Well, poof! that last bit.

Sappy is as Sappy does

Interesting at best.

I love this poem. Such a pleasure to read again on a cloudy day in Misery.

Love the word chitchat (I think it is one word), but the rest of the poem is rather trite. You need many more beers before you can write about bars with any meaning. Quit doing ecstasy; it is bad for you.

Jesus, I go away for a few months, come back and have to endure this shit right off the bat.

I am assuming you are rather young, and for that this is not a bad shot. a good try let's say. But maybe you should go back and try to simplify the language here and there and avoid the cliches (i.e. midnight caress, candle flickers). We know a candle flickers, we know flesh is warm (unless you are banging a corpse). Stuff like that. Reduce, reduce, reduce.

a couple of notes 1) the spacing didn't transfer as it should have done. 2) to zzinnia sometimes I just like experimenting, your opinion is the most valuable of anyones to me.

Good god man put down the Playboy and step away from the thesaurus. What kind of poet are you? These images sound more like the work of a high school boy forlorn and lost in puppy love rather than a poem of sexual power. And what the hell kind of image of sex are you trying to portray with the corny oil derrick image. Mechanical, monotonous, boring. Yeah, that will get the women rocking and rolling. Dial down the center my man and maybe find the real poem in here. Until then keep on keepin' on. Moreover, I wanted to ask you: I read a book where clan members and right wing conspiracy theorists used that fancy phrase you taught me. Is that the crowd you hang out with?

Can I fuck myself even if I like what you're saying? I've gotten pretty good at fucking myself, but wait I don't like what you're saying so I guess the point is moot. seriously, don't take it personally, it's the poems we're talking about here not you. If I remember correctly you submitted that thing about beauty, right? I didn't read the other comments, so I don't know what they wrote, but I was trying to be constructive, and I think I can presume they were also. Most of what I write is honest, even if it is biting, just like all the rest, I'm trying to have a good time and just writing for the sake of hitting the little keys and hearing that lovely clacking sound. It's an exercise it what I love most int he world(If you don't count fucking myself)Remember, some here have mad skills and just go off because they're so damn good at it. Buy the book, A Sense of Humor For Dummies it will cost you 20 smackers, but it's worth it.

The number of times I've seen people end their childish little rants with "If you don't like it, then you can go fuck yourself", or words to that effect, is becoming absolutely astounding. For what it's worth Brittanyy, I thought "Beauty" was beautiful. I'd never thought about beauty being something that's on the inside, before. I think there are some very ugly people here at poemeranker, and if they have a problem with that then they can go fuck themselves.

Well there goes my last nerve. This poem is so incredibly contrived and forced it's practically comical. Some how you've succeeded in sucking the juice of my interest in one of our planets most mysteriously fascinating creatures (spiders) from my life permanently. Everyline in your poem is defining the absolute of something absolutely undefinable. Nobody needs you to tell them the fucking obvious. Every person alive has this story in one way shape or form, but my friend there is only 1 Charlotte's web and this is not it.all that you've mentioned azbove is a given we all have made that same symbolical connection. Why not dig deeper and make us earn the poetry. WHY! damnit, it pisses me off when poets turn fucking turn mutual of Omoha in monotone and black and white. And please don't be sensitive about my critic here friend. There is know need to be the best poetry is Poker not blind stud. Because, that's what you're doing here purposely showing us your cards, and my friend that only works if you are rich, and you're not, and I mean rich in the sense of 'a damn brilliant writer' Someone, that can explain the simplist and most mundane situations in the most beautiful way definable. Hemmingway, Joyce, Wolfe. The bottom line is you don't have the language to play stud poker with a spider poem buddy. That shit is sacred, and should be treated so, and I know you feel like you've done your bit and your justified on the subject, but you left out the essential magic connection between us and arachnids, and focused on the known taken for granteds. So I can only give you a 6.

Aren't you that bunny guy. "Black tears of acid drip" Here is your first lesson in advanced poetry for horusian warlock acceptance and a photo id with cool # membership. Oh, and perks gallore. Here it is. Never take inconcievable notions,such as "Black tears of acid drip from her heart" And act as if such a thing is even science fictionally possible without a giggle, and then try to sell it in your poetry to us young one. Because, It never works. A great poet can take the same statement "Black tears of acid drip from her heart" And work magic, watch... Her exploding heart put my eyes out. See that? Other than that your structure's getting a bit more personal to you, and soon you'll have developed your very own gimmick, I feel, and you probably have earned it. No, you have. Now, could you light my cigar and fix me a hot cup? Splendid.

The reason you can't write a poem has nothing to do with 'us', and everything to do with why you seem convinced it needs to meet anyone's approval but your own. To write a poem that we approve of? Good god. lol. My dear sweet idiot the first rule of poetry is not to give a well fed fuck. Thinking of your poetry in terms of attention, acceptance, respect is something poets get on their death bed after a lifetime of writing and working the words. You're so fucking wet behind the ears you're practically breathing through gills. Wake up, shut up, and write for you, but do it well, or we'll call you on that shit. It's as simple as that. thinking like you are currently on a daily basis, searching for approval and youthfull attention? Is just your ego fucking with your self worth. Therefore, my friend, you need psychiatry, not poetry.

See comments on last poem, except this time kill the adverbs! And the clauses they are in! Living, loving, something, something, something..........rock and roll hootchie coo!

Sorry, I just don't get it, it's to clever for me and I have these stupid love-blinders on and they won't come off. Last three lines 1st stanza and game show eyes-8

This had me going. I was there and then poof! I wasn't. What happened?

Wow, where is an editorial board when you need one?

What? I get you all worked up and then you go and post this poem again? I told you not to let me sleep on your couch. Just remember you were warned. So now what do we do with the baby coming and all! I do not like that virtual tryst bit. To computer geekish.

b-welcome to the jungle.