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Poetic Constellations is a Yuku poetry community that is home to many would-be poets and would-be writers whose works are too filled with AIDS and fail to be publishable IRL. It is a circle-jerk hugbox safe haven for all the Internet poets who are too pussy to have their work honestly critiqued, as even the mildest criticism of anyone's work, no matter how horrible, is forbidden under the site's TOS.
Although the TOS of Poetic Constellations prevents any lulzy melodrama from unfolding regularly, it does thankfully mean that Poetic Constellations is extremely easy to troll. All the butthurt and drama resulting from said trolling will occur via private Yuku messages, and is still every bit as delicious as other forms of drama on the Interbutts.
How To Troll Poetic Constellations
- Leave a subtly negative comment on a poem, such as "This poem is pretty good, but it still needs a lot of work." or "I like the first stanza, but the second stanza just doesn't do it for me." This will result in massively butthurt private messages from the mods telling you how terribly hurtful your comments are and how guilty you should feel about the horrible, horrible things you said.
- Post said butthurt messages on the forum and laugh them off as jokes. Say things like "Man, you guys are way too sensitive!" and claim you were only trying to help the poet whose work you criticized become a better poet.
- Enjoy the lulz.
The Unwritten Rules Of Poetic Constellations
- Women > Men
- Dust Mites > Men
- AIDS > Men
- Only the moderators can give out awards and recognition.
- Only the moderators or their ass-kissers can receive awards or recognition.
- If you are a man and you post an erotic poem, expect to be banned.
- If you are a woman and post an erotic poem, expect to be named Poet Of The Month.
- If you want people to comment on your work, you must kiss everyone else's ass.
Examples Of "Beautiful" Poetry
She traces my ironies in the air with a meatball skewered upon the end of her fingertips, tempting me to taste lips film with thick Swedish goo, as a child's love To test the limit of life's characters a rich play of such passionate undertones in this small Italian cafe, lover's with dark eyes warmed in wide flickers of candle-glow As the heart maybe taken more readily than the still-life body, wrought to swallow the sustainment of all this company of polite society, only a hand allows to be swept into shades, two hearts alone street, only a kiss away from home.
In the sheer weightlessness of a rogue slipstream Ethereals float, dive and play life games Shapes form and dissolve into otherbeings We are the freedoms of form and sound We gather in atmospheres all over the universe Following the call of pure imagination imagery Our existence flirts with reality but we are part of a great symphony We play the part of the seeing eye We were born as a prelude to life And have become a part of its background Soothing all with our nonmusic Let me play a tune of imagery for you Feel the pure resilience of rebirth shapes Play with me the notes of power and weakness For all that can be will sound the mind Join my symphony and life form change Learn to sing as the birds freedoms true wild call
Synopsis. A member of an alien race I mingle with the populace. There's not a lot of difference except I have an extra sense. I can read minds quite easily and what I learn displeases me. Few care about their fellow man. Most do not give a tinkers damn. Soon I must submit my report I've given it a lot of thought, I do not think the human race is ready yet to take its place. In the stellar community. They have not reached maturity They're well developed technically but are retarded morally. It makes me sad but it is true. They are not as yet ready to be considered civilized. They have not even recognized. That they are kept in quarantine. Just as they have always been. By races wiser far than they who make quite sure that they can't stray. From their small island galaxy to spread their brand of anarchy at will across the universe. I can imagine nothing worse. Perhaps I have been here too long. I must admit I could be wrong I see them as a hopeless case. A fierce barbarian warlike race. Another thousand years or so. Might be enough to let them grow beyond their adolescent stage their flashes of insensate rage. If they are thwarted in their aims Like children play their nasty games. I think that we should leave them be continue watching carefully. For any shred of evidence to show they've learnt sufficient sense. To treat each other honestly communicating mentally. Although they broadcast and receive they can't control it. I believe that their aggression stems from fear Which hopefully will disappear when they can use telepathy. Communicating openly. Its been a strange experience to realize the difference. Between races who cannot lie and men who lie instinctively. My tour of duty's nearly done and very soon I will be gone. Back to where thoughts flow mind to mind and leave this wretched world behind. Although they have my sympathy. It can't come fast enough for me.
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