The military has tried for three years to figure out the enemy and has so far failed. All I am suggesting is that if scientists and technologists cannot get into the battle and do better, we might as well admit defeat, and try to negotiate as Japan did after WWII.

It is a bit exaggerateed; try to think of the way some women treat their man.

From sniffing molecules of paint?

He got up from the sofa, syringe still in his shoulder where it flopped as he walked to the door, then fell on the floor. Your pun is good too; I hadn’t thought of it. Three times is good when killing a man, or writing poems. I might do that.

I always consider an edit, and agree the linked list of colors and trees goes on a bit. I often edit the poems I post here, but I don’t always post the edits. I did repeat the mixing of paint on a palette at the end, hoping to bring home the idea of similar patterns in leaf veins and tree branches, and suggest a connection. Maybe it goes without saying. Thanks for the comments.

Sorry, I got carried away in a cloud of extremities.

May I suggest that strong peripheral vision does not necessarily mean a lack of capacity for intense focus? Of course, it’s perfectly all right to hold a notion without logical basis. We women do it all the time. Just a peripheral notion, of course, and a bit snooty.

Wow, you take this as weeping? There is no communicating with you!

I could argue that "each minute leaf, a spec of color" portends the idea expressed later in the peom about a leaf's vein pattern as blueprint of the tree. Would you believe me, or say it's late covering?

"Resignedly" is right - good call. I don't suppose you'd buy that "resignly" sounds better?

You're better at how things sound, so maybe you'd tell me what "crimson/Artistes" lacks.

Irrelevant or guff comment does not irritate me; I thought I had said that clearly. Not clearly enough, it seems. And to say it more clearly would only sound more snooty. Carry on with the guff, please; call me names; who really cares? You fail, not me.

I’m all ablush :) Thanks.

Ah, the extremities of human opinion, how they inspire imaginings into the soul—from height of ecstasy to lowest disdain over a simple poem.

How could you possibly interpret my comment as irritation? It was obviously a rebuttal to rockmage’s profusion of nonsensical comments having nothing remotely to do with the poem or common sense or admission of his failure to find the 3. Ranger at least addressed the poem, something you might consider doing every now and again. As for guff strewn about these pages, I’ve strewn as much as almost anyone. To say that I “fail” on such trivial and unsupported grounds is like claiming to have found a monkey egg in your stew. Either of these might exist in places and stews, but they’re much smaller than you suppose.

To say that the story is “a little thin” is generous indeed. Perhaps if I’d named the ship Pooranchor, instead of Poor Anchor, the analogy and silliness would pop out. Maybe it did anyway.

I love the "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" and would love to write a ballad form like it, but first I’d want something serious to write about, second more talent. And you’re right, it relates more to rats than people, unlike Zodiac’s Valentine 2 (about Captain Cook) a good poem on a serious subject.

The prologue could be dumped. It’s supposed to show that what we now call artificial intelligence might, in 2075, be smart enough to decipher what’s really going on.

Sorry it’s too anthropomorphic, with glad rats, amiable ship and all – just part of the silliness. Thanks for the helpful comment.

A long way from Ye Old Cheshire Cheese and not far from Central Park, if memory serves. Didn’t know you Brits cared for that fiery hot vindaloo, with or without monkey eggs.