Finding flowers with Honey bees

[Bronte]

2 nd draft with aid


Be incandescent under the sun, I feel you
pray the way we speak of them too far distant
all the way to the end of time we own customs
of obeisant. I feel you pray of finding lexis,
there is a texture in the air of collective; of sweet
cast in runes. Ever even
between the stars we are joined, my hip, the wing, the hub
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray to everything
probe all sensibilities, ours, theirs, yours, will that be enough
to keep joined essences in our rented lives.

There is merit in forgiveness, mostly understood
But fear keeps others outer strands bound too tightly
strung where even a honeybees sting can’t penetrate!
Their nerve endings too shrunk, cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might forever, own all wisdom.




Wild meadows made for obsessive; night after night the ladybug
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles.

I felt drawn to walk behind her; within, we coupled in line with nature,
of true life expanding, living a dream of a reverie within a reality where we too were stirring.
And we meandered a meadow of her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, felt existence in every inhalation,
saw blossoms proliferate honed nature at her finest.
she was snowing pollens luminous and alive.
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows
she has been saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,

Oh, flowers, the lady owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely in life.

yes a bit better!





-------------
Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant
all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate!
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bug
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake.
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound
of nature at her finest.
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive .
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins

[tectak]

Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant
all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate!
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bug
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake.
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound
of nature at her finest.
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive .
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins

I had high hopes for you. I still have......I am of course talking of your poetry. This floribund style is appealing to many but it is like sniffing old pot pourri. I can tell it was once fresh but now there seems to be a scent of decay about it. I think I know why.
Writing good words is an indication of the thinking of good thoughts. You write good words. If I can bring in another analogy, the ingredients are good but the dish seems stale. It needs spicing up......and what is this spice? It is punctuation. The right amount in the right places of the right type. Rise up all ye who deny my right!
Here we go. We anti-doters should stick together! What is wrong with precision punctuation? In this piece things are made more irritating because of inconsistencies. You CAN do it right but then decide not to. PIM. (Sick of writing"perhaps it's me".
OK I am alright again. There is more to like than not and so here comes the sugar.
I really liked the incandescent pollen line.
I did not like the dodgy sentence structure.
Best,
Tectak

[Bronte]

I had high hopes for you. I still have......I am of course talking of your poetry. This floribund style is appealing to many but it is like sniffing old pot pourri. I can tell it was once fresh but now there seems to be a scent of decay about it. I think I know why.
Writing good words is an indication of the thinking of good thoughts. You write good words. If I can bring in another analogy, the ingredients are good but the dish seems stale. It needs spicing up......and what is this spice? It is punctuation. The right amount in the right places of the right type. Rise up all ye who deny my right!
Here we go. We anti-doters should stick together! What is wrong with precision punctuation? In this piece things are made more irritating because of inconsistencies. You CAN do it right but then decide not to. PIM. (Sick of writing"perhaps it's me".
OK I am alright again. There is more to like than not and so here comes the sugar.
I really liked the incandescent pollen line.
I did not like the dodgy sentence structure.
Best,
Tectak
[/quote]

rotf Oh I love this old argument

maybe it's because I speak in long sentences and I rarely punctuate first drafts.
But!
what of using line breaks to stop breath and have a cup very nice cup of tea.

Let’s face it!
Have you ever heard an orchestra play that blindly ignores the conductor? Isn’t the writer the conductor of the lines?

Guess I just don’t like to sound like everyone else and I hate little black ticks, hanging globules on the end of every line. It looks so messy. Poetry is not about punctuation or grammar or perfect spelling, it is art of the common man, a spoken orally history and entertainment.
It is the radio of the uneducated. It was stolen by the have it alls to supplement their rich boring lives as entertainment.

Poetry in some form has been used since fires were lit in caves. In short poetry has its own life and will explode at any given moment into a new world where old values and new rules clash. It can be anything that serves, the only thing poetry can’t be is boring.

Yes I can see it this way but yuk too easy

Best keep a low profile, be incandescent under the sun I feel
you pray the way we speak of them too far distant, all the way
to the end of time we own customs of obeisant. I feel you pray
--of finding lexis, there is texture in the air of collective, of sweet
cast in runes . Ever even between the stars we are joined at the hip
the wing, the hub the eye is always last to find consciousness.
There is a bug a million miles away tuning in to our divinity
expressing doubt that we might be worthy, of you, of them.
If we pray to everything, probe all sensibilities, ours, theirs, yours
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

it really sucks this way when spoken aloud

your turn

[tectak]

I had high hopes for you. I still have......I am of course talking of your poetry. This floribund style is appealing to many but it is like sniffing old pot pourri. I can tell it was once fresh but now there seems to be a scent of decay about it. I think I know why.
Writing good words is an indication of the thinking of good thoughts. You write good words. If I can bring in another analogy, the ingredients are good but the dish seems stale. It needs spicing up......and what is this spice? It is punctuation. The right amount in the right places of the right type. Rise up all ye who deny my right!
Here we go. We anti-doters should stick together! What is wrong with precision punctuation? In this piece things are made more irritating because of inconsistencies. You CAN do it right but then decide not to. PIM. (Sick of writing"perhaps it's me".
OK I am alright again. There is more to like than not and so here comes the sugar.
I really liked the incandescent pollen line.
I did not like the dodgy sentence structure.
Best,
Tectak

rotf Oh I love this old argument

maybe it's because I speak in long sentences and I rarely punctuate first drafts.
But!
what of using line breaks to stop breath and have a cup very nice cup of tea.

Let’s face it!
Have you ever heard an orchestra play that blindly ignores the conductor? Isn’t the writer the conductor of the lines?

Guess I just don’t like to sound like everyone else and I hate little black ticks, hanging globules on the end of every line. It looks so messy. Poetry is not about punctuation or grammar or perfect spelling, it is art of the common man, a spoken orally history and entertainment.
It is the radio of the uneducated. It was stolen by the have it alls to supplement their rich boring lives as entertainment.

Poetry in some form has been used since fires were lit in caves. In short poetry has its own life and will explode at any given moment into a new world where old values and new rules clash. It can be anything that serves, the only thing poetry can’t be is boring.

Yes I can see it this way but yuk too easy

Best keep a low profile, be incandescent under the sun I feel
you pray the way we speak of them too far distant, all the way
to the end of time we own customs of obeisant. I feel you pray
--of finding lexis, there is texture in the air of collective, of sweet
cast in runes . Ever even between the stars we are joined at the hip
the wing, the hub the eye is always last to find consciousness.
There is a bug a million miles away tuning in to our divinity
expressing doubt that we might be worthy, of you, of them.
If we pray to everything, probe all sensibilities, ours, theirs, yours
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

it really sucks this way when spoken aloud

your turn



[/quote]
Again, I agree with everything you say.....but if there is no such thing as bad poetry then ipso facto there is no such thing as good poetry. So why post it up.for "serious" criticism?
Best,
Tectak

[Todd]

Hi Bronte,

Well, I'll give you some comments to think about and use as you see fit.

First off, I like the title. It helps me step into the poem properly.

Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun--The second phrase is beautiful writing. I like the idea of the sun infusing an object with light. Low profile seems a tad cliche though and a bit weak for an opening line. Obviously, just an opinion but I feel that a minor tweak would probably bring this out more
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant--perhaps it's just the topic but this narrative phrasing reminds me of Louise Gluck's work in The Wild Iris (mostly with the title poem and also The Red Poppy).
all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.--on these last two lines I could suggest cuts but I'm not inclined to because the style is more lush than the minimalist style I tend to prefer. I think the pacing sort of fits with the title and the feeling of honey bees in search of flowers. We already have the sun burning. There should be a slow sense a heat-haze. The lines tend to get me there. "we own customs of obeisant" seems a bit awkward in its phrasing. I keep wanting this to be obeisance
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air--Here is a repetition that is interesting "I feel you pray". How would that be done? I can understand I hear you pray, or I see the posture of praying. I feel you pray comes across like prayer is a force that has some resonance to it. Interesting. That's what I'm leaning at given the texture phrasing that comes next. In the earlier first instance though the context seems to be better rendered "I hear you pray the way we speak..."
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even--would this of collective be better phrased by simply pulling collective up a line to make it a collective texture and maybe eliminate the of after the semicolon. Just a thought
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub--I like the addition of between the stars building on the idea of the runes earlier. It has a primitive divination sense to it all. I'm not a fan of the cliched joined at the hip. I think you could just go right to joined at the wing and build from there without losing anything
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug--great line
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,--It could just be me but you could cut ours, theirs, yours
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .--maybe substitute these for our

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood--Option: This is a declaritive maxim It would probably benefit from being more tight perhaps: There is an understood merit in forgiveness
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate!--I think the capital Bees is distracting.
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed--Is fully formed necessary?
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness--I like the ideas here. It's an interesting thought
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.--forever one word perhaps




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bugMade feels like the wrong word to suggest wildness. There's got to be a better verb choice for you. Ladybug should be one word
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .--minor typo period has an extra space. Love the ever smaller concentric circles.
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.--This phrasing feels a bit flat to me compared to some other lines you've written in the poem
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake.--Is there a better way to get to this idea. I feel like it's been expressed before in a similar way. You've got so many good original things going on here it's a bit of a letdown to read these thoughts
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.--I love where you're taking this
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound--I think you start well here and then don't carry it on to its promise...poppy thoughts is wonderful, grasses is fine, but when you summarize with the next statements you lose urgency. I think you would be better served stringing three or four things like poppy thoughts and letting them stand.
of nature at her finest.--This type of summary falls flat. I'd consider cutting the line
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive .--One two many spaces after the period again. Not a major thing just something to notice. I love the image and the line. My only concern is this is your second use of incandescent and it may serve to weaken both uses in the poem. You may be better off with another substitute in one of the lines. It is lovely though
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins--I liked the poem but I felt a lttle let down by these last few lines. Maybe it was the absolute language the never be understood part. I don't know. I just know that I want the revelation to hit me harder. The conclusion feels like it trails off without actually closing.

So, a lot there. I don't know how useful any of that will be to you. I hope some of it is helpful though.

Best,

Todd

[Bronte]

[/quote]
Again, I agree with everything you say.....but if there is no such thing as bad poetry then ipso facto there is no such thing as good poetry. So why post it up.for "serious" criticism?
Best,
Tectak


[/quote]

Why not! it is something I rarely ask for, I think this piece is worth the more critical eye. As for good and bad poetry! well maybe you are right. But I know within three lines if I want to read a poem, and I know a masterful mind at work when I can read the whole draft and not see any glaring errors sticking out ( because I’m involved with the poem) . It is only when scrutinizing the work word by word, line by line that they show up for this reader. But, saying that, I can also accept the errors because of the content.
Language after all is ever evolving . we should never bind the muse.
Did I say it above? That I’m doing NoPoWritnoMo 3030 April poem a day?
This is number nine I wish it was being done here, I love April. It makes me explode with ideas reading and seeing others all involved as well -- so many posts!! . There are thousands doing it. maybe we can have a Winter rite . June maybe? she has 30 days . it would be good if the pigs can fly winter and summer -- maybe I will do it alone. I’m PO’d that we are restricted to one a day. why stop when in the flow I say.. bad enough when we have months not even interested in trying..yes. I’m rambling and the work day has began must do some real work and come back~~~ J

---

---

Hi Bronte,

Well, I'll give you some comments to think about and use as you see fit.

First off, I like the title. It helps me step into the poem properly.

Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun--The second phrase is beautiful writing. I like the idea of the sun infusing an object with light. Low profile seems a tad cliche though and a bit weak for an opening line. Obviously, just an opinion but I feel that a minor tweak would probably bring this out more
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant--perhaps it's just the topic but this narrative phrasing reminds me of Louise Gluck's work in The Wild Iris (mostly with the title poem and also The Red Poppy).
all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.--on these last two lines I could suggest cuts but I'm not inclined to because the style is more lush than the minimalist style I tend to prefer. I think the pacing sort of fits with the title and the feeling of honey bees in search of flowers. We already have the sun burning. There should be a slow sense a heat-haze. The lines tend to get me there. "we own customs of obeisant" seems a bit awkward in its phrasing. I keep wanting this to be obeisance
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air--Here is a repetition that is interesting "I feel you pray". How would that be done? I can understand I hear you pray, or I see the posture of praying. I feel you pray comes across like prayer is a force that has some resonance to it. Interesting. That's what I'm leaning at given the texture phrasing that comes next. In the earlier first instance though the context seems to be better rendered "I hear you pray the way we speak..."
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even--would this of collective be better phrased by simply pulling collective up a line to make it a collective texture and maybe eliminate the of after the semicolon. Just a thought
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub--I like the addition of between the stars building on the idea of the runes earlier. It has a primitive divination sense to it all. I'm not a fan of the cliched joined at the hip. I think you could just go right to joined at the wing and build from there without losing anything
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug--great line
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,--It could just be me but you could cut ours, theirs, yours
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .--maybe substitute these for our

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood--Option: This is a declaritive maxim It would probably benefit from being more tight perhaps: There is an understood merit in forgiveness
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate!--I think the capital Bees is distracting.
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed--Is fully formed necessary?
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness--I like the ideas here. It's an interesting thought
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.--forever one word perhaps




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bugMade feels like the wrong word to suggest wildness. There's got to be a better verb choice for you. Ladybug should be one word
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .--minor typo period has an extra space. Love the ever smaller concentric circles.
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.--This phrasing feels a bit flat to me compared to some other lines you've written in the poem
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake.--Is there a better way to get to this idea. I feel like it's been expressed before in a similar way. You've got so many good original things going on here it's a bit of a letdown to read these thoughts
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.--I love where you're taking this
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound--I think you start well here and then don't carry it on to its promise...poppy thoughts is wonderful, grasses is fine, but when you summarize with the next statements you lose urgency. I think you would be better served stringing three or four things like poppy thoughts and letting them stand.
of nature at her finest.--This type of summary falls flat. I'd consider cutting the line
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive .--One two many spaces after the period again. Not a major thing just something to notice. I love the image and the line. My only concern is this is your second use of incandescent and it may serve to weaken both uses in the poem. You may be better off with another substitute in one of the lines. It is lovely though
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins--I liked the poem but I felt a lttle let down by these last few lines. Maybe it was the absolute language the never be understood part. I don't know. I just know that I want the revelation to hit me harder. The conclusion feels like it trails off without actually closing.

So, a lot there. I don't know how useful any of that will be to you. I hope some of it is helpful though.

Best,

Todd

todd In summary

L1 you are right the opening was set up to open the idea .. CUT
L2 not sure i have read it, or i can’t remember it
I will mull over the usage of the definition , to me your choice of obeisance feels singular. Where is Roy Hobbs when I need him?

To feel someone pray is to be one with them , like twins and life partners. You get cut and I feel the pain . it is a knowing that comes from empathy. few posses it

you are right in the end piece I can do better. Place holder will be reworked to heighten the idea I hope

Clichéd I have no problems with the use of anything clichéd . they are a tool that can be utilised if done well. I was set a challenge years ago for the use of as many clichés as could be squeezed into a poem without too much vomit occurring.. it was fun .

And no because it is three, a divinity of ours here, yours earth nature at work
and theirs , everything else way out there and beyond.

If I use” those” I see that as setting us apart from everything. It is mans way to set ourselves apart. My ain here is to unite

and yes My thought exactly on the 2nd use of incandescent on my first read thought after. But I allowed it to wait there as a reference to the beginning. I will keep looking --


I wonder if any man. Or any childless women can ever understand that moment in time when a mother knows that life in that second exploded within her body.
Already we can hear the voice, already deep down we know if it’s a son, or a daughter. We are one, it is the big bang that created the universe in which we float. We the women are the host, the creator of life!
But we grow slowly maybe too slow for our own good . Natures musts, will always win


and yes this has been helpful and I will fix edit and proof read and try not to double space before the colon .
thank you ~~ Joan




grr why is this post sticking on the post below!! thank goodness for cut and paste

[Philatone]

hey bronte!
some thoughts to ponder; apologies if some have already been said as I haven't had a chance to read.

Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun...good start, opposing images. the second half of the line is great
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant ...got a little lost on the "I feel you pray the way we speak of them". sounds are interesting; the meaning got tangled for me. I think it's the "pray

all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even ..for this line and the one above, I wanted to switch the comma and semicolon
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub ...a bit cliche, but focusing on one of the other images (e.g., sticking only with "we are joined at the wing") would make it a little fresher for me
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt ...wasn't a fan of "a million miles away," though it does match the poem's tone
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray ...didn't need the first comma.
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight ...nice play on "outer strands" and "bound too tight(ly)"
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate! ...apostrophe after "Bee"
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp ...three lines above would hit me a little stronger if they were a sentence
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bug ...first half of the line was unclear to me
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake. ...i've heard this before..
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound
of nature at her finest.
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive . ..like the reappearance of "incandescent"
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins

in general, punctuation threw me off at times (though for the poem's sake, I didn't include everything. feel free to ask if concerned about that). some of the ideas came off more strongly than others . the added section at the end gave me less than the others

thanks for the read; hope I could provide something valuable

[Bronte]

Philatone we must have crossposted . I have redrafted and addressed some issues But it was very kind of you anyhoo~~ kisses~~

[Veronique]

Philatone we must have crossposted . I have redrafted and addressed some issues But it was very kind of you anyhoo~~ kisses~~

***********
This is workshopping as it was meant to be done.

Good work, all!

vr

[Philatone]

bronte

ey, will try to have a second look as soon as I can!
sorry the suggestions came a few too late

[Erthona]

This line bothers me "Wild meadows made for obsessive;" "obsessing" "an obsessive" either would make sense.

Sorry, don't have the time or the mind for more in depth look. Need sleep.

Dale

[Bronte]

hope you had a nice nap! terry snored all last night! so I'm tired

obsessive-- yes I looked , changed it, and looked again at that word. I liked the Sonics of it over the inging sounds of the other
and I was not wanting it to be taken as personal by anyone. I want it to be part what it is. a wild untamed place where everything from bee, bug, plant, to me can wander in and fall in love with all its detail . all on differing levels. but picking a "wrong" word it will make some look twice, and hopefully wonder why it was picked and not think she’s an illiterate fool . and its good to make a reader work a little, find the poet mind at work.

well I am for the most part, I don’t see words as having a given place in a line, I see then as bricks that if used correctly will always shape up to the same perfect well made house that every one lives in and admires. I like to use my bricks out of order so my little house stands apart. I’m not explaining very well am I sorry ! My bad.. but luckily I know what I’m saying most of the time.

~~~ I'm glad you pointed it out anyhoo I might need to redraft to find perfection in meaning