This

> - for me the rank smell of a river has more
going for it than the triteness that humnanity can exert,

is, I assume an apologia for this stanza

> > Some rain, and the tide pulls in
> > on a steady breeze -
> > the smell of river becomes ranker
> > in the moistness
> > though welcome and pleasant
> > contains a reality
> > sounder than the tribulations
> > life can bring.
> >

It's not that

>the tone is a
wee bit pompous to one ear

(though it is)

it is the triteness of the rejection of human tribulation as trite in
comparison to the richness (rank? high rank?) of nature that I have to
object to.

You write as if Nature exists independently of our capacity to sense it and
make sense of it. As if the socially fascinating issues of human rank and
the rankness of a river were not, equally, human concepts created by us out
of the very mud that fashions our flesh

Unlike Tom, I see some hope of poetic redemption for you.

As you righly point out

 most of us
> > remain on the edge and refuse
> > or hesitate
> > to return to a primordial element.

not least your own poem, which feels as if it is tempted to dive into the
convoluted depths of a psychic underworld but then finds itself in the
outfall where

>They all float with rising confidence.

but don't give up. After your 100x100x100 words you may be immersed enough
to have the courage of your poetic convictions.

Maybe then you'll be able to talk crap with the best of us ;-)

Terri )O(