Sienna at Burnt Twilight

[tectak]

I just KNOW I am going to regret this...I have a portentous feeling that I am going to get hooked and then hauled for the crit I most sincerely send as well meant....but.....but....there is something I am just a little wary of. Can't put my finger on it.
.
In the blackness of the night, Now even you would say patent leather shining cliche...I dare not.
I ghost out under monochromatic light,...and I have a good memory for the assumption that moonlight is monochromatic (from one of your vignettes) but it just ain't so...who cares.
and know the gentle breeze is you.Yes, but often said. See? I think i am on your hook already
I feel you brush against my face:
causing an unseen silent tear, Unseen and silent....surely it is not there at all....and stop calling me Shirley. Petards at dawn methinks
knowing you are, and are not here,Well, yes, I suppose so...you do not think and yet you are. Hmm. There MUST be profundity here. You don't normally mumble on for so long without making at least ONE unique point. This may be it. That comma before the "and" takes some of the edge from the observation making it seem a little naive...you know, oversimple.
thoughts like prayers muttered in haste
into voids of unmeasured space.I thought you had banned the use of the word "void"in poetry? Oh...no...my mistake. It was everyone else.
This is not melancholy gloom, Right! The good stuff starts HERE. Welcome back
a fog on stagnant stilted pond:
it is the strand that binds quintessence
through all the present haze
as life beats ruby crystal time
through the ancient hallways of my mind,
where lighthearted laughter once did play, it did, did it? Sorry. Unfair point. There are, though, ways round the mistrel song. I expect May in the next line....but worse. Oh no....not far far away. You are pricking me!
but now stays far, far away.

Awake good child: Puck or Pan,
we need a boy now not a man.
One who’s always ready with a smile,
who never fears the darkest night;
anyone he can beguile....or is this "he can beguile anyone"? Now you are toying with me
Then round the maypole we’ll all come, Oh, the image. Coming through the Rye has nothing on this...could you have managed to stick "together" on the end of the line?
and into pies we’ll stick our thumbs,
eating jelly or the crumbs,
nor turn such verities intolerable.Suspect use of "nor". It is not boolean...ask Boo Leanne.

Once before waste laid this land, Is it me?
when all was one and thus thought bland,
my brothers ached for different times.
So they changed our quiescent course,
placid mare traded for unbroken horse.
Their change rendered fire from the skies,
not the valiant thumb for pies. Forgivable repetition. I would be criticised for it but I think it is more than justified here...and I will fight any man who disagrees.
Only after did they rue their vow,
and in one voice cry,
“change our choice back now!”
but our powers were long bled,
thus we found we had no choice,
but to the violence of our souls give voice.The last six lines say something quite important but in a very awkward way. I cannot read it without hitting my shock absorbers. Is this intentional? Is it ALL intentional? Are you playing games here? Either way, it matters only if you take ANY notice of me...and why should you

So is it any wonder that it brings a tear,
to the child, sickled urn lying near,
having tumbled off it’s lofty perch,
and war is now the same as church,
all broken into pieces? No. Lost me. It, it, its.

I long for you upon this dawning day
in this wintered, withered month of May,Shit. I knew May would come...a little late this year.
for I know that it is true,
—I cannot turn from this frigid breeze— a dash to the finish line can cause a stumble. Your poem
that is and is not you. ...a recovery of sorts or thoughts. Not sure if it is enough.[b]

Well, I gave it my best shot but I've been away for a while myself and didn't expect to come back to a full kitchen sink and the bed not made. I will come back to this but only if you tidy up first. Great to see you, Dale..as always.
Very Best,
tectak


—Erthona