what’s solid keeps shifting,
a kind of slow slide
beneath the day’s footing—
a small body of water
giving way to something larger
held just past the edge
of keeping it together—
and still the errands call,
each list a small task
to steady the shake
that never shows in the hands
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 10th, 2026 06:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: delayed telecast.
Offline)
Comments6
Indeed I feel the ground shifting at times and I have to reach out to steady myself. It is that loss of balance as if one closes one's eyes and lifts one's head back. I learned years ago not to do it on a ladder. There is that feeling of change in this poem but a change one does not wish to show. Is it weakness or age or are they the same. Well done Cryptic
Or is it the kind of fishbowl we are put in? Indeed. Thanks, Soren 🕊️🙏🏻
You are most welcome my friend
My friend, this hit me hard…there’s a quiet instability running through the whole piece. Everything feels just slightly off balance, like the ground is shifting beneath ordinary life. The way you bring it back to the body at the end lands perfectly…“that never shows in the hands.” Beautifully restrained work, Rik. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Ah a fellow-journeyman’s salute! Superb, Tittu🕊️🙏🏻
Yes! Indeed. 🫡
Good write A.
Thanks O, other side of the coin here; why your hymns are so precious 🙏🏻🙏🏻
Yes we travel this crazy escalator called Earth and wonder why we fall over so much.A thoughtful piece mi amigo
Sleep is for the dead, they say😂🕊️🙏🏻
What ever happens Rik we must still keep moving forward in our lives.
Andy
A fine write, mate. There's a line in a song, Waterfall by Stone Roses, 'Stands on shifting sands.' Your poem reminded me of that. Nicely done.
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