So, What Is It

or some such, but still yet to delve into that part of study.

however the emotional context of the piece shifts for me from sadness to bitter anger at the end, not sure if that was your intent, but since I'm a hack poet and a hack commentator then that is what you get lol

In a picture you painted, I was drawn in,

and my eyes would close in a red haze, to that ember,

and in dreams of a verdant grove where the green

light from the leaves shown radiant

you on a limb of a apple tree.

love the juxtaposition here, the vivid use of colours

painted/drawn in

limb has dual connotations and I feel you are playing on both of them here, out on a limb being the cliché, that seems to have been cleverly hidden amidst a painting.

your final lines I really enjoyed

would perhaps smile ....if he read it sober

very nice I love the old styles ...the old love troths

and recriminations. thanks

i probably don't get the half of it BUT it takes me to the latterday film and the heart of the monster... and the monstrous in any of us, our own verbiage as poets, authors...

lines that did most for me were:

king of ice floes/my eyes would close in a red haze/where the green

light from the leaves shown radiant you on a limb of a apple tree/return to the waste places/And sing in guttural throes

i query:

Monster,

that I am, return

to the waste places

of which I love,

and with love

returned.

while i get the use of that comma after 'Monster' and again after 'that I am', that 'of' is throwing me

what i like so much about this is the places it takes my thoughts, the images it conjures, the sense of cold wandering.

So full of emotion that it burns into my soul, definitely one to be read over and over again

PG, I think Caliban, did all right for himself, after all he had a better writer. Well,l so did my guy, I just wanted the character and some settings

aaaaaaaand to let the audience know I'm not thinking about building my pyre, although if it keeps snowing, I may change my mind.

Caliban

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,

Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments

Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices

That, if I then had waked after long sleep,

Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,

The clouds methought would open, and show riches

Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked

I cried to dream again.

Stand by verdant, rethinking the embers.

Ang,

Stand by one of the semicolons.

out to the cold. gets double duty,

the other one looks stupid, and since I can't remember why I did it, or if it is a typo

Thanks, all

I could quibble with a few small things, some of which previous commenters have noted, but this is one fine poem.

Five.

Oddly tender from you, twelveoone, almost as if inspired by that other Shelley. Perhaps sweet monster, there is heart in your heart, after all. Poet Guy will spot you "verdant" and "emberous" (though surely that should be "emb'rous"?) for period dialect.

If you are taking requests, Poet Guy would like to see you take a shot at humanizing Caliban next.

I also agree with Seattle that I get new and different feelings with each read. You better submit this one to some journal!

You made every word count. I didn't get the semicolon's use except maybe you want a new thought to follow but not the break of a full stop to precede. I am uber picky about poets I respect and all I can complain about is the damn semicolon! You can have a 20 or 30 for this one: five isn't enough. :-)

this poem has so much movement, from its mood and tone, communicated by a change in voice, line breaks, kind of an angry sputtering toward the end.

A good balance of what brought the "you" in the poem close to the narrator's heart, and the hurt he felt in the loss.

Well I hope I got that right :) Third time I read it today, it made me sad. I feel I have experienced similar events, and may be projecting.

Good to read you as always