Stephen Robins
on some deleted poem
3 Oct 2003, 6:42 AM
You rim the undercarriage of geriatric goatherds whilst mangling your cock in a dead thrush's mouth.
Yea, o.k. Tadpole, now I can start returning the high marks you've given me. Thanks, and keep 'em comin'.
Young people are trapped in an endless cycle of rhetorical questions. Bummer. And, seven years bad luck. Look what it has done to the Cubs and all because of a curse put on the team by a tavern owner who could not bring his goat to a World Series game. Now there is something to think about next time you pick up the pencil.
I really donât get the sense that you have ever worked a dead-end job in your life, thus when you attempt to write about it you actually have to mention the phrase instead of creating or conjuring a metaphor that would get the job done with the desired effect. But since the experience is not there you would never think to come up with that. Nor do you even understand the concept of buying or selling or what is bought or sold by those who sell and buy. And then, yet more rhetorical questions. Think about it.
Yes, why indeed? This poeme strikes a profound chord deep within me. 10.
It's good to see another Christian on poemeranker.
Honestly, that bloody devil. USA! USA!
This reminds me of the time I tried to construct a synthetic butler from a surplus beggar and a discount plus-sized wedding dress. It was tremendously exciting until I realised I had given him the powerful hind legs of a bee, and he simply leapt over the manor into the rolling green hills of Weatherby Estate. But good heavens, enough about me.
This is an astoundingly stupid poeme, Sir. -10-
Perhaps you will grow a long black arm. The Arm of Nigritude they will call it. -10-
A life story, Mrpresident???? I think so...
Hmmmmmmm, chalk one up for el presidente.
Rubbish, total rubbish.
I don't know what the fuck this means, but it's ace.
This sure is swell.
Horus,
I meant not offense. I think sometimes we just throw stuff "out there" without much thought. Maybe ist's a product of boredom or a need for attention...I know how good your work can be and just don't feel this piece is representative of your talents. And Horus, we all have our talents...no need for self-indulging proclaimations here...
Well ,I liked it. P&K, nice to see you at the top of your pathetic form, in the pissant groove and all. In the beer section, I dig a wheat beer microbrewed at the favourite bar of limonade and I. She likes the dark 'n' bitter herself.
You sell the use of your cervix to the lairds on their Scottish estates to house premature hatchlings.
The inversions really don't work for me ("who see not"; "they see not")--they just add an artificiality to an already overburdened poem. I do mostly like what I've read of yours, but it sometimes totters dangerously close to becoming a Neil Peart lyric. Nice images, but a little overwrought.
a bit of an 'it' poem describing something as it but alluding to rather than building up an image.
The poem would be better with a few images to guide the reader.
Like 'it is stealth and you are dull'
the moral of the story?
I guess that you should not have given away the suit.
If you have no use for a suit ther is precious little point in keeping it even if it does fit well.
That electric chair is damn comfy.
The poem I found flowed well but seemed a little odd.