I just need finish this race through my line.
I said, "Keep going!"
I said, "There'se no future. All you know right know is a dream!"
I said, "Keep going!"
to myself.
Whatever, it takes.
Indonesia, 21st January 2022
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Simon Piesse Jul 2021
No service to all westbound destinations due to flooding . . .

At Ravenscourt Park, it rained apocalyptically.

Then, God said:

‘Let go of point-to-point.

Paddle properly, like you mean it.

Hear the gentle song of the hummingbird.

Sip the sweet cup of the orchid.

Steer clear of the piranhas that are possessions;
Swim away from the caiman, who can drag you under.  

Take it stroke by stroke.  Do not splash about.

Go with my flow.

When your meanderings meet the mighty ocean of my love

Be ready.

This is just the beginning.’
Raven Feels Jun 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, when love is like a dream---we live not exist:>


when a skirting golden light sinks the morning room
when a chocolate's mist takes away the gloom
when a song blasts the ear you make a scream
when a coffee's first sip lightens the mind with steam
when a sea races the waves alone dived
when a rainbow kisses a mere the rain skied

when a heart makes a dance
when a landscape stills the stance
when a painted hand dirties the whites
when a moon never fails to shine in sight
when a run feels like the embrace of the winds mint
when a line flows a ray of a poem in every tint
and we live not exist

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