Quarton
on mothers by biggy
20 Dec 2003, 9:59 AM
Different but I liked it. Quite rhythmic and a sincere
tribute. Not sure about the exlusion of capital letters
butI have written some the same.
A lot to contemplate in this piece. Quite exceptional
in content and style. Kind of a Brave New World
feel to this and what a neat way of expressing the
new by means of the old. Being a quantum mehanic's
junkie, I could relate to the fourth stanza in particular but hell, I can relate to all you express
in this fascinating tale that would warm the heart
of any Existentialist worth his/her salt. Camus would
be proud tho I may be misinterpreting part of your meaning. Regardless, a ten!
this was interesting
What truly impressed me about this poem was my inability to even get through the first line, bravo brilliant.
You mum are a broken paerl nexlace part timing as a gloew in tha dark anal beads. This 0 pretty much sums up how I feel about vulva.
I often find running over something at a high rate of speed alleviates this sort of tension.
Been some time since my last mushy love poem posting.
I don't know, spence...
I doesn't say much more that what's said in the title alone.
i'd like to see the sentiment without any attemps at making it rhyme.
is interesting enough - particularly:
"the water of a chain linked son
the production of one cell to a billion
to none"
Needs to be about 70% this length (and complexity)
Yep. It put me in the moment.
Somehow I found myself trying to think of a different last line. I don't know if it was me enjoying the aftertaste; imagining possibilities/extending the vision - or a hunger pain.
Did you try other ones?
God you're so horribly down to earth, blahch. 9.
Cute, simple.
I like the feeling of dependancy, coupled with the feeling of want. And all of this expressed with bargaining, but a mutual kind. The kind that is best found with a good friend.
I'm seeing alot of 'the's ... Try to lower the number of them and start your lines... uh.. differently.. :-D
Oh, Little Bird
I don't want to see you dead
A feathery pile of green and white turd
How I'd miss you shitting on my head
Eternal rest grant unto her. . .
good poetry
Bert.
Trust me, I'm a stomach.