its cute .7

i dont get it

good imagery

its different 8

i like the line that deepens every year :)

Thou dosth protest too much.

You're right. We never were lover's. The boy's I've loved know little about myth. I am as close as they've come to it. And they don't read, as a rule. Sweet heathens. It doesn't matter how it's spelled. All that matters is the fact that you've been given the priveldge and the desire to learn. One of the few things noone can take away from you. I like your poem, for many reasons. It carries on a tradition. More important I think, than you realize. I'd like to see the first part married to a more customary tale. These stories belong to the people, and are based on truths that otherwise cannot be expressed. There are so many who are ignorant of these stories. To me they are sacred.

I don't know exactly what your talking about, but I know I like the way you say it. ' A mother is but one' that was the vision I had when I found out I was to be one. Difficult to write about. 'Did not ever prove it through" only works because I know what you're trying to say, but there has to be a better way to say it. The nine men are obscure enought o make me ignore them and move to the next idea. Planks? Suddenly I'm onboard and lost. Try again please. I want this clearer, if you can.

First of all I'd like to say congradulations on falling in love for the first time. Your poem is young, considering the source it would be unusual if it weren't. The first rule you need to learn is, Don't tell me, show me. In other words, describe describe describe. To tell or depict. Were where you when you were scared. Lonely. HOW did she help. Literally. Don't make things up tell the truth in nauseating detail. Then you can learn how to transform it into poetry. Your poem is all skeleton. No flesh.

you make this sound like a Margaret Mead account of aboriginal courting. Were's the love darling? Paradise indeed. Don't forget to were your seatbelt. Do you read poetry? If so, please tell me who.

Ummm. I'm trying to find a way to tell you how I feel about this without insulting you, but I can't. the only thing poetic about this might be the sentiment, but hten again most sentiment is poetic. The trick is expressing it artfully, and this fails.

My poem "Apples are Oranges" is an experiment intended to test the length=high score hypothesis.

I'd try to learn to stand on your own two feet before you rely on someone else's.

You obviously suck at everything you have ever tried to do.

Frankly, I think this keeps getting worse and worse at each revision.

Change the last four words. For God's sake change them.

To be pedantic, while it is true that in its early Italian days the sonnet occasionally varied its number of lines, up to twenty, it has internationally stabilised at 14. Also, it has a rhyme scheme. This poem has neither. Just thought I'd let you know. Also, 'I will bend when I need to bend' sounds suspiciously naughty to prurient minds like mine and others'.

Corny and predictable.

THIS POEM FUCKING ROCKS!

cool