You write like a simpleton who has been smoking too much weed. What vote would you give this?

Hate-Bush-Poems are especailly tedious, and more so where they offer no solution, as with this.

Am I dreaming or did you crash the wall, slither through the defenses, and post this twice, just nine minutes apart? Please tell me your secret.

Love it. Great easy, loping rhymes throughout. Creepy as hell, unusual, intriguing, topical, personal. Really great. I saw the Bodies exhibit in New York, and THAT creeped me out. This outcreeps that, even.

A couple of places I lose the thread. S2 half empty- what is and what is wiped up with napkins. I prefer messed up on Mr Clean/after losing a bet to messed up on Mr Clean/ fumes inhaled after losing a bet. Lose the thread again on Frazzled by freakonauts fresh from maternity leave, a spitting image of June Cleaver’s son Beaver. What is and what relevance has it. And finally I know pre-empting rhymes but it is not quite the correct word imo.

Critter you will never get what you think you deserve. It does not matter how you shape your words, you are too self-absorbed to be interesting. The part about you that could be amusing, if I were the sort who likes to pull the wings off flies to watch them crawl instead of zing, is that you will pluck out of all these words nothing of my meaning. I realize this is a failing of mine, not yours. Still I think you have an extremely bad case of diarrhea.

I can see that you are trying. At least I think you are trying.

This is not close to good and as I am not a teacher of language or poetry I can not tell you what is wrong, let alone how to fix it. I am only capable of liking or disliking and I have not liked any of your posts. You have not posted enough for a real judgment as to whether or not this is for real or that you are pulling off a sham.

It's better in this edit. Line 5 uses an archaic pronoun referring to "ship", to say in essence "ship's ship," unless the pronoun refers to "hands," and that's no better. You're getting closer.

Again, it's not what you are saying that lacks poetic appeal, but mistaken structure. Compassion is from the one kneeling down, not the bird. I know you meant that, but it's not what the poem says.

Just checking; this really is another post.

Ah, done and done, and well done, I'm afraid: The Rolling Stones DEAD FLOWERS "Well, when you're sitting there In your silk upholstered chair Talking to some rich folks that you know Well I hope you won't see me In my ragged company You know I could never be alone Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the Queen of the Underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flower by the mail Send me dead flowers to my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave Well, you're sitting back In your pink Cadillac Making bets on Kentucky Derby Day I'll be in my basement room With a needle and a spoon And another girl can take my pain away Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the Queen of the Underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flower by the mail Send me dead flowers to my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the Queen of the Underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flower by the US mail Say it with dead flowers at my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave No I won't forget to put roses on your grave" * * * then there's STP's not-quite-as-fine take on it: I got you But its the craving for the good life That sees me through troubled times When the mind begins to wander to the spoon And I got you Because your there to bend and nurture me through these Troubled times cause the fix begins to twist my troubled mind And I got you to paint the sorrow on my day And I got you to paint the roses on my grave And I got you I got you But its the feeling that I get when your away Twist my mind cause Im all alone and cold, gone I feel like dyin And I got you to fill the craving that I get inside my mind When youre there to fill the space I have inside, I feel like crying And I got you to paint the sorrow on my day And I got you to paint the roses on my grave And I got you All the slippin that I slap me I got you, I got you All the slippin that I slap me

Jade Goody gave you a woody. Dear God.

I guess it's about how man is absorbed into the earth at death and enriches the soil and the life cycle goes on. OK then.

If you are looking to edit it I would start by distilling the list of colours and trees into a couple of lines. And don't repeat yourself about the whole paint on a scene palette thing. I don't think the colours of leaves mix either.

I had to read it several times, where a few commas would have helped, and think such beginnings turn away readers, should it be one of the first of yours they read.

From nowhere to nowhere in 5 stanzas.

No, you did not.

S4 I like. It sets the stage for a second reading, and could better be S1, I think. A more descript title might help too. Overall, I followed it, or think I did, and like the concept.

Way to much IT.