Lycanthropy

[ChristopherSea]

final version

Lycanthropy

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poetic harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
while invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
Those things that inspire lovers
aggravate my miserable core.

My lust’s become a contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My options have been exhausted
on cures for this chronic disease.
Dispatch me kegs of dark sweet rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Crush the mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolf’s bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't delay;
never pity my hopeless soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to formulate a lethal brew.
I welcome your silver bullets;
don’t miss, for I’ll disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Laura/Fractal/tectak edit 3 Thank you folks!


-----------------------------------------
Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My assets have been exhausted
on cures for this chronic disease.
Thus, dispatch me kegs of dark rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't dally;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5 Thank you ladies!

---------------------------------


Laura edit 1/version 2.0

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Laura edit 1/version 2.0 Thank you

---------------------------------
I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush the mandrake into paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

[Laura Marx]

Noticed the use of form here - it's very sweet. The rhythm is nice. It's strange that you'd pick iambic tetrameter, though, for this poem, which is so violent. It's bouncy. I'm expecting a joke by the fourth line of each verse, not 'never pity my abject soul.' I wonder if you chose it intentionally, as a juxtaposition - regardless, I do not really feel it works.

I dread the romance of midnight really nice opening
and your poet's false harvest moon, but, I don't understand what this means
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. a little awkward and unclear - the first stanza could be much stronger. I'd suggest replacing this line for a phrase which makes the 'I am a werewolf' thing a lot more obvious

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core. despicable isn't really in meter as I can read it? Maybe 'my horrid old core', or something (though that has an out-of-place masculine ending)

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.vague - could be made more clear. I'm guessing the poet is about to bed me, and then turns into a wolf, to my horror? The last two lines here could easily be switched out for something more concrete. This isn't the time to be subtle with poet games, here, go hard - as in, rather flirting with it 'my shadow's cast on all fours', say, 'I'm a wolf' outright - show me the money!

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire. there's a major transformation in subject matter with this verse, and I really like it. The poem is strongest here

Go crush the mandrake into paste;'into' disrupts the rhythm - it'd be much better written simply as 'to' - 'Go crush the mandrake to paste'
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.waver/never is very nice here

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.slow and slithery wording here, vowel-heavy; gorgeous!
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.switching from 'do this to me' to 'I will do this to you' is too sudden here, for me, it's too out-of-sync; something like 'take aim, and [whatever I'd do]' instead; this threat doesn't really add anything

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.effective
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.Sort of jarring - get me stoned, kill me, and then run and hide your girls? It's a sinister ending but quite out of place.

The poem would benefit from clarity exponentially. It's very vague. If it wasn't for the title I would have thought this was a poem about a rapist or something like that. It'd have taken me all the way to wolfsbane and hemlock to get any clue that this was about a wolfman if it wasn't for the title.

To me, really, the poem really comes into its own in stanza 4. The first three stanzas are too vague to really mean anything or be very threatening. You seem to have been preoccupied trying to come up with poetic ways to say 'I am a werewolf'. At stanza 4, though, it lights up; I have never seen lycanthropy treated in this way before, which is good. 'Come unto me with poisons and narcotics!' - it's a very interesting angle. My advice is start there. That's a strong start and it keeps that strength up until the end. A tortured old werewolf saying: get me drunk and kill me.

[ChristopherSea]

Noticed the use of form here - it's very sweet. The rhythm is nice. It's strange that you'd pick iambic tetrameter, though, for this poem, which is so violent. It's bouncy. I'm expecting a joke by the fourth line of each verse, not 'never pity my abject soul.' I wonder if you chose it intentionally, as a juxtaposition - regardless, I do not really feel it works.

I dread the romance of midnight really nice opening
and your poet's false harvest moon, but, I don't understand what this means
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. a little awkward and unclear - the first stanza could be much stronger. I'd suggest replacing this line for a phrase which makes the 'I am a werewolf' thing a lot more obvious

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core. despicable isn't really in meter as I can read it? Maybe 'my horrid old core', or something (though that has an out-of-place masculine ending)

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.vague - could be made more clear. I'm guessing the poet is about to bed me, and then turns into a wolf, to my horror? The last two lines here could easily be switched out for something more concrete. This isn't the time to be subtle with poet games, here, go hard - as in, rather flirting with it 'my shadow's cast on all fours', say, 'I'm a wolf' outright - show me the money!

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire. there's a major transformation in subject matter with this verse, and I really like it. The poem is strongest here

Go crush the mandrake into paste;'into' disrupts the rhythm - it'd be much better written simply as 'to' - 'Go crush the mandrake to paste'
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.waver/never is very nice here

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.slow and slithery wording here, vowel-heavy; gorgeous!
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.switching from 'do this to me' to 'I will do this to you' is too sudden here, for me, it's too out-of-sync; something like 'take aim, and [whatever I'd do]' instead; this threat doesn't really add anything

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.effective
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.Sort of jarring - get me stoned, kill me, and then run and hide your girls? It's a sinister ending but quite out of place.

The poem would benefit from clarity exponentially. It's very vague. If it wasn't for the title I would have thought this was a poem about a rapist or something like that. It'd have taken me all the way to wolfsbane and hemlock to get any clue that this was about a wolfman if it wasn't for the title.

To me, really, the poem really comes into its own in stanza 4. The first three stanzas are too vague to really mean anything or be very threatening. You seem to have been preoccupied trying to come up with poetic ways to say 'I am a werewolf'. At stanza 4, though, it lights up; I have never seen lycanthropy treated in this way before, which is good. 'Come unto me with poisons and narcotics!' - it's a very interesting angle. My advice is start there. That's a strong start and it keeps that strength up until the end. A tortured old werewolf saying: get me drunk and kill me.

Laura, I really appreciate the detailed read, analysis and critique that you have done! You are spot on as to what is going on herein (even though you say you don’t get it completely) and I am glad that you are intrigued by the alternate point of view. Who wants the same old werewolf poem anyway? One can look at this as a self aware monster and not very pleased with his actions and lot in life. He also considers his state a chronic disease, but knows that it is not terminal, although he wishes it so. That should answer most of your queries.

Specific explanations follow. He dreads the poet’s moon because albeit many times our inspiration it is of course his bane. His cellular structure is altered, hence that final line in S1. Wolves travel on all fours, but they bed that way as well. I don’t need or want to say ‘I am a werewolf’. He wishes to dull his senses, stop the transformation or die to stop the madness and the bloodshed. There nothing vague, it should be clear. If you falter in killing the Lycanthrope, you shall surely die. Know exactly what to do and follow through with it or else. The narrator is just stating the facts. Since he has killed his own daughter (another motivation for him wanting to die), he is warning you to watch your own. Follow through with his plea or suffer the consequences. He is speaking as the man with a conscience an a morality and warning you of the beast that neither speaks nor feels anything human.

As for the meter, I shall most likely modify according to your recommendations. I follow no formal style and just compose by ear. That fact that it is loosely iambic tetrameter is ironic as I just posed a question in the discussion forum as how to go about composing a poem in iambic pentameter.

Thanks again and I will credit you in my next edit! Cheers/Chris

[milo]

Noticed the use of form here - it's very sweet. The rhythm is nice. It's strange that you'd pick iambic tetrameter, though, for this poem, which is so violent. It's bouncy. I'm expecting a joke by the fourth line of each verse, not 'never pity my abject soul.' I wonder if you chose it intentionally, as a juxtaposition - regardless, I do not really feel it works.

I dread the romance of midnight really nice opening
and your poet's false harvest moon, but, I don't understand what this means
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. a little awkward and unclear - the first stanza could be much stronger. I'd suggest replacing this line for a phrase which makes the 'I am a werewolf' thing a lot more obvious

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core. despicable isn't really in meter as I can read it? Maybe 'my horrid old core', or something (though that has an out-of-place masculine ending)

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.vague - could be made more clear. I'm guessing the poet is about to bed me, and then turns into a wolf, to my horror? The last two lines here could easily be switched out for something more concrete. This isn't the time to be subtle with poet games, here, go hard - as in, rather flirting with it 'my shadow's cast on all fours', say, 'I'm a wolf' outright - show me the money!

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire. there's a major transformation in subject matter with this verse, and I really like it. The poem is strongest here

Go crush the mandrake into paste;'into' disrupts the rhythm - it'd be much better written simply as 'to' - 'Go crush the mandrake to paste'
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.waver/never is very nice here

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.slow and slithery wording here, vowel-heavy; gorgeous!
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.switching from 'do this to me' to 'I will do this to you' is too sudden here, for me, it's too out-of-sync; something like 'take aim, and [whatever I'd do]' instead; this threat doesn't really add anything

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.effective
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.Sort of jarring - get me stoned, kill me, and then run and hide your girls? It's a sinister ending but quite out of place.

The poem would benefit from clarity exponentially. It's very vague. If it wasn't for the title I would have thought this was a poem about a rapist or something like that. It'd have taken me all the way to wolfsbane and hemlock to get any clue that this was about a wolfman if it wasn't for the title.

To me, really, the poem really comes into its own in stanza 4. The first three stanzas are too vague to really mean anything or be very threatening. You seem to have been preoccupied trying to come up with poetic ways to say 'I am a werewolf'. At stanza 4, though, it lights up; I have never seen lycanthropy treated in this way before, which is good. 'Come unto me with poisons and narcotics!' - it's a very interesting angle. My advice is start there. That's a strong start and it keeps that strength up until the end. A tortured old werewolf saying: get me drunk and kill me.

Laura, I really appreciate the detailed read, analysis and critique that you have done! You are spot on as to what is going on herein (even though you say you don’t get it completely) and I am glad that you are intrigued by the alternate point of view. Who wants the same old werewolf poem anyway? One can look at this as a self aware monster and not very pleased with his actions and lot in life. He also considers his state a chronic disease, but knows that it is not terminal, although he wishes it so. That should answer most of your queries.

Specific explanations follow. He dreads the poet’s moon because albeit many times our inspiration it is of course his bane. His cellular structure is altered, hence that final line in S1. Wolves travel on all fours, but they bed that way as well. I don’t need or want to say ‘I am a werewolf’. He wishes to dull his senses, stop the transformation or die to stop the madness and the bloodshed. There nothing vague, it should be clear. If you falter in killing the Lycanthrope, you shall surely die. Know exactly what to do and follow through with it or else. The narrator is just stating the facts. Since he has killed his own daughter (another motivation for him wanting to die), he is warning you to watch your own. Follow through with his plea or suffer the consequences. He is speaking as the man with a conscience an a morality and warning you of the beast that neither speaks nor feels anything human.

As for the meter, I shall most likely modify according to your recommendations. I follow no formal style and just compose by ear. That fact that it is loosely iambic tetrameter is ironic as I just posed a question in the discussion forum as how to go about composing a poem in iambic pentameter.

Thanks again and I will credit you in my next edit! Cheers/Chris

Just an observation - this poem is in no way even loosely iambic or tetrameter, it is something called free verse.

[ChristopherSea]

Noticed the use of form here - it's very sweet. The rhythm is nice. It's strange that you'd pick iambic tetrameter, though, for this poem, which is so violent. It's bouncy. I'm expecting a joke by the fourth line of each verse, not 'never pity my abject soul.' I wonder if you chose it intentionally, as a juxtaposition - regardless, I do not really feel it works.


The poem would benefit from clarity exponentially. It's very vague. If it wasn't for the title I would have thought this was a poem about a rapist or something like that. It'd have taken me all the way to wolfsbane and hemlock to get any clue that this was about a wolfman if it wasn't for the title.

To me, really, the poem really comes into its own in stanza 4. The first three stanzas are too vague to really mean anything or be very threatening. You seem to have been preoccupied trying to come up with poetic ways to say 'I am a werewolf'. At stanza 4, though, it lights up; I have never seen lycanthropy treated in this way before, which is good. 'Come unto me with poisons and narcotics!' - it's a very interesting angle. My advice is start there. That's a strong start and it keeps that strength up until the end. A tortured old werewolf saying: get me drunk and kill me.

Laura, I really appreciate the detailed read, analysis and critique that you have done! You are spot on as to what is going on herein (even though you say you don’t get it completely) and I am glad that you are intrigued by the alternate point of view. Who wants the same old werewolf poem anyway? One can look at this as a self aware monster and not very pleased with his actions and lot in life. He also considers his state a chronic disease, but knows that it is not terminal, although he wishes it so. That should answer most of your queries.

Specific explanations follow. He dreads the poet’s moon because albeit many times our inspiration it is of course his bane. His cellular structure is altered, hence that final line in S1. Wolves travel on all fours, but they bed that way as well. I don’t need or want to say ‘I am a werewolf’. He wishes to dull his senses, stop the transformation or die to stop the madness and the bloodshed. There nothing vague, it should be clear. If you falter in killing the Lycanthrope, you shall surely die. Know exactly what to do and follow through with it or else. The narrator is just stating the facts. Since he has killed his own daughter (another motivation for him wanting to die), he is warning you to watch your own. Follow through with his plea or suffer the consequences. He is speaking as the man with a conscience an a morality and warning you of the beast that neither speaks nor feels anything human.

As for the meter, I shall most likely modify according to your recommendations. I follow no formal style and just compose by ear. That fact that it is loosely iambic tetrameter is ironic as I just posed a question in the discussion forum as how to go about composing a poem in iambic pentameter.

Thanks again and I will credit you in my next edit! Cheers/Chris

Just an observation - this poem is in no way even loosely iambic or tetrameter, it is something called free verse.

It makes sense, since I made no effort or claim to have used any rhythmic structure or form of meter.

[ChristopherSea]

Laura, I really appreciate the detailed read, analysis and critique that you have done! You are spot on as to what is going on herein (even though you say you don’t get it completely) and I am glad that you are intrigued by the alternate point of view. Who wants the same old werewolf poem anyway? One can look at this as a self aware monster and not very pleased with his actions and lot in life. He also considers his state a chronic disease, but knows that it is not terminal, although he wishes it so. That should answer most of your queries.

Specific explanations follow. He dreads the poet’s moon because albeit many times our inspiration it is of course his bane. His cellular structure is altered, hence that final line in S1. Wolves travel on all fours, but they bed that way as well. I don’t need or want to say ‘I am a werewolf’. He wishes to dull his senses, stop the transformation or die to stop the madness and the bloodshed. There nothing vague, it should be clear. If you falter in killing the Lycanthrope, you shall surely die. Know exactly what to do and follow through with it or else. The narrator is just stating the facts. Since he has killed his own daughter (another motivation for him wanting to die), he is warning you to watch your own. Follow through with his plea or suffer the consequences. He is speaking as the man with a conscience an a morality and warning you of the beast that neither speaks nor feels anything human.

As for the meter, I shall most likely modify according to your recommendations. I follow no formal style and just compose by ear. That fact that it is loosely iambic tetrameter is ironic as I just posed a question in the discussion forum as how to go about composing a poem in iambic pentameter.

Thanks again and I will credit you in my next edit! Cheers/Chris

Just an observation - this poem is in no way even loosely iambic or tetrameter, it is something called free verse.

It makes sense, since I made no effort or claim to have used any rhythmic structure or form of meter.

Laura edit 1/version 2.0 is up, thank you.

[FractalPacifist]

Off the bat, I like the not-over-the top rhyme between core/fours and you/too in a few of the verses. It doesn't feel like you stressed the rhyming - it just came about naturally, and sounds great.

That said, I feel like this piece would work better with just a sprinkling more similarity in sound from line to line, or stanza to stanza. Because you're working with a fairly strong structure, I found myself looking for or anticipating rhymes and matches that didn't come. However, I'm also weird about rhyming, assonance, and all related elements, so please take this with a large grain of salt.

Great read!

Laura edit 1/version 2.0

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. what I found enticing about this first stanza is that it starts out very poetic, traditional sounding - "steers the tides and lights your way" - but then this last line brings it down to a very harsh reality. Excellent.

In fits of hydrophobia, whether intentional or not, the connection between water and the moon in many cultures is interestingly brought to light here. Or at least, I noticed it, and liked it a lot.
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core. I'd like a comma right after "foul", but not completely necessary.

My lust is more like contagion; love the mild alliteration in this stanza - "lust/like" and "grin/grimace".
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady; the way "malady" reads is bothering me just a bit, since it ends on an upbeat "eee" sound that my brain wants a match for.
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;a little repetitive here, since not waivering and maintaining resolve are the same thing.
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea. is this the rhyme with "malady" that I was craving? If so, it feels a stanza too late. But I really like the image of a cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too. strong ending.

[ChristopherSea]

Off the bat, I like the not-over-the top rhyme between core/fours and you/too in a few of the verses. It doesn't feel like you stressed the rhyming - it just came about naturally, and sounds great.

That said, I feel like this piece would work better with just a sprinkling more similarity in sound from line to line, or stanza to stanza. Because you're working with a fairly strong structure, I found myself looking for or anticipating rhymes and matches that didn't come. However, I'm also weird about rhyming, assonance, and all related elements, so please take this with a large grain of salt.

Great read!

Laura edit 1/version 2.0

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. what I found enticing about this first stanza is that it starts out very poetic, traditional sounding - "steers the tides and lights your way" - but then this last line brings it down to a very harsh reality. Excellent.

In fits of hydrophobia, whether intentional or not, the connection between water and the moon in many cultures is interestingly brought to light here. Or at least, I noticed it, and liked it a lot.
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core. I'd like a comma right after "foul", but not completely necessary.

My lust is more like contagion; love the mild alliteration in this stanza - "lust/like" and "grin/grimace".
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady; the way "malady" reads is bothering me just a bit, since it ends on an upbeat "eee" sound that my brain wants a match for.
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;a little repetitive here, since not waivering and maintaining resolve are the same thing.
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea. is this the rhyme with "malady" that I was craving? If so, it feels a stanza too late. But I really like the image of a cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too. strong ending.

Thanks so much Lexi for your time and consideration with this poem. I am not a usual rhymer, but I don't mind if they come naturally as you noted. Maybe, I'll try a rhyming version as well sometime! Very perceptive on the water/moon marriage. I love the fact that the expansive basaltic flows on the moon are called mares, latin for seas. Hydrophobia is a symptom of rabies, so I paired them. You make some keen vocabulary observations. I shall certainly consider those appropriate word substitutions that you suggested in my next edit! Cheers/Chris

[ChristopherSea]

Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5 is posted (I think without typo's) . Thanks again ladies!

[tectak]

Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon, Why false? ..."your poignant harvest moon" would negate the need to explain how a none-existent moon could raise tides and illume a path. A disconnect
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. This is becoming a problem for you, chris. To write a stanza with lines beginning I, and, which, whilst is ...well, No need to say it.
In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers, Does "what" mean "that which"?
vexes my foul wretched core. Way over-modified. Words do not convey more by quantity but by precision.

My lust is more like contagion; I never suggested otherwise. More like contagion than what?
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours. Though I have no idea what this means I trust you enough to expect that all will come clear. We shall see

My assets have been exhausted
on cures for this chronic disease.
Thus, dispatch me kegs of dark rum "Thus" is unarguably the wrong word. In fact, it is diametrically wrong.How will you pay for the rum and coke?
and narcotics to blunt my ire. blunted ire. Hmmm.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't dally;
never pity my abject soul. Omit this stanza. I needs a complete rewrite. Examine dally and abject. Examine "Go crush". Examine "wolfs-bane".

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.[b] Not a hope in hell. You need tea to make tea. Examine the use of the "to" . In the words of the song:
"..and if you're good I'll search for wood so you can cook, while I stand loooooo-king" A nice loin of Larch...rare for me, please.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you. "lest" is arcane in this...especially so close to silver bullets.Is disembowling dependent upon taking aim?

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Hi chris,
another dark escapade. Needs tightening up. Word use seems sloppy and haphazard...lacking precision. Keep your concept close to the surface and do not dive so deep for the pearls...evertime you come up for air bits of your raft have drifted off.
Best
tectak
Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5 [b]Thank you ladies!

---------------------------------


Laura edit 1/version 2.0

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Laura edit 1/version 2.0 Thank you

---------------------------------
I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush the mandrake into paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

[ChristopherSea]

Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon, Why false? ..."your poignant harvest moon" would negate the need to explain how a none-existent moon could raise tides and illume a path. A disconnect
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells. This is becoming a problem for you, chris. To write a stanza with lines beginning I, and, which, whilst is ...well, No need to say it.
In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers, Does "what" mean "that which"?
vexes my foul wretched core. Way over-modified. Words do not convey more by quantity but by precision.

My lust is more like contagion; I never suggested otherwise. More like contagion than what?
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours. Though I have no idea what this means I trust you enough to expect that all will come clear. We shall see

My assets have been exhausted
on cures for this chronic disease.
Thus, dispatch me kegs of dark rum "Thus" is unarguably the wrong word. In fact, it is diametrically wrong.How will you pay for the rum and coke?
and narcotics to blunt my ire. blunted ire. Hmmm.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't dally;
never pity my abject soul. Omit this stanza. I needs a complete rewrite. Examine dally and abject. Examine "Go crush". Examine "wolfs-bane".

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.[b] Not a hope in hell. You need tea to make tea. Examine the use of the "to" . In the words of the song:
"..and if you're good I'll search for wood so you can cook, while I stand loooooo-king" A nice loin of Larch...rare for me, please.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you. "lest" is arcane in this...especially so close to silver bullets.Is disembowling dependent upon taking aim?

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Hi chris,
another dark escapade. Needs tightening up. Word use seems sloppy and haphazard...lacking precision. Keep your concept close to the surface and do not dive so deep for the pearls...evertime you come up for air bits of your raft have drifted off.
Best
tectak
Laura/Fractal edit 2/version 2.5 [b]Thank you ladies!

---------------------------------


Laura edit 1/version 2.0

I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my foul wretched core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush mandrake root to a paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Laura edit 1/version 2.0 Thank you

---------------------------------
I dread the romance of midnight
and your poet's false harvest moon,
which steers the tides and lights your way,
whilst invading my sickened cells.

In fits of hydrophobia,
rabid thoughts usurp my senses.
What inspires the hearts of lovers,
vexes my despicable core.

My lust is more like contagion;
in your terror, my hunger grows.
Grins transform into grimaces
when my shadow’s cast on all fours.

My resources have been exhausted
on a cure for this malady;
please deliver me kegs of rum
and narcotics to blunt my ire.

Go crush the mandrake into paste;
prepare a bitter wolfs-bane draft.
Maintain resolve and don't waver;
never pity my abject soul.

Gather up Nightshade and Hemlock
to brew a lethal cup of tea.
I welcome your silver bullets;
take aim, lest I disembowel you.

Ignore the human before you;
beware of the beast deep within.
Better run and hide your daughters;
I once had a little girl too.

Yikes, that looks like too much work, but I will see what a quick edit can do!