A dead bird bounce?

Might be better with a story built round 'Then He thought about the details as a trapped person might, just to see it in another light' Is my favourite part.

I agree with nowhereman. This poeme shouts anorexia nervosa. I get a sense of anorexogenic environment (the expectations) and an anorexic mindset (the repetition of tighten the belt and the disordered nature of the poem as it draws in all its threads).

Succinctly put. 'pon for a samurai though? Is he an Englishe gentleman samurai.

Second and third verses are good. The enjambment of the first seems a bit forced.

Tyre is the british variant of tire; they're the same word, but thanks.

Good. The first bit appeals to me most, my mother-in-law being the craziest homeopath in an area chock full of crazy homeopaths. Not being much of a gardener myself, I don't get a lot from the rest. Kind of a Seamus Heaney feel, I guess, only miniaturized - a teaspoonful of dirt turned. "Grow mature and tall" bugs me a little. I don't know if that's gardener talk or not, but it seems one of those adjectives should be replaced with a better one - doesn't matter which. Good as ever.

The word "can" just irks me. Given your propensity toward an economy of words you could easily just loose "can" and put an s on "cure[s]" - does it hurt the meter then? I don't think so; up to you. For some reason I read this as an Amish person might - and it cracks me up. Actually it has a comedic feel because this concoction sounds useless; it has all these disclaimers and ways for it to be messed up. In some, most things - short of illness, as long as the soil is hand-turned, specific planting depth, frequent watering, etc... So, I'm going with that you did this effect on purpose and I give you a nine for now (until you change it, because you will - and there's not a thing wrong with doing that).

The first verse is funny, since witch hazel is used on bruises and inflammations, and mint tea is supposed to be very healtful for many ills. Mint doesn't propogate well from seeds; shoots are best. I don't know about witch hazel. Mint doesn't grow tall, witch hazel does. "To taste if need be" but does anyone taste witch hazel?

Okay, Z - lets have a go at this... I like the cadence of it, first off. "backwards gravity" got it, like it - falls up (geographically). then an image of the black mother (had to look up "rucked") making sexual advances (I see...) I liked the car "idled into emptiness"; left running - good. I wasn't able to associate with the rot-sweetness of tragedy or the puritan wet-dreams, but I understood it to be a description of something that may be a demographic universal. then there's the suicide scene (is it?) - which I think is a little rushed - or perhaps too complex. I liked the red clay on the shoes - does this mean she's been buried? Made me think so, anyway. I guess I'm not sure what exactly *is* going on in those last two-odd stanzas. A bit more sculpting maybe?

If you would just write some gruesome short stories, that would be 10 times more ace than this poetry fiddle-faddle.

The first verse is understandable, though rude. It's hard to find reason for your sadness in the second verse on their leaving after you drove them off. The third verse seems like it should follow the first, to lead into your eventual sadness.

To taste if needs be...i aint no fuckin gardner, and maybe this phrase is an apt ending amongst gardening type folk, in the fold, but it leaves me a little limp, and desirous of something more satisfying.

Good, i think done with the proper amount of restraint, (well, at least as much as can be exercised in a poem of this nature). I think perhaps a little cutting to shorten.

What are you doing? deleting a poem that you just posted and posting another! That's twice!

Great. So many hours have i spent looking at those fucking cones, or horses or even the white lines, counting, smoking...

I think it is pretty fucking good. I like the way you cast shame in a postitive light. Though, frozen with fear, and the religious overtones detract. but what the fuck do I know? Nothing. ANd yet i wield a vote as sharp as any other....aint democracy grand?

I would translate "praecipitem eiciunt" as "subjected him to anal abuses" for the rhyme.

Hey, here's some interesting news for you: she/he probably doesn't.

Something must be hideously wrong here. Too much space? Too slow? The bouncing bird? The (Carte)? Why won't you fly?