http://mulberryfairy
on some deleted poem
29 Jul 2003, 7:27 PM
Nice, I like the first line especially, and the idea that "it" (the stench?) might recede at night.
well, domestic bliss it ain't but you sure as hell got your point across.
Youch! Sounds like a decendent of Cinderella's and Hansel and Gretal's step- mothers.
Hakuna matada. Ten.
Hakuna matada. Ten.
some deleted user
on some deleted poem
29 Jul 2003, 8:28 PM
I like the way the poem reads. It is very smooth.
THIS IS GREAT!SMOOTH & GENTLE<NICE & SWEET!
like being slapped by a velour glove.
velour seclusion
coy body cornered
denim saddle
she fits to me easy
...9
Juicy!!! What's for dessert?? 9...
I wonder too if there is hope for someone w/ so much hate. Sounds like a lonely life that you've captured here. Have you seen American History X? Sad story about how people take advantage of angry white young men and misdirect the anger that's built up in their lives due to having hard, crappy lives.
Too bad it was a vegetarian cooking class. Did you still get credit for the class? I became a vegetarian after going to a southern family reunion during which a whole pig was cooked and this, therefore brings back very nauseating vivid memories- "its grease slipping slowly like sweat" is such a perfect description, 9.
I like how you showed the various emotions of a mother at a scene like this, her first reactions, to check on her own son and then worry about his shoes, both serious and trivial, were perfect.
http://mulberryfairy
on DJ Bling Bling spins authenticity by Jeremi B. Handrinos
29 Jul 2003, 7:35 PM
Nice job. Put an apostrophe in musics (music's). Aren't contractions allowed in Haiku?
Something about the dark (forbidden?) passion and secrecy of this poem definitely reminds me of Paris, but I guess I'm stuck on the title. This poem seems France heavy and England light. Or maybe it the contrast of England with France.
'Paris from England' for me recalls either the view of the mist of the hoverboat on its way to France from Dover, or the grey of a Paris train station surrounded by brown of french soldiers with machineguns.
I like this, but maybe a different title?
DJ Jeremi spins irony. Huddie Ledbetter rolls in his grave.
sounds like teen poetry. i hate teen poetry.
Yeah, I'd rather go naked than wear fur, but I'm not sure I want to admit to swallowing.
You can write anything. I say we send our resumes to Madison Ave.
good ol' kilgore