[Glenn Wright]

Aubade

The meddlesome sun patrols the forest trail,
peeking in corners, rousting nestled lovers,
provoking flocks of birds to fill the dale
with flashing wings; a jeweled hummingbird hovers
over our bodies, entwined on mossy covers.

I wake before her, free my tangled limbs,
and slip away into the deeper gloom,
waiting for her to rise to skylark hymns,
to feel the dewy chill, smell the perfume
of evergreen and sweet wild rose’s bloom.

I watch her blink into the glaring east,
Stand up, and brush leaf litter from her dress.
A creature of the day, light is her feast.
I know that she’s forgotten my caress,
or, wanting me, she never would confess.

Summoned to her world, so full of weeping,
blighted by sin, cursed with pain and labors,
she looks around her, careful to be keeping
A downcast air, fleeing the woodland’s flavors
for the bitter taste of clocks and chores and neighbors.

[Trevor Conway]

Hi Glenn,

This is a nice enough scene, but the language felt too ornate to me, too old-fashioned and straining for poeticness, as if you're trying too hard. Others might like this approach, but for me anyway, it spoiled the poem to a degree. One example is the "meddlesome" sun. It just feels stilted/awkward to me. Would you could consider a version where you replace various words with more startling (or at least less strained) word choices, then compare the two versions? As an example, a less strained version of "meddlesome" could be "pesky" or "brazen". A more startling alternative could be something like "heat/light-pissing". Radical, I know, but just an example. I'll put in bold below other words that just felt too old-fashioned/strained/cliched/corny to my ear. Up to you if you'd like to experiement with a different approach.

Apart from that, I did feel the rhyme and rhythm worked well, and the final stanza was generally free to what put me off above.

I hope this feedback helps in some way.

All the best,

Trev

The meddlesome sun patrols the forest trail,
peeking in corners, rousting nestled lovers,
provoking flocks of birds to fill the dale
with flashing wings; a jeweled hummingbird hovers
over our bodies, entwined on mossy covers.

I wake before her, free my tangled limbs,
and slip away into the deeper gloom,
waiting for her to rise to skylark hymns,
to feel the dewy chill, smell the perfume
of evergreen and sweet wild rose’s bloom.

I watch her blink into the glaring east,
Stand up, and brush leaf litter from her dress.
A creature of the day, light is her feast.
I know that she’s forgotten my caress,
or, wanting me, she never would confess.

Summoned to her world, so full of weeping,
blighted by sin, cursed with pain and labors,
she looks around her, careful to be keeping
A downcast air, fleeing the woodland’s flavors
for the bitter taste of clocks and chores and neighbors.

[R. Nemo Hill]

For all its ornately detailed modifiers, Glen, the poem's description doesn't seem to be of a real place. I realize an argument could be made that the place is meant to be archetypal, but I think it would be a more interesting experiment to draw more from reality, to make the hummingbird and the rose more particular and personal than universal. Sometimes a more personal focus opens up a woodland far more vast than the literary one echoed by deliberately conjured pastiche.

Nemo