as soon as you do the most basic of edits on this mess, I will loook at it again.

I've been a fool, and I've written instead, and I'm still a fool, easily led. I wish I could get it together like you have. Good Villanelle.

On first reading, I thought of a storm having some portent in lightning - cagy like a cat. Then I read your explanation, and the poem again. Frankly, I don't see the club scene even now. I think you've leaned too far on the side of poetry at the expense of leaving your readers without the sensation you want them to have.

I see you trying to incorporate the comments on the former version, but to ill effect. I hate when people do to me whast I wioll do to you:

The woman does not move;
her clock has amnesia,
and her hands are scarred.

The peeping bird has ceased its
back-‘forth routine, and the mother,
in her complacent gown

under the arch of the bathroom door,
is consumed by a force
greater than herself.

It makes her baby’s
oval lips silent, before it’s attempted cry.
The toddler’s pruned fingers
twisted the cold water off, allowed hot water

to spill; and now the boiling water
tightens on the skin
that lies prey-pink raw.

He is a statue that burns,
he sees out of blue eyes.
tortured stare nembraces her.

Frozen fingers
are in limbo in this eternal pause,
cementing her feet.

Baby’s mouth
is opened without the screech; time quit in the seconds
that lived before a wail and attempt.



Not perfect. Play with it.

I like the first two verses.

But verse three says that even in post-graduate fashion, your mind cannot fathom how you let him/her go, as if post-graduateness affects your ability to fathom such things.

In verse three, "our memories" implies that her/his memories are available for you to evaluate as unending as the wind.

But these are minor nits. Overall good.

Verse 1: If he swings on a wrecking ball, he'll get hurt. It seems to me the word "on" should be dropped.

Verse 2 is great.

Verse 3: "She does her work fanatically." If this is another woman, then it seems a new verse is needed for a new thought. Also, a comma, not a period. But maybe "she" is not another woman.

Verse 4: Your fingers build with writing, I presume. If so, then a hint perhaps.

I don't know if you copied this or not. It would be easy to find out. It's even easier to find out that you voted yourself a 10.

I had to look up "Endorphin." Here it is: "any of several peptides secreted in the brain that have a pain-relieving effect like that of morphine." The word seems too technical for a carefree Sunday afternoon. Otherwise very relaxed.

Knowing what you have said about the narrator, this makes a lot of sense. Without knowing that, it would slip past me like a quiet cat. Perhaps you could hint with something like, "ears or not, I know you're there."

Very aptly timed considering tomorrow's total eclipse, where the moon will block the sun in Africa. They are saying pregnant women should not look at the spectical or their babies will be born with hair lips. And your poem is the stuff of myth, too. If you had written it three thousand years ago, it might have given birth to gods.

Poems for the last 300 years or more have expressed similar sentiments, but they are new for each new lover. Carry on, and try to make it as original as is possible with such a cloud of witnesses.

While I see what's going on, the details seem too vague for such trauma. And the ending seems like the wail should come before the attempt, that is if the baby dies of choking. But again, that is uncertain.

Sorry, I don't get it.

I think "Waking Hours" would make a better title than a first line.
Comma after "aimlessly"
Comma after "me"
Period after "more"
Comma after "go"

So, is this an attempt to change yourself, or do you really prefer books to men?

I'm not into this as much as your others. The first line with "dead headstone" is off-putting. All headstones are dead, aren't they? I like the feathers rocking on the bay. The woman in a Bohemian skirt is confusing - could be you or someone else. Then in verse 2, the narrator could be the body under the headstone. Then the three "she" lines turn it back into a love poem.

It's hard to follow at the beginning, but the last 3 verses bring it together. Then on going back, it works well from Verse 2 on. Verse 1 seems disconnected.

The first line bewilders me. Mercury, lying on a plate, spreads out in what could be an oval, and reflects like a mirror. The poem makes sense after I pass that obstacle, and until mercury appears at the end. But there, it must be some metaphor. Okay, I must have it all wrong.

The last line is good, but the rest needs attention to construction. Make it more poetic.

Isn't amazing grace already directly in your path? Must you search for it? And don't you already know how to change your life? Sorry, but it seems you are asking the wrong questions.