hello poetry

arqios

 

hello poetry

 

Beneath the rustling of an unwritten page,

a quiver begins—soft as rain on glass.

Words lean toward each other,

testing the air between syllables,

like strangers exchanging glances

before they dare to speak.

 

Here, the ink is not just ink—

it is breath, the slow unfurling of a thought

that has waited years for its own voice.

Every line a bridge, every pause a doorway.

 

And when the poem finds you,

 it does not knock—

it slips into your chest,

settles beside your heartbeat,

and ripples outward from it.

 

 

 

 

 

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Comments +

Comments8

  • orchidee

    A fine write A. it's my saying again 'I never knew there was so much to (x), but I know now!' and in this case 'x' being 'writing a poem!' Glad you rustled those pages and got your quill out to write. Quill? Well, I am millions of years old, with Goldfinch too, so I say. heehee. He won't be insulted by saying we're both very old.

    • arqios

      Keep quilling! 🪶🙏🏻🕊️

      • orchidee

        Me quill's gone blunt. I'm chasing this bird around the garden, hoping to pluck one of its feathers for a new quill. lol.

        • arqios

          Homemade 🪶 quills; now there’s a time-forgotten skill! 🕊️🙏🏻

        • Paul Bell

          It sure does, and when it's down and the page is a picture, all is good.
          It's when you're in company and the thoughts come through, what do you do.

          • arqios

            Oh, that’s so true! An awkward attempt to make a note in the presence of others. Holding a thought is far too difficult. It’s almost the same challenge as when asleep and a poem comes to you! 🕊️🙏🏻

          • Thomas W Case

            This is like fine wine. Brilliant.

            • arqios

              Many thanks, Thomas🕊️🙏🏻

            • sorenbarrett

              Poetic thoughts put to ink. I find may a poem breaks in through a closed window or door forgotten unlocked to find it sitting on my bed or in my shower. Startling me out of what would be a quiet day and ordering me to the laptop. Seldom do they come whole but in handicapped form, some without feet, body or heart. A wonderful write my friend.

              • arqios

                Aye, that’s the way of the poem. Its mysteries are quite wonderful. Thanks, Soren🙏🏻🕊️

                • sorenbarrett

                  Most welcome Cryptic

                • Tristan Robert Lange

                  My friend, this moves with such reverence…ink as breath, pauses as doorways, a poem slipping into the chest instead of announcing itself. You wrote the inner life of creation with real grace. Beautiful work. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

                  • arqios

                    Thanks, T. Far too many times the inner life of creation remains unseen. 🤩🙏🏻🕊️

                  • FrasMac

                    Now I find this poem reaches into my lungsand produces a gasp, almost like Ted Hughes' "Thought Fox" did the first time I read it. Super writing, thank you!

                    • arqios

                      Thanks, FrasMac. May we have many more good turns and returns🙏🏻🕊️

                    • Kevin Hulme

                      When the Poem starts coming together you are like Victor Frankenstein: 'Its Alive! Alive!

                      • arqios

                        Now I have a videoclip playing in my head! 🤣🙏🏻🕊️

                      • Goldfinch60

                        So many poems in our minds Rik, so little time to write them all down.

                        Andy

                        • arqios

                          That is so true< Andy. Makes one wonder what percentage of them "make it to print." 🕊️🙏



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