Fractured

[TranquillityBase]

Sitting on a patio above the Guadalupe
my childhood dream of isolation 
from a storied family
realized in spades.

It’s a fractured solitude:
the colonizers across the river
who’ve stripped out all natural vegetation,
turned the riverbank into a suburban backyard.

Within earshot the announcers from Schlitterbahn
booming out.  Drunken shouts of tubers coming out
the Last Public Exit.

But most of the time it’s just me, the pecans, the sycamore
cardinals, tyrant flycatchers, hummingbirds, squirrels,
the host of other unknowns who carry on with or without me;
and the salamanders who seem the spirits of the meek.

I watch the ants, who know no solitude,
rush across the irregular paving stones,
criss-crossing each other, oblivious to everything
but approaching dusk.

I wait for shadows to lengthen, and seclusion to be restored.

Sitting on a patio above the Guadalupe







mostly alone







my childhood dream of vast solitude







realized in spades.







Watch out for those childhood dreams







if you’re young enough







and it’s not too late.

[Mark A Becker]

watch out how your shadow dances
when a full moon rises

[rowens]

Sitting on a patio above the Guadalupe
my childhood dream of isolation 
from a storied family
realized in spades.


I'm simply pointing out a trick. Everything I say now is simple. 
This trick here:


Sitting on a patio above the Guadalupe
my childhood dream of isolation 
from a storied family
realized in spades

is a fractured solitude:
the colonizers across the river
who’ve stripped out all natural vegetation,
turned the riverbank into a suburban backyard.


The first stanza is clunky, yet keepable as it is, as it sets up the strange linebreak and the effect that gives.
The two last lines of the second stanza could be reworked, not more poetically, the prosaic effect in those two lines have their place in tone and mood. They are simply less reliably clunky.





Within earshot the announcers from Schlitterbahn
booming out.  Drunken shouts of tubers coming out
the Last Public Exit.

That stanza is exactly what it needs to be in every element. 



But most of the time it’s just me, the pecans, the sycamore
cardinals, tyrant flycatchers, hummingbirds, squirrels,
the host of other unknowns who carry on with or without me;
and the salamanders who seem the spirits of the meek.


The conversational mixed with the poetic is why that stanza is exactly what it needs to be.

I watch the ants, who know no solitude,
rush across the irregular paving stones,
criss-crossing each other, oblivious to everything
but approaching dusk.

You could make an experiment of cutting the last two lines of that stanza. A period after stones. 


I wait for shadows to lengthen, and seclusion to be restored.