XPost: alt.religion.wicca, alt.arts.poetry.comments, alt.writing   
   XPost: alt.magick   
   From: Aetyr@nc.rr.com   
      
   Sorry Rob, but that qualifies as poetry in your mind only.  Its really just   
   prose hacked into stanzas.  It has no internal music, or playful word   
   pyramids.  Its a fun prose read though, IF you were to relate it to a story,   
   which, in the context of this "poem" is not related to a story.  It does   
   completely fail as a character sketch though, which is about as much as you   
   could get out of it.  Frankly, I don't think that it could be edited to the   
   point of publishing.  Good effort.  Keep trying.   
   Pip   
   "Rob Evans"  wrote in message   
   news:hyfIveHgdfJCFwtG@mla001.demon.co.uk...   
   > In message , Robin Sommo   
   >  writes   
   > >   
   > ><...>   
   > >Shez >  writes   
   > ><...>   
   > >> >Dyslexics tend to be orally brilliant if they are confident people,   
   > >> >though they do have a tendency to stutter or come out with the most   
   > >> >amazing spoonerisms when tired...   
   > ><...>   
   > >   
   > >Rob!  Post the poem!  You know, the one from the poster!  Please?  It's   
   just   
   > >so right!   
   > >   
   > Anything for you, ma'am.   
   >   
   > The Early Chicken Butters No Moss   
   >   
   > Maud has a wayward way with a word,   
   > absurd and awkward aphorisms   
   > are born bewildered when she speaks.   
   >   
   > She and the English language reach   
   > for each other warily and finally,   
   > when they touch, strange sparks fly free.   
   >   
   > For her, an itch in time saves none,   
   > an ill wind blows a dog a bad bone   
   > and a wise stone knows to roll its own.   
   >   
   > She'd never cross a bridge before it's burned,   
   > she'd never leave a worm unturned   
   > in her search for the unvanished truth.   
   >   
   > Her sole contribution to economic theory   
   > is to say that the reckless spending of money   
   > should be avoided . at any cost.   
   >   
   > If this woman were ever drowning,   
   > downing for the third time, I swear   
   > her whole loaf would flush before her thighs.   
   >   
   > Listen to her and, after a while,   
   > the surreal becomes so real it starts   
   > to make a terrible kind of sense.   
   >   
   > Maud, of course would disagree. She says:   
   > storks and stains can break your brains   
   > but words can never charm you.   
   >   
   > Rob   
   >   
   > --   
   > Rob Evans   
   > Poetry is the needle that pricks your finger.   
   > Everything else is the haystack.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)