A lingering heart-conviction of a forgotten secret pleasure in spontaneous lines between creative fingers. Nice work.

eh, cutesy but not really interesting.

Her words soared and fell down deep inside the blue surface, Then her dreams made it move, Along waves of lights and breeze To embrace The infinity of her beauty That made me a dream of meadows and cornfields in the canvas of her words I will wait under the shade of those words, Till I hear her enchanted voice Till I see her sun rise again Till I talk to her moon to bring her dreams back to my shore

Swoon!

gotta say: this poem kicks ass.

This is my first attempt at the celtic form of Aisling unique to Ireland. Aisling used an image of a sky woman, Spéirbhean, to describe the agony of Ireland under the English. Using a woman when speaking of Ireland is common, by example the poor old woman, An tSeanbhean Bhocht was the subject of a song of Irish rebellion. I am using the form as I know it to express the pain of my adopted land Venezuela. As the Aisling form morphed into combinations of english and Irish, so I have used Spanish, english and Irish.

You know this isn't anywhere near as good as you could make it. Four.

Brown-nosing for votes? How sad.

Reword this in a way that eliminates the duplicities. Like -bright colors-- you have more than once. Trust your reader. We've seen skittles. And enjoy them often!

Way too fuckin serious. zzz

this poem is DIRT

This was fun, but are you purposely messing up the contractions and the singular v/s plural"nobody"? It is distracting.

"Menstrual Mongoose"! Hooray!

I love "drank till my nerves were /wired like an afro". Well done.

I don't get the first verse at all. Second is nice.

nice play there, it feels like you are going to be angry at the beginning of the second stanza, but then your narrator has surrendered.

Wasn't Billy Collins the movie with the English dancing boy? Nice poem.

Winner

not poetry. Somewhat intelligent angst.

pete, you need some more LSD. Keep those brain juices flowing.