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Beneath I hope beneath that allure Is a girl somewhere Obscure in those eyes The solitude of delight I find in her words The calm in all disquiet I sprinkle the words tonight To soothe all despair I hope beneath those eyes Is my solace somewhere Lost endlessly in them I live a thousand lives I hope ...

As much as I like your attempt to write a poem about death and the ensuing funeral I dislike some of the words you use and the way you place them. Its not so much my view on things and how they should be done but to question your grammar and English usage in places. We all love originality, but in ...

She is gone, he announces With a tinge of choke that it entails; Perhaps holding back the essentials And letting out the details. The news isn't a rude shock, as I would have anticipated; The age made it intelligible, All she did, was waited. As real as her fussy concerns was her presumed presence B...

Honesty can be savage. What is more important is does the reviewer intend to hurt, to be savage, trite or pedantic. Reviewers are as crocked as the authors of poems. Some so-called poets are nothing but trolls, posting rubbish work to tell their pals how they wound up so and so forum. That's not th...

At first glance this poem is put togetehr well, on examining I find it contradictory and mysterious. Not mysterious in a good way but in a confusing way. Unless there is a far deeper meaning hiden from me I see no point in some of things you say. For example you say the brush squeezes your hand whe...

THE PAINTING The brush squeezing my hands Dripping in first blood of green; Even a deft stroke of intent Imbues but a pale sheen Is this the beginning of my end? The confounded meekly wonders Or has my beginning ended In the multitude of natural plunders. But I squeeze the brush now; Take a step bac...