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moody[NB: Before Yahoo! fuzzed it up, my avatar was simply a crate marked "Existential Material", having a sticker saying "All ends up"] 'Socrates' is a nickname I once had many years ago. It was given to me by a fellow player in a backroom poker game. I believe he was trying to tell me I was too intellectual or philosophical. Truth is, if you do some research on the real Socrates, you'll find that even though he may have made contributions to our culture, and was a respected teacher of youth, he was basically annoying. No one calls me 'Socrates' anymore. I am still basically annoying. I am a disabled 62yo male living in S. Florida. I used to write songs as well as poems, but nerve damage in my hands has stopped me from playing guitar. I tried some therapy, but I doubt I'll ever play as I used to. I'm also slow to do things, like typing and getting back to people. Please be patient or just throw your hands in the air

  • May I re-post a poem I wrote one Easter?

              Easter Morn

    I met the Gardener today,

    His face and hands no worse for wear.

    What struck me, indeed, was the way

    He seemed to genuinely care.

    No empty words meant to console,

    No platitudes to ease the pain.

    Just peace and comfort for my soul,

    And promise of immortal gain.

    Inspired by a recounting of the story of Mary Magdelene's visit to the empty tomb. She met a man she mistook for the gardener...

    6 AnswersPoetry9 years ago
  • Can you properly critique a bad poem?

    I confess. I wrote this.

    Please give at least two thoughtful reasons

    why this poem s*cks if you expect a BA

    Theo Geisel, I hardly knew ye

    sad lad

    said his dad

    made him mad

    said his dad

    took his rad

    lifestyle for a fad

    bad dad

    what he had

    in this lad

    what he had

    was a tad

    more than he thought he had

    'cause the lad

    became a grad

    and the dad

    was very glad

    dad and lad

    glad and grad

    not a bad



    7 AnswersPoetry9 years ago
  • Did you ever read this poem(song) by Robert Burns...?

    ...or see the modern English translation?

    Happy New Year, everyone

    Auld Lang Syne


    Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

    And never brought to mind?

    Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

    And days o' auld lang syne.


    And for auld lang syne, my jo,

    For auld lang syne,

    We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

    For auld lang syne,


    And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!

    And surely I'll be mine!

    And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

    For auld lang syne.


    We twa hae run about the braes

    And pu'd the gowans fine;

    But we've wander'd mony a weary foot

    Sin auld lang syne.


    We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,

    Frae mornin' sun till dine;

    But seas between us braid hae roar'd

    Sin auld lang syne.


    And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!

    And gie's a hand o' thine!

    And we'll tak a right guid willy waught,

    For auld lang syne.


    Old Long Past


    Should old acquaintance be forgot,

    And never brought to mind?

    Should old acquaintance be forgot,

    And days of old long past.


    And for old long past, my joy (sweetheart),

    For old long past,

    We will take a cup of kindness yet,

    For old long past,


    And surely you will pay for your pint-vessel!

    And surely I will pay for mine!

    And we will take a cup of kindness yet,

    For old long past.


    We two have run about the hillsides

    And pulled the wild daisies fine;

    But we have wandered many a weary foot

    Since old long past.


    We two have paddled in the stream,

    From morning sun till noon;

    But seas between us broad have roared

    Since old long past.


    And there is a hand, my trusty friend!

    And give me a hand of yours!

    And we will take a right good-will drink,

    For old long past.

    10 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Do you believe in the power of prayer?

    When all seems bleak,

    The clouds convene

    And the future seems a blur,

    One need only seek

    The prayers of friends

    For miracles to occur.


    To my contacts who kept me in their

    prayers, and also my atheist and agnostic

    friends who kept positive thoughts for me:

    thank you - it worked.

    Not only did I get a solution to my problem,

    I got three and had to turn two down. (Those

    solutions will be passed on to others.)

    What a coincidence!   ;-)

    I haven't been around much because I've been, 'preoccupied'. I'm hoping to have more

    time soon to enjoy your poems - but I still

    got a buncha gummint paperwork to take care of.


    19 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • What does this poem mean to you?

    This is one of my favorite poems by E. E. Cummings

    here is little Effie's head

    whose brains are made of gingerbread

    when judgment day comes

    God will find six crumbs

    stooping by the coffinlid

    waiting for something to rise

    as the other somethings did-

    you imagine his surprise

    bellowing through the general noise

    Where is Effie who was dead?

    -to God in a tiny voice,

    i am may the first crumb said

    whereupon its fellow five

    crumbs chuckled as if they were alive

    and number two took up the song

    might i'm called and did no wrong

    cried the third crumb, i am should

    and this is my little sister could

    with our big brother who is would

    don't punish us for we were good;

    and the last crumb with some shame

    whispered unto God, my name

    is must and with the others i've

    been Effie who isn't alive

    just imagine it I say

    God amid a monstrous din

    watch your step and follow me

    stooping by Effie's little, in

    (want a match or can you see?)

    which the six subjective crumbs

    twitch like mutilated thumbs;

    picture His peering biggest whey

    coloured face on which a frown

    puzzles, but I know the way-

    (nervously Whose eyes approve

    the blessed while His ears are crammed

    with the strenuous music of

    the innumerable capering damned)

    -staring wildly up and down

    the here we are now judgment day

    cross the threshold have no dread

    lift the sheet back in this way

    here is little Effie's head

    whose brains are made of gingerbread

    11 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Does anyone under the age of 50 understand this poem?

    Does anyone over the age of 50 understand this poem?



    "The Tears of Time"

    He never knew the tears of time

    Until the waning years looked back

    And laughed at mem'ries in their prime,

    Their genial spirit thrown off track.

    The friendships made and then forgot,

    Remembered fondly once again.

    Then lonely reminiscence bought

    With wishful longings that remained.

    A lifetime often holds regrets

    That simple reason can't define,

    The residues of spectral debts

    From which spring the tears of time.


    ©2010 Paul Amorose

    24 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Does this poem capture the essence of "Cat"?

    ... house cat, to be precise. That was my intention.

    Does the layout work? -- the internal rhyme?






       stages stealth itself as immobile

       as the Sphinx of old while prey yet bold

       feels piercing eyes that stop it cold --

    as on coiled air Cat pounces --

    there! (oooooooooohhhhhhhh...allllMOST!)




       paws its poise apparent toe to tail

       not a hint of shame no foil aflame

       just placid patience for the game

    now still keen ears faint stirings

    hear (thudump...thump..thudump)




       thence is coming lumbering human

       to the grand armchair taboo when bare

       but filled with lap it's Cat's to share

    with leaping grace Cat takes its

    place (a swirl of fur that

    magically transforms into

    one long sonorous

    infinite felinity

    of purrrrrr....)

    © 1999, 2010 Paul Amorose


    11 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Do you think there could be a real Santa Claus?

    I wanted to write this as a poem,

    but darn! - I just can't seem to

    get into a proper rhythm. So here,

    in prose but with a poetic spirit,

    is the story of the 'real' Santa Claus:


    Little Marion's mother worked at the mall,

    and Marion came to work with her during the

    Christmas season. She would often visit with

    the mall Santa when there was no one waiting

    to see him. One day she told Santa that her

    mother told her that there was no real Santa,

    that he was just a man play-acting in a red

    suit. Behind his false beard Santa grinned

    so hard that his nose glowed and his eyes

    twinkled! "Haaa Hah Hah," he laughed heartily,

    "of course there's a real Santa - but he's not

    a man in a red suit - and I'll bet you've met

    him and didn't know it!"

    "Oh no!" she replied, "How could I ever have met him?"

    "We-l-l-l," said mall-Santa, still chuckling in a

    convincing Santa-Claus manner, "Haven't you ever

    given someone a gift?"

    "Of course," she said.

    "And did you wrap it up in fancy paper, and put a

    pretty bow on it?"


    "An when they opened it, did they look pleased and

    surprised and say 'thank you' with a big smile?"

    "Yes, yes!", she started to smile.

    "An how did that make you feel?" mall-Santa asked.

    "It made me feel really good!", her smile broadening.

    "I'll bet it felt so good you almost burst into a

    giggle!", he said.

    "How did you know?", her eyes widening.

    "Well, story-book Santa gives gifts to children all

    over the world, leaving them happy and smiling on

    Christmas morning. That's why he's portrayed as

    such a jolly fellow. All that giving makes him

    feel so good, he can't help but 'ho-ho-ho' all the


    "And when you felt that, Marion, that's when you

    met the real Santa Claus. You see, Marion, the

    *real* Santa Claus is the spirit of giving, and

    that spirit visited you when you gave a gift."

    Marion brightened like a Christmas tree and ran off

    shouting, "I have to tell my momma I met the real

    Santa Claus!"

    Merry Christmas everyone!


    10 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Lanchestrian Monopoly -- can anyone explain this term?

    I have also seen this spelling: Lancastrian Monopoly

    4 AnswersEconomics1 decade ago
  • Is it bad form to criticize the consumer economy at a time of economic difficulty?


    heads fattened

    eyes glazed honey

    sweetened dripping

    stunned by the baton

    of gimme, the herd of

    consumers is led


    hoisted feet-first in

    Madison Avenue chains,

    gutted green-splattered

    frenzy into the mawl*

    of Insatiable Commerce.

    ground round,

    and round and round

    on the corporate

    calliope carousel


    *mawl (a coined word) = maw + mall

    (somehow I don't it will do as well as 'chortle')

    Can you suggest a better title?

    9 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Is it ok for a question to be the answer?

    When I posted this poem, several people asked

    how I got Yahoo to space all the letters properly.;_ylt=Ag8Sx...

    When one enters text and submits an answer or question,

    it gets compiled into the HTML code of the web page.

    When a browser (IE, FrFx, etc.) parses this code, it

    ignores what seem to be unnecessary spaces. There's

    a special code character, called a nonbreaking space,

    which is used to force spaces to be recognized. It

    looks like this:   & n b s p ;

    but without the spaces (If I put it all together, it

    will disappear.) To show what I typed to post the

    poem with proper spacing, I have substituted all the

    ampersands (&) with dollar signs ($), and here it is:

    * * *

    the hidden eye

    can take a structure

    a practical structure

    (they use it all the

    time) and




    it into$nbsp;$nbsp;u$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;s$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;$nbsp;s





    and they look


    and say it's





    * * *

    [Note: the code lines are so long, Yahoo chops them short]

    BQ: Do you think I'm completely out of my mind,

    or just slightly mad?

    6 AnswersPolls & Surveys1 decade ago
  • Is poetry art, or is art poetic?

    * * *

    the hidden eye

    can take a structure

    a practical structure

    (they use it all the

    time) and




    it into  u          s       s

              s                  s

               e                e

                 l            n

                   e  s  s

    and they look


    and say it's





    * * *

    ©1968,1998,2009 Paul Amorose. All rights reserved.

    20 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Are there any starry-eyed poets in Italy?

    ...who seem to have misplaced their thumbs?

    8 AnswersPolls & Surveys1 decade ago
  • Survey: Which Smurf are you?

    Please take the SMURFSONALITY TEST:

    then copy and paste the results here...

    Thank you.

    17 AnswersPolls & Surveys1 decade ago
  • Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night just so you can post to Yahoo! Answers?

    Could this be a symptom of something more serious?

    10 AnswersMental Health1 decade ago
  • May we all have a Happy Easter?

    I met the Gardener today,

    His face and hands no worse for wear.

    What struck me, indeed, was the way

    He seemed to genuinely care.

    No empty words meant to console,

    No platitudes to ease the pain.

    Just peace and comfort for my soul,

    And promise of immortal gain.

    15 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • What's wrong with this Limerick, and why?

    A poet once took up the challenge

    To find a word rhyming with orange.

         He spoke choice after choice,

         Almost losing his voice,

    'Til he sucked on a menthol throat lozenge.

    8 AnswersPoetry1 decade ago
  • Valentine's Day, is it not a good day for poetry?

    I was just wondering if anyone else noticed.;_ylt=AhVEq...

    [Just one more time]

    2 AnswersValentine's Day1 decade ago