You better tell me what "rubards" are! The suspense is killing me. I keep thinking rhubarb, but I guess I am just hungry. Your poetry is as sweet as rhubarb.

Yep.

I had no idea you were into various humanitarian cliques, what a selfless soul you are. 9

Holy monkey pants. Did you know Anne Boleyn had six fingers on her left hand? I think that's worse than hairy legs. I love the decline into reality at the end of this poem. The calluses of stanza 1 are explained very nicely.

Well, well... Looky where I am? Yes sir, on another one of your wordy fat assed cowems. If I hadn't of farted half way through reading this dedication to self loathing I probably would've cracked my head open nodding off into my my fucking moniter. Justly so, that deserves a seven in my book.

I'm going to ask you whether or not my critique is worth your time. Too fucking bad. Here it is... Your poem is interesting and closes well, but your structure is really unreadable and off kilter, grammarilly and metricly speaking. Here's a 7. Enjoy your stay.

"And had instead assumed the penis or the pussy" I was hooting until here. Could I suggest this "And had instead assumed the penis could grow wings for vagina"? lol.

How someone could give a groaning dismount a zero is so fucking beyond me, here.

Please don't take this the wrong way when I say that the comments on this poem are as entertaining as the poem itself. Not only did you spark off deabte, you instituted a whole war. No wonder your poem's so paranoid. For me, the satire is a bit too broad, and bit too much of a blunderbuss. I prefer something a little sharper and subtler (but fuck it's hard to do, I've tried myself and never done it). This pokes fun at something that deserves tit, though. I like it when I look in (very occasionally now) and find something startling from an old hand.

Everyone else has taken issue with this poem, but actually, I think it's the best thing you've written. I didn't read it as a domestic duty thing at all - I quite took it quite literally as your woman witnessing a murder and the shock of it waking you not to the reality of the murder but your own gross iniquity (what have you been up to) - a kind of community of fear and self-loathing. And it's the kind of sudden twist that I, sad sensation freak that I am, really love. Am I absolutely bleeding miles wide of the mark? Am I revealing my own vile and dripping rottenness? Yipe. I am banjaxed by doubt. I may never recover.

Science. Bah! "Between the vitamins he is shoving down his throat he asks if he is going to die" is a little awkward, how about "He asks me if he is going to die between shoving handfuls of vitamins down his throat" or something. Take the "I" out of the last line, you said "I" in the stanza above, and it is still understood. Good idea though.

Childish and honest, brave. 8

anyone for round two?? 10

Some of your best work. It is absolutly beautiful and I love it.

sex is so sacrilicious... I wonder what happened with the Magdalene and Jesus in the sack... 10

Very INYOURFACE--obviously written for shock value, a little quirky (I smiled once or twice)--but the images are not metaphorically subtle enough to grab me. (Every man past the age of puberty has masterbated in the shower at least once). Here's what I think ultimately cums through: self-deprecation and self-loathing. It's well written. I give it a 5.

No offense to Will and all, but this poem does not represent Christian values at all. Besides the title is a cliche (though it makes me want to drink Pina Colodas in the cool summer rain) and once you get into the poem you find even more cliches: kiss of fire, hold the key, rose between teeth, etc, etc. Now if you want to simply write for yourself and the debate club that is one thing, but if you want to write in the good Christian environment of poemranker, I suggest you try to find images that do not sound like every Rod Mckune poem ever written after he decided to stop protesting the Vietnam War. Sometimes if we simply simplify the language, talk the words through so to speak, instead of trying so hard to be poetic the end result is actually more successful and more Christian, I might add.

A classic. Very intelligent, and uncompromisable. Really, friend, a beautiful, beautiful, tiny piece of magic.

Terrific structure and delivery. you're starting to do the chicky chaw baby, and that shit is fuuun. when poetry gets easy, shit happens,. for the good fight, yes, we are in it for the good fight..

feels good...