Learning how to die is a long course.
If anyone I loved died,
I'd hate them till my dying day;
and beyond if I find there is yet more.

I hate Jesus for dying,
though he died for me.
People I've known, personally,
I will hate more.

I think about dying more and more each night as I get older.
I used to dread others dying;
now I think I might die, too.

Last night I awoke around 3:33am,
it was dark, as one might expect;
I had to piss out all the water I drank
to save me from a hangover this morning.

I've always been alert,
sensible and cautious.

I stepped outside, I pissed;
I looked up to the stars.
No one was around to kill me
or try forcing inside my door
or break my windows

as I lay back down in bed,
in the dark.
I didn't see any ghosts,
though I kept opening my eyes,
not exactly hoping to see
something staring back at me.
But nothing was there anyway.

I used to worry about what my grandmother would think
when I masturbated.
That was when I believed in Heaven.

Now I don't care what she thinks
because she's dead.
And it serves her right.

I enjoyed this poem, the second and third line stood out to me. Good work and thanks for a great read

The last person that liked one of my poems got banned. Many of the others have died nasty deaths. One of them got picked up for stalking. I just got back from the post office where I'm always getting supportive letters from those in the city jail. I don't give them my home address; I have a sister, so that would be foolish.

(10-05-2013, 07:26 AM)rowens Wrote:  The last person that liked one of my poems got banned. Many of the others have died nasty deaths. One of them got picked up for stalking. I just got back from the post office where I'm always getting supportive letters from those in the city jail. I don't give them my home address; I have a sister, so that would be foolish.

Interesting

What do you mean, interesting? I just had a partial lobotomy.

(10-05-2013, 07:29 AM)Malu Wrote:  

(10-05-2013, 07:26 AM)rowens Wrote:  The last person that liked one of my poems got banned. Many of the others have died nasty deaths. One of them got picked up for stalking. I just got back from the post office where I'm always getting supportive letters from those in the city jail. I don't give them my home address; I have a sister, so that would be foolish.

Interesting

Man, that lobotomy gave you ESP rowens, nice prediction on that banning.

---

Learning how to die is a long course.
If anyone I loved died,
I'd hate them till my dying day;
and beyond if I find there is yet more.

I hate Jesus for dying,
though he died for me.
People I've known, personally,
I will hate more.

I think about dying more and more each night as I get older.
I used to dread others dying;
now I think I might die, too.

Last night I awoke around 3:33am,
it was dark, as one might expect;
I had to piss out all the water I drank
to save me from a hangover this morning.

I've always been alert,
sensible and cautious.

I stepped outside, I pissed;
I looked up to the stars.
No one was around to kill me
or try forcing inside my door
or break my windows

as I lay back down in bed,
in the dark.
I didn't see any ghosts,
though I kept opening my eyes,
not exactly hoping to see
something staring back at me.
But nothing was there anyway.

I used to worry about what my grandmother would think
when I masturbated.
That was when I believed in Heaven.

Now I don't care what she thinks
because she's dead.
And it serves her right.


Another poem of yours that drew me in until the outdoor pissing started. Don't you have indoor plumbing man? You could have skipped it and gone straight to the masturbation, which did tie into your grandmother and your anger over loved ones. Sorry about the loss of your grandmother. I really miss my own...

I loved it.

Last couple of stanzas really got through to me because I understood them very clearly, you did what nobody did but everyone thought of doing. Everyone thinks about death and dying, but, as Woody Allen once said " I am not afraid of death, I just don't want to be there when it happens. "
So I guess it's often skipped theme.
Great job on this one, keep it up

I liked the pissing outside part. Though I'm not built for it, it's a great opportunity to look up and around in the quiet night.

I have no indoor plumbing. Besides that, I'm at war with the Transhuman movement and their progressive ideas regarding the evolution of the human body. If you don't think they can mass market castration, just look at that band New Direction.

(10-05-2013, 08:25 PM)ellajam Wrote:  I liked the pissing outside part. Though I'm not built for it, it's a great opportunity to look up and around in the quiet night.

Then you will love rowens' poetry! It's like a golden shower... Girls can go outside, where a skirt.

That is what they do. And it's very charming; like a cat squatting in a litter-box. But girls won't play that way for long, they won't put up with my simple-living. That's where the masturbation comes in.

rowens, there is a portable female urinal that you could get.

Can they use it to shave and perform bowel movements?

http://www.go-girl.com

(10-06-2013, 12:16 AM)rowens Wrote:  Can they use it to shave and perform bowel movements?

No, just for #1

One day, girls are going while standing up. Next thing you know they'll have made the male sex obsolete.

'The last person that liked one of my poems got banned.' wow u scary scary thing.

More than one member has been banned immediately after complimenting me.

While I'm still thinking about it: I used to think girls didn't want to come home with me after dinner because I was unattractive. Now I think it's because they simply needed somewhere to shit.

I am trying to figure out why you think that this is a poem where you show a reader what you feel rather than a standard level and not very interesting journal entry where you tell a reader what you feel.

The constant use of the first person pronoun is off putting and shuts a reader out of what you write. Why?

To quote a moderator on the PFFA website who responded to something very much along the lines of your submission, it's because:

Quote:... it fails to engage the reader. Imagine you were sitting on a park bench and someone sat down next to you, opened a casual conversation, then started this gush, sent a steady stream of "me/me/me/my/my/my/I/I/I"; you would not feel as though you were needed, nor your own thoughtful replies welcome-- you would not likely be interested. A good poem is like a picture that makes you feel as though you would like to step into it, not like you are walking into a home and finding a hundred framed and enlarged portraits of the host in all poses. http://www.everypoet.org/pffa/showthread...ray-Matter&p=604940#post604940

I think you would greatly benefit from reading Howard Miller's "Poetry is Experience: The Writer's Responsibility" found here:

link removed

and especially from reading Walt McDonald's essay "Advice I wish I had Been Told." found here:

link removed. This resource is actually already available on this site.

Jeffrey

I'm often as off putting as they come.