poetry critical

online poetry workshop

daddy was a bauer

when i was a boy
a poet lived under my bed
and whenever i began to
write he would constantly
squeal and snort.
anything i would do
he would remain
unsatisfied; bore
me with his biro.
tear me like i was
a piece of paper.
when i was young
i would sing nursery
rhymes to sleep
and whenever he
came home
i would yellow
all my sheets.

"i help them have something to live for... i'm such a fucking saint."

8 Aug 10

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this will probably be deleted haha..

but it is very funny. I am sure mike will appreciate the humour in it :)
 — mr_e

it's beyond baroque... i don't see why it sound be deleted though -- other more personal stuff than this is ok'd here.

i think that the 'anything' is too passive a word to start the second stanza. something more annoying, changing the voice and cadence, maybe:

stuff i would do, he'd shred
and editor -- bore me
with his biro: penetration
of critic, like i was a piece
of chewing gum.

when i was young,
i would sing me to sleep
with nursery rhymes,
and whenever he'd sung,
i could get no sleep

maybe something like that. part of the problem is that the author wants the verse to sound like a conversation, but that's not necessary: keeping ironic just makes this seem passive and pointless. to make it slam i think ripping the words into poetry form makes the stronger point and more ironic joke... as though you almost had learned to write nursery-rhymes but that the critic-whatever took your child-hood away from you.
 — bmikebauer

;) Holy shezoli :) MB see how they love you?
 — unknown

i help them have something to live for... i'm such a fucking saint.
 — bmikebauer

well, someone was pretty creative for a change, and it's usually happening here when someone is pissed off at someone else. just left on their own, everyone lives on cheese sandwich creativity. i think this is a good post, this verse thingy. i'd only wonder about jen's verse being coopted, but i don't think she'd really done just to the material -- this parody kind of shows how little it really said.
 — bmikebauer

mike wrote this about himself i suppose
 — unknown

you suppose like a donkey, and i'm amazed you got even this many words out of 'hee-haw' to comment with.
 — bmikebauer

evil person

I love you
 — asphara

I didn't meen evil person this fucking poet by the way
 — asphara

 — unknown

Let's all get excited about bad poetry and forget the iffy grammar in L3
 — unknown

grammar in three is correct, in that adding it to line for means that there are two time consciousness's going on: the writing now and the floating now... the 'chômeur' now.

a poem wraps the words around the idea in this way. i don't know if it's intentional here, but it's such and interesting thing that it's like finding a fungus in the bottom of a test tube... it suggests so much more, because it can't be explained away according to the book.
 — bmikebauer


 — unknown

better than the original.
 — Sequiturist

when i was a boy, there were so many things and me, and the two of us, myself and the world, never hooked up, and i made my own words for things: 'ggohab', for 'kid who smells bad and takes things from other kids'; 'posnogn', for 'kid who is too close to his mother and takes things from other kids'; 'footchmog', for 'kid who steals lunch money and has bad breath'. there were new words to learn, but i didn't know that until later. when i was a boy, things were much easier. when i was molested by a camp councilor when i was 10, i simply wanted to kill him -- he got me before i knew about sex at all, and everything that happened -- which wasn't much... we were on a cot surrounded by other cots... acted on me as an intimation of what was, and an intuition on how it should go, and i liked the attention and then understood the greedy and frightened 18 year old that was focused on me. i didn't know what was what, but he must have come, rubbing off next to me, but not in me or anything, and then i was released. i had been very happy to get into bed with him -- like next to my brother -- because i was a very scared little boy. when i was released from any obligation to stay for grownups i was not such a scared little boy anymore: the power of a new place and knowing grownup and knowing their badness in a new way. the next day, though i didn't understand actually what had happened, i must have been waiting for some sign that he and i were now at least boys together in some special way, if not friends as kids know friend. when he just ordered us to pack up and ordered me in the same voice to pack up, i head butted him in the backside... it must have been astonishing, i was so skinny and wimpy looking to the others. but, they just stood there, watching, and the guy turned and looked at me with anger, but i stared him down and nothing was said. this was in 1957 and it was still a sexist world of boys will be boys, but still not men will be boys too, if they can get away with it? but, what did i know. later on, when i was 15 and went home with a math teacher from school, i was already sexual and had messed around with other guys my age, but being with an older guy should have been a completion of my childhood. instead, it was just another sordid thing, like with the counselor, of no love and only the spectacle of having a grownup under your control, and how bad that is for a boy to know. it may have been, that in ancient greece or on pacific islands and atlantic shores that boys go with men to become men, but in america, in the 1950's, there was no way that the two of us could have been equal, with one of us so timid and watching, and the other a parasitic opportunist feeding off whatever comes to hand.

the rule: no more than three years age difference between partners... no matter how old you are. keep it equal... ten years older than us, we don't want the what you want.
 — bmikebauer

hilarious parody
 — unknown

sounds like a bed-wetter.
 — Rss233

 — psychofemale

 — unknown

i miss him
 — unknown

mike rip
 — unknown

 — unknown

mike mike mike
should take a
hike hike hike
 — unknown

unk, unk, unk,
should walk liiike a skunk,
behave like a drunk
and do stuff that is funk.

oink, oink, oiink,
should get to the poink:
what' you gonna do,
when your childhood's thru..?

go, unk.
 — bmikebauer

mike says unk should walk like a skunk
but unk says mike is a more savage drunk
who in his old age loves to get crunk
with a pangolin dangling on his junk
 — unknown

i am immortal

 — unknown

 — unknown

happy birthday
 — unknown

 — unknown

I love you Fucking Saint. There fffffffffffffffffffffffff ore

for i want
to make
to you


the universe


and just




            ; ; ;         &nb sp;&nbs p;          &nb sp;    plumb
 — unknown

Saint mb loves firing his cannon
 — unknown

 — unknown

 — unknown