The tip of the tongue, so slippery

In the waning light, it is difficult to decipher

What is real

What is imaginary

And it all comes down to a thought

Which in turn provokes context

I type into my phone

Watching as words right themselves into cohesive sentences

As if by magic

Wishing that life could do the same

Spellcheck for the actions we place with good intention

Instead things become skewed, lost inventions of another imaginary rock

striking the pool of present moment

same time

different intervention

What is relative?

What is theory?

Creating ripples that spread to the furtherest reaches

We are such random sparks

Tumbling stones

Full moon

Bare feet sinking in fresh grass

This much I know to be true

This feeling at least

Reliable

We awaken so briefly, before sinking once more

Into the daily task of living

Sometimes the night seems more true than the sunlit hours that preceded it

The day is for getting by on the elbows of the mind

But nights spent awake

Solitary dreaming beneath the endless stars

Where sharp toothed ideas collide with the things we suppress

Unzipped

Undressed

But is it just a thought?

Perhaps a change of mind

I bury my toes deeper

And listen to the whispers

Trying not to pay them

too much attention

Lest they become shy, and run away

back behind the tip of my tongue, the periphery of mind

where I cannot grasp them firmly

when required

6 thoughts on “The tip of the tongue, so slippery

  1. wow Kate: yov’ve done some think; someone once said, too much thinking is the enemy of thought; I don’t even know what that means; I love ‘the elbows of the mind’ and ‘sharp-toothed ideas’ ; we all need to quieten the mind and let us sleep; I’ve been taking anti-anxiety tablets for decades now si I could get to sleep at night; are they sleeping tablets, doctor? I ask. No John, he replies, they remove anxiety so you slip into sleep more easily 🙂 that, Kate, and reading Buddhist thoughts at night work wonders; hope this helps 🙂

    • I was listening g to a podcast this week where the fellow termed it “thinkism” I definitely suffer from a bit of thinkism. Mostly though my writing gets rid of it – sometimes when it seems heavy (my writing) it is just because it is lifting the paint off my mind. Some of the resulting art is better than others but it’s all just paint in the end 😊

      • true; I like the metaphor of the paint of one’s mind; and I respect the therapeutic value of all art including poetry; we are blessed that we have this one gift —

  2. Dear dear Kate. You never cease to amaze me with your words. They hit STRAIGHT to the soul. I get it. I understand. The top of the tongue, and the slippery, and my soul sways with the wind. At night I feel the mystery and much is revealed to me. And you wrote, “Sometimes the night seems more true than the sunlit hours that preceded it, The day is for getting by on the elbows of the mind
    But nights spent awake
    Solitary dreaming beneath the endless stars
    Where sharp toothed ideas collide with the things we suppressed … Unzipped. I send you love and beautiful thoughts daily. I walk beside you so many miles apart! 💛❤️🤗

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