Whenember would pull it off better, and I feel this is an Ode.

Dear PoemeRankers, This will be my last post on the website: www.poemeranker.com I came to this site, over one year ago, because poetry, for me at least, is the most powerful instrument for dealing with issues known to man. I was eager to showcase some of my finer works, and to learn from the many virtues and mastakes of the terrible poetes on this site. But the vile torrent of abuse that ensued can only be described as "unbelievably appalling". Still, I soldiered on. I continued to tackle the issues of the day with as much maturity and charisma as I could muster, bravely turning a blind eye to the perpetual onslaught of filth that bombarded my work on a fortnightly basis. "IDIOT", "HOMO", "DUNCE", "BALLS" - just some of the expletives I have had to endure, and for what? To have three of my poemes in the bottom 15. Pushed to the brink by the blundering efforts of bugger-loads of top notch dullards, I faced physical and emotional ruin. In a last ditch effort to extricate this site from the tangled web of immaturity that now runs wide rife, I wrote to nentwined (c.f http://www.poemranker.com/suggestion-browse.jsp?id=50725) demanding that a Maturity Award be purchased and presented, with immediate affect, to my good self. This award represented, in my opinion, the final bastion for what little maturity remained on PoemeRanker. My application was rejected. Whittled away to mere husk, I write to you now in my sixtieth year. The marauding criminals of www.poemeranker.com have had their fill, and my strength remains sapped like a massive nappy. My beloved Maturity Award has become the object of shame and ridicule at the hands of hooligans whose names don't bear mentioning here. There is little left to live for; this is the beginning of death. Let us pause and reflect a moment. A broken man stands alone in a field. The cool breeze billows pleasantly about his shining groin. He turns, naked, and walks into the distance. To follow would be folly; we can only stand and mourn the loss of the darkest of all poetes. "For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night." We'll withdraw now, as he slowly disappears among the tall sheaves of rice.

You are briliant, dealing out these dada postcards. I truly love them.

Behold, the massive whitehead!

pimple. yes. excellent example of the genre.

1 finger, there's a lot of potent emotion here. weed out the typos. read it aloud, and smooth the rhythm. you want your lover back? make these words your surrogate until then. it's worth it, as you well know.

Who exactly do you think this would piss off? The Canucks? They already hate Yanks and looking at the poem would assume that you are one. Besides you blame all their problems on the Frogs. They do that anyway, and you're helping them. The their in the that part of the poem could easily mean the French Canadians' flag. I repeat, they don't like the Frogs. So I ask again, who are you pissing off? Who ever gave the 3 votes with too much generosity.