I love this poem. First of all the title works(though I think better without the parantheticals)... 'A Note From God'. Try an exclamation point after 'fuckers' in the first line. also, for me, the last line in the 2nd stanza should read monkey(s) making monkeys(One cannot do it alone) I get the feeling of God drunk, losing his inhibitions, and just saying "fuck yeah, you shit-heads rock!" and I like that image, because you know what, when it all comes down to it, we really do. Thanks for the poem. I've committed it to a happy memory.

Nice title I guess, but the poem just didn't hit what you were after. Of course, rockmage would probably disagree.

What the hell did you guys smoke in Niagara? Was it you that jumped the falls and survived. Did you bang your head? Did you?

Again, you're holding back. I'm glad to see someone experiment, but as far as this lab rat goes, the prize IS the trip through the maze. This maze is nowhere, try again. At last At last At last You've got The Magic 3 working for you here Don't foul it up by chanting beyond what's reasonable.

A post- post- post- Modern Luther King Jr.

i enjoyed this poem, keep up the good work

Behave yourself, Senor Burro!!!!!!!

nice job for a first publish (8)

This is probably the best of what you wrote so far (10)

I know that place, lol (9)

i love monkey love!!!! but i am screwed down too tight for this poem.

My skepticism about a poem usually revolves around what I perceive as an over-indulgence. Whether it's the use of too many inconsiderable words, or, as in this case, the over-abundant use of words which reek of a literary hauteur. My tastes run towards simplicity, an elementary, universal appraisal. So for me, the exclusion of working class sensibilities, is strictly inoppurtune.

I called the number. They said you got married and left the country. I cried for two days. Not because of the being kicked out or even the fact that you got married and I told you I would come back from Enid just after the first snow in Oklahoma. You promised me things. I promised myself things. And now what are we left with. H8 as our love child. Three day old leftovers from the Boston Market. Memories of Amsterdam in the springtime. I feel cold and dirty and just a little bit lost. But mostly cold.

You may be a good poet (as evidenced by this fine dandy), and maybe I would like to see you naked while you read it, but I still hate you.

Are you Crystal Lane Swift in disguise?

much tighter! much nicer. more painterly, but concisely so. i especially liked this: --but her fieldstone wings spread --yet like wide skirts on gowns --a hundred years gone.

awesome

'To river, bound in winter's keeping, one thousand crows, stark, shadow the snow, leaf bereft trees in their landing, while river stands white, locked in stillness below.' Now you're dancing. I'm sorry I did not see this pretty girl before. Might it work slightly better as; "Trees bereft of leaves landing In rivers white, standing Locked in stillness below"

http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=67893 My son Bachus is in agreement.

Sounds like a table full of chubby cheeked Hawaiians jonesing for diet poi.