Polaris

[Miley]

Polaris

South of twilight
silver clots in the sky.
Polaris, Sirius, Orion,
each its own wound. 
We orient ourselves—

east of stars like stones
in a dark creek over-
brimming. Stones round
like the year’s round
plump, palmed, and swallowed

west of the headwind
pulling forth unknown origin:
a black cave’s salted breath
or days diving light. 

North of the updraft,
a great flood myth
trespasses the night.
I demand North.

North of borders—north of north—True north.
North of desperate peaks, sprawling roadways,
and trains gong-wobbling through the nocturnal fogs of collective uncaring.
North of dopamine songs pumpin dirty through cheap speakers, 
of useless catharsis, and leviathan caterwauls.

North of artificial light and iridescent roadside heat,
of gas prices, of syringes lurking like rattlesnakes in tall grasses,
of familiar bonds and bones and bones all together.

North of bountiful borealisms, 
of terrestrial hum drum. and beaten earth.
North of the same sun bludgeoning the sky into submission. 
I demand north.

[Knot]

.
Hi Miley,
enjoyed the read, the gathering of momentum and some of the dystopian images (gas prices, rattlesnake syringes,
terrestrial hum drum, in particular.)

Not sure you need the first four lines, "We orient ourselves" seems to offer a stronger start.
I thought verse four was the weakest, felt it interrupted the flow, do you need it?

Wondered if you needed 'peaks' after 'desperate'?
Definitely think you need the g on the end of pumpin

Just a thought ...

North of artificial light and roadside heat, north
of gas prices and syringes lurking like rattlesnakes in tall grasses,
north of familiar bonds and bones and bones all together.

North of bountiful borealisms, terrestrial hum
drum. and beaten earth. North of the same sun
fucking the same fucking sky into submission.
I demand north.


(bountiful borealisms sound a bit off key to me, it's reads as accidentally jokey/humorous, and plump might be revisited.)


Best, Knot




.

[philip]

Hello Miley,

This poem is bristling with imagery which makes for an engaging read. I'm not sure what the message is - steer clear of the world's problems?
Of course it comes across as two poems, your intent I think, one a gentle focus on the stars, the other a seemingly angry rant.

For me, clots, wounds and stones don't work as a metaphors for the stars.
Then I'm a bit lost on the meaning of the second and third verses.

The rant is dynamic and effective, although the swear word only adds shock value - it's a poor metaphor - stretch the vocabulary here.
Like the repeat of 'I demand North' - simple and effective.

Thanks for sharing.........P

[busker]

Polaris

South of twilight
silver clots in the sky. ... So if there are silver clots south of twilight, then  the sun is presumably setting in the northwest, and you are below the tropic of cancer. Or are you? Is this perchance the angst of an expat living in Singapore? It couldn't be Australia, because you can't see Polaris from here. Not that Singapore has syringe ridden parks. Frivolity aside, my point is that the opening lines make very little sense.
Polaris, Sirius, Orion,
each its own wound.  ... why are they wounded? never resolved in the poem
We orient ourselves—

east of stars like stones
in a dark creek over-
brimming. Stones round
like the year’s round 
plump, palmed, and swallowed .... not sure where this line ends. It just seems to hang in there half-finished. The enjambment to the next strophe doesn't make sense either. The year's round plump? What on earth is that?

west of the headwind
pulling forth unknown origin: ... can't understand this line
a black cave’s salted breath ... a good standalone line...but that's about it
or days diving light. 

North of the updraft,
a great flood myth
trespasses the night. ... the allusions to various flood myths are fine, but I am still confused as to why they are to your north. Flood myths are usually, ultimately, of a Middle Eastern origin, as that's where melting glaciers at the end of the last ice age suggested them to cavemen 
I demand North.

North of borders—north of north—True north.
North of desperate peaks, sprawling roadways,
and trains gong-wobbling through the nocturnal fogs of collective uncaring. ... I like 'gong-wobbling'. Very Harry Potter.
North of dopamine songs pumpin dirty through cheap speakers, 
of useless catharsis, and leviathan caterwauls.

North of artificial light and iridescent roadside heat,
of gas prices, of syringes lurking like rattlesnakes in tall grasses,
of familiar bonds and bones and bones all together.

North of bountiful borealisms, ... a very Monty Pythonesque alliteration...don't think it belongs
of terrestrial hum drum. and beaten earth.
North of the same sun bludgeoning the sky into submission. ... I am almost sure you're an expat living in....maybe Mexico 
I demand north.

I like how the poem rolls on - there is a cadence in those lines

[Miley]

Thanks for the replies everyone, I appreciate it. I did write an edit for this though reading the poem now, I think it may be a lost cause. There are moments I like, maybe they will make it into future poems. Maybe I’ll post the edit yet ha. Thank u thank u