Fuck. I keep clicking on the wrong spot when I want to reply. Excuse me again Dovina. I guess my mouse has an appetite for the red X where the hammer of oblivion hits. Your comment: 'executions aren't sexy' My reply: no they aren't. But this was not an execution but a coup de grace.

A couple line-beginning capitalization typos, but who gives a crap? Liked it a bunch. 9

I'm taking it as a late-period activity where Verse 2 either conflicts with the ending or there is a change of heart. I go with the latter.

Sorry about the criticism of your poem. I Was in a lousy mood and after reading it again, it does have merit though it would work better if you said more with less.)

Codependency perhaps, I say whatever works. A complex issue made clearer in just a few words.

I was at work...all my clients were asleep....first time I'd met my grandbaby......wanted to go home

Dear DoubleU, zodiac, Intransit, and rockmage, Thank you for expressing disillusionment. All of you seem to think I must have meant something more than “She wanted to look different,” and for granting me that much respect, I thank you. Imagine a woman who tries all her life to match the ethics and appearances her peers expect from her. She knows she is different and wants very much to be accepted. So she dons stylish clothes and adopts mannerisms, hoping to be perceived as cool. But despite her efforts, she finds herself always saying the odd thing or acting in some unacceptable way. One day she meets a woman with green tips on her newly done nails. That’s odd, she thinks. Why would anyone deliberately do something odd? Then it dawns on her that this woman just naturally fits in and feels bored with the thing our woman spends her energies trying to gain.

Some good prose, but the theme is too far fetched to compel. What on earth do you mean by, "heaven is a mirage unreachable as a woman."

Good play on the old song. The oil ran out and the times changed, an obvious connection and one that needs no more "feeling" than that. But how would I know.

Crazy, crazy!

Subtle sarcasm...the tone is quite elegant, which is only fitting. I've had a few bashings over such subjects. Like, 'a woman should not poemise outward appearances or cosmetry hypes, let alone a man.' Well. I've done poems about two actresses who are quite diametric in this view: Maggie Smith and Cher. Maybe I'll let you read them one day.

<< to try to even the score Even the score And yet I never try To even the score >> Perhaps this is breathtaking when screamed into the microphone by a voluptuous blonde with black&blue lipstick and lots of tattoos, but as reading material it's a pover experience. And having to climb over '(chorus)' three times doesn't add to the spree

I have to admit, it was a bit of a letdown getting to the end only to find the meaning was "she employs devices to look different". Well, I mean, duh. For one, everyone employs devices all the time to look different from how they'd look nude. For another thing, I imagine if she wanted to look different without employing devices, she'd have to (a) practice holding some really distinctive facial expression or posture all the time (which is a device when you get down to it) or (b) accept that she just looks different enough as she is, unless she's an identical twin or something (which we both know is kind of crap.) And would I be totally wrong if I guessed you really meant "she employs devices to look ugly or different from me"?

"Virtue" - Cynthia Huntington All the houses are white; all the yards have yellow flowers attended by bees. If you must be born female try coming as an insect - they have the edge. Bees spoil their little brothers just so long and then they're through. The queen has a hundred lovers, her daughters, none. A nation of sisters lives forever: wasps and ants. Here in New England you'll come across old family plots - farmers with two or three wives set down in a row; prayers and faint praise for the good woman, wife, mother: modest and weary, homely as a shoe. How she stirred and kneaded, baked, sewed, scrubbed, and bore down. I let the ants come in my kitchen and carry off bread crumbs. Girl soldiers, all discipline and grit. Flies buzz the heads of stupefied cows, up to their knees in yarrow, hissing: "wake up, wake up!" Their teats swell, heavy with milk, long after their done being anyone's mother. In the corner of the garage a spider devours her mate, wraps up what she can't finish and hangs it to dry. Mosquitos murmur for blood in the high grasses. A car door slams down the street. Milk and honey, butter and jam, what virtue in living as a slave? In the kitchen I unpack groceries: sweet peas, cider, wild honey, pears burst from the flowering branch. (copied without permission from Poetry Daily, www.poems.com)

use the search key for: What you know - It might help,it might not.

Maybe- My nails are green too. And a little brown. My garden is for everyone to enjoy. Ok , too wordy maybe but I'm with Zodiac on the ending being a let down . You show us well with the deatiled nails and then tell us what you thought. You know better than that. Weed it, damnit.

Sorry, I don't buy symphony of dogs. The last line is a little too straightforward for me. Maybe a little backstory might be good like D says.

You do this so well. Must be the rhythm.

I must've missed this while on the road. I got it, and think it's fine.

Gets better as it it progresses. Spooky. Find a synonym for "factory"