pome is quite sweet. You should keep working on it, it has rough edges. Someone you might enjoy reading: Martha Hollander Her technique of turning statements into questions might serve you well in a few places in this pome.

well, if the opportunity ever arises to get him back, DON'T show him this pome. I can't imagine any male reading this and thinking anything else but "Run away, Run away!"

It's irreverant in a good way.-9- I'd give it a ten except that because of the last line I did a google seach and found no "Church of LintyWeenis." I guess it must be an Amish sect(No computers allowed)?

Beautiful first stanza, my friend. S5, also very good. I can't quite talk myself into the tone of it somehow though.

Certainly not a zero - and I don't know what you did to piss off supremedreamer. This has moments of very nice poetry, but then it starts and fits into almost a Caricature of poetry. Notch it back a bit and give the thing some focus.

It really is a good point, and something worthy of poetry - but I'd like to see the beauty in this without you telling me that it is beautiful; without seeing the word "beautiful" AND without you *actually asking* me to see it. It's like an ex-lover saying they've changed - the more they say it, the less you believe it. Show me - don't tell me.

Too obviously a concession to rhyme. I hope it was fun to make, at least. "Forgave" should be "forgiven" (its an irregular verb and becomes "forgiven" [past participle] when used with an auxiliarly verb).

ooh.........this is so good i love it.......10! -megan

lamplights should be lamplight's

so good.......i love this ......... -mega

this is okay....but your rhyming .......is slightly annoying.. -megan

its amazing at some points......and bland at others.............7

um.......id like to say i understood more than three or four lines of this but i cant......i'll give you a 6 though since it sounds like i might have liked it if i had understood it......... -mega

very nice.......... -mega

Tale of a Lonely Heart (or soul? wtf ever, that shit was horrid, absolutely fecal in every way.) What in bloody Jesu?!?!?!? One, if you're going to write a poem concerning romance, love, or sex (if there was sex in this I still would feel deep disgust and hatred.) never follow the above shit-smeer example, cliche it's defining characteristic, besides the smell. You know what I sense, over-all, and more importantly? You need to go get laid, urgently. BTW, what in the name of moses fuckslave is up with that "till another morn!" shit? That's making the assumption that you will ever see the light of Morn, Nirvana, or the glistening twinkle of the Almighty Clit "betwixt" a womans vertical nether-lips.

What the fuck chuck? Nice, I'm impressed, you've submitted your class assignment... Now that you've effectively reminded me of some inkling memory that dates back to my highschool days, the over-all sensation I feel is that of vicious action... cruel action... anti-human rights action... I feel like sending you off to Pakistan for interrogation.

Cigarettes. Might want to correct that spelling... Now, what exactly was your intention with this... "poem"? No doubt some literary mag would stick it on the first page, but ask yourself, as in the position of the reader, these serious questions: What the fuck is this poem saying? If anything? Does it sound like some asswipe is trying to sound amazingly profound? Does the poem seem written by some 19th century zombie-relic who has an irritating, condescending love of his own voice and ability to lay heavy with the poetical gilding? Has this poem offered a fucking thing for me, the reader, to make it worth reading? Do I feel cheated and worthless for wasting my time reading it? Now, really consider it. Or you can just explain yourself or tell me to fuck off, it's all fun in the end as I see it.

Hallmark moment in all its awkward shame. And a theme thats been done and used to an extreme. No vote.

I'm reminded of a certain painter, whose name won't come to my cursed, wretched memory-- but anyway the guys most famous work was the paitings of ballerinas... This seems like the verbal equivalent, in a way, though the painters ballerina works spark nothing in me, or this poem really for that matter. But I still feel that it's worthy of a seven... oddly. Ever consider that the ending seems a bit sudden and final, like a hard brake? It's not horrid but.. ah, I'm probly jibbering out my arse.

This starts out brilliantly, then falters badly into hallmark. I'll describe what I DO like: Nurtured betwixt eyelashes ---- Brilliant. An absolutely splendid image of a tiny feral foetus feeding on the aqueous humour of a young woman's eyeball. I would make it even more intense, add something along the lines of "the tiny pale body waxing ever stronger as the silv'ry globe shrivels" Cradled by silver moonshine --- ooohh, you DO use silver. CLEVER LAD. I see it. The eyeball glows with preternatural light, perhaps not shriveling at all, the inner magic ever renewing the glistening sphere, the pure light spilling out around the pale body of the feeding foetus as it...feeds Breastfed by emotions subdued ---- INDEED!!!!! the emotions hunted down, beaten with cudgels until subdued and bundled mewling into a sack, the tip of a corner of which is cut off, and the sack, pressed heavily betwixt the iron bands of angst and desire until the pesky emotions yield their nourishing juices, is used to feed the infant when it has outgrown the eyeball. I'm THERE! A young dream gently conjures Within the bolted entrails Of my lonesome heart; ---- I hear you brother. I too long ago found it necessary to bolt the entrails of my heart to a sort of scaffolding of sarcasm lest it implode in a disaster of unwonted empathy. Opening the prison of my soul ---- here I think you begin to falter; "prison of my soul" is somewhat clichéd And allowing my rusted thoughts ---- YES rusted, because they are ignored, disused, UNWANTED. Brilliant image. To sear up high and once more Transcend the boundaries of free air- Elevated much higher from ground reality. --- I would add lines after the first line, something along the lines of "leaving a branded trail/the long length of her luminous body" --and then from this point I feel, really, that you trail away into a sort of hallmark-ish welter of schmalzy weltshmerz.