Salad Blues, winter leaves. edit 1.005,milo,billy,merc,erthona,fromcancer

[Leah S.]

This year I'll grow no greenhouse envy; in truth, no green at all.
No ruby fruits, no piercing darts of piping chillies, no eggplants
pendulate, purple-breasted. Not even one great, golden star I have no problem with pendulate, but there is another word that you have all been neglecting: pendulous. (as in pendulous breasts, which is the image I got.) Webster's doesn't insist that any of the pendant words actually refer to pendulums.
will burst, anticipating pollen; so no zucchini sans my hand.
Winter holds no happy promise, its quaint demise a silent death.
There will be no wake to follow, no joy-filled pots or feast to come.
Instead, the lichened lights grow shaded; unfettered feet lichened light is gorgeous.
of creeping things greyed out the glass, left cracked by autumn winds. Tense switch. Why not just 'grey out'?
Old frost-clear tracks, tell-tales of slugs no longer threatened,
blaze in bands of sun-crisped slime. The summer star will shine benign 'sun-crisped slime' is also perfect.
on bare and barren cedar staging, littered with sharp snail-shell shards;
all victims of the killing days when sulphur fumes formed lethal acid
and black-tar fluid*, watered white, obscured the fragrant panes. footnotes should be banned in poetry, especially if snarky.
If only there was one more season, one more potter, one more yield;
then I would take my chitted set and cut it into sighted slivers, this line confused me completely, not because I was unfamiliar with what was obviously some kind of cutting implement, but because I could not fathom why 'sighted' should be an adjective before 'slivers'. It wasn't until I was writing this comment that I suddenly realized you were talking about the eyes in the potatoes. Here's the problem: the poem works beautifully even if the reader doesn't know exactly what you are planting...do you really want to insist that the reader know?
dip in dust of saffron yellow, dibble but a hand-depth down, I didn't know what specific substance you were referring to, but it was quite clear that it was a treatment for whatever you were planting.
into the mulch of ages. Then gently lower, cover over,
scoop up ramparts all around; each mound a living grave.
Volcanic* life lies waiting, waiting...but not for me. I will be gone. I got volcanic though, with a very clear and vivid image. Again, snarky and peevish *'s don't belong in this poem.
The shoots might stir me in my sleep, they in their bed, me in mine;
but I will plant my Salad Blues...before the winter leaves.
Tectak
2015
Notes by request.
* Jeye's Fluid. A very well known outdoor disinfectant and soil steriliser used world-wide by everyone and his dog for rover a century. Unknown in the USA, possibly banned sustance (citation required).
* volcanic. Volcano-like. Used here to imply the classically mound-shaped appearance, with a tendency to erupt metaphors from the apex(peak).( Obsc. USA )

Overall I like this poem immensely, enough to re-read it several times for pure enjoyment. The entire middle of the poem was so sharp-edged and complete an image (of the streaky greenhouse, and the shabby forlorn look of it in the winter) that I now can recall it as if it was a memory of my own. Carry on. Leah.