Boring, pompous drivel. Are you Rockmage or Shusshin in disguise?

Is Dovina a cunt too? I'll go and read her poetry,

I was recommended to read your poems by Rockmage and having struggled through this, he is totall correct. You are a cunt.

Don’t believe Rocky; this is not a good poem; he only agrees with your position. Hell, if I write about the virtue of zeroing, he’ll leap all over it. No, but if you do, he will. All he has for me is ‘honey bun” and “squeal.” “Of” on line 2 surely should be “of.” “Of buildings had laid in ruins” should surely lose the “had.” To name just a few.

Thanks for the comments. I love Vonnegut and the movie version of Slaughterhouse Five is one of my favorites. It is a "must see" in my opinion and is almost a cult movie as Billy Pilgrim becomes unstuck in time. I am curious. What is the other half? Also, your post was deleted and I am not sure why. Any suggestions as this has happened several times?

Dovina--Yeah, it does wander but so does my mind. It also wonders in regard to science, cosmology and quantum mechanics. Rather esoteric stuff and I suspect even the theoretical physicists are unable to unerstand on an intellectual level. Ineffable is descriptive of this enigma. Regardless, we are all connected despite the illusion of separateness.

I hate abomination For taking an action To have sex With the fatal attraction Made the son of sins Being the Holy Father Above land of crosses And for the sexual obsessions I’ll carry the cross on my shoulder For son and father Fucking each other For the holy ghost

I hate abomination For taking an action To have sex With the fatal attraction Made the son of sins Being the Holy Father Above land of crosses And for the sexual obsessions I’ll carry the cross on my shoulder For son and father Fucking each other For the holy ghost

Occam's razor is alive and well.

Good stuff

Good metre, but stanza two is grammatically...well, ambiguous at best.

Dear oh dear edna what a sorry Chrimbo! Never mind theres always easter to look forward to.

Bethy, your other stuff has reality, a gut feeling of having been there. This, I'm sorry, is just cliche. It's no different from what anybody could rattle off about their home. Sorry, I usually like your posts. Keep coming back.

Leave it at the first line and stop writing poetry! Love is better!

This is about as fucking funny as cancer. What a cunt you are.

Fab Fab Fabbo. What a cunty poem!

The best bit about this is that relief-giving word: "end".

I LAUGHED SO LONG AND LOUDLY THAT I PISSED MY PANTS! TOTAL POMPOUS RUBBISH! I SHALL ADD YOU TO ME "CUNTS" LIST.

So bad, I feel physically ill.

I think you could stay with the analogy through the last line. Don't give it to us. I got it right away. Nice poem.