huh?

i like it p&k. very effective.

i aged while reading this. this poem has a keen edge.

some people feel big when they make others small. words or fists will do nicely, for them. i can see you're working it out here--good. it will not fade; it will poison you. all your poems that you put up here show that it's already in you. writing about it can only do so much; and when it's this close, the writing is more medecine than poetry. don't be tough. ask for help. keep writing, too.

what a crafty game this is, D. makes me re-think the whole new-relationship business. i suppose we all do it, unless we're latched onto a looooong termer, as are some of my friends, who have chosen to keep their eyes shut, or at least averted, but, why do we expect what we expect in the first place? i catch myself doing it, always. sucks. now, on another note, 'lillies of the cubicle' ha! i like that best. nice one, h.

part the first: yes, and no. self-censorship? this is a hard battle; either way you lose. loose the parable on the gathered masses. if you feel arrogant writing it, then maybe it needs to be written in a different voice, froma different point of view? part the second: i took your advice re: the first 2 stanza, partially. i visciously slashed at the kernel that seeded this poem; it's a better swimmer without its old skin, methinks. and, part the third, since we seem to be the only ones alive tonight, either of you have any instant-grat criticism for me? i'd like to put this one to bed, and then to do the same for me. it's late here in the east.

now, if only Doylum would follow form, and entertain us thusly.

wow i am SO tired of seeing this poem crop up in the recent list, with a different user name each time.

again, i took part of it. i think i like it now.

and i'm not even apparent. seriously, though, rankers have been feeding off the sparring lately. not that there's anything wrong with that, but 24-7 wore me thin. Annie, there will be those who say crass things about your poems, because they seem more therapy than poetry. fuck them. they don't know you, nor you them. and there will be those who give you tips on how to write better. the first thing, you got right: you are writing about what you know. if you want to know waht would make these better poems, here's my opinion: edit yourself a little bit. imagine reading these to a bunch of strangers, and think, how can i make this simple, and get them to see through my eyes? cut out the extra words, show them what happened, don't tell them how you feel, say things you saw (yes, i see you did several times) and make them so real that we feel like we're looking out through your eyes. let us react to it, and feel what it felt like. i'm off my soapbox now. anyone else want it? p&k? mrs. g?

if you simmered it after you boiled it down, baba, i could eat it without my toofeses in. i can never find those damn dentures, anyway. and you've made my favorite tonight, too. or is this the dinner you promised that little tart with the big texas dreams? mrs. g warned her about your allure; she heeded not a word of that oracular adviser. remus and romulus, prepare the bowl

suggesttions: lose 'ink.' in s1; lose 'myself.' in s2; start s3 with 'Myself, my journey' and not what you have there; end s3 with 'all's transposed here'; s4-line 2 changes to 'keeps emotions at bay'; and lastly, egression make me think of regression, (perhaps this was your intent?)-EGRESS will do--it means the same, and is simpler... by the way, what i was going for was for the rhyme in lines 2 & 5 to trip the reader along with you. you start out with this rhyme scheme, and it pleases, but then you lay it down and get all metaphysical on us. sneak that stuff in.

s3 is about the shadows. perhaps 'let the sea soak the sorrow out' needs modification? in my head, the sea is staining the sand, and the shadows do the same, and they reach for each other, so the cold is in the shadow/shade of evening, swept out (pine/grass broom) to darken the skies? as the sea does the sand? but with fewer words

tweak tweak tweak, i think i find what i seek. thanks mrs g--the plums belonged in the painting stanza, and the sorrow needed to get soaked out in the acceptance/hope/conclusion. also, in/out=ebb/flow. yes/no?

the way you turn what seems should be end-of-line rhymes into cross-rhyming works well, especially considering the adrenaline mainline tightrope walk off the plank that was their du jour. culpa type os, else gud.

i think i see what you were getting at, but i'm not sure this gets at it. explain, please?

do they still teach typing in high school?

well, p&k, yes.

muchas gracias. will dream on it.

when i say mrs. g, i mean mrs. god, mi hermana, but i think you knew that. i don't confuse you with ms. steinem, EVER.