Write the poem that feels too large to hold.
Then control it.
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#poemsabout #theedgeofknowing @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
For this week I present a pantoum/haiku combo. I looked at the prompt and chose to write it from the perspective of a teenager, recalling the days where everyone thought they knew everything.
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I felt like I needed to write, well, something else this week for #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
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possible titles there is an edge for this the body stops here between signal and this is where day forgets itself if knowing had a shoreline before the word becomes at the border of heat the pattern almost holds one thing is still itself and already becoming something else
For this week's #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing, I'm thinking about how an edge is where one thing is still itself
but already becoming something else.
Thank you to the host @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk and to all of the other writers.
#poetry #poem #writing #BlueSkyPoets
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Coming out of infinite night,
squinting, brightness of light,
finally, the edge of knowing me,
finally, the place where soul is free,
apprehensive in faith,
apprehensive of my wraith,
she is always there, that woman,
waiting to reclaim her space, past woman
#poemsabout @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poetry
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Old Care This may be foward of me. They pump crap into your head. "Perfume is very stale polluted air" said the air filter app and it got to knowing fake from real. Analyse metadata. Clear preloved accessories apartment has speaking apparatus somatic movement proved stamps have hidden secrets in their signing. Breach the difference between nations. Be unsane. In Shakespeare's time mattresses were secured on bedframes by ropes. Easily genuinely can't tell anyone they're Nasa just dropped that gives me purpose. Exit the fossil fuel. I caught the glitch bit.
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A Palm Tree Grows in Santa Barbara Because I cannot stand under it and take it all in at once, I put my palm on its stem— palm, because its fronds are splayed, supine, expectant— stem, because it is only tree-like and I need to steady my gaze on its dizzying climb in the brassy sunlight. I tell it— you are so tall— tall, because its focus is ascension, not girth or limbs— focus, because it bends to the grousing of shaggy clouds— bends, because in a storm it sweeps the floor-sky like a witch’s broom— sweeps, because it does not count the years in rigid rings but spirals—fan-leaved— twisting in a gust and flinging clusters of its seeded drupes, like a parable so perfect it takes hold in any soil— poor, shallow, shifting sands— because its roots are a million fibrous phrases, tacking down its own beginning— adventitious, because these days are so uncertain. — I tell it— you are so tall, and so beautiful— so beautiful, because she says, “That’s a good one.” She, like me, has been tripping— marveling eyes skyward, lashes spiked and glittered— under these strange, ubiquitous, tree-like flowers— marveling, because her name is Fantasia, and this is the first time she’s fallen so quickly in love— fallen, because he’s with her now— Gabriel— we press our palms in greeting— in love, because he tells her— breathe— you are no longer alone— alone, because she’s been scattered— Washington, Birmingham, St. Louis— no longer, because together they are community activists — Arlington, Palo Alto, Chesterbrook— gathering signatures for good legislation— gathering, because it starts somewhere— good, because the focus is this— she gestures, her palms spreading the infinite, invisible moment we find between us.
I can’t help it. I need to repost this in the right order. Duh. Also HAD to tinker with the ending. #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
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For #PoemsAbout #EdgeofReason @thebrokenspine.co.uk
Denial? Suppression of uncomfortable memories? Moi?
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Dark blue box with black shading and the words of a poem in white text: edge of knowing it is a beautiful thing, this – glowing red as knuckles petals the paper of gods – it is a perfect thing I know it is a flower seen a thousand times no doubt – but the name of it has sunk into the river of Lethe I try to fish it up I dive bravely but the water is murky clouded with a million memories – ungraspable and I resurface empty
Happy to have been inspired by the #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing prompt: Friday tends to be a good day, but now with adde poetry! Will read other offerings over the weekend. Thanks as always to @thebrokenspine.co.uk and @alanparrywriter.co.uk 🙏💜
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@alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poemsabout #edgeofknowing
Thanks as always to my inspiration and muse #pedropascal
@nathanbrazil.bsky.social
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#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
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A free verse poem about how, ini spite of life's overwhelm we can still hold to hope.
For #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
With much thanks to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk
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𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚
beyond the edge of knowing
lies
and AI
.
#poem #poetry #micropoetry
#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
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The Edge a mad king delusion in full control confabulation making it up as he goes to the edge the edge of insanity brain cells are melting disintegrating narcissism in control he must go
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Edge of Knowing the world on edge a precipice I think I know which way we'll go I grasp the wheel I pull hard left fighting forces out of control tipping downward— I am aghast how can it be that we are on this precipice whipped by winds gripping the wheel fighting forces beyond control pray now which way we'll go
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Poem: Of Dreams “We dream—it is good we are dreaming— It would hurt us—were we awake—” Emily Dickinson, “We dream—it is good we are dreaming” In my dreams, I am multitudes, in my dreams, I walk through walls, and soar beyond time, it runs backwards (my dead are alive). In my dreams, I am every fish in every ocean, my tails are tales that dive and swim ashore morph into more. I am every bird in every hue, feather-flighting migrating birds and one-way trippers-- in my dreams I soar, sink, think, I think I know— everything-- how do I know my dream did not change the world? George Orr, and/or, Orwell, all is well-- America is singing, a dream deferred, and I am just at the edge of understanding— then I wake.
Good morning! So many prompts, so much poetry to read--a bounty of riches this month! Here's my poem for #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing Thank you as always to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk I'll be back later to read.
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Teetering on the
Precipice of knowledge, while
Practicing patience.
#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing #haiku #senryu #poem #writing #writingcommunity
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
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A Palm Tree Grows in Santa Barbara Because I cannot stand under it and take it all in at once, I put my palm on its stem— palm, because its fronds are splayed, supine, expectant— stem, because it is only tree-like and I need to steady my gaze on its dizzying climb in the brassy sunlight. I tell it— you are so tall— tall, because its focus is ascension, not girth or limbs— focus, because it bends to the grousing of shaggy clouds— bends, because in a storm it sweeps the floor-sky like a witch’s broom— sweeps, because it does not count the years in rigid rings but spirals—fan-leaved— twisting in a gust and flinging clusters of its seeded drupes, like a parable so perfect it takes hold in any soil— poor, shallow, shifting sands— because its roots are a million fibrous phrases, tacking down its own beginning— adventitious, because these days are so uncertain. — I tell it— you are so tall, and so beautiful— so beautiful, because she says, “That’s a good one.” She, like me, has been tripping— marveling eyes skyward, lashes spiked and glittered— under these strange, ubiquitous, tree-like flowers— marveling, because her name is Fantasia, and this is the first time she’s fallen so quickly in love— fallen, because he’s with her now— Gabriel— we press our palms in greeting— in love, because he tells her— breathe— you are no longer alone— alone, because she’s been scattered— Washington, Birmingham, St. Louis— no longer, because together they are community activists — Arlington, Palo Alto, Chesterbrook— gathering signatures for good legislation— gathering, because it starts somewhere— good, because the focus is this— she gestures, her palms spreading the infinite, invisible moment between us.
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#PoemsAbout
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
#EdgeOfKnowing
bud on a stark tree, late
hellebore, wisteria - grey - leafless ,
all on an inbreath - not knowing
- as yet -
what might soon be flowering
what might be in-forming
its pattern of days
its pattern of dreams
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visited inside this room the air hangs like heavy strips of fabric and i pace around it unsettled the knock at the door was inevitable was jarring i make a cup of tea i stare at the hardy wooden rectangle i snack on my fingernails another knock at the door then another louder i will answer it and i will see who is there
🤷♂️
#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
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Angels in the Afterburn I turned a picture from Artemis into my desktop wallpaper at work, chills every time the screen opens throat closing around the image all ocean, clouds, sparks light, most of all ours. The sheen of atmosphere the halo of our air, takes breath out of me. Where does belonging emerge in a beauty so vast? Where does one of us end and the other begins? I let it slideshow into another a diagram of Laniakea spreading spiderweb tendrils across the void with a little dot for the Milky Way and an arrow crying, “You are Here!” And then another, a sliver of moon, then the half shadow of our home. I let it settle on an angel in the afterburn gliding into frame. I ask her to preserve us and she replies…
Best wishes. Will respond to other folks work as it slows down at work. Enjoy. 🤗
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
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Subtle Steel Stumbling in the jostling tangle, Fractured minds exhausted, angered, Thrust and heave, self-righteous struggle, Heated veins, war-weary limbs, Paled dreams of glory pouring from him, Mutely-slicing smooth blade through him, Freeing blood to pump unhampered, Spattering on the dust-blown sands, He glimpses briefly as he tumbles How his military venture, Setting out with force unrivalled, All the power the empire boasts of, Lacking mandate from his senate, Brushing off harsh words from rivals, Criticised for starting rashly This invasion without merit Or with cause he’d justified, And spurning wise advice and offers, Fooled by selfish-serving allies, Underestimating foes, And parched beneath relentless heat Upon the boundless Parthian plains— Despite sound warnings he should skirt them— Struck by showers of lethal missiles, And yet more his foes had stored up, Tearing his proud army down, Has brought him to this sordid ending, Wrenched from all the wealth he’d garnered By sharp dealings in his city, And how, once his head’s been severed, His dead mouth will fill with gold. ackn. Plutarch: Lives Paul Rapley 2026 #EdgeofKnowing
#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
me - I know nothing, but thank you to
@alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poets #poetry #poems
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Short poem observation about an Amelanchier tree losing blossom
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poemsabout
#edgeofknowing
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Morning Friday
I didn’t see you last week
so it’s good to see you
here’s my little “throwaway” poem
for #PoemsAbout #EdgeofKnowing
Enjoy every settee you sit on this weekend 🛋️🛋️🛋️
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A poem about tuning in, using a radio or television receiver, or a mushroom.
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There certainly was, John! I sat on it for a few days and then saw the #poemsabout prompt and it fell into place!
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