Mystery Poet Strikes Again!

Q: What do think of my latest poem?

1. Climaxing puppies...
2. Whack crap, tail flap
3. World wide WAP with a fat attack
4. Climaxing puppies...
5. Tear off my face and wipe your ass with it
6. Eat a bald tit
7. Climaxing puppies...
8. A t-shirt that fits you?
9. Don't mess with a shih tzu
Climaxing puppies...
Climaxing puppies...
Climaxing puppies.

A: I read this aloud, and in the distance I heard children screaming with delight. It was impossible that they could have heard the poem from that distance, so I can only assume they instinctively sensed it's emotional echo.

Such satirical cynicism, mixed with the innocence and hope of a child trying out for the baseball team and is fairly confident of being picked.

If you mixed this poem with blood-filled urine and black ichor from the devil's veins, it would still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I would be keen to ingest it into every orifice of my body.

You're a national treasure, mystery poet, and I love you on behalf of every person on Earth.

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Wouldn't you know-et, again the poet wroet!

Q: What do you think of THIS poem?

Want a fat Mac,
Crack?
Lickety splat,
Ping pong hack,
Roger McCor...
Mack!
@


A: I spent three days sobbing hysterically trying to digest the enormity of the message behind this one, and then another three vomitting into my lap trying to reconcile the implications.

Never has a thing of such lyrical beauty, majesty or wisdom ever graced the written word. It encompasses the enormity of the universe, while also acknowledging the tiny ant-like problems of the insignificant human individual.

It is everything, and it is simultaneously nothing. And that's the point.

You've changed my life, AskHarv poet.. again!

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A trillogy of triumph!

Q: What do you think of my latest poem:

There will come a day,

A day not far away,
A day when they,
When they want to play,
To play in a way,
A way that pays,
That pays in clay,
In clay say nay,
Say nay to pray.

Eat pie together. Moist.

A: AskHarv's resident poet has done it again!

Wow, I'm almost speechless. The pin-point rythm & timbre, the biting social satire, the ryhminess, the sheer thematic desolation mixed with a surrealist sensibility.

Everything about this poem works.

I look forward to a day when you can unmask yourself, as you, my friend, are a wonderful gift bestowed upon humankind. You should be showered with wealth for your endeavours to unravel the meaning of our world and empart your insights to the rest of us.

Of course, a person with your wisdom, insight and heart-breaking sensitivity wouldn't be interested in wealth, and, would naturally shy away from the corruption of the limelight.

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A poet - with more than one noet

Q: What do you think of my latest poem?

Alexia cum, Alexia go, I cum all over her tum.
Feeling happy. Feeling ok! Then Haha! Itchy balls!
Laugh at me? Diseased whore!
If only you visited the doctor more.
Love you, warts and all?

But I fret not cos I've got Harv, my own doc,
Soothing, calming, he is my rock.
I wish I could be like him. But I am nothing.
Eat plastic spoons till my gums bleed.

A: Well, AskHarv's resident poet, thanks for posting again. I think you realise by now that I'm already a fan of your work.

But you've simply outdone yourself here. This poem personifies passion and exposes the deepest recesses of humanity in a way I have never seen before.

I'm not even going to urge you to seek publishers again. I'm going to assume you're published already.

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Wacky question!

Q: What do you think of my poem:

Someone said we're wack! Why would they say that?
I don't think we're wack. Who said we're wack?
I can't believe that. They must be smoking crack,
To say that we're wack. Say that we're wack?
You'll probably get smacked. If you say we're wack.
Did you say we're wack?

A: It sounds to me like you are way too concerned with being labelled "wack". I'm not familiar with the term, but I'm sure you're not wack in the slightest, and should probably worry less about your own particular wackness and more about your extreme, crippling insecurity.

I've tagged this under "mystery poet", but I think it's quite obvious that this is not the same brilliant author of the "flat jack" poem!

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A poet, and he knows it

Q: What do you think of my poem?

'Who say dat, flat jack?
Who's filleting the day in jetpack?
Is it who's looking down from lens of twin eye holes?
Huffy Cough puff ball of metaphysical ties.'

A: This poem is excellent. It's full of emotion, humour and big words. I see it as almost a direct commentary on the state of the social world as we know it.

Seek publishers, I'm serious.

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