between the hours
orchidee said:

Oohh, how can I explain all the cryptic-ness in this? I can\'t lol. Well, not with just 3 brain cells. lol.

September 23rd, 2025 10:48

between the hours
sorenbarrett said:

Cryptic this poem contains depth of the past, procrastination of the present, great lines: smiling the smile I made a couple of hours ago, still warm in its pocket., a sundial leans into the wrong hour, its bronze hand always too late.) brought back to the present in the end by the child. Not yet sure whether to take the child as literal or an inner child\'s voice. Very nice my friend and a fave.

September 23rd, 2025 07:25

undertow
Goldfinch60 said:

That undertow is always there in our lives Rik and we must use it when needed.

Andy

September 23rd, 2025 01:21

undertow
Dan Williams said:

Amen. Elements in this earth remember even minute details and reveal them centuries, millenniums later. What, really, do humans remember? Nice work.

September 22nd, 2025 23:18

undertow
Tristan Robert Lange said:

Arqios, this pulled me under right away. The salt as memory…as witness…that’s such a haunting image. It feels eternal and intimate at once. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛ Well done, my friend.

September 22nd, 2025 20:44

undertow
sorenbarrett said:

I\'m sorry Cryptic I can\'t help but project my past work into this poem. Salt is crucial in keeping a balance in body fluids and neural transmission,. Without it life ceases as do our ability to move muscles and think properly. It remembers as do we. It is in the water of the sea from which life came, hence the undertow. It is in rocks and it affects the bending of light waves in water. It opens neural gateways for transmission even when no one is watching, it aids in memory in the nerve cells. It is a seasoning for food waiting to be dissolved as we lean in from the table. Now I am fairly sure this is not what you intended when you wrote this but is my initial projection tainted by my past that blinds me to the real intent of the poem

September 22nd, 2025 06:51

the saga in the hall
Tristan Robert Lange said:

Arqios, this is remarkable. You turn the concourse into living text...the brass clock face, scuffed tiles, espresso hiss, all folded into a paragraph of city life. That final metaphor of the building as a sentence, bricks as words, scuffmarks as commas...it’s the perfect close, framing industry and humanity as a story we’re all writing together. Lush and precise, beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

September 21st, 2025 18:42

the saga in the hall
sorenbarrett said:

Here Cryptic I feel there is deeper meaning pressed into that floor. We are all parts and marks of where we live and work. I a most descriptive set of images this poem sets the boundaries of belonging past and present where a person\'s history is marked in the tracks they leave and the service they perform. A lovely write that has the feel of the past imprinted on it. Truly poetic my friend

September 21st, 2025 05:18

of silences
Tristan Robert Lange said:

Arqios, this tribute carries both weight and light. You frame silence not as an end, but as space where Tobani’s rhymes remain...lighthouses still casting across shared despair. The imagery of bruised memory, forgiveness, and mateship as compass makes this feel like a map of grief and grace itself. It’s tender, steadfast, and deeply honoring of our friend. Beautifully done! I must say, I really do miss him and hope he will return one day. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

September 20th, 2025 19:24

of silences
Doggerel Dave said:

The depth of your poetic insight needs no further commentary from me. Your tribute/ plea to Tobani noted and very much endorsed.

September 20th, 2025 06:13

richer than old king Croesus
Goldfinch60 said:

Wonderful words Rik but for those of us who have a home, food to eat and a loved one in our lives we are richer than Croesus.

Andy

September 20th, 2025 01:53

richer than old king Croesus
Bella Shepard said:

I know you count your lucky stars my friend, for you are blessed with the clear vision of one who appreciates the true meaning of life, and possesses the ability to put into words what truly touchs the heart, the mind and soul. Thank you for sharing this gem!

September 19th, 2025 14:32

richer than old king Croesus
Doggerel Dave said:

Full marks there, Rik. I almost ended up shouting \'Yes!\' at the end of each stanza... except my next door neighbor may have banged on the wall... I just hope that our situation whereby our \'freedom, reach, and the ability to speak without price\' continues......

September 19th, 2025 08:24

over-shoulder weather
Max Manley said:

[There was a police officer by the name of Jack, a scruffy man whose life just seems down; He

and others have been sent to an abandoned apartment]

Top officer: Grabs walkie talkie, proceeds to speak, \"four levels up apartment 4-41\".

Jack: bursting into the room guns blazing \"Hands on the ground!\" He looks around the room

seeing many men in long robes with hands locked in a circle. In between them, there are two

children tied up, stuck in chairs.

The other officers: They all come bursting in shooting their guns. \"ON THE GROUND!\" Due to

confusion and many misfires, a bullet ends piercing Jack near his spine.

The next day

Pope Puis XI: Eyes open up fast and wide, gets up, and walks around the Vatican. Feeling

strange about his current situation he kneels and prays on all fours. He gets visions and has the

compulsion to travel by plane to a hospital in Britain.

Jack: Standing in a seemingly light gray void, tad bit misty, smells sad, like rainwater and decay,

he decides to walk around and finds a graveyard of relative size. Near the heart of the cemetery,

Jack spots a skeletal figure and shout \"Hey! Who are you? What is this place?\" The -ey- part is

was stretched out. There is no echo, he was expecting an echo. The figure seems to stands and

then vanish, turning into smoke in meer seconds. The next thing Jack knew he had a skeletal

body hanging over his back holding him to it with its hand over its mouth, head to his ear, and

back to chest.

Figure: \"This tree is my domain, what brings you here?\" its voice seems deteriorated, yet

feminine. \"It\'s been so long since a soul was sent here. Some deity by the name of YHWH or

something like that declared himself the supreme ruler millennium ago and- oh it doesn\'t matter,

he\'s a hypocrite anyway.\" There is a pause, \"You must have a rare soul... those burn up fast.

You must have skipped that conductor guy and everything... Hmm.\" This unnamed deity while in

contemplation does to her bemusement fails to realize the absence of its specimen.

Jack: With his heart pounding Jack wakes up seeing a mildly overweight man wearing mostly

lightweight garb made of white, possibly yellow silk and a red cape. He had a yarmulke upon his

head with short, thin hair, thin brows, and a wonky, wide nose and sunken, flabby cheekbones.

To the side of this fat man stands a skinny short woman with black hair. Jack jumps up out of his

bed \"The Pope?\" and cocks his head.

Women: \"Yes, this is Pope Pius the XIth, he wants to pray over you\" she speaks in Italian to tell

the pope that Jack is ready. \"He believes you are possessed by a demon, a relatively week one

mind you, but a dangerous enough one to get the Pope involved.\"



Jack: Not aware of the fact he may as well be nude, only wearing an apron, decides he should

turn around said apron, then ties the ends of it to his feet, runs, then jumps out the window

using his apron as a hang glider-esk bodysuit and glides to his house. It\'s Beautiful to him up

there. Things start to fade again.

The figure: \"Oh, you\'re back! I\'ve been thinking. I believe you can be of use to me. That, and I

believe you\'d rather not die. How about we find ourselves a middle ground. I want you to work

for me; to be a grim.\'\' The figure offer\'s Jack a handful of utensils. The first is a double-barrel

gas tank with flexible tubings coming out their sides, a robe, a gas mask, and a black wooden

pole with a deep rosy, almost purple crystal on top. The crystal was about the size of a balled-up

fist and cut to look like a gem you may see on a wedding ring.

Jack: Looking down at the equipment laid before him Jack first examines the gas tanks. On one

barrel (the left) reads BCU and the other (the right) reads SCU. The robe just seemed to be a

black robe. The cane had white, pale trim starting from the bottom looking like vines, or flower

stems; as you look further up the black cane the trim seems to spiral.

Figure: \"These will help you, use them as tools, nothing deeper. When using the tanks make

sure you use the mask. Now grab the staff and tap twice this on the ground with it.\"

Jack: Jack does as instructed and wakes at the foot of his doorstep. His mind feels hazy and

feels a repeated compact slobbering on his cheek. His head perks up fast, \"Sparky? Nice to see

you too.\" Sparky is a brown, average looking german shepherd with one black ear, one white

ear. \"Let\'s go inside dogie. OH! Would you look at that, I need clothing.\" As Jack and his pet

open the door and walk into his house, the two are bombarded by the Pope and his translater

women.

Pope Puis Xi: Puis speaks to Jack in Italian, Clever ploy short-haired, male brunet, but you can\'t

escape God, for I am him on Earth. Puis\'s blank stare turns into a coy smile and maniacally

laugh.

Translator Women: Susan sighs, \" He says you cleaver, but he\'s not one to be deterred from.\"

she looks down with her hand over her face. She thought when she went to work for the Vatican

she would be positively helping the world, not translating the word of some oversized man-child.

Jack: His eyes dart around his living room trying to gather what he has in his head, \"Sick them

Sparky.\" Sarky jumps onto the Pope, biting him, with his teeth sinking into the Pope’s clavicle.

The sound of the Pope screaming in horror made Jack smirk. Jack drew his cane, he felt as if

he was losing control of his person; Jack no more, only the beast that lay inside. \"Hello Pope,

The name\'s Jack. Jack Matter.\" Who we saw as Jack meer moments ago is now a

personification of something eldritch in nature. The canes crystal began to glow a deep purple,

within the crystal a white light glistened. Gas mask grue from his face. First, the filter of the

mask sticking from out of his mouth, his skin seeming to melt into the leather of the mask. Then



his eyes, oh his eyes; they seemed to fill with black tare, lids morphing into mettle, and blades of

glass spiraled from the edges, covering the center wear his eyes would previously have been.

Finally, a black nozzle extended from the nose piece and attached itself to the tanks on his

back, through a hole on the back of his cloak near his neck. He was floating there, in the middle

of the living room. All life seemed to fade from it, smoke and dust filling the room coming from

the bottom of the deep collared cloak. \'Something wrong mister Pope?\' Pope was vocalized with

much punctuation \'You seemed so cooky before, now you just whimper. Let\'s not waste this

blood, shall we?\' Jack fly\'s towards the man lying before him. Grasping upon tubing from the left

tank from which it sprouts from and it morphs around the thighs of Pius. Needles sink into his

bone as the Pope screams in pain for help, in Italian of course. The tube sucks out blood and

bone marrow, the needles move about the body like tapeworm, not letting a single drop be left

to waste. The left tank is full. Jack, with his right hand, taps his cane on the floor twice and

faints; All of his supernatural equipment disappears as he false unto the ground face first.

September 19th, 2025 03:17

in the quiet tide
Tristan Robert Lange said:

My friend, I’ve carried unwritten lines like this myself…held tight in the undertow, perfect before they ever touch paper. You’ve captured that beautifully 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

September 18th, 2025 18:09