Hermetic November

[Lizzie]

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals.

It's the season of windows—a candle
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside.

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose.

[Sparkydashforth]

Enjoyed mucho Lizziep -

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals. ...............Strong start. I would change "its the season" to - A season.
Like how it sets the isolation scenario.

It's the season of windows—a candle ..............would cut the refrain of "its the season".
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. .............more disconnected imagery - good.

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black. .............good extended image.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:...................maybe just 'distant stars'?

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves....................................yes interesting ponderings

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. .............YES.

[QDeathstar]

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforationi like the sounds of walls and laws, why firm, the season of walls? But open doors?
of doors opening briefly like portals.

It's the season of windows—a candle
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. nice picture, like the setup for what follows

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black. the headlights seem a little overly personified, battled is a bit strong, i think, and you've set up such an interesting universe; stars/comets don't battle; people do.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves.these two stanzas are the heart of the poem and i like what you've done here.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. im with you until this line... if we are inferring people from changes in light the lamplight would be a sun....

novel idea, but i think it needs to be tightened up. The last stanza almost seems like you are making an argument for a God, but the last line doesn't really work in that context.

[Lizzie]

Sparky: I will cut the offending refrain, no problem. Thank you for letting me know it's not working. I do wish to refer to people as the planets because of this article.

---

Deathstar: Maybe I need to cut that headlight stanza -- I wasn't sure if it fit or not. Or maybe just tone it down like you said. I'll think on it.

The doors crack open for a minute, not like the wide open doors of summer.

I think it probably does sound like some arguments for God's existence, but I'm arguing for the existence of people. The lamplight can be the sun, that's fine -- I don't see why it can't be. I hover around my light sources in the dark winter. I don't have to have all of my q's dotted.

The idea is that I know something of people from their effects on other things, not because I see them directly.

[RiverNotch]

Wasn't this once Hermetic November? I preferred that title -- more springy. That was, however, the only thing that didn't, or rather doesn't, need trimming.
It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals.

It's the season of windows—a candle Doors/windows kinda redundant -- just perforate the walls, better associated with laws more directly, with windows. And with much of the later lights being, well, plural, candle here is best pluralized.
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. This line is just plain awkward.

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning, These two lines are gold.
battling through its murky black. This one line is sort of important to the point, if you're intent on considering darkness as chaotic (although I'm not sure the association pervades, especially not in this piece), but it still seems kinda unnecessary, considering the earlier gold.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways, These two lines are redundant.
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves. And here's the point. I do like referring to people as planets, but this idea feels a little too late, when considering the untrimmed piece -- and do planets move stars, just as people move cars? So you might want to rework the headlight association, even remove it.

It's reasonable to deduce Even in a [well-written] scientific paper, this is just too much.
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. I sorta feel that this central point can be infused more properly throughout the whole poem, such that these two lines would be unnecessary, but for this I don't really have a clue, I have no flair for endings yet.

Perhaps something like:

It's the season of walls,
of universal laws
perforated by windows.

Candles, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning
like distant stars,

the people around them planets 
warping and curving their light
into promise.

But that, of course, kinda butchered the piece.

[Achebe]

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals .... but a portal is a door!

It's the season of windows—a candle .... "a season of etc."
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. ..... no "that"

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black. ...."murky black" is overdoing it. Just "murk" might be ok

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. .... didn't get the last two strophes. The imagery falls off and it sounds like you're trying to say something clever, but somehow it's not sounding interesting enough to think through 

[Lizzie]

Rivernotch: thanks for taking a look at the piece. It was initially titled Hermetic November, but I changed it because I thought it sounded pretentious, like I was trying too hard to be clever. But, if it was better, I'll certainly re-instate it.  

Do planets hop behind the wheel of the sun? Of course the metaphor cannot be stretched beyond the limits of reason. But, yes, planets do alter the motion of their stars. The article I posted for Sparky talks about that as does this one.

---

Achebe: sorry this one didn't reach you. Thanks for taking the time to respond.

[HopeVictoria56]

I like the injection of spiritual thoughts and practices.  The title instantly brought me to the tarot card "the hermit".  I think the title is fitting and I personally would not change it.  

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals.

It's the season of windows—a candle
in the windowsill signals. <- could find another way to say this without using window twice.  Otherwise I still think these first two stanzas sound nice back to back.
that something sentient still lives inside.

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark, <- possibly exchange the word strange for another slightly more descriptive.  
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing <- Here are you talking about the light coming from inside the frosty cars or the curtain cloaked lamplight that you are viewing the outside world through? Because if it's the first one, do the people all have curtains inside their cars?
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose.

[Lizzie]

Thanks for responding, Hope. You make some valid points. Thanks for taking the time.

lizziep