cleverdevice
on This Stinks by smarmyfaurt
19 Apr 2004, 2:26 AM
Yup, crotch-grabbingly bad.
not bad.not bad at all.
cute in a middle school kind of way
it's weaker than your past stuff... i just finished reading about a dozen of your past poems. there's no real point, and the fact that it starts with an AIM reference turned me off. if the whole poem had been about a messenging service it would have a lot of potential.
the problem with writing down lyrics is that, more often than not, it doesn't flow for the reader without a tune behind it. could you write in a tab chart to go along with it? no vote from me; lyrics take on a completely different meaning when put to music.
Sorry if anyone read this before I fixed a couple typos. Also apologizing for the format; it looked much better in MSWord :-) Each stanza should have six lines, with a couple of five line stanzas. The last line is meant to sit alone.
I would give you a ten for this line alone...
Iâll be your Elliot Smith
If youâll be my Sylvia Plath
But then you go on to write several more stand out lines...I loved it!
no words. cryin
I don't remember ever voting for this poem...I don'tknow if I did so accidentally...anyway I don't want you to think I would vote it a 3...I think it is much better than a 3...though it doesn't do much for me. Sorry about the 3 honestly don't know where that came from.
very cute.
yo poem needs help, too simplistic
dr. seuss meets 2livecrew. Hmm.
your should be "you're" in the last line.
Ace. But CLS's bum is as bony as a paint nag's and hard as the Rector's hornbook. You can tell from her pictures.
Quaerion the Dark-aelfe stealthily strode through the shadows into the dimly-lit tavern, ignoring the inebriated "tally-ho!"s of the ignorant knaves around him, quietly slipping through the crowd to a table in the corner. He was clad in a dark, hooded cloak of purest Gwynthymoryan mithril-silk, and the Whisper-Bootes of Rhydrissa the Pale, and although his pale, fine features did not reflect any emotion, save perhaps for a flash in his deep green eyes that reflected a certain amount of contempt for the surroundings in which he had been fated to find himself this evening, his ringed right hand was somewhat tensely curled around the hilt of his Spirit-clay'dh-dhmore, FyreDestyny.
Suddenly, a rough, oafish hand grabbed his shoulder, and a voice bellowed "Quaerion!"
Quaerion whirled around, green eyes flashing, to face his oppressor -- an unutterably fat, blond-bearded man in a loincloth and a plumed helmet.
"Who dares speak the name of Quaerion?!" spoke Quaerion in a quiet, commanding voice that caused all who in the tavern who were still conscious to fall silent and gaze in his direction, wondering who the powerful yet quiet hooded stranger named Quaerion could be.
TO BE CONTINUED...
-10-
Quite excellent.
Slight pause on "errant hunches" - maybe you can beef that up? A ten anyway.
A truly mindnumbing guff of a car accident.
A satchel full of sun dried turds.
A reflex-action spew into a onlooking strangers mnouth.
rubbish.