Edit 6: Longing

[nozaki]

have followed this poem for a bit now, but was woefully unqualified to comment on the merits of sonnet or not. now that it is free verse i think i should poke my head out and say hi. 

Longing

Hidden underneath the laughter
of two familiar strangers, are words
that listening cicadas would relay 
to us in song. But we're not Muses. -small, but I prefer 'we are not Muses'. 

We're their shade of buttonwood, we 
are water, light and wind. Through us 
we'd give the spark to speak that they -inversion worked in the first stanza, but here it just throws me off. 
would hesitantly use, instead, to fire 
sculptures of what could've been. 

But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried 
in the ground, where roots and beetles seek -'seek out', perhaps? 
unmanifested dreams within our skulls, -'within our skulls' seems a bit redundant, as does 'unmanifested'. Yet the line is incomplete without modifiers, so maybe- 'dreams, colorless within our bones/skulls'? 
I wish to watch the clouds again... -I would insert some movement here, as 'I wish to watch the clouds move again'. 


            ...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe -beautiful. 
            our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
            hesitate,
                                    nudge your leg with mine and
            speak. The boughs above us, silent. -I would reorder it as 'speak. Silent, the boughs above us.' But lovely final line, either way. 

           ...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe our brows
           while laughing. Once still, I 
           hesitate, 
                                    nudge 
           your leg with mine and
           speak. The boughs above us, silent. -just a formatting idea. 

Fifth Draft: Longing

Two familiar strangers would hide
their words beneath esprit that eavesdropping
cicadas would sing to us. But we're not Muses.
We're their shade of sycamore, we're water, light
and winds. Through us we'd give the spark
to speak that, instead, they'd hesitantly use to fire
sculptures of what could've been.

But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles
seek unspoken dreams within our skulls,
I wish to watch the clouds again...


            ...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe
            our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
            hesitate,
                                    nudge your leg with mine
            and speak. The boughs above us, silent.


Fourth Draft: Longing

Familiar strangers hid, beneath esprit,
their words cicadas soothingly relayed
to us. But we're not Muses. Through our shade
of sycamore, our light and zephyrs, we
stoked speaking chances they, with artistry,
confused for sculpting sculptures that portrayed
what could've been. Yet, just from what they made
I sense their words belong to you and me.

O, how I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek 
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin 
and joke under the shade. When we are still, 
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.


Third Draft: Longing 

Cicadas sung the honest words that two 
familiar strangers smothered with esprit
and games, to us in soothing secrecy. 
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through 
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew, 
the two mistook the speaking chances we 
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those words belong to me and you. 
 
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers I would wonder of until 
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek 
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin 
and joke under the shade. When we are still, 
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak. 


Second Draft: Longing

Cicadas sing the honest words that two 
familiar strangers smother with esprit, 
to both of us in soothing secrecy. 
It isn't through a cithara but through 
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew, 
the two misapprehend the chances we 
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those words belong to me and you. 
 
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers I would contemplate until 
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek 
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin 
and joke under the shade. When we are still, 
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak. 

First Draft: Longing 
 
Cicadas sing the artless words that two 
familiar strangers stifle with esprit, 
to both of us in soothing secrecy. 
It isn't through a cithara but through 
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we 
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those artless words belong to you 
 
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then 
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek 
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill. 
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.