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feedback reverb
Folder:
reworked vintage
between the measure and its lingering chord
a pause leans into itself—
not absence, but a held breath
threading the room with quiet weight.
chairs remember their occupants,
dust rehearses its slow descent,
and the air waits,
as if something might begin again.
… and the night forgets its name
the silence gathers in the rafters,
an aftersound still trembling in the beams
.
“a pause leans into
“a pause leans into itself”
I could have stopped right there and felt the full force of your blazing pen.
But the best was yet to come. Like all fine, atmospheric art in any form, just a wisp of detail or an evocative visual surging with memory, so much like “reverb”, so restless in stillness, creates more than a feeling: it conjures an experience.
As always, a stunner.
This really touched me,
This really touched me, thank you. That opening line was meant to carry its own weight, almost like a hinge the rest of the poem could lean on, so it means a lot that it struck you so strongly. And describing the “restless stillness” of reverb as more than a feeling, but an experience is exactly the atmosphere I was hoping to conjure, where silence itself becomes charged with memory. Your words capture the spirit of the piece beautifully.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
This poem presents your usual
This poem presents your usual verbal skill, and the "haunted" sense reminds me of the film, Burnt Offerings, from 1976.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]
I really appreciate this,
I really appreciate this, Starward-Led. "Burnt Offerings" was not immediately on my radar, but I love that connection. The way that film makes the house itself feel like a living, haunted presence is very close to what I was trying to capture with the silence in this poem. I wanted the space to feel charged, as if it remembered more than it revealed. Thanks for drawing that parallel. It’s a really great lens to see the piece through.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Love the cute foreboding
Love the cute foreboding elements of horror on that end-line there: a creature, as it were, reluctantly 'trembling in the beams' or so it seems to me, at least
peace, pot, tequila shot
Jesus loves us, stoned or not
It's awesome that you
It's awesome that you imagined it as a creature trembling up there in the beams — that’s exactly the kind of half‑seen presence I that could be left open in the silence. Is it just sound fading, or something else waiting in the rafters? I’m glad that little shiver at the end came through for you.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver