Too much detail.

Action packed with even more yawns than the poemranker best list. Super!

The beginning was excellent - great images and word play - but the last stanza just lost the feeling as a whole..

Oh shit!

Ironically, that's what my morning shit said.

Actually, not bad. A touch cliche, but immature cliche not premature cliche. Or is it?

Jim Jones and John Travolta painting the town red.

lotsa vtamin B

And that's exactly what I told the cookie monster too.

Horribly hilarious. fairys always give me a chuckle. Especially when mentioned in the same poem with the word war. Fairy wars. GarWars, if you will. I say Gar because it's a formidable fish known to leap out of the water and grab weaker fairies upon the sagging lower branches.

A winged penis in a tank full of pirahanas.

God, you give me such a throbbing boner.

Many times I ask myself why I keep coming back to poemranker. Is it some sick co-dependent habit, an acting out of familial dysfunction? Then I find poetry, like an artifact toss carelessly among the rubbish, and I realize for a glimmer of a moment, no, it is my desire to feel the truth some stranger might share. A poem works for me not because I understand its details, but simply because the sound of it strikes upon familiar tones. This poem is pleasant, and poignant, the way a certain lullaby can calm, or the way a loved ones breathing registers a sense of belonging. Here is what the artist strives for, not sense, so much as beauty.

Lovely, needs some tidying up, but that's all. Please please get rid of the qoutation marks at the end. Oh, it's like wearing white platformed sandals with black hose. In fact if you toss that entire last line out, the poem would be the better for it. You've already brought the soul in at the first line of that stanza. Leave it be.

I love your insight, but you need to explore the musicality of words. Take me away, you can know the physiology of sex, and never really make love. 'We roam between walls of our own creation' We roam between walls of our own between walls we roam between walls of our own creation. We roam in mired and meaningless routine Trapped between moments of inspiration. Lost between hope & despiration Heaven & fate...

really good but again there's no sense of editing or, how shall I put it, candence? 'It started off with the murder of a loved one. The injustice haunts me even to this day. The only thing able to right what was done, Is to return the favor, in the exact same way.' It started with murder. My loved one. The injustice haunts to this day The only thing able to right what was done, Is the return of the favor, in the exact same way.

The title is awful. The whole thing is corrupt, but worth salvage. First of all why 'forest fairies would fight their way'? When it could simply be 'forest fairies fought their way' through tangle below... I just don't understand how the sense of rythmn is lost to so many.

Any of the following titles will be fine: WHORE FORK The mushroom that time forgot Sweaty Confetti The Lost Baptism II Indiana Jones and the Temple of 'shroom Shattered Illusions Think before you beak A Song For An Old Westminster Boy Flames of Passion Musings: Memory of Hope? Beak Parade The Mellifluos Sound of God: Musical Eden

You have a way with words, it seems like they come from deep in your soul. . . and I pray and doubt your candle will ever go out.

2, I think not. 9