When Pyrocumulus Last In the Western Lands Bloomed

[tectak]

Hello owl,
This is a strange affair. Quite apart from the archaic language used in the title, which contains but a fleeting thought on what is to come, there are many areas where you must devote time to getting the grammar and structure up to scratch. I am tempted to suggest that you allow this one to be moved to miscellaneous, though that would take the fun out of it. You have, however, posted in Workshopping so I guess that you consider this piece written on palimpsest.
Most of the crit so far is kind. I will follow that lead.
An overview leads me to comment on inspiration. This piece, you say, was "inspired" by the sight of a "pyrocumulous bloom" caused by distant forest fires. You would be well advised to go with your inspiration. What we get here comes across as a weak piece of fun-filled flippery that only at the very last moment decides that the cloud in the distance is worth including. From that point on all that was, is lost. Only the last stanza is found. Too late.
Let us have a long-legged grass-hopper fantasy or a heavyweight piece on the wonderfully emotive (and relatively rare) smoke cloud.
Mixed together this is a sludgy emulsion....not a true mixture at all.
Nonetheless, I admire your guile
Best,
tectak

This late summer evening
as I listen to the cricket's

"cree cree
cree cree
cree cree"Idiosyncratic to the point of irritation. Adds nothing. Takes away a good deal

I imagine myself with cricket legs
and what a glorious noise
I could make if I rubbed them together
as I lie on my back in farmhouse shadows.Just stop and read this out loud. You are on a time machine. The tenses are everywhere and nowhere.

Maybe after a while
a beautiful woman
who also had or has, or will have
cricket legs
would be attracted
and join me on the lawn.Surreal and worryingly so. The "character" relating this tale is quite obviously under some external influence of the insecticidal variety. From this point on there can be no serious intent to be poetic IN ANY CONTROLLED SENSE

Together,
the volume of the
glorious noise
would double,
and we would be happy
and she would
smile easily....and your point is. 1+1=2....yep, OK, I get it.

Our racket might very well disturb
the people for several acres around,
and cause them
to gather up guns
and dogs to hunt us down
in order to silence us, but as they neared
we would SPRING INTO ACTION!See what I mean. Rednecks maybe, but hunting crickets with guns based upon cree cree cree, no matter how loud, is just too much nonsense too early in the piece.

get up on our cricket legs,
and bound away into perhaps
a large field of tall, green, corn
where we would lie, keeping
our legs spread apart
for the sake of silence,...as I said previously, the thought has transgressed the thinking. You (your character) is now in danger of unravelling, having nothing of a concrete thought in his grass-hopper obsessed, genitally pre-occupied head...I rather like that

and, while prone that way,
we would quietly giggle
as I climbed on top of her
and we proceeded
to have sex, Irritatingly post-pubescent though in keeping with the rest of the piece.... all that is about to change.

while the people
urged their dogs to sniff
us out, but the dogs
wouldn't really want to find us
because they'd consider us
too weird and creepy to behold, while while while while. This is poor stuff. "weird" and "creepy" add to the general feeling that we have a twelve year old still fantasising over biology lesson illustrations. Unless this is your intent, and who the hell knows....it could be...you should try to elevate this stanza into adulthood.

to the north
and south
of us, in these western lands,
pieces of the sun unwound
from the forests,
and pyrocumulus bloomed. Right. The poem STARTS with this stanza. Now write about the bloody pyrocumulous cloud before lenticular clouds catch you eye and steer you from your piece about the mating habits of land-crabs

Do not give up on this. Workshop the shit out of it until you are sick of it...but do it in you own time! then re-post
Best,
tectak

Draft 2:

~When Pyrocumulus Last In the Western Lands Bloomed~

This late summer evening
as I listen to the cricket's

"cree cree
cree cree
cree cree"

I imagine myself with cricket legs
and what a glorious noise
I could make if I rubbed them together
as I laid on my back in farmhouse shadows.

Maybe after a while
a beautiful woman
who also had
cricket legs
would be attracted
and join me on the lawn.

Together,
the volume of our
glorious noise
would double,
we would be happy,
and she would
smile easily.

Our racket might very well disturb
people for several acres around,
and cause them
to gather up guns
and dogs to hunt us down
in order to silence us, but as they neared
we would SPRING INTO ACTION!

get up on our cricket legs,
and bound away
into a large field of tall, green, corn
where we would lie, keeping
our legs spread apart
for the sake of silence,

and, while prone that way,
we would quietly giggle
as I climbed on top of her
and we proceeded
to have sex,

as the people
urged their dogs to sniff
us out; dogs who
wouldn't really want to find us
because they'd consider us
too weird and creepy to behold, while

to the north
and south
of us, in these western lands,
pieces of the sun unwind
from the forests,
and pyrocumulus bloom.