The Launch

[alatos]

The day was different now,
and yes, she would walk out into
the garden of unruly ferns
and plump mosses.

The vegetable world was unaware
that the day was different now.
Maybe it was only her mind:
maybe, she feared, it was.

The sun was oblivious,
up there in its nest of cloud.
And though the day itself had changed,
the cicadas remained inconsiderate.

Those rude buggers, and the sun and plants!
Ignorant creatures, that could be so unaware
that the day now differed entirely,
and everything was new.

No, it had not been in her mind.
Unfounded fear. A heresy
against her reborn spirit.
And yet, although she knew

The sun and the cicadas,
blind idiots, and all other  
forms of life that creep
about the earth, and fly, and swim,

Were without reason's inspiration,
she also knew that she herself,
(bloody, abortive pill)
that she herself was unreasonable.

At times. As a child. Was she?
Was she a premature unhinging
of the self's supremacy, a return
to the primitive of images,

emotions without words? Could she
speak yet? But the day had felt so
different. But now it was the same.
But wait! because

there, in the beam of light that
cut aslant the porcelainberry growing
up the rotten shed across the street
a catbird launches its lightness with a shriek.

[rowens]

The first three stanzas are good. And by good, I mean right. They just seem right. I can't look at the poem while I'm writing, so I have to post in installments. So just hold on.

---

And I'm not looking at it as a whole with all its connotations, I'm not in that mood lately. But I'm still reading it. So. Again. Hold on.

---

The fourth stanza sets the tone for the rest of it.

---

And then the sixth stanza, it starts getting good again. The words, the line break on creep.

---

Well, that's it. The rest of it doesn't stand out to me as anything. Like I said, I'm not reading deeply, I'm not in the mood for that. I do like the first three stanzas. They are things to build a poem on. The rest of it could be anything. Just keep those first three stanzas, they could go in any direction.

[billy]

the poem start off well with some good imagery and then become more of a puzzle to work out which i don't think i did. maybe i need to read it a few more times.

The day was different now,
and yes, she would walk out into
the garden of unruly ferns
and plump mosses. the opening stanza draws me in and makes me want more.

The vegetable world was unaware
that the day was different now.
Maybe it was only her mind:
maybe, she feared, it was. the abstract here works for the time being.

The sun was oblivious,
up there in its nest of cloud.
And though the day itself had changed,
the cicadas remained inconsiderate. there is a great image in this stanza

Those rude buggers, and the sun and plants!
Ignorant creatures, that could be so unaware
that the day now differed entirely,
and everything was new.

No, it had not been in her mind.
Unfounded fear. A heresy
against her reborn spirit.
And yet, although she knew for me, this stanza doesn't add enough to the poem to warrant keeping.

The sun and the cicadas,
blind idiots, and all other
forms of life that creep
about the earth, and fly, and swim,

Were without reason's inspiration,
she also knew that she herself,
(bloody, abortive pill)
that she herself was unreasonable.

At times. As a child. Was she?
Was she a premature unhinging
of the self's supremacy, a return
to the primitive of images, this stanza starts to lose my attention.

emotions without words? Could she
speak yet? But the day had felt so
different. But now it was the same.
But wait! because again this is losing my attention.

there, in the beam of light that
cut aslant the porcelainberry growing
up the rotten shed across the street
a catbird launches its lightness with a shriek. this last stanza feels almost perfect but the preceding couple of stanza weaken it somewhat.

[alatos]

the poem start off well with some good imagery and then become more of a puzzle to work out which i don't think i did. maybe i need to read it a few more times.

The day was different now,
and yes, she would walk out into
the garden of unruly ferns
and plump mosses. the opening stanza draws me in and makes me want more.

The vegetable world was unaware
that the day was different now.
Maybe it was only her mind:
maybe, she feared, it was. the abstract here works for the time being.

The sun was oblivious,
up there in its nest of cloud.
And though the day itself had changed,
the cicadas remained inconsiderate. there is a great image in this stanza

Those rude buggers, and the sun and plants!
Ignorant creatures, that could be so unaware
that the day now differed entirely,
and everything was new.

No, it had not been in her mind.
Unfounded fear. A heresy
against her reborn spirit.
And yet, although she knew for me, this stanza doesn't add enough to the poem to warrant keeping.

The sun and the cicadas,
blind idiots, and all other  
forms of life that creep
about the earth, and fly, and swim,

Were without reason's inspiration,
she also knew that she herself,
(bloody, abortive pill)
that she herself was unreasonable.

At times. As a child. Was she?
Was she a premature unhinging
of the self's supremacy, a return
to the primitive of images, this stanza starts to lose my attention.

emotions without words? Could she
speak yet? But the day had felt so
different. But now it was the same.
But wait! because again this is losing my attention.

there, in the beam of light that
cut aslant the porcelainberry growing
up the rotten shed across the street
a catbird launches its lightness with a shriek. this last stanza feels almost perfect but the preceding couple of stanza weaken it somewhat.

Thank you both for your feedback. I think I agree with your comment on stanza 5, Billy. The attempt here was to portray a disjointed state of mind as experienced by the protagonist. Seems it fell short.

[billy]

you still have good bones and i personally think it's worth sticking with and editing. use the originality you have and the good imagery and try to tie it together a little bit better transition.

[Richard]

Hey alatos,
I have to agree with the others that some parts of this poem work well, while other parts need strengthening. I'll go into detail below:

The day was different now, -This seems like the main problem in the poem for the speaker; the apparent change in the day noticed by the woman the speaker knows. I think you should consider making this line the title because of this. However, I'm torn because I like this stanza too.
and yes, she would walk out into
the garden of unruly ferns
and plump mosses.

The vegetable world was unaware
that the day was different now.
Maybe it was only her mind:
maybe, she feared, it was. -I absolutely love the last two lines of this stanza. They made me stop and reread them. They work because they're so human and sad at the same time.

The sun was oblivious,
up there in its nest of cloud. -I like the nest metaphor because it ties into the last stanza.
And though the day itself had changed,
the cicadas remained inconsiderate.

Those rude buggers, and the sun and plants!
Ignorant creatures, that could be so unaware -Is the repetition of "unaware" intentional? I would suggest using a different word.
that the day now differed entirely,
and everything was new.

No, it had not been in her mind.
Unfounded fear. A heresy -I liked it better when she was uncertain because she feared it was all in her mind.
against her reborn spirit.
And yet, although she knew

The sun and the cicadas,
blind idiots, and all other  
forms of life that creep
about the earth, and fly, and swim,

Were without reason's inspiration,
she also knew that she herself,
(bloody, abortive pill)
that she herself was unreasonable. -I get what you're going for with this and the last stanza, but I wonder what might happen if you tried to downsize and combine them into one stanza?

At times. As a child. Was she? -I feel like you need to develop the child image more, and how her as a child relates to her current state. I think this could be a potent image of explore.
Was she a premature unhinging
of the self's supremacy, a return
to the primitive of images,

emotions without words? Could she
speak yet? But the day had felt so
different. But now it was the same.
But wait! because -Maybe think about cutting this stanza? It just doesn't add much to me.

there, in the beam of light that
cut aslant the porcelainberry growing
up the rotten shed across the street
a catbird launches its lightness with a shriek. -I like that the poem ends with a shriek because it mimics how the woman in the poem is probably feeling.

I think you have a good start here, and I look forward to seeing where you take this piece from here.

Thanks for the read,
Richard

[homer1950]

Hello Alatos; your poem for me was as far as the writing very well done, then there is the flow, not easy for me to follow. First the garden then ferns and mosses. Later vegetable and cicadas, the day changed pulled me in, then the next stanzas felt like too much filler until the good stuff returned