Excuse me Lord, but that's my foot.

I concure with Richa. It's too loose.

Lord, don't let me in. Save yourself from the onslaught of homosexuals, niggers, chinks, and Jews that would inturn ensue. Think of the integrity of heaven Lord. I believe, Lord, I must decline because I love you and the others to much to risk the impurity.

Pass the liver Lord.

Shat, shate, and shating make reading any poor poets poem worth it, but the rest of your work here is shat, and particularly general and unimaginative. Perhaps if you would have fucked Dina with a dwarf's gnarled caloused fist holding a square bowling ball? Or turned the spider into Carl Jung's left testicle carrying a rose in it's teeth, maybe if you added the noise of an airplane flying overhead, or a loudspeaker ending a factory's break, I might of felt more connected?

You should read this first, and then proceed with the utmost caution. good luck.

http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=7896

Flattering

If you punctuated your I's and and grammarically scrutinized over an edit you'd, I believe, get the marks that this deserves.

Also... Three dots are better than 4.

Nicely done, did you know that I was the first person on this site to group together sets of haikus to tell a broader story? Now you do. My only red mark would be
"The prettiest one,
Everyone meets in their life,
That captures them so."

Using one right before everyone? And then again later, unless your title was "one" then it might work, but not here. Change second stanza's "one" into a stronger none, or verb, such as nymph, thing, love, girl, can, upholestry, get my drift? Otherwise 8. Now leave me alone.

Haiku (freeverse) by bike

In this poem?
You represent god.
Could you tell?

I'm changing my 2 to a 7, because you deserve better here. You've paid your dues, and this piece stood its ground, and it still does. I would make it an 8, but I hate tylenol, because my cousin died of Ryan's syndrome.

Try to edit this making each sentence seperate yet connected, lover.

Shut up.

Unfortunately I'm scared to DEATH to be me, and that, thank god, is how I put that much more Kale into my "apocalyptic" power poetry (Jared Leto taught that to me one night while we were 30 seconds to Uranus)

Now a prayer;

Oh lord, let this curse of brilliance subside so I can walk around in bad lala poetry land with these wretched little fucking computer brats and their ridiculous real life observations that they've obviously garnered from the computer also, and or a close friend, that found early age tragedy. Lord let them read more and quit making my eye balls spontaneously deflate, and my asshole randomly whistle strange alien anthems in the cold dark fistings of the night, Amen.

Ps. Send my the new pringles before anyone else sweet jesu i fucking love pringles.