What I realise about the: What I realise about the exercise now is that putting more time and effort has shifted the results. Still far off toward that mastery.
You already know that I love: You already know that I love astronomical poems . . . so this one is a tremendous blessing. After reading it, I was so smitten by admiration that I needed to lean back in my chair and just let the poem wash over me. My enjoyment of your poems proves, I believe, that there is a circularity to life: reading your poem transports me into that starlit realm I first entered during my adolescence. Your poems do not take me "back" to that time; they take me forward to it, because the path is not linear but orbital.
Queenie’s addition really: Queenie’s addition really changes the energy; she turns the piece from a solitary, brooding monologue into a grotesque little carnival. I like how her bitter, theatrical voice contrasts with the narrator’s solemn tone, almost like madness stepping out into the open.
I remember in the sixth grade: I remember in the sixth grade doing a multispread research paper about ancient kingdoms of this region, all of that was pre-Google and a lot of "footwork." It was lots fun, though. Probably a venture with the same internsity as your Shelley days.
Now this appears to be a less: Now this appears to be a less than straightforward story and more a surreal horror vignette. A lone narrator sits on a porch under a howling moon, sensing death at the door as their thoughts unravel into strange, poetic fragments. Images of ash, fountains, and scorched land blur with muttered confessions, creating a mood of dread and madness. Beneath the gothic atmosphere, the piece reads like a meditation on mortality, futility, and the thin line between sanity and the supernatural; all with the ominous sound of “clickity clack” hinting that something is drawing ever closer.
"RADIANT BANJO"
I like the: "RADIANT BANJO"
I like the puddles with oil rainbows
There’s always something to
Tilt your head at… How strange
the clouds decided to stay! We amateur astronomers are
Solving a delicious riddle
‘Do not whistle when the
conductor is waving at you, you
reckless dreamer… now juggle…’