some deleted user
on Darkness ( A tribute to the poem FOOTPRINTS) by Mr Pig
17 May 2003, 3:54 PM
find some ideas of your own - this contains too much old stuff.
good in an offhand way!
ha ha hee. KabooM!
Whats a speedo working or not have to do with a truck? I'd give you the money to you if I wasn't planning on buying a drumset, 4 ounces of joy, and fixing my own car. -6-
Thanx. I will I like most of it the way it is but the last verse just doesn't seem to work. Any suggestions?. I plan on making this a series.
rewrite. and concentrate on giving this a beat. it's well done and deserves the attention. tend to it.7 looking for a 9
some nice turns of phrase 'solace of my echoes'
and half rhymes like abyss and peace
But I think it is quite prose like in parts and perhaps needs tightening a bit
Maybe you are just unwilling to except that you wrote one of the best, and the absolute worst. And your so uncomfortable with that you lash out at everyone else. Maybe you need to look deep down inside, and accept that you are both, very good, and really awful.
It's good the way you're rising above all the immaturity on this site, colndog. I daresay your mummy would be very proud of you.
Sir,
If you actually were a mature poete with a mature life and mature friends and a mature career, your desperately casual expression of maturity might be a terrrible blow to -=Dark_Angel=-.
However, you are not. Indeede, I daresay you are a total moron.
Good day.
that's adorable
w~* ATHENA *~w
on Expired (early horus8 before the change) by Jeremi B. Handrinos
16 May 2003, 11:43 PM
round and round we go
I now see why you have vast array of racist umbilical cords billowing uselessly from your undiluted bum.
this poem causes you comments to lose all merit... I enjoy it.
How grown up of you... I now see why you write about AIDS in vans.
I don't understand.
I was just a figment of your bum
A speck gathering filth in the farest reaches of your breeches
A single fading stain in your underpants,
You didn't know me at all.
The bum comes parading across your thoughts and dreams,
Obscuring your face
Covering it like that complete bastard
Who covered my own face with crisps.
I procrastinate obscurity like a gnome.
I slipped on a giant dog,
But i have left a little something,
In the wilderness of your breeches,
You didn't realise what you had until i left you and your underpants accidentally landed on your face.
That's a twist.
Yes well nolan you've made your views on the matter only too clear with this embarrassingly dismal effort. And yet surely you're not so blind that you're too blind to see that poetry isn't about expressing yourself: it's about trying to express yourself. And what about beauty? Where does that fit in to your grand little scheme of things? Doesn't beauty have a place in poetry? I think it does. And I think you need to have a long, hard think about what you've done. You make me very sorry, nolan. Very sorry indeed.
oh. yeah. sure.