The second stanza is great. Hell on reflection, the whole thing is great.

Love it when somebody else like me tries to embrace the mysteries of being!

Purchase a razor, Now shave off your crusty beard, Two otters homeless.

Superb the last verse serves as a prescient warning to those who sculpt and grow beards.

Nice light piece. Fluff but still....

rock'n'roll! everything here is excellent, I only found myself wanting there to be more between s.3 and s.4 to get beyond the images into the personalities. and to have a hint about what it was she saw less of, other than generalized doom. s.4 intends to leave us hanging but there doesn't seem to be quite enough to hang from.

Jane sister of Sisyphus! I like it actually. It's nice to hear this old saw rendered with a light touch instead of in teenage hyperbole for a change.

stark and evocative. I love the last two lines of s.1 -- sounds almost canadian! what is the purpose of the mismatching tenses?

unfortunately the premise of the pome is correct, at least insofar as it applies to me: I don't give a fuck. shrug, oh well.

the tender depth of feeling you show here for rockmage, caring not a whit how your unusual affection may be judged by the world, is both inspiring and touching. The fourth last stanza made me uh, weep.

Why did you get a zero? You might at first suspect that I hold a disability-ist prejudice and have chosen your handicapped verse as the latest target of my unreasoning hatred. But this wouldn't be true, for -=Dark_Angel=- is wheelchair-bound and I regularly commend both his writing and his unwarranted attacks on other wheelchair-bounds (ie, Stephen Hawking). Likewise, Goad, who had most of his throat torn out by a bad German date and is now only able to approximate 'speech' by rattling a piece of wax paper wrapped around a comb with his weak sursurrations, usually gets my approval. So it can't be that I've somehow sensed that you are one of those spinal-columnless 'miracle' babies from whom any approximation of communication at all should be greeted with wonderment, yet whose handicap only inspires fear and hatred in twisted soul. Maybe it's just the line "Sadness? Ney 'tis just the beginning of a new denile." Yeah, that's probably it.

Very good. Do you want comments?

I don't see the tense one. Telling is a subordinate clause that could be represented something like: "and, telling ourselves that it was not stealing, we had know way of knowing." Also, the time of year that still occurs "when the badger hole etc..." is when you used to pinch bluebells. That also works for me. 'Crows' should be 'crow's'. I don't know what is meant by the fetch of the stare hitting on bark - or, at least, it doesn't call a season to my mind. Crows are around all year here, so is bark. Other than that I think this is fine and a great publishable poetic voice. I see this hitting pulpwood a lot sooner than some other stuff here.

This is the best of yours I've read here.

Sweet Sentiment, but if falls short of being well put.

Things should be the natural logarithm of the way they currently are.

yay!!!! (can you tell i like that word now for some reason?) I like the thought and feel of this poem. Gee.. i want a snow day now. x.x

A bit insipid. Uninspired.

I can't make this sing.