I like this poem. even though: I like this poem. even though several lines read as if written to conform to the rhyme shcee. But that second couplet, lines 3 and 4, is BRILLIANT!!!!
I normally do not comment on: I normally do not comment on your poems because. apparently, you do not bother to acknowledge a compliment, but I want to say this is one of the MOST PROFOUND poems I have ever read on this site.
With the utmost respect, I: With the utmost respect, I disagree. The locking of the door is a little more elaborate an action than the actions in the two prior stanzas, and therefore the rhythm is slightly different to give an "auditory" support to this. I applaud your keen ear for rhythmic detail.
Bells in stanza: Still— in the rafters of the stanza,
I hang small bells, and in the mortar...
we all love those bells in our stanza ringing our true meaning. Love this ... however the verse about the key made me stumble. Just a suggestion to smooth it a bit?
I have locked the third door
and pocketed the key,
for I know how you hate
to find yourself
in a room you did not expect.
The lines felt run on and not in the same rhythm.
maybe just change up the line breaks?
This poem is, even in its: This poem is, even in its brevity, enormously powerful. Symbols (like the bread, wine and roses) are skillfully deployed without being heavy-handed.
Your poem pulses with quiet: Your poem pulses with quiet defiance and introspective grace; it’s not just verse, it’s a manifesto for thoughtful living in a world that prizes noise over nuance. The metaphor of words as electricity, charged and volatile, is brilliant, and your reflections on silence as a space for meaning rather than fear feel like a call to arms for the contemplative. You’ve made poetry feel like resistance, and writing a deliberate act of self-respect. Thank you for crafting something that doesn’t just speak, it resonates.
“Render Mercy" is a compact,: “Render Mercy" is a compact, visual‑driven poem that drifts between the language of technology and the textures of human feeling. It invites the reader into a liminal space where image and emotion overlap, offering a mood that’s at once intimate and strangely distant. Its pared‑down lines leave plenty of room for your own interpretations, making it as much an experience as it is a reading.
South of the Equator could: South of the Equator could feel like leaning in to overhear a landscape breathing. We can almost taste the river‑mint, feel the weight of heat pooling between gum‑tree shadows, and hear the lorikeets breaking the morning open. It’s a piece that may hold memory, distance, and belonging close enough for us to feel their pulse.
Some pieces feel like sitting: Some pieces feel like sitting down with an old friend; unhurried, familiar, and quietly full of wonder. This one is perhaps soft edges and clear moments, the kind you tuck away to remember on a long afternoon. We don’t need to rush; just settle in and let it unfold at its own easy pace.
Hopefully this poem draws: Hopefully this poem draws reading into a quiet threshold where confusion doesn’t vanish but softens, making room for a gentler understanding. Through shifts between tangible detail and abstract reflection, it could lead us through moments that feel at once strange and familiar, like discovering hidden doors between rooms we’ve always known. Rather than chasing definitive answers, the poem tries to settle into the companionship of uncertainty, and suggest that meaning can hold its shape even when the lines refuse to be straight. Perhaps it comes close to achieving this.
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