yeah and you critized on my poem. this IS rubbish. makes no sense.

Thanks guys, I'm 15 years old. Give me a break. And thanks, but I didnt vote on my own poem. that was my friend. So before you go judging, get your info straight

Bleugh. No wonder girls don't like you all that much.

nice hokku beginning, excellent underlying structure a-la-w.c.williams, both the beginning and ending are superb. the middle two stanzas drag a little, especially the third. try to get that same meaning in around half the words.

do you mean castanets? (sp I think?) Like the finger cymbals? Or maybe I don't know what a castinette is? Serious. Also, I love the last line so much. Could omit both periods.

well this was fun. i was worried at first because your first stanza is rather patronizing and doesn't say much i didn't know already, but the second stanza really got it going... from then on you gave us bright, fresh and disturbing images, me liked...

If Dali had rhymed more often, he'd have done something like this.

Please please please tell me the fourth stanza isn't about Fraser.

This is ace.

If you're just starting out on the poetic road, this probably doesn't deserve the kicking it's got. It's true that it's full of cliche and vague sensation, but you have to start somewhere. Find a poet you enjoy reading and try to work out what tricks they use. Imagery, metaphor, meter etc. etc. etc. are all things to practise as you go - especially look for strong images and novel way of describing them. Rhyming dictionaries are also good resources; the best rhymer on here (zodiac) always claimed to use them. Keep at it, listen to the criticism and ignore the insults. You'll be fine.

Bitching, biting.

This is horrible and pimply. You've broken the sympathetic contract in the second line and you resort to tired cliches.

spelling mistakes and cliches totally ruin an already mediocre piece.

cliched rhymes and uncapitalized i's make this seem puerile and just... bad.

You're obsessed with your wife's breasts, aren't you? I like the first four lines.

cliches and easy rhymes - bad news for any poem, I'm afraid.

Well, your poetry would make anybody feel like that.

I think the last stanza was an exellent cherry to this cake. Nine.

He needs to start selling the good stuff then... or make better bongs. Now, what was the point here? Just wondering.

Poetry is certainly NOT forever. It is temporary, like the words and images imployed in its form. Meanings distort and crumble with time, fading like a cracked picture, till most no longer even remember... Then it Dies, and another poet makes a new structure. No vote.