Not forgetting Cholmondeley-Belvoir, Who smites them with his golden retriever; Or that Cad, Hesketh-Horace, who prefers to bite of their clitoris.

Your title is a misleading welcome mat to young men wishing to learn the gentlemanly arts. Instead of the promised guidance, you relate vile acts of uncouth pseudo-gentlemen, lending no redeeming importance to the telling, such as recommending their castration. May I suggest a rewrite along the lines of flowers, opened doors, candles, and soft, respectful words.

Nice. Tho i think These words that make the next more broken might work better. Just a thought.

I'd almost promise, I've heard this story before. Only you did it with much better images.

Hello Dovina hope you're doing fine. I love the poem, because I wanted to be a pro. musician before I became a math teacher. trying to play the piano was enough for me.

Too much flummery.

Baron Bumforth's "Brownford Hammer" Makes him a truly first-class rammer. Earl Cliveby, on the other hand, Simply slaps them with his gland.

Easily the best poem of yours that I've read. Perhaps I'll visit your archives....

I don't get it. If it's an accidental suicide, then why is one person on the floor and the other clutching his/her chest? Is it a murder-suicide? A double suicide? Or does the chest-clutching mean something other than death?

IMHO, the "friends and lovers" theme has been done to death. This undermines an otherwise decent poem.

This would be twice as good if it were half as long. There's not _that_ much here.

Wouldn't it suck if Janice committed suicide? lol This is a strong sentiment, if not exactly a poem. Try to avoid cliches, i.e. "Janice is my rock, my hope, my strength, my life." The narrator seems to struggle with individualism, so it hurts when she chooses such common, trite phrasing.

Interesting story, hardly a poem.

I suspect the only music you make is in your billowing bloomers.

238 does not rhyme with rat. -0-

What do you mean by 'average'? Oh, that they have individual characteristics. Hey, good call. Because surely you can't mean 'as averagely intelligent as you and I'. Since that's what retarded means: lower than average intelligence. PS-"as average as you and I" is really great if you think about it drunk or for longer than ten seconds.

What??? What did you do with the knife, then?

EDGAR: Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill. Halloo, halloo, loo, loo! FOOL: This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death!