I love all the elements in this poem Brian: the fire, the wind, the rain—and then the quiet moment at the end. It really feels like life right now. The dizzy spinning of our world—that bewilderment we all have. sleepless nights. Such fine work, my friend. Responding to this one was an absolute joy!
I know this place at 3:31 am. Sleep finds me waking often and I am questioning where I am in this space where I am waking but still asleep. Dreaming but awake and then I drift back off...
I'm up almost every night at 2:00 or 3:00 AM with my 14 year-old dog who needs to go outside. I try to sort of sleep walk through the whole ritual--with varying degrees of success. He's worth it though. :-)
Thanks so much, Nathan--I agree. Brian's poem was a luxurious prompt full of rhythm and imagery! My poem practically wrote itself--moving forward from the quiet moment at the end. By that point, the poems were beginning to form an ongoing story, which is what our brains naturally want to do.
Thanks Stephanie. It’s interesting to try to figure out why a line works or doesn’t work. I think something about this one has to do with the vastness of empty space supporting and lifting the strength of the spine. Just my theory. Thanks for reading!
This feels like the mirror inverse of a poem I wrote the other night. I had a terrible sore throat and inflamed tonsils and every time I started to fall asleep, my throat would close and I couldn't breathe:
Standing on the beach of sleep--
Dipping my toes into the water
unable to wade in any further.
Your poem feels like a sleeper caught in the vortex of dreaming unable to fully wake, the other midnight liminal state.
As I read I see an image of my waker and your sleeper, toe to toe on the beach, either side of the tide line, one on dry land, the other tossing upon the waves.
It’s such a strange part of consciousness isn’t it? I bet there’s a thousand poems that could be written to attempt to place this feeling on the page. I like the idea of wading you shared…that resonates, for me especially some nights where as I drift to sleep, energy courses through me waking me, over and over. And over.
Love that. Reminds me of the aftermath of doing deep inner work that lead to some fundamental inner change -- for a moment afterward, I feel like a stranger.
Thank you for sharing, Brian. I like the description or the possible subtitle especially: "A description of the liminal space between reality and dreaming." A most interesting theme.
I love all the elements in this poem Brian: the fire, the wind, the rain—and then the quiet moment at the end. It really feels like life right now. The dizzy spinning of our world—that bewilderment we all have. sleepless nights. Such fine work, my friend. Responding to this one was an absolute joy!
Thanks Ann, I like the direction each piece in this little series took!
The Morphling morphed in such fun ways :-)
The final three lines ⚡️⚡️⚡️
Thanks Emma!
I know this place at 3:31 am. Sleep finds me waking often and I am questioning where I am in this space where I am waking but still asleep. Dreaming but awake and then I drift back off...
I'm up almost every night at 2:00 or 3:00 AM with my 14 year-old dog who needs to go outside. I try to sort of sleep walk through the whole ritual--with varying degrees of success. He's worth it though. :-)
My latest is feeling like I don’t fall back asleep, but wake up realizing I was asleep. Thinking mind straight into a dream…
"you remember,
you are changed."
Oh yes! 🔥
This quiet reflection at the end is perfect.
The back and forth of this exchange is so good. Hats off to both of you.
Thanks! It was a fun one for sure!
Thanks so much, Nathan--I agree. Brian's poem was a luxurious prompt full of rhythm and imagery! My poem practically wrote itself--moving forward from the quiet moment at the end. By that point, the poems were beginning to form an ongoing story, which is what our brains naturally want to do.
Loved these lines:
"space below your spine
rises to hold you,
to lift you
as only empty space will"
Thanks Stephanie. It’s interesting to try to figure out why a line works or doesn’t work. I think something about this one has to do with the vastness of empty space supporting and lifting the strength of the spine. Just my theory. Thanks for reading!
This feels like the mirror inverse of a poem I wrote the other night. I had a terrible sore throat and inflamed tonsils and every time I started to fall asleep, my throat would close and I couldn't breathe:
Standing on the beach of sleep--
Dipping my toes into the water
unable to wade in any further.
Your poem feels like a sleeper caught in the vortex of dreaming unable to fully wake, the other midnight liminal state.
As I read I see an image of my waker and your sleeper, toe to toe on the beach, either side of the tide line, one on dry land, the other tossing upon the waves.
I particularly like the sound and flow of;
"fever and flushed
and flows through
as fire, all
aflame, cool as it burns,"
also
"and words
fall, heavy heavy
on the tongue, heavy heavy
on the open plain "
It’s such a strange part of consciousness isn’t it? I bet there’s a thousand poems that could be written to attempt to place this feeling on the page. I like the idea of wading you shared…that resonates, for me especially some nights where as I drift to sleep, energy courses through me waking me, over and over. And over.
Thanks for the thoughtful commentary💫
Beautiful!
Thank you for reading along!!
"you remember,
you are changed."
Love that. Reminds me of the aftermath of doing deep inner work that lead to some fundamental inner change -- for a moment afterward, I feel like a stranger.
Thanks, I like the simplicity of the end. I’m glad you appreciated it too!
I love the hopefulness of change. For some reason, I've never really feared it.
Thank you for sharing, Brian. I like the description or the possible subtitle especially: "A description of the liminal space between reality and dreaming." A most interesting theme.
It’s a strange space…thanks Neil!
Roots drilling down, earth-bound, sharing
Sky—like gemels, like twins—
Trees in our slow-motion dance.
Underground, we will meet at a
Vanishing place—some night in a dream
Where the ghost flowers sleep.
(couldn't comment on original part 4, beautiful lines)
Thank you, Síodhna, I really enjoyed the writing. Something about the abecedarian form is especially playful.
Even more impressive, Ann, I've heard the discipline of forms brings forth expanse and creativity. Case in kind.
Agree, these are very beautiful lines. Thanks for reading along!