I wish this poem had actually been about the title.

- "This poem is really. Unfortunately, it's really horus8."

Minus points for perVERT, and 'line elastic' should be 'spandex current'.

Wait a minute - you can't rhyme succumb and come. They're exactly the same sound.

metahaiku (Meta-Ku) by ex0teric

One, two, three, four, five
Now you must count to seven
Then the first, again

Metametahaiku (Meta-Ku) by -=Dark_Angel=-

Haikus are easy.
A first-class dunce could write one
About writing one.

This is Bad (Free verse) by newagepoet2000

This is bad haiku
Bad bad bad bad bad bad bad
Very very bad

i love this shit (Haiku) by Yatasuma

I write haikus be-
Cause they are easy, only
take 30 seconds

Can we all agree the Meta-Ku is tapped out? Yes, we can.

Not only is this utterly ungrammatical but... Well, that's it, really.

- "Here is a list of people gayer than me: Simon LeBon, Paul Simon, Carly Simon, all the actors in the film Simon Birch, you." - Simon Cowell

Some of the punctuation is a little awry. For what it's worth:

His mind withdraws, like the tongue,
too far back to swallow
the water of a lake, green as moss.

'What colour would you prefer,
you must drink' says the tutor.

'make it the pale blue I know as water.'

'but pale blue is the sky;

green is the eye of the sycamore
that looks down on your lake.

Drink, for you can see the fishes.'

Otherwise, ace.

A dullard;
Widely thought to have an enormous knob,
Picks his teeth with a dried corncob:
He's coloured.

This reminds me of another recent post about the child of death:
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=20331

This reminds me of a time when I let a man take me back to his room at the Middle States Home-Jerkymakers Convention because I thought he was a Negro. It turned out he was just a rather dark-skinned Italian taking advantage of the fact that (unbeknownst to myself) both of my retinas had suddenly detached.

Back to ADJ-NOUN titles, eh?

This is how "Kubla Khan" would sound if Coleridge had done the crack instead of the smack.

Do you know the area around Cuttingsville?

"To so confuse the daffodils" would be better said "That so confuses daffodils?" Otherwise, swell.

I find it fascinating that you posted this piece "She Searches for Love" almost simultaneously with "He Hunts for Meaning." The parallels in the titles, if nothing else, beg someone to do a good feminist deconstruction on them, the result of which will inevitably be that your Woman-Searching-for-Love is daft, weak, and better off carried on her quest for love, which she believes is truth - while your Man-Hunting (nb-Hunting is something substantially different from searching) for Meaning (not Love) is self-sufficient, undaunted by hardship, and worshipped by women, especially "his friend," the object-not-subject of his search, who is mainly "confused" by his grandoise pronouncements, none of which are particularly deep. Ergo, men=great, women=suck. Which is fine if you're only trying to describe one particularly weak woman who you happen to know, but personally I wouldn't let you take my daughter anywhere in that tint-windowed van of yours.

The last line is crap. I mean, I'm reading your second-to-last line thinking, 'let my feet play "I love you"'??? What's he talking about? Does he have some novelty foot-piano? Is he playing an accordion with his toes? Oh, no, wait: here's more... Samuel Morse... Morse code! He's tapping it in Morse code! Mystery solved! That's what he must have meant by 'My feet are star drummers'! Anyway, I hope this is conveying to you exactly how overstated your central gimmick is, because it's - well, it's pretty overstated, that's all.

"My memories, reduced, don't reside at your distaste." - Do you have any idea what this means?

It's a pretty intelligible poem; it just doesn't mean what you say it does. And the title doesn't fit.

- "reaching toward hopes / of an early spring" is poorly worded. One suggestion:
"Black arms
birches grasp in gray,
late winter skies - for hopes
of early spring, they stretch to feel
the wind wend by.
- "curves" shouldn't have a "the"; probably "hollows" as well.
- "the space within" sounds too much like several recent fashionable phrases and should be avoided at all cost.
- "through that touch they’ll open up again" needs to be better-worded.
- The third stanza should at the very least not be its own stanza; it's weak, and there's an unnecessary "the" before wind.
- drop the "in" before "dappled" and punctuate after "sundress". Thanks for that, by the way.
- Put a fuller stop after "white" and drop "and", which is unrhythmical.
- I don't know what to say about "to distraction"; it just doesn't make sense to me.
- The second-to-last stanza is also weak; maybe it does something for everyone else, I'm just not getting anything from it. In fact, I'd drop everything after "tries". The last stanza is just as bad as the one before.
- That said, this is one of your more enjoyable recent posts. However, if living in New England means writing endless poems about longing for spring, I'm not sure how cool I am with moving there. I already hate winter enough living in the South.