...with the outraged response to a poem of mine that was chosen as Poem of the Month at a UK poetry website
(http://www.writeoutloud.ne..t/public/blogentry.php?blo..gentryid=5697).

The poem was then taken away from the front page, and linked with the tag: "WARNING! The poem contains very strong adult themes with graphic depictions of sexual acts."

Find below the poem, preceded by a selection of the reactions.

The reactions
"Don't think I want my kids to see or hear this - Putting this on the front page is a bad idea."

"Personally - I think putting this on any page is a bad idea."

"A performance piece in every sense of the word - though not one I would like to see or listen to."

"Oh yuk!"

"Agreed with most of the comments - this is 'a bridge too far'."

"Is this an example of how far a 'poet' can get up his own backside (or is that a line from the poem?) A sad waste of space"

"Horrible, and it sure ain't a poem."

"I am appalled and disgusted that this filth, placed on the front page, appears as an example of who we are. I am now very distressed that I have recommended this site to my family and friends. It’s not even a good poem and I feel we have been highjacked."

"It is beyond conception that this can be considered as 'deliciously distasteful', more like disgustingly indecent and an embarressment to all those who are associated with and take genuine pleasure in the site. I'm all for freedom of speech but there are social and moral boundaries. If the aim was to upset and alienate the genuine and decent individuals that take an active part in the site, through poetry blogs and discussion, then you have succeeded. My thirteen year old son takes an interest in the poetry on this site and is a keen writer himself. I am bitterly disappointed as are so many that this is the new face of WOL for the month of October. "

"The poem is an insult to all who engage the dialectic of art -most of those who post on this website- who struggle with the spirits of creation and negation to show the reader or listener some aspect of experience in illumination. This poem is a peephole gouged in the wall of a lavatory cubicle that makes you wonder why anybody would take so much trouble just to see another's shit."

"I think it comes back to the 'what is art?' debate. Sometimes art should be challenging but in our society being 'offensive' isn't challenging anymore. Most of the teenagers I work with would not be shocked by this poem but I don't think it would do anything to help engage them with poetry. Sawing a sheep in half, writing fuck every other word is just lazy and boring - sorry, don't usually respond negatively to people's work but I'm probably old fashioned :( "

The poem
I TOLD YOU

You say I enter you
like a magician
who scratches the bottom
of an old top hat
in search of a rabbit,
or like a vet arousing a cow
to ease artificial insemination,
or like a beggar
scanning the depths
of a public bin.

I say:
rest your ankles on my shoulders,
press your hands against the floor,
keep your buttocks up,
it will hurt less.

You say:
I can't breathe,
blood is rushing to my head,
your nails are piercing my left ankle.

If you don’t shut up…
And If You Don’t Shut Up gets
inscribed in your blood stream
with letters made of
faeces, sweat and Crisco.

You see the things you make me write…

Don’t you realise, I say,
that the scratches on your ankles
are the imprint of your pulse,
a cardiogram, the completion of a track
from your heart to your intestines,
from your rectum to my fist,
from my elbow to my torso,
from my heart to my left hand,
and from my nails to your skin?

Don’t you realise it hurts, you say.

I push. You shout.

You say I exit you
like a teenager
who’s forcefully pulling
the lever on a pinball machine
to beat his companions
or like a warrior
withdrawing a sabre
from a rusty sheath
or like torrents
of acidic sharp
diarrhoea.