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Unfinished and Untitled

Though animals hide from moon’s bright light,
and the breeze is only gentle
the way the frogs cry with wind chimes
the leaves in the trees moan
and the ring around the moon reddens
I know the poet could not rightly
call this night still

it seems so far apart from the adjacent world of man
but the yellow light of florescent bulbs
is the jaundice of my eyes
and from them I see
fey and imp alike
in the mosquito hawk
who is up late
perplexed as I am
by the

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
I stopped in the middle of this poem several years ago and never picked it back up again. Not sure where I want to go with it.
Editing stage: 


could the missing word in the last line be "jinx"...

the way i read your poem it gives me a feeling like you are trying to relate humans with the incongruent things happening around them in nature...

it is possible that my perception could be in tangent to your theme but I must say the theme is unique

raj (sublime_ocean)

It seem to me an intent on making a correlation between the subtlety and wonder of nature,
( I know the poet could not rightly
call this night still)
and that of man
( is the jaundice of my eyes
and from them I see
fey and imp alike)

I notice that many on this sight do not use punctuation which causes me trouble as I am use to it. And here is my problem, I do not know is you are saying you see fey and imp in the mosquito hawk, or if there should be a stop after hawk.
My imagination does not go so far as being able to decipher how you and the mosquito hawk can be perplexed by the same thing.


The most powerful reaction
of mind on mind
is transference of sight

"In the still of the midnight hour"

I know a poet could not rightly
call this night still

Outside the hunter and hunted hide
from the brightness of the moon
The frogs cry with wind chimes
The leaves in the trees moan

The ring around the moon reddens
It seems far apart from the yellow light
of florescent bulbs from the world of men

From there the universe of a mosquito
orbits my room perplexed by glass
My jaundiced eyes follows its wandering
waiting for it to dare to rest near me

I freeze like an animal in the moonlight
The poem waits
To call this night still


I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Thanks everyone for the feedback. I have been thinking about all your comments for a while and I haven't made up my mind yet, but I do love all the suggestions.

I just wanted everyone to know that I have put some thought into your comments, but I'm still not settled on what direction to take the poem.

Thanks again,

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author comment

was considering the still, yet unstill night and the poet's mind, when not fired by passionate inspiration it is still always fossicking under logs for grubs or casting a shadow from the moon over tiny scurrying prey.

We are never at rest.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

is just really good. The way you build it up, the whole deal.

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