I am a member of a monthly poetry publication, called The Sheet, since it is only one sheet of paper. The Sheet survives on submissions from members and non members alike. The submissions are voted on and the best ones make it on the Sheet. There is really no censorship on the submission Packet, and we can giggle to ourselves about the rather profane poems, but in the actual publication, there are poems that do not make it for this reason. For three years now, I've been a part of making this happen. I review poems and vote so I can make The Sheet the best it can be.
Thompson, who is at the center of this operation, has allowed not profanity to riddle The Sheet, but he has allowed unkempt sub-poems to be published. Below is the horrendous, sorriest excuse for poetry that I have ever read (and I quote the text accurately):
If Tomorrow Never Come by W. Banks
If Tomorrow never come will she know how much I really lover her I mean these feelings I have never felt Before I just wish 2nite could be our nite so I can look her in her eyes and tell her how I feel because if she look deep in my eyes she can really see all my feelings inside and I wil never have to hide my feelings she will just know how much I feel about her but if tomorrow never come she will never know how much I love her and she will never know she is the only 1 I love but I pray to GOD hoping today is the day all of my dreams come true so she can hold an cherish my love forever
I shudder at the thought that someone, such as W. Banks, is so unskilled with the english language to abjure any punctuation, but include numbers (such as 2nite (the spelling of which is an atrocity alone)). I really want to help his ineptitude, but I don't have any idea where to start. This is a challenge to read, since the reader is not promped to breathe. This poem persuades the reader to speak with the tone of a child. There are numerous angles at which I could destroy this poem analytically, but I can't stand to look at it any more.
Thompson, who is at the center of this operation, has allowed not profanity to riddle The Sheet, but he has allowed unkempt sub-poems to be published. Below is the horrendous, sorriest excuse for poetry that I have ever read (and I quote the text accurately):
If Tomorrow Never Come by W. Banks
If Tomorrow never come will she know how much I really lover her I mean these feelings I have never felt Before I just wish 2nite could be our nite so I can look her in her eyes and tell her how I feel because if she look deep in my eyes she can really see all my feelings inside and I wil never have to hide my feelings she will just know how much I feel about her but if tomorrow never come she will never know how much I love her and she will never know she is the only 1 I love but I pray to GOD hoping today is the day all of my dreams come true so she can hold an cherish my love forever
I shudder at the thought that someone, such as W. Banks, is so unskilled with the english language to abjure any punctuation, but include numbers (such as 2nite (the spelling of which is an atrocity alone)). I really want to help his ineptitude, but I don't have any idea where to start. This is a challenge to read, since the reader is not promped to breathe. This poem persuades the reader to speak with the tone of a child. There are numerous angles at which I could destroy this poem analytically, but I can't stand to look at it any more.
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