a fire does not burn
but waits, contained in the hearth
as shadows lengthen behind portraits
of people no one names aloud
alfred peels the orange
not because he is hungry
but because morning requires rhythm
and rhythm is an anchor when cities howl
on the news: a rooftop chase
voices glitch through static
they speak of masks
as if they were weapons, or skin
in the hall—
a coat is hung back on its hook
with rain that
never reaches this far up the hill
and in the study
the grandfather clock ticks
not as time
but as a door
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 4th, 2025 05:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 50
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence, Cheeky Missy, Damaso, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments12
Oh nice, first Fave of the day, thanks Friendship. 🙏🏻🕊️
May this read feel like the hush before a revelation that may never arrive, yet somehow always has been there all along. Enjoy!
Time, rhythm or laws of order, interruptions masked in static of lack of understanding, protection hung up because it is not needed all compartmentalized as if in different rooms, and time is the door to understanding and passing though this compartmentalization. Maybe a time when we ill understand the ritual and the masks will fall and the static tune into clarity, where the coat will no longer be needed and the door of time will open. How is that for a wild and bizarre interpretation my friend?
Wild? Yes. Bizarre? Perhaps. But insightful? Absolutely.
Your reading turns the poem’s images into thresholds rather than end points; time becomes not backdrop but a passageway toward deeper understanding. The static, the coat, the separate rooms: these all speak to hidden divisions within the self or society, held in place until awareness unlocks them. This isn't stillness but quiet containment, poised for transformation. It feels like a prelude to revelation, where familiar rituals dissolve and what seemed divided becomes whole.
Far from bizarre, I'd call your interpretation quietly radical. And most heartily appreciated.🙏🏻🕊️
Thanks for the Fave @sorenbarrett
A clever observation of daily ritual for many but I suspect these are the doors we put in place, and they are doors we use to block out rather than open and let in, keeping us contained in what we are accustomed to, enjoyed the read
Oh, very nice take there; I love it!!! Brilliantly put 🙏🏻🕊️
You are very welcome
Thanks for the Fave @Poetic Licence
It's about a quarter past Summer now - or is it half-past Spring?! I dunno what year it is even. lol.
It we know we are still here; or are we, really 🙏🏻🕊️
Thanks for the Fave @Damaso
This is quietly stunning, dear poet and friend. Every detail feels intentional (and I know it is)—anchored in stillness yet humming with tension beneath. That final image? Chilling in the best way. You’ve created a whole world in just a few stanzas. Beautifully done. 🕰️🌧️🖤🌹
Thanks my friend , was attempting to make the final image the centrepiece. Much appreciated 🕊🙏🏻
You are most welcome! Really, really enjoyed it!
Cheers mate 🙏🏻🕊️
Your poem weaves stillness and unease so beautifully—each image lingers like the clock's haunting tick. The quiet rituals and unspoken tensions create a world both familiar and unsettling. Masterfully done.
Thanks MR🕊🙏🏻
Tremendous work.
Most appreciative, Thomas. 🕊🙏🏻
This is an abstract view of Time which really is an abstract notion.I mean Past and Future are not real in any sense. Ordinary acts seem to go backwards.For me this is a view of Time as a pathway, a door, not as a real state.This really made me think.
A beautiful take and quite accurate as well… Time can be so simple as it’s ticking but also so complex and convoluted. Exciting thoughts stirred up! Thanks🕊🙏🏻
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