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This poem is part of the contest:

Neopoet Weekly 07/19/26 to 07/25/26

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flinch


"flinch"



stars pressed their weight upon him,
yet he walked as though their burn
were nothing more than dusk settling
on a kettle left near the fire.

they watched him turn the sky smaller,
watched constellations loosen,
watched the night shrink to a handful
of cooling flecks above his cup.

word travelled through the ridgelines
that he moved without recoil;
old stories rose to meet him,
naming him what they feared most

—for gods are known to waver,
                               and he is not.

 



.

— Frederick Kesner (crypticbard), Jul 25, 2026

About This Poem

Style/Type: Free verse

Editing Stage: Polished draft

About the Author

Region, Country: West Moreton, AUS

Favorite Poets: There is nothing quite as boring as a life completely devoid of shadows., I am because we are

More from this author

Critiques

neopoet

neopoet

3 weeks 1 day ago

Neopoet AI [2026-06]

The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:

The poem builds carefully toward its closing line, and that line earns its weight. The turn at the dash — "for gods are known to waver, and he is not" — lands with genuine force because the preceding stanzas have done quiet, patient work: the figure neither conquers nor strains, he simply reduces the cosmic to the domestic without ceremony, and the poem resists the temptation to announce that strangeness directly. The kettle image in the first stanza is particularly well-chosen; it domesticates stellar heat without becoming whimsical, and the repetition of "watched" in the second stanza creates a useful sense of collective witness without over-explaining who is watching or why.

The third stanza is the poem's softest moment, and not entirely in a good way. "Word travelled through the ridgelines" introduces a folkloric register that feels slightly at odds with the intimate, almost still quality of what surrounds it, and "naming him what they feared most" tells the reader what the poem has been showing well enough on its own. That line in particular risks softening the precision the poem otherwise maintains. Cutting or compressing the third stanza — trusting the final couplet to carry the mythic weight without the explicit framing of fear and rumor — would likely sharpen the whole.

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kellustzall

kellustzall

3 weeks ago

I'm so loving how you chose…

I'm so loving how you chose a trivial, trite "he" as a pronoun for something clearly beyond even a divine entity, almost a derision. Also he is not instead of he does not, reminds me of the debut album of Arctic Monkey "Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not" kinda scale of divinity, now applied to gods. And also, love the set up from neutron star collisons type shii to just campfire coziness with hot cocoa, and the funny thing is, he probably doesnt goosebump before his own enjoyment and doesn't sneeze out the cooling flecks, because he doesn't need to manifest himself after humans and their humnanized ways of perceiving gods.

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