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in olden sugar times
roll-mop hard of herring
industrial luinacy
here they fall down
in prostate worship
ass-lickering and fallow
fallow me
devoidness of instant massaging
weird colours- hue dunnit?

qualieydsnowfish wrote:in olden sugar times
roll-mop hard of herring
industrial luinacy
here they fall down
in prostate worship
ass-lickering and fallow
fallow me
devoidness of instant massaging
weird colours- hue dunnit?

.. you were seeming pretty solemn today, this seems a switch in mood.. though now I think you need a good paddling. [note to self: find paddle] Anyway.. I'm heading out into the industrial luinacy just now.. but perhaps I shall return with some fresh, or even "sunfresh" ideas.. though it's been a bit doomy today.. (yes, you'll note how I bring your, uh, unique vocabulary forward from other of your poems as I go along).. (not every critic does this, you know).. Oh, just quickly: "hue dunnit" after "weird colors" -- now.. oh, that's probably what inspired my paddling remark. (never mind)

.. okay, later, fishiepie,

v.

qualieydsnowfish wrote:in olden sugar times
roll-mop hard of herring
industrial luinacy
here they fall down
in prostate worship
ass-lickering and fallow
fallow me
devoidness of instant massaging
weird colours- hue dunnit?

.. okay.. I'm giving this one more read through, and then I hope to have a very good night's sleep. (hope)

Now, "in olden sugar times".. is sweet, of course, and I think you know it. You probably had a grandmother or something who baked you pies, and who spoke to you with care and understanding, and when she died, your world fell apart, and granddad got sick, and he died.. and so it was either the orphanage where that awful priest was, or turning trix in the red-light district of Soho. From the look of this poem, I'd say you tried the Catholic orphanage, and I don't think I need to fill anybody in on the rest of it, especially as you seem to do so fairly disgustingly. Anyway, you later found out that the street was no better -- oh, actually, first: "roll-mop hard of herring" is almost unforgivable.. which itself ushers in nicely the whole Catholic theme, I guess you could say.. but back to the street, where you found another sort of downer.. with its "devoidness of instant massaging." [you really are bad. actually what's worse:

a. certain puns, or

b. getting paid for sex?

I think I'll leave that for the Reader to contemplate]..

Okay, if I had to guess "hue dunnit?" in terms of the weird colors, I'd say you're popping pills again. I can't say I blame you, but if it led to the "hue" pun, well, I think someone ought to be pun-ished, don't you???.. [me, probably, for that one]

.. anyway.. I'm hoping that in writing these little lit-crits I'm actually garnering a fallowing. It is in fallowship, after all, that like-minded poets and readers and critics and agents and publishers and marketers.. all come together, and.. hmm.. sometimes it does involve hard ass-liquor type involvement [though it's usually made from barley or corn, isn't it?] [the hard stuff, I mean?]

[gun held on lit-crit writer] [who commences to stop]

.. okay, here's a quick word of advice, dishyfishy, and then I'm off to beddie-byes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tw9hzXEcnI4
FULL SCREEN..

v.