Egerie

[Thunderembargo]

Muses of the Medieval Archetype

From the near shore, yet off in the distance
Through morning mist rising from the lake
and all day long, with aimless heat proceeding
The boatman pulls his passengers
with angst in the belly of the beast
and a manifest of souls 
ledgering their remorse 
against the paean of the sky
mirrored like the shallow breathe of 
the mountains humming last Vespers  
measuring the tranquil and pallid beats
of the oar, slapping, assuredly 
towards some kind of final judgement

Donning his sveldt quiver of arrow 
recently forged, spliced and feathered
the hunter sharpens his thought
keen on the prey of his designs
for well over an hour, since before 
the pale light of dawn
had first shown through percolate
and rose, the crush red
of his kill yet to come
and the foxglove will look right
perhaps even righteous
on the porcelain hand of his maiden
bride of the gentle times and seasons
but first he must roust this coyote
who has been bothering the village hens

One can hear the double-sided axe
their duel blades scything limb from limb
and the tall fella behind the oaken handle
is earnest in portly affection
if not in judgement or serenity
he is profuse with glandular fecundity
moist and wetness
and the scent of ceaseless work
follow the trail of felled timber
the evergreen begins to brown
as soon as he passes through
and acorns fall all around
he moves towards his final swing:
when repast, meade and fellas fellowing
each and every brood or nag
all around at the tavern
will skirt the evening into stupor and drunken sleep

Each ring of his hammer stroke
resounds with perfectability
and the confidence of the farmer, the munitioner,
and the wheelwright increases
when the blacksmith is throwing iron
pumping his furnace to hot, glowing ember
to glance towards the heat
and make sure it will melt
his ore into fast blade, dagger, shoe or wheel
Even the nails which fasten batten
or picture the frame
Some Vermeer belonging in a Merchant's Custom House
Made with precise pouring and molten drudgery
when anvil work is at a lull

t

[TranquillityBase]

Thunder, is this the beginning of a longer work perchance?  It seems to cut off in mid-stream.

Just curious, before I dive deeper into it.

[TranquillityBase]

Muses of the Medieval Archetype

From the near shore, yet off in the distance
Through morning mist rising from the lake
and all day long, with aimless heat proceeding
The boatman pulls his passengers
with angst in the belly of the beast                      into the belly of the beast?
and a manifest of souls 
ledgering their remorse 
against the paean of the sky
mirrored like the shallow breathe of                      breath
the mountains humming last Vespers                   don't need to capitalize vespers
measuring the tranquil and pallid beats
of the oar, slapping, assuredly 
towards some kind of final judgement           This first stanza is the best, eerie and convincing

Donning his sveldt quiver of arrow                svelte
recently forged, spliced and feathered
the hunter sharpens his thought
keen on the prey of his designs
for well over an hour, since before 
the pale light of dawn
had first shown through percolate          can't really use "percolate" as a noun here, maybe "pale light of dawn/percolates through/the rose, the cush red...."
and rose, the crush red
of his kill yet to come                           amazing line
and the foxglove will look right 
perhaps even righteous
on the porcelain hand of his maiden
bride of the gentle times and seasons
but first he must roust this coyote                "coyote" doesn't work; a word of Spanish origin is out of place
who has been bothering the village hens

One can hear the double-sided axe
their duel blades scything limb from limb
and the tall fella behind the oaken handle
is earnest in portly affection
if not in judgement or serenity
he is profuse with glandular fecundity
moist and wetness                                      I think you could cut this line
and the scent of ceaseless work
follow the trail of felled timber
the evergreen begins to brown
as soon as he passes through
and acorns fall all around
he moves towards his final swing:
when repast, meade and fellas fellowing
each and every brood or nag
all around at the tavern
will skirt the evening into stupor and drunken sleep

Each ring of his hammer stroke
resounds with perfectability
and the confidence of the farmer, the munitioner,
and the wheelwright increases
when the blacksmith is throwing iron
pumping his furnace to hot, glowing ember
to glance towards the heat
and make sure it will melt
his ore into fast blade, dagger, shoe or wheel
Even the nails which fasten batten
or picture the frame
Some Vermeer belonging in a Merchant's Custom House         "Vermeer" may be the wrong historical period
Made with precise pouring and molten drudgery
when anvil work is at a lull

t

You have described four very vivid medieval archetypes.  The richness of your language is impressive.  As I mentioned before, it seems like it cuts off before it is finished.  

Some punctuation would be helpful to the reader.

To summarize, I really enjoy the the profuse descriptions of these archetypes, but it needs some kind of ending.

[Poetry In Motion]

I have to mirror on what Tranquil has to say: is this a longer work Thunder? I want to know because I feel that this poem has some promise, it was a little long though and I think that you can do something with the imagery as it is too brutal for my taste. What I mean by that is is that it is too flowery but yet squeamish (I may be talking out of my arse) but still I feel you need to do something with the wording. I think you can do something with the word choice, word economy is important and I find that all has been critiqued from Tranquil's part. Like I said before: it is a really long poem.


This is insufficient critique for this forum. 
—Admin.