Indigo Muse

[Vanity]

Indigo Muse

Mornings, I hear, are full of bright yellow chirpy things.
There is also fresh coffee, and anticipation.
The spiders are pissed and the slugs have slid away.
Now the fat little rusty red robins hop through my yard.
And squirrels bounce across the neon grass.
A Disney song is queuing. I lower the blind.
Not enough Earl Grey yet.

If morning is yellow, night is blue.
Evening slides in like an old lover.
It thrums with creativity.
Night is the color purple, navy, indigo
bruised like a ripe plum.
The tree line looks like black lace against the sky.
Cute things hide and predators roam free.
Green marble eyes stare steadily, and telegraph nothing.
Lightning bugs sparkle-
cicadas whine and shake like castanets.
The pond frog croaks like a metronome.
Humanity breathes slow and deep.
Around me, there is palpable unconsciousness,
eyes darting through incarnate dreams-- and
Sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.

My privacy is total, an oubliette.
I chew my pen cap,
sitting in a creamy oval of porchlight,
in a chipped white Adirondack chair.
I'm safely unneeded and undisturbed.
Breathing in the fecund green air,
I scribble thoughts wildly.
I'm not in this world really.
My body resides--but my gaze --
turns up to the stars I do not see.


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[dukealien]

You've a talent for simile (and metaphor); many of yours are refreshingly novel (l. 23, privacy an oubliette, a star example).

Can't help but feel, though, that the rhythm, meant to be casual, veers over the line to excess syllables, or not quite the right number of them for purpose.  I did wince slightly at  l.18 ("The pond frog croaks like a metronome") - not to go all Pope about it, but that line/sentence begs for a tick-tock metronomic rhythm.  Excuse the rewrite, but "the POND frog's CROAKing LIKE a METroNOME," but better, of course, and your own.

One more mild comment, then line notes.  Your first line seems to contain a bit too much - "yellow" limits what should follow, but doesn't (spiders aren't yellow, nor are robins or squirrels).  To fit your system, you need to make the point (that morning is yellow) which l.8 will echo... again, pardon the rewrite, but something like, "Mornings, I hear, are yellow -  full of bright and chirpy things."

Indigo Muse

1. Mornings, I hear, are full of bright yellow chirpy things.
   
2. There is also fresh coffee, and anticipation.  Could this line be an extension of the last, losing the period there and "There is" here?
   
3. The spiders are pissed and the slugs have slid away.
   
4. Now the fat little rusty red robins hop through my yard.  Perhaps a modifier too far - 3 enough?
   
5. And squirrels bounce across the neon grass.
   
6. A Disney song is queuing. I lower the blind.
   
7. Not enough Earl Grey yet.  Nice.
   
   
8. If morning is yellow, night is blue.
   
9. Evening slides in like an old lover.  Naughty, but nice - could this be a continuation of l.8, lengthening the slide?
   
10. It thrums with creativity.
    
11. Night is the color purple, navy, indigo
    
12. bruised like a ripe plum.  This line might need another modifier - jury's out.
    
13. The tree line looks like black lace against the sky.
    
14. Cute things hide and predators roam free.  Excellent line.
    
15. Green marble eyes stare steadily, and telegraph nothing.  Good - how to avoid "the" - can others be avoided, too?
    
16. Lightning bugs sparkle-
    
17. cicadas whine and shake like castanets.
    
18. The pond frog croaks like a metronome.
    
19. Humanity breathes slow and deep.  Perhaps one of the last two lines could end in a comma - seems a bit choppy.
    
20. Around me, there is palpable unconsciousness,
    
21. eyes darting through incarnate dreams-- and  "dreamsand" - nice.
    
22. Sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.  lower case "s," and perhaps a syllable more or less.
    
    
23. My privacy is total, an oubliette.  Great concept, could stand another syllable for flow
    
24. I chew my pen cap,
    
25. sitting in a creamy oval of porchlight,  (suggestion) - in a creamy porchlight oval?
    
26. in a chipped white Adirondack chair.  Now *this* line has flow!
    
27. I'm safely unneeded and undisturbed.
    
28. Breathing in the fecund green air,
    
29. I scribble thoughts wildly.
    
30. I'm not in this world really.
    
31. My body resides--but my gaze --  "resides" is the right word meaning-wise, but flow might require "rests here" or the like
    
32. turns up to the stars I do not see.  How does this work without "the" or replacing it with a verb?  ("(F)ondle" pops into mind, but better than that!)
    

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More note than expected - don't take them too seriously.  It's a fun summer poem with blissfully good similes.  See what it sounds like with half the "the" and a third of the "a/an" removed.  Thanks for a very pleasnt read!

[Achebe]

Hi Vanity - some good lines but it looks like you've given up at various places in between.
A case in point being 'cute things'
I assume that you were too tired to edit! But good luck on the next iteration 

Indigo Muse

Mornings, I hear, are full of bright yellow chirpy things.    ....is the 'I hear' necessary? Also, 'things' sounds a bit half hearted. A species name might help.

There is also fresh coffee, and anticipation. 
The spiders are pissed and the slugs have slid away.  ....why would the spiders be pissed? Were they drinking all night?

Now the fat little rusty red robins hop through my yard.
And squirrels bounce across the neon grass.  .....I like 'neon': it's a fresh adjective 
A Disney song is queuing. I lower the blind.
Not enough Earl Grey yet.    .....what about the coffee? Looks like you've forgotten all about it

If morning is yellow, night is blue.   ..I don't see what the 'if' does. Besides, nothing other than the chirpy things are yellow.

Evening slides in like an old lover. 
It thrums with creativity.   .....a vague and bombastic line
Night is the color purple, navy, indigo
bruised like a ripe plum.     .....evening or night? I suppose you mean 'like a bruised ripe plum'. What does 'bruised' achieve?

The tree line looks like black lace against the sky.
Cute things hide and predators roam free.  ....'cute things'? Come on
Green marble eyes stare steadily, and telegraph nothing.
Lightning bugs sparkle-
cicadas whine and shake like castanets.
The pond frog croaks like a metronome.
Humanity breathes slow and deep.
Around me, there is palpable unconsciousness,
eyes darting through incarnate dreams-- and
Sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.

My privacy is total, an oubliette.
I chew my pen cap,
sitting in a creamy oval of porchlight,
in a chipped white Adirondack chair.
I'm safely unneeded and undisturbed.
Breathing in the fecund green air,
I scribble thoughts wildly.
I'm not in this world really.
My body resides--but my gaze --
turns up to the stars I do not see.


---------------------------------------

[REW]

Indigo Muse

Mornings, I hear, are full of bright yellow chirpy things.
There is also fresh coffee, and anticipation.
The spiders are pissed and the slugs have slid away.
Now the fat little rusty red robins hop through my yard.
And squirrels bounce across the neon grass.
A Disney song is queuing. I lower the blind.
Not enough Earl Grey yet.

I really like the first stanza, most especially the tea flavor color.
The next stanza here is a bit repetitive.  You could clean some of it out by starting with your second line.
I don't think you need to mention yellow morning again since you did in the first stanza.

If morning is yellow, night is blue.
Evening slides in like an old lover.
It thrums with creativity.
Night is the color purple, navy, indigo
bruised like a ripe plum.
The tree line looks like black lace against the sky.
Cute things hide and predators roam free.
Green marble eyes stare steadily, and telegraph nothing.
Lightning bugs sparkle-
cicadas whine and shake like castanets.
The pond frog croaks like a metronome.
Humanity breathes slow and deep.
Around me, there is palpable unconsciousness,
eyes darting through incarnate dreams-- and
Sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.

I love the line sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.

My privacy is total, an oubliette.
I chew my pen cap,
sitting in a creamy oval of porchlight,
in a chipped white Adirondack chair.
I'm safely unneeded and undisturbed.
Breathing in the fecund green air, I think you could cut fecund here.  Too many descriptors.
I scribble thoughts wildly.
I'm not in this world really.
My body resides--but my gaze --
turns up to the stars I do not see.


---------------------------------------

Hi.  I put in my comments in your quoted material and didn't bold them or anything since I am currently not on a computer.

I have a few suggestions here and there, but I think this is very nice.  I think the musing closes nIcely to your ending.  I like that the narrator does not see the stars.

[Vanity]

Thanks REW,
I do appreciate you taking the time to write a critique . I was thinking of thinking of dumping the 1st line, second stanza....it was originally an afterthought , so I think now I'll cut it. (-: