Well, that was unsettling in the most polite way possible. I feel like I just tripped over a shadow, stubbed my emotions, and somehow still want to read it again. I appreciate how it manages to be both precise and elusive, leaving just enough shadow behind to make me wonder if my spine is still in the room. Not all darkness needs an exit sign, but apparently it does need a very polite, well-timed nudge. Efficient, haunting, and mercilessly precise.
That’s a wonderfully sharp way of putting it Dipti, “unsettling in the most polite way possible” might be the highest compliment it could get.
I’m glad the precision and the elusiveness both came through. I was trying to leave just enough shadow behind for the body to finish the sentence on its own — especially that moment where you’re not quite sure if your spine is still where you left it.
And you’re right: not all darkness needs an exit sign. Sometimes it just needs to be acknowledged, quietly, and left exactly where it is.
Those two lines are doing quiet bookends for me — the stones holding sound at the start, and the dark not needing permission to leave at the end. Same idea, really: nothing dramatic, just things staying where they already are.
I’m glad that connection landed.
Sometimes it’s the stillness at the edges that does the most work.
okay but excuse me?? this line didn’t knock, it just slid in sideways like “hey don’t mind me” and now it owns the couch
this whole piece feels like fear stopped being spooky and decided to get a clipboard. no drama. no theatrics. just vibes and paperwork. honestly the scariest kind. darkness with a tracking number?? absolutely not.
the left / left / again bit made my nervous system sit up straight like “oh. we remember this.” that’s not poetry, that’s muscle memory whispering. the way everything is half a step off, slightly misaligned, like reality forgot to sync... deliciously unsettling. nothing jumps out. everything creeps inward. very rude. very effective.
and then that move where darkness isn’t expelled or healed or transformed. it’s just… allowed to exist nearby without being centered. that’s power. not conquest. not collapse. just a calm “you don’t get the living room.”
also the delivery summary??? i laughed and then immediately felt watched. “recipient unavailable” is SUCH a specific kind of dread. like fear tried calling, no one picked up, so it just… stayed anyway. relatable honestly.
this reads like you didn’t summon darkness... you let it finish checking in. and then you went on with your day. unbothered. mildly haunted. iconic.
This made me laugh in exactly the wrong way Auska ~!
The kind where you realise someone’s seen the mechanism, not just the effect.
“Fear with a clipboard” might be the most accurate description of the whole intent.
No theatrics, no haunting violins — just forms, timings, check-ins, and that awful calm when everything is technically in order. Darkness as admin. Truly the worst genre.
I love what you noticed about the left / left / again — that’s exactly it: not poetry as expression, but muscle memory quietly clocking in for a shift it remembers all too well. And yes, the half-step misalignment is deliberate. Nothing breaks. Nothing explodes. Things just… don’t quite sync. Which somehow feels ruder.
Also: “you don’t get the living room” is now canon.
That’s the boundary, right there. Not banishment. Not healing. Just spatial rules.
And the delivery summary — absolutely. Fear didn’t knock. It checked the tracking, saw “recipient unavailable,” and decided to wait nearby like a very patient problem.
Thank you for reading it with both humour and nerve.
This poem feels like the moment fear brushes your skin before you’ve even found the words for it. Its muffled doors, half‑step footfalls, and swallowed echoes capture that strange closeness that arrives quietly, almost tender in its unease. The tightening jaw and closing breath feel painfully familiar the body speaking long before the mind understands. The poem holds that suspended space where sound hovers and silence thickens, a place where something unnamed presses gently at the edges of awareness. What moves most is the small shudder that returns, not as panic but as recognition. The cold that “crossed and did not stay” feels like fear passing through rather than settling in. And the nameless sounds that linger inside echo the way old anxieties sometimes live quietly under the surface. The final lines offer a surprising kindness: the idea that darkness doesn’t always need to be pushed away. Sometimes it just wants a corner to rest in. And in accepting that, the poem finds a fragile, deeply human peace.
You’ve articulated the experience more clearly than I ever could from inside it.
I’m especially struck by what you say about the body speaking before the mind understands, and about that small shudder returning as recognition rather than panic. That’s very close to the space I was trying to hold:
Not fear as alarm, but as something already familiar, already folded into sensation.
I also appreciate your reading of the ending as a kind of quiet permission. Not an absolution, and not exactly peace either — more an acceptance that some things pass through, some things stay, and neither always need to be forced out.
I’m really glad the tenderness in that unease came through.
The way you capture fear as something quiet, physical, and already inside, not something that needs to be confronted or fixed, rang so true. And that ending, the idea that not all darkness needs room to go, just acknowledgment… that feels true to how these things actually live with us. Beautiful work.
I really appreciate you spending time with it, and I’m glad that last line spoke to you.
I like what you say about not needing to chase away every shadow.
For me, the piece was less about understanding in the explanatory sense, and more about recognising what’s already there — what settles in without asking. But I think those two gestures can sit alongside each other perfectly.
And thank you for subscribing — I’m glad our work has crossed paths.
Mark, the impressions formed here are portrayed with remarkable accuracy.
This is an exceptionally beautiful topic...one of those themes upon which no matter how much is written, it still feels insufficient. Yet you have managed to touch the very foundations of this vast subject.
The way it is expressed is truly powerful. Especially the idea that darkness asks for no permission...because it does not need to. It already exists within the body, within the self. That realization is both haunting and profound.
The choice of words is exquisite. There is no doubt about it. This is an outstanding portrayal of fear and darkness, one that genuinely feels born from fear itself.
Thank you so much Dawnithic, that’s such a great reading of this!
I’m especially glad you picked up on that sense of darkness asking for no permission. That felt important to me: not fear as spectacle, but as something already resident, already folded into the body and the self, long before we decide what to call it.
I like what you say about insufficiency too — that feeling that the subject is always larger than what language can hold. If the piece touches the foundations at all, I think it’s because it doesn’t try to claim them, only to rest a hand there briefly and withdraw.
I really appreciate you spending the time to sit with it so carefully.
-while sound still hovered, and silence stayed inside
This is still settling in my heart. Your words are both tender and dark, but it is the darkness of an early sunrise. You are hiding your stones from us but one by one, they are falling out of your pocket. Screams are muffled by an elegant hand covering your mouth.
I’m especially moved by what you say about an early sunrise. That liminal moment where things aren’t dark in the way night is dark, but not yet safe or clear either — that’s very close to where I was trying to write from.
And I love the image of stones falling one by one, almost despite the effort to keep them hidden. That feels true to the process: not a confession, not a scream, but something quietly slipping loose while the hand is still doing its best to keep things contained.
I’m really glad that line is still settling.
That kind of slow after-effect means more to me than anything immediate.
That means a great deal, especially coming from you - The Master (or Mistress??) of Moonlight!
I’m really glad that enjambment landed for you. That slight misstep, that half-beat out of sync, felt like the right place to let the floor tilt before anything else arrived.
And I love that you describe the second half as a sucker punch — that contrast between slow menace and sudden intimacy was very deliberate. If it caught you off guard, then it did its job.
I’m looking forward to catching up with your lastest too over the weekend!
It really did - and it made me think that what I want is a printed collection of your stuff, so that I can sit with it, pick it up and re-read bits, flip backwards and forwards to see the connections. Is there anything like that in the pipeline?
Hawtornm, many thanks for accepting the delivery, and for seeing the intent behind not characterising the darkness.
I think some of the more unsettling things live precisely there: when we don’t over-explain, don’t name, don’t pin them down. Our imaginations are already very good at doing the rest, and often far better (and darker) than anything spelled out on the page.
I also love that you had to slow down and reread.
That pause, that slight resistance, feels like part of the encounter itself.
Just remember, this is a non-returnable item.
Refunds are possible.
Transfer of ownership — Let's just say, all it needs is a touch.
Well, that was unsettling in the most polite way possible. I feel like I just tripped over a shadow, stubbed my emotions, and somehow still want to read it again. I appreciate how it manages to be both precise and elusive, leaving just enough shadow behind to make me wonder if my spine is still in the room. Not all darkness needs an exit sign, but apparently it does need a very polite, well-timed nudge. Efficient, haunting, and mercilessly precise.
That’s a wonderfully sharp way of putting it Dipti, “unsettling in the most polite way possible” might be the highest compliment it could get.
I’m glad the precision and the elusiveness both came through. I was trying to leave just enough shadow behind for the body to finish the sentence on its own — especially that moment where you’re not quite sure if your spine is still where you left it.
And you’re right: not all darkness needs an exit sign. Sometimes it just needs to be acknowledged, quietly, and left exactly where it is.
Ohh, the shadows get a quiet acknowledgment and the spine stays put—sounds like my kind of polite haunting 😏✨.
👻 👻 👻
I think you know from reading my poetry how much I feel this: "not all that’s dark
needs room to go." 🖤🖤🖤
Yes Laura and this really means a lot coming from you.
Thank you. 🖤
This was so good... I love reading poetry from you. 🖤
Thank you! 💛
There is something about the 'stones' and 'needs room to go'...🤍
That’s a lovely way of putting it @Be Budding 🤍
Those two lines are doing quiet bookends for me — the stones holding sound at the start, and the dark not needing permission to leave at the end. Same idea, really: nothing dramatic, just things staying where they already are.
I’m glad that connection landed.
Sometimes it’s the stillness at the edges that does the most work.
"Stillness at the edges"...damn! 🤍
“not all that’s dark needs room to go.”
okay but excuse me?? this line didn’t knock, it just slid in sideways like “hey don’t mind me” and now it owns the couch
this whole piece feels like fear stopped being spooky and decided to get a clipboard. no drama. no theatrics. just vibes and paperwork. honestly the scariest kind. darkness with a tracking number?? absolutely not.
the left / left / again bit made my nervous system sit up straight like “oh. we remember this.” that’s not poetry, that’s muscle memory whispering. the way everything is half a step off, slightly misaligned, like reality forgot to sync... deliciously unsettling. nothing jumps out. everything creeps inward. very rude. very effective.
and then that move where darkness isn’t expelled or healed or transformed. it’s just… allowed to exist nearby without being centered. that’s power. not conquest. not collapse. just a calm “you don’t get the living room.”
also the delivery summary??? i laughed and then immediately felt watched. “recipient unavailable” is SUCH a specific kind of dread. like fear tried calling, no one picked up, so it just… stayed anyway. relatable honestly.
this reads like you didn’t summon darkness... you let it finish checking in. and then you went on with your day. unbothered. mildly haunted. iconic.
This made me laugh in exactly the wrong way Auska ~!
The kind where you realise someone’s seen the mechanism, not just the effect.
“Fear with a clipboard” might be the most accurate description of the whole intent.
No theatrics, no haunting violins — just forms, timings, check-ins, and that awful calm when everything is technically in order. Darkness as admin. Truly the worst genre.
I love what you noticed about the left / left / again — that’s exactly it: not poetry as expression, but muscle memory quietly clocking in for a shift it remembers all too well. And yes, the half-step misalignment is deliberate. Nothing breaks. Nothing explodes. Things just… don’t quite sync. Which somehow feels ruder.
Also: “you don’t get the living room” is now canon.
That’s the boundary, right there. Not banishment. Not healing. Just spatial rules.
And the delivery summary — absolutely. Fear didn’t knock. It checked the tracking, saw “recipient unavailable,” and decided to wait nearby like a very patient problem.
Thank you for reading it with both humour and nerve.
Mildly haunted but functional feels about right.
mark... “fear with a clipboard” ruined me in the best way..!
darkness as admin is absolutely the worst genre. forms filed, vibes wrong, nothing explodes, everything misaligns.
also yes, “you don’t get the living room” is canon forever. mildly haunted but functional is the dream.
This poem feels like the moment fear brushes your skin before you’ve even found the words for it. Its muffled doors, half‑step footfalls, and swallowed echoes capture that strange closeness that arrives quietly, almost tender in its unease. The tightening jaw and closing breath feel painfully familiar the body speaking long before the mind understands. The poem holds that suspended space where sound hovers and silence thickens, a place where something unnamed presses gently at the edges of awareness. What moves most is the small shudder that returns, not as panic but as recognition. The cold that “crossed and did not stay” feels like fear passing through rather than settling in. And the nameless sounds that linger inside echo the way old anxieties sometimes live quietly under the surface. The final lines offer a surprising kindness: the idea that darkness doesn’t always need to be pushed away. Sometimes it just wants a corner to rest in. And in accepting that, the poem finds a fragile, deeply human peace.
Thank you for such a careful reading Adrião.
You’ve articulated the experience more clearly than I ever could from inside it.
I’m especially struck by what you say about the body speaking before the mind understands, and about that small shudder returning as recognition rather than panic. That’s very close to the space I was trying to hold:
Not fear as alarm, but as something already familiar, already folded into sensation.
I also appreciate your reading of the ending as a kind of quiet permission. Not an absolution, and not exactly peace either — more an acceptance that some things pass through, some things stay, and neither always need to be forced out.
I’m really glad the tenderness in that unease came through.
The way you capture fear as something quiet, physical, and already inside, not something that needs to be confronted or fixed, rang so true. And that ending, the idea that not all darkness needs room to go, just acknowledgment… that feels true to how these things actually live with us. Beautiful work.
I liked the last line.
I said so much.
We don't have to chase away every shadow,
They are just asking to be understood.
Beautiful poem.
Thanks for subscribing me.
🙏
Thank you, Capry. ☺️
I really appreciate you spending time with it, and I’m glad that last line spoke to you.
I like what you say about not needing to chase away every shadow.
For me, the piece was less about understanding in the explanatory sense, and more about recognising what’s already there — what settles in without asking. But I think those two gestures can sit alongside each other perfectly.
And thank you for subscribing — I’m glad our work has crossed paths.
Mark, the impressions formed here are portrayed with remarkable accuracy.
This is an exceptionally beautiful topic...one of those themes upon which no matter how much is written, it still feels insufficient. Yet you have managed to touch the very foundations of this vast subject.
The way it is expressed is truly powerful. Especially the idea that darkness asks for no permission...because it does not need to. It already exists within the body, within the self. That realization is both haunting and profound.
The choice of words is exquisite. There is no doubt about it. This is an outstanding portrayal of fear and darkness, one that genuinely feels born from fear itself.
Thank you so much Dawnithic, that’s such a great reading of this!
I’m especially glad you picked up on that sense of darkness asking for no permission. That felt important to me: not fear as spectacle, but as something already resident, already folded into the body and the self, long before we decide what to call it.
I like what you say about insufficiency too — that feeling that the subject is always larger than what language can hold. If the piece touches the foundations at all, I think it’s because it doesn’t try to claim them, only to rest a hand there briefly and withdraw.
I really appreciate you spending the time to sit with it so carefully.
Thanks!
Great take on darkness. I love the log like approach like it was measured inside.. so creatively beautiful 🫶🫶🫶
Thank you so much Marwa!
My "blue" post is still in the works ;)
I’m still looking forward to it :)
I read it a few times, or more.
-while sound still hovered, and silence stayed inside
This is still settling in my heart. Your words are both tender and dark, but it is the darkness of an early sunrise. You are hiding your stones from us but one by one, they are falling out of your pocket. Screams are muffled by an elegant hand covering your mouth.
That’s a beautiful way of seeing it Maragret.
Thank you for staying with it like that.
I’m especially moved by what you say about an early sunrise. That liminal moment where things aren’t dark in the way night is dark, but not yet safe or clear either — that’s very close to where I was trying to write from.
And I love the image of stones falling one by one, almost despite the effort to keep them hidden. That feels true to the process: not a confession, not a scream, but something quietly slipping loose while the hand is still doing its best to keep things contained.
I’m really glad that line is still settling.
That kind of slow after-effect means more to me than anything immediate.
That was great, really leaves you feeling that the fear and darkness is hanging over the reader as they take in the words.
Thank you so much Gary. That was exactly the effect I was aiming for, so really pleased it landed that way for you.
Oh wow! I was utterly absorbed by the slow menace of the first part of this and gasped at this bit of brilliant enjambment:
footfall lands a half-step
out of time,
When you completely sucker punched me with the second half!
Brilliant!
So damned inventive!
Can't wait to catch up on all I've missed!
Thank you Moll!
That means a great deal, especially coming from you - The Master (or Mistress??) of Moonlight!
I’m really glad that enjambment landed for you. That slight misstep, that half-beat out of sync, felt like the right place to let the floor tilt before anything else arrived.
And I love that you describe the second half as a sucker punch — that contrast between slow menace and sudden intimacy was very deliberate. If it caught you off guard, then it did its job.
I’m looking forward to catching up with your lastest too over the weekend!
It really did - and it made me think that what I want is a printed collection of your stuff, so that I can sit with it, pick it up and re-read bits, flip backwards and forwards to see the connections. Is there anything like that in the pipeline?
Thank you Moll. It means more than you can imagine to hear that from someone else.
I have been thinking about it a little recently and would love to make a compiliation of sorts when I have enough pieces ☺️
I think it would be a great idea - and a lovely thing to own.
🤗 🤗 🤗
Thank you!
🤗
Hawtornm, many thanks for accepting the delivery, and for seeing the intent behind not characterising the darkness.
I think some of the more unsettling things live precisely there: when we don’t over-explain, don’t name, don’t pin them down. Our imaginations are already very good at doing the rest, and often far better (and darker) than anything spelled out on the page.
I also love that you had to slow down and reread.
That pause, that slight resistance, feels like part of the encounter itself.
Just remember, this is a non-returnable item.
Refunds are possible.
Transfer of ownership — Let's just say, all it needs is a touch.
We remember.
Thats what you said before last time.
😁