I like the spareness of this. A pure moment.

I find myself agreeing with Horus - I preferred the story simply told and without the editorial comment at the end. 'Cos this story is beautiful, a scene complete and fragrant.

I especially like the middle stanza - this is very generous hearted.

Something of the Prometheus myth about this - I might cut out the 'Silly fire' line and try to compress the last four lines into another three line stanza, but that's just me, I like regular forms. Your central idea is good.

Once again I am stymied by my lack of Spanish (Something to do with land and motherhood?) But I lvoe the vision - 'shimmer of humming' is exquisite.

This is full of really great imagery - your visual imagination is full of marvels - but the poem as a whole doesn't hang together for me. Perhaps you should try tighter structures? This is almost too allusive, to the point of incoherence. But your eyes and ears are finely tuned...

The tensions behind this are so powerful. For those who cannot speak, the written word is such an erotic tool. This balances up fear and anticipation, secrecy and disclosure. Woof.

Did you get the link for Scriberazone?

Captivating. The hunter's impotence is so beautifully drawn and held back for the end. 'Shellac of frost' - very good.

Will he be biting into her? An unexpectedly visceral undertone, which I like. I also like the details about the bookworms and the honour students.

There's a hint of Yoda in the final 5 or 6 lines - are you a Jedi?

'brothers and lovers'? You have been paying close heed to Mrs G's work, I think. I wonder if the second stanza needs some more clarification? I'm not quite sure of how the inter-relationships work.

Yes, the target image in the first stanza - of course that links back to 'Bowed'.

Also, it just isn't true. bad stuff happens, then you die. That's it. Oh, apart from the good stuff. But it's out of your control, don't fool yourself.

You've forced me to revisit a horrible childhood nightmare - little orange singing men. Yikes.

Something tells me that these are not the hardest bunch ever - where are you from, Chalfont St Giles?. A Morris Minor? Recasting Margaret Thatcher as an ace rapper is cool.

This isn't my favourite of yours, it seems a little sketchy. Still, this behaviour is just typical of men, those good for nothings.

I don't think you should lean back on the phrase 'indescribable emotion' - it's the poet's job to describe it, otherwise how can the reader feel it?

Well it sounds like student life to me. Though even now, 7 years after I got my first degree, I'm still paying for it and still having worried trips to the bank. Thing is, it was squalid and penurious, but it really was the best time of my life. So maybe a bit more joy here would be nice. Even so, a fond but realistic view.

You read Simon Armitage? I think he knows the same places as your and Mr Jones. It's a harsh environment, but somehow loveable for the precise lack of bloody lattes. I'm a Southerner, what do I know? But you can see this same scene in Kilburn every week. Evocative and with a real point to make.

This is very sly, zin.