yield

[milo]

oh apple-picking once again
as if I'm reaching for a friend

and yet the laddered labor's endless
and I another migrant friendless

"oh sullen servant what's the matter
why can you not just climb your ladder

why must you always reach for more
the light, the dark or Pluto's shore."


another rung compresses seasons
the fungal earth that forces reasons:


the trunk, the hips each branch a jaw, Some
sex to push the apple blossom

and then there's Frost - the killing bite
merchant, peddler, murderous mite

Second is the idle thought
the mushy pungent apple -y rot

and yet another rung of drinking
to put to rest such labored thinking

"come scouse the pubs and let's get pissed
and put aside your stupid list"

and that is fine my thinking's slurred
I can't recall the portent third


I cannot make a thot for thee
I cannot make it to list three

I cannot climb the ladder more
cannot seek the light or shore

so I will lift my cup alone
and let it now unyoke my stone

as graphite yields to clicky keys
and wolfram yields to LED's


and I will yield to one of these
and I will yield to one of these

[matsunosuperfan]

oh apple-picking once again
as if I'm reaching for a friend     iambic tetrameter, ok 

and yet the laddered labor's endless
and I another migrant friendless   I find it distracting to have an extra syllable so soon. the complicated syntax of the second line here doesn't feel worth it. 

"oh sullen servant what's the matter
why can you not just climb your ladder  more funky rhythm

why must you always reach for more
the light, the dark or Pluto's shore."  not really psyched about the use of rhyme so far


another rung compresses seasons
the fungal earth that forces reasons:  this feels too compressed, you're starting to lose me / poem is beginning to feel like a riddle


the trunk, the hips each branch a jaw, Some
sex to push the apple blossom

and then there's Frost - the killing bite
merchant, peddler, murderous mite

Second is the idle thought
the mushy pungent apple -y rot  yeah around here I checked out, I gots no idea wtf is going on anymore and it sounds laborious and convoluted and I don't much care to know

and yet another rung of drinking
to put to rest such labored thinking

"come scouse the pubs and let's get pissed
and put aside your stupid list"

and that is fine my thinking's slurred
I can't recall the portent third     tf is a "portent third"


I cannot make a thot for thee     what? now we're using words like "thot"? 
I cannot make it to list three

I cannot climb the ladder more
cannot seek the light or shore

so I will lift my cup alone
and let it now unyoke my stone

as graphite yields to clicky keys
and wolfram yields to LED's     ??????


and I will yield to one of these
and I will yield to one of these

I don't understand what the subject or occasion is at all, so it's possible this is all just going over my head.
Anyway the rhymes are mostly boring and the imagery is so haphazard, I couldn't get a sense of theme, the tetrameter was really the only motivating force for me. Otherwise I am mostly not excited by the images, and I can't make heads or tails of the content, so I'm left mostly spreading my hands.

This makes it sound like I think the tetrameter is the best part of the poem but I'm pretty sure it's the opposite. To me, instinctively, it feels like the form is not helping here. Would be curious to see what happens if you approach the subject here in free(er) verse. There's so much obscurity and so many unexplained leaps and I feel like shoving all that into end-rhymed IT couplets isn't helping.

Notably, the first stanza is the most compelling/enticing for me, and then I very quickly forget that we ever mentioned picking apples.