Half-way Holiday Blues

[Brownlie]

There appears to be some consideration of line length. What were you going for?

Ennui, my fallen friend, I look on you as culture stares at clowns.
Plangent, hollow, bereaved by loss of any interest in life,
I plough the hot and leaden air to flip the sod, to plant the seeds,
but even as I breathe I sigh to watch the withered walk on by. -- This is very good writing, the internal rhyme between sigh and by work well and the physical descriptions are great.
I'm bored.

This is the condemnation of the very soul I vouchedsafe mine; -I don't think Vouchedsafe is a word, did you mean vouchsafed?
no longer can I see the stars, nor reach up to the highest shelf
where only yesterday ( it seems) I placed my, oh what was it now,
and do I really give a damn? -- I like the voice here it shows a fading memory, well done.
I'm tired.

This state of things, this endless chasing of myself,
this terse forshortened voice within no longer spins the golden flax, -- Did you mean foreshortened?
no longer trans-mutates the words into a precious metal melt,
to pour into bejeweled moulds and by some alchemy succeed. -- This is cool man it sounds like a very intelligent man musing.
I'm lost.

So congregate around my pyre and light the only fuse still dry
that sputtering in sparking hope the last words left in this dank keg
will burst like sunfire into thunderheaded sky; thence to brand
inflamed, the granite stone above my happy head.
I'm born again. -- Born again in the flames of your funeral pyre as you sit stiff beneath your grave?
tectak2013

I'd like to hear what you were getting at with the poem, because that would make me enjoy the work more and may allow me to provide some constructive criticism. I really can't give you much critique, because I just don't know how you would edit this, but this is one of your better works. I genuinely enjoyed reading this one, but that doesn't mean its perfect and you should become complacently pleased.