take no notice, you can only get better; this is far superior to your earlier effort

Replace "bark" with "beak".

Yet again another poeme title which hints tantalisingly at the noble subject of cricket but fails to deliver :-( I think lines two and three are a bit unfair; if the money hadn't gone to him then it would have gone to IBM. Decide which would have been worse. The first line is good, as is the final line.

indeed pushes the envelope of poetry's definition; reminds me of a chelsea art school reading of a knitting pattern back in the 60s. please accept a point

all the ghosts... all the ghosts... made my vote your mind is happy butI'm telling you you should learn to let it go

Dood, is this a parody waiting to happen? A title already formed in my head man: "Walking in the Dark" Plus you know this is so fake. Who the fuck fishes for dinner at the park? What park would this be? Not even homeless people fish out of the park river here in San Jose, and I should know, I'm homeless. That aside, everything is cliche to the max. I'll give you a one for the attempt though. :P

Why do you get so many comments on your poems? they are veritable common rooms for 'rankers. And, in much the same way as a common room is an empty vessel waiting for the chatter of a bunch of "know it all" spotty drug addicts with amusingly grown facial hair, the appearance of the room is of little import in connection with conversations had therein.

The poeme suggests a postmodern analysis of the metaphysical limits of contemporary binary logic; through the title we can see that the afterlife is indeed a higher plane of existence, but the dread Halls of Mandos can only be accessed through an infinite fall. The implication of such spiritual reverse gravity is at once fascinating and haunting; this hauntology is similar to a certain exploration of Marxist theory and, for all its wonder, is bow'ls.

In the whole entirety of the English language, are there no words synonymous with 'white'?

And yes, I suck at math. Blow me.

I pressed in the plunger and ran to the john afraid but not sorry it had to be done Ok, say this out loud to yourself. Notice anything? I do. John doesn't ryhme with done. Perhaps Don, but not done. That aside, I bless you with an eight.

test

The idea is unfleshed and stale in the way it is presented.

MEDIOCRITY CHECKLISTE [_] AABB rhyming scheme [_] Arbitrary indentation [X] Arbitrary line breaks [X] Clerical errors [X] Ellipses used overabundantly [X] Lower case only [_] Internet shorthand / emoticons [_] Repetition of a word or phrase ad nauseam [X] Devoid of rhyme [X] Devoid of other linguistic embellishments (alliteration, etc) [X] Devoid of other literary devices (metaphor, synaesthesia, etc) [X] Devoid of wondrous or fantastical imagery [_] About drugs [_] About romantic love [_] About suicide or self-mutilation [_] About writing [_] Cliched imagery (tears falling like rain, angel in heaven) [_] Cliched rhymes (love/above, heart/apart) [_] Sounds like dialogue in a fantasy novel [_] Melodramatic [_] Autobiographical but in the third person [_] Concerns the author's social pastimes [_] Leaving rant [_] Vicarious wish fulfilment [_] Pointedly unanswered questions [_] Smugly-named protagonist [X] Sanctimonious [_] Untitled [_] Gushingly religious [_] Obsessed with femininity [X] Rage against the machine [_] Self-obsessed

the lack of definition is a little irksome, but aside from that, the tone is clear. I liked it.

This poem seems to echo delusion throughout. I hope that was your intent, if not...this isn't very good.

I like this a lot, ten out ten lets write again!!

Wow. That really hurts. Well done?

Lose the space after "heart." I was in the oldgrowth redwood forest this summer watching them grow from the bodies of the fallen. A great analogy.

I thought life was ok; now I'm depressed. Thanks, even the cold rain outside will feel better.