I like it

"i tendons tear apart" Eh? What in holy fuck is with the I? Is it a disease? Did you somehow fool yourself into thinking it was necessary, like you convinced yourself that sharing this pimple-lyric to the world was a brilliant undertaking? Allow me to compact this whole thing, though I can not preserve its claim to being a lyric in the process: Silly emotions have flooded my hormone filled head so much that I now wish to be very very dead; but my grip on the .36 is slipping due to my tears, hampering my attempt to fill my cranium with lead-- so instead, I'll wail till blood comes out y'ears in the form of a bad lyric you'll wish y'never read. Not bad eh? In fact, I think I'll post this. Oh, and heres a resounding zero. Do us all a favor, smoke some weed, and find something that inspires better creativity... OK? Or slit your wrists, you know, whatever works.

Er, ehem, could this be considered an improper limerick? I know it doesn't fit the particular rhyme scheme and such.. ah, fuck it, whatever.

YOU ARE WELCOME TO STAY THERE!

You know, there are men who posses soft hands. And why use the finger when sex toys are readily available AND well designed for their purpose? But anyway, that aside, I like this. Well executed. Blessed with nine.

This is very good. Reminded me of the time I was in Chios, made a trip to sit on Homer’s stone. Great view there (closed my eyes, tried to hear some sirens singing - only nagging kids, a mother yelling. The sea).

Saw a film about John Callahan, the cartoonist. He writes beautiful songs too - he's also a very good cure for the inflatable kind of self-pity you're exposing here.

Just a minor suggested revision: Out alone in the winter rain Happiness is high there, sky is up I remember those tears of joy had hidden Behind drops of rain I’m still singing in the rain And all memories flow upward Inside consuming bliss. Cheers

an honest effort.a little one demensional

Just a question concerning the verse, would any one agree that it would be better if I changed it from "so much that I now wish to be very very dead;" to "so much so, that now I wish to be very very dead;" ? Opinions everyone?

The first stanza gets a ten. I think you could have stopped it right there and had a great poem. The rest is just unconnected imagery that bores.

Dog shit.

a little perdictable

I'm groping frantically for a solemn place to escape the foul flatulent winds howling from your asshole. It's better not to try grasping what isn't there, rather than seizing the flatulence wafting through your cranium's stale, hollow, and oxygen-deprived air.

This is pure, sheer art. The weight of heartfelt emotion is expressed beautifully through words like 'emotion' and 'blood', juxtaposing the imagery of life with that of death (as implied in phrases such as 'I now wish to be very very dead'). Moreover, the poete asks us to find a resolution to the tension between the triviality of this 'silly' life and the deeply profound seriousness of death - after all, to be 'very very' dead is serious indeed. This is followed by a passage of majestic ambiguity; the poete's 'grip on the .36 is slipping due to my tears' - is the .36 meant in a literal context, implying that he is safe, or is .36 the weighted score which his life is rated at? If it is the latter, then he truly is near the end - whenever any of a character's stats reaches zero, they are dead dead dead. In the second half of this epic poeme, we are immediately presented with 'hampering', which, by virtue of its seasonal connotations, invokes images of gifts and food in ribbons - are these delights hidden within his cranium, waiting to spill out as the leaden Muse enters? But again, there is an unresolvable conflict with his inability to shoot himself. This is, perhaps, the poete at his introspective best, exploring the reasons behind his flashes of poetic inspiration while railing at the mystic nature which keeps the words so tantalisingly out of reach. Instead, he tells us, he will wait until the blood - his heartfelt feelings - come out 'y'ears' - a subtle hint at the wisdom he will achieve through an age arrived at by not killing himself. What is more, this wisdom has a perfect 'form' - such allusions to ancient philosophy are so rare in poetry these days! - which, being timeless, results in a potential temporal complexity hinted at in the possibility of 'read (present)/read (past)'. In his "Notes on an Ode to a Pimple-Lyric Spawned by Phalkon's Greasy Face", the poete asks us to consider the possible postmodernity of his poeme; the 'neo-limerick' movement being the driving force behind his structure. But, he asks, could such an opinion be seen as 'improper'? After all, as the postmodern pimpliterature canon tells us, aren't all opinions correct?!? -10-

Ace. I think you might have 'a' appearing once too many in line 2 (if not, I don't get it).

You have jaguars in your veranda? This has the feel of an acid trip in that case. The last line is limp.. I say cut it off. Oh, I also suggest some other title, unless you reside in the middle of the amazonian jungle. Eight.

First stanza warrants a six. Second stanza, due to being bloated by verbosity, a two. Third stanza could have sufficed to express the entire posting, thus I'm obliged to bless it with ten!!

Purr, it is bad taste to vote for yourself anonymously. Therefor I must retract my previous vote of ten, and subsequently profer a zero.

Mournful sounds awkward to me positioned as it is. 'furthermost' sounded awkward to me as well, I didn't even think it was a word. I was wrong. Try restructiing lines to eliminateg 90% of the "my"'s, and you'll be much happier with it I think.