on Seattle Seasons by Sawa
26 Mar 2003, 1:33 PM
I like this idea, but you do not convince me.
on some deleted poem
26 Feb 2003, 7:44 PM
I have posted a poem. Would you be so kind as to profer an opinion?
on The Twenty-Fifth of Whenevber by OneFingerAnswer
26 Jun 2003, 8:08 AM
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.
on Life's sad song by Brian Tiensvold
26 Jun 2003, 8:09 AM
pimple. yes. excellent example of the genre.
on Fraternity hazing the sheepdog by horus8
8 Apr 2003, 7:56 AM
Knowing they were RIGHT, for god and country?
And large-breasted american women? And piss beer?
Have a 9 for creative knotting.
And large-breasted american women? And piss beer?
Have a 9 for creative knotting.
on some deleted poem
26 Mar 2003, 1:51 PM
v.
What happens next? Excellent start; could use more detail. What details you have are presentes beautifully, so I hunger for more.
What happens next? Excellent start; could use more detail. What details you have are presentes beautifully, so I hunger for more.
on Goin? Down Baby by Drummer
11 Mar 2003, 9:33 PM
Angry young man meets question mark? Watch those apostrophes. They don't play nice when you cut and paste. Please fix. Namaste.
Your syntax is awkward: his dog lay in breath? No.
Permit me:
He had smithed the words;
his anvilled pen spilled coins of thought
that piled like riches at his feet.
His dog lay at his feet, content;
its deep, regular breaths bespoke no other need.
The sun set and rose, rose and set
as he shortened the sentences of people
whose decades fell like minutes,
mindless of his own.
All things became music
whose notes he alone could hear:
folly and love played melodies
he kept to the rhythm of his heart.
Death soon lost its thrall:
no more the dreaded machine, advancing, merciless.
A sweetened darkness, empty,
honest as the dog sleeping at his feet
urged him on toward eternity.
Permit me:
He had smithed the words;
his anvilled pen spilled coins of thought
that piled like riches at his feet.
His dog lay at his feet, content;
its deep, regular breaths bespoke no other need.
The sun set and rose, rose and set
as he shortened the sentences of people
whose decades fell like minutes,
mindless of his own.
All things became music
whose notes he alone could hear:
folly and love played melodies
he kept to the rhythm of his heart.
Death soon lost its thrall:
no more the dreaded machine, advancing, merciless.
A sweetened darkness, empty,
honest as the dog sleeping at his feet
urged him on toward eternity.
on A true love by prettykristah
11 Mar 2003, 10:06 PM
Well! Hyde and cried! Now that's a superlative rhyme.
on some deleted poem
26 Feb 2003, 7:34 PM
Why don't you say something I can take with me? I have read your oeuvre, and find the bulk of your manuscript seems to have fallen out through your thread-bare pockets.
on The darkest woods ever by Shardik
26 Feb 2003, 7:39 PM
Delightful.
on I'll love you Heather, for ever and ever by TanHand
26 Feb 2003, 7:24 PM
Scourge.
on some deleted poem
26 Feb 2003, 7:24 PM
No difference at all. Either will do, in a pinch.
on some deleted poem
26 Feb 2003, 7:32 PM
Because you are an armadillo?
on LifeArt by bunniesnangels
26 Feb 2003, 7:38 PM
Fail. Safe. Both.
on some deleted poem
26 Mar 2003, 1:30 PM
Indeed. He did not take all of it, I see. But it sounds as though you did. <sigh> Have a seven; it seems you might be used to something around that size.
on One More Mile by marvelis
26 Mar 2003, 1:33 PM
It seems as though you need to get religion.