Poetry Snark
About Me
I is da boss of this heah web site. those otha guys, they works fuh me.
Poets Snarked
- Brenda Hillman
- Spencer Reece
- Marvin Bell (with hippie photo)
- Thomas Brush (lost poet)
- David Allen Evans
- Louise Glück (used to be hot)
- Mary Shumway (lost poet)
- Leon Stokesbury (lost poet)
- Mark Strand (pimp)
- Geoffrey G. O'Brien
- Sam Cornish (lost poet)
- Cathy Park Hong
- David Smith (stick in butt)
- Elton Glaser (lost poet)
- Samuel Menashe
- Peter Cooley (intense little dude)
- Heidi Lynn Staples
- Ron Ikan (lost poet)
- Todd Swift
- Erica Jong
- Gary Sange (can't satisfy his urn)
- Donald Revell
Previous Posts
How many times have you lied about a poem?
Links
- Robert Frost's Blog
- Henry Dagger's Adventures at Sea
- R. C. Bald's Hong Kong Journals
- www.absurd.org
- Porky's Garden of Eloquence
- Släpkoppel
Popdex Citations
Saturday, April 01, 2006


9 Comments:
.
We work like a horse.
We eat like a pig.
We like to play chicken.
You can get someone's goat.
We can be as slippery as a snake.
We get dog tired.
We can be as quiet as a mouse.
We can be as quick as a cat.
Some of us are as strong as an ox.
People try to buffalo others.
Some are as ugly as a toad.
We can be as gentle as a lamb.
Sometimes we are as happy as a lark.
Some of us drink like a fish.
We can be as proud as a peacock.
A few of us are as hairy as a gorilla.
You can get a frog in your throat.
We can be a lone wolf.
But I'm having a whale of a time!
You have a riveting web log
and undoubtedly must have
atypical & quiescent potential
for your intended readership.
May I suggest that you do
everything in your power to
honor your encyclopedic/omniscient
Designer/Architect as well
as your revering audience.
As soon as we acknowledge
this Supreme Designer/Architect,
Who has erected the beauteous
fabric of the universe, our minds
must necessarily be ravished with
wonder at this infinate goodness,
wisdom and power.
Please remember to never
restrict anyone's opportunities
for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence.
There is a time for everything,
a season for every activity
under heaven. A time to be
born and a time to die. A
time to plant and a time to
harvest. A time to kill and
a time to heal. A time to
tear down and a time to
rebuild. A time to cry and
a time to laugh. A time to
grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones
and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a
time to turn away. A time to
search and a time to lose.
A time to keep and a time to
throw away. A time to tear
and a time to mend. A time
to be quiet and a time to
speak up. A time to love
and a time to hate. A time
for war and a time for peace.
Best wishes for continued ascendancy,
Dr. Whoami
P.S. One thing of which I am sure is
that the common culture of my youth
is gone for good. It was hollowed out
by the rise of ethnic "identity politics,"
then splintered beyond hope of repair
by the emergence of the web-based
technologies that so maximized and
facilitated cultural choice as to make
the broad-based offerings of the old
mass media look bland and unchallenging
by comparison."
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
Matthew Miller is the poetry snark and he should have the balls to put his fucking name on his work.
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