Poem Hunter
(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)


I thought that
our love
(as it were)

was something akin to
a hypothetical


capable of travelling


than the velocity of light

but you turned
out to be




Oh my God
I'm a goner!

Struck down in my prime
by the infamous 'Oner! '

If you are a lady
(though lady you obviously ain't)

you're a bitch...not a saint.

If you are a man
(though not man enough to state just who you are)

you've probably got a one inch d**k

and other's talent obviously jars

... it...a... bit.

Oh your poor sense
of self


What, ya not got

What others got...you ain't!

What's zero and one?
That's right...one! . That's you!

Ah, wha'sa matter honey
got no poetical money?

Oh timid tiny minded person

dost it
amuse you thus

trying to bust a gut
just to hurt

... by such mischeivousness?

Displaying to us thine great art...
merely showing us what a great prat

...thou art!

(amounting to nothing more than a mere bore
and a poetical fart) .

Grow up & get a life
& try to... write

something you are proud of!

Instead of taking someone's well earned 10
and by your evil alchemy turning it into 1.

(something only a great big fat zero would do) .

...write one of your own!

But no... obviously you...no can do!

Poor you...a mere fly upon a peice of poo!

Know the difference between shit and shite and you?
No...me too!

You have shamed not me but


and there is only


to blame

for the infamy of your name.

Dear 'orrible little man(wot are you...a 'orrible little man) !

I wrote this a while back after you had 'oned' a haiku I wrote called: PRECIOUS DAUGHTER.

Now, I'd be the first to admit that it ain't a great poem but...it was more than that to me. And yes it is a soppy sentimental peice about a father trying to deal with the grief of losing his long awaited daughter.The 17 syllables tried to find some relief from the grief by staining it with words...please allow this to me!

If you didn't like the poem why did you not just leave it alone. Having your dirty fingerprints all over the memory of my child just seems to catch in my throat and defiles and deserates this little moment of pain that lasts forever.

Hence the great sense of dislike in the poem about you...to say the least.

But hey that's just a personal note...as it happens.

But why do it at all...it must take such a time and effort(all that energy could be put to such better use) why not write one of your own?

My policy on marking is that if it really moves me or grabs me in some way...I give it a ten. I never even shade or grade them with a 5 or 8. With me it's either a 10 or nothing! I either like it greatly or I don't. If I don't...I simply don't comment on it...and search for another poem that I do want to.

Now be a 'nice' miserable low-life and somehow try to evolve and crawl up onto land and try...to become a man...a real man.....not just a peice of slime. Or else you may dis-evolve and return to the nothing that thou art. The voice of God...has spoken...he's probably sad he grew you.

Please leave the other human beings alone.

Now go and 'one' yourself.

love Donall Donall

T McH (11/6/2007 2: 06: 00 AM)
Teh heh heh and titter titter titter!
yeh - some of us have had the privilege of the oner going through every single poem and anointing it with a 1. Bloody irritating, bloody pathetic. Has to be a man, D; no woman has that amount of time on her hands! :) t x
SCARLETT TREAT (11/5/2007 3: 37: 00 PM)
A no-talent coward is the exactly right description of IT....I call it an it, because IT has no personality, no courage, no B***S, to slip and slide around..oneing others work, no courage to admit an identity....just a green eyed monster, jealous of others work, trying to bring others down to ITS level...which is not possible, cause he is THE LOWEST OF THE LOW. Nothing could get below IT....
angie (11/5/2007 1: 05: 00 PM)
my theory is that the 'oner' is actually an entire race of people...all working in shifts...beady little eyes and greedy little dicks...
Gina Pisapia (11/5/2007 12: 49: 00 PM)
Heehee...yes I like this one and I agree with Dee Dee that we should all write one peice each castigating him in rhyme.
What a mean minded man...if man he be...with brain no bigger than a flea...that bites and leaves a lousy mark upon the skin of someone immeasurably greater than him. Squish him between thumb and fingernail! Say I...squash this little insignificant flea.

love GinaXX
Dee Dee Wright (11/5/2007 12: 43: 00 PM)
A hit! A palpable hit! I like it...I like it. I've given you a ten to protect you from his evil doing. I remember he gave you one for the poem about losing your baby...now that's cruel! Why does he bother...with all that time and attention oneing people he could be writing a good poem himself but maybe he is poetically impotent..the little impudent rat! Well done and hear hear for your little peice of doggerel. We should all write a poem in dis-praise about this 'orrible little man! We should all gang up on him and write him out of existence!

love Dee Dee that loves to write...right?

Maria's smile
transforming everything

it touches

into love and laughter

...as only she can do.

Taking no prisoners
banishing the Blues

until even the Blues blushes
changes its name to the Reds

making everything colourful
(sometimes even blue)

Ok! Ok! ...mostly mostly blue!
I swear, she's...

as a child's abacus

lots of brightly coloured balls
chattering clattering to 'n' fro 'n' back 'n' forth.

Maria's smile
transforming everything

it touches

into love & laughter

...as only she can do.


Maria is a delightful lovely lady who alas is leaving our school and we will all miss her so much. She is funny and witty and charming and so loving...everyone will miss her so much. It's impossible to think of a day without her and her great good humour making the day more possible to get through. She is like an amazing new colour that's never been seen before. We thank her for touching our life with her great vitality and her wonderful ability to love. She's just... Maria!

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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