Testosterone

[*Lady Macbeth*]

A/N: Okay, Ladies and Gentlemen; this is potentially the worst piece i've ever written; and I really want comments on it.
I am horrible to everyone else about their poetry, why can't people exchange the sentiment? :biggrin:


"So if methane is the gas in people's farts,
then theoretically, we should be able to
create a fire with our butts" he asserts blithely.

"Grow up, Kyle", I sigh over the Bunsen burner.
His blue eyes sparkle with taunting mirth as he
fills the test tube with blue Copper (II) Oxide,
and I connect the tube to the test tube in the ice-bath.

His hair brushes against my face as we start the fire;
It smells powerfully of Johnson's Baby Shampoo.
He holds a pencil up to the flame; twisting it around,
Allowing the flame to lick and stroke the wood.

He touches the charred shape when the flame dies;
He yelps, and whispers "Fuck" and I yelp in alarm.
I grab his hand, and dunk it in the ice bucket.
I don't let go. All is quiet-

"I love you too", he says.

[Sir Auric]

Now, you win the emo award! :biggrin:

This is sooo emo.

Two people mixing chemicals, getting burned, and then staring into each others eyes.

This is your chemical romance.

Ha ha!

Just messing...interesting take...now relay the point about testosterone to me.

[MudPuppet]

It's not emo. I don't like the part about his sparkling blue eyes or whatever, though. Eye description is oversued and stale especially in narrative types of writing such as this one.

[*Lady Macbeth*]

I attempted to convey three things in this poem;

1. how immature guys are in comparison to girls- I talked about the shampoo, the farts, and the burning of a pencil.

2. How i am guilty of practicing lust here; not love- I mentioned only physical characteristics, and other trivial things.

[you may call it puppy love- awwwww]

3. That i could cram content into a smaller space- I failed miserably at this; so help me god.

Oh, and this poem was emo. Emo and slightly cliche, i suppose. I've recently taken to spending long hours dwelling on my misery- in this case; not being able to write a proper poem.

And as for eye-description; he really does have the sweetest eyes. And I love eyes. Eyes are gorgeous. Eyes are emo. Eyes are piercing. Eyes are gentle. [oh look, a paradox!]

yeah.

[Sir Auric]

Emo isn't a bad thing.

I'm an emo poet, I guess.

You said so...and after careful consideration, I tend to agree.

All hail the emo saints!

[Demento]

I attempted to convey three things in this poem;

1. how immature guys are in comparison to girls- I talked about the shampoo, the farts, and the burning of a pencil.


Yet the girl is one that smelled, and recognized the shampoo scent.... And why is shampoo immature? BTW, burning stuff is fun. In caswe you didnt know, suntan lotion is flammable, and your PE teacher will NOT like it if its on fire.

[SketchImpressions]

"So if methane is the gas in people's farts,
then theoretically, we should be able to
create a fire with our butts" he asserts blithely.

"Grow up, Kyle", I sigh over the Bunsen burner.
His blue eyes sparkle * eyes and sparkeling, bah, overused. try something more descriptive, do his blue eyes have flecks of anyother color? add that in.* with taunting mirth as he
fills the test tube with blue Copper (II) Oxide,
and I connect the tube to the test tube in the ice-bath.

*okay try using a diffrent word than hose twice like maybe, hose.*


His hair brushes against my face as we start the fire; *how did that make you feel, toss it in a bit, your elude to your feelings in teh whole poem but a small personal reflection will make your reader feel closer to you.*

It smells powerfully of Johnson's Baby Shampoo.
He holds a pencil up to the flame; twisting it around,
Allowing the flame to lick and stroke the wood. *good*

He touches the charred shape when the flame dies;
He yelps, and whispers "Fuck" *take out teh and, use like, causing me to, or, proding my to.*
and I yelp in alarm.
I grab his hand, and dunk it in the ice bucket.
I don't let go. All is quiet-

"I love you too", he says.[/QUOTE]


really goood peom. I like the idea of taking a comon day situation and interjecting so much emotion. *tips hat*

[Sir Auric]

Yet the girl is one that smelled, and recognized the shampoo scent.... And why is shampoo immature? BTW, burning stuff is fun. In caswe you didnt know, suntan lotion is flammable, and your PE teacher will NOT like it if its on fire.

It's baby shampoo...I think that she was saying that using baby shampoo to prevent the tears is childish and immature.

[MudPuppet]

In caswe you didnt know, suntan lotion is flammable,No in fact I didn't know that...I live in Portland, I have contact with suntan lotion very minimally. Axe is fun though.

[*Lady Macbeth*]

What relevance does suntan lotion hold to the poem?

Anyway, purely for want of a few suggestions; and lack of want to stir up Kali's ancient thread [also, i think the title of this poem might capture attention]; what inspires you?
Lately, I've been attempting to convey my emotions about mechanical items in a poetic way; but it's been coming off as squarish [if you get my drift].

Et tu?

[Sir Auric]

Dreams.

[sazzle]

The poems I've written so far [which are very very few] have been about family, and an odd person at the bus station.

Not hard to gather that I'm stuck for ideas.

Perhaps I should start writing about inanimate objects too.