May Day, M'aide. edit 0.01 ella,todd, erthona

[Leah S.]

The sun has lost; the gloss of day
has weathered into grieving gloom.
Wind-whipped, the ravens scull the air;
a raucous ride on swell of storm.

Against glass-grey, great clouds parade, I'm pretty sure I get this (at least I got a strong image) but I think it needs fine-tuning. The punctuation makes the meaning ambiguous.
plucked and unravelled from below
by fussing fingers' nervous tugs. great image, but it doesn't fit in the simile. Everything else fits beautifully into an image of oncoming storm, but this line turns the image surreal by injecting the image of human fingers plucking at the clouds. It took me to another place altogether and I had to fight to get back.
Until threadbare, the bladders burst
to stain the thin horizon's line.

Pollen smokes from rape fields flailed,
near swathed by hail. Too early
for the seed to form, grim farmers eye
the acres lost and sigh;
familiar though the sight may be,
this May Day makes a lasting memory.

tectak
May 2015

I like this poem very much. I'm a sucker for vivid, arresting images. Carry on. Leah