The below is a computer generated response from Neo, Neopoet's computer artificial intelligence:

The poem "Sister Pauline" paints a vivid picture of a strict and unconventional nun who leaves a lasting impression on the speaker. The use of school colors and the description of Sister Pauline's habit effectively transport the reader to the setting of a Catholic school. The poem's rhyme scheme and meter flow nicely, adding a playful tone to the somewhat dark subject matter.

However, the poem's message becomes somewhat muddled towards the end. The sudden shift from cautionary advice to the revelation that Sister Pauline had spent most of her life sitting on a man's knee feels disconnected and confusing. It would benefit from a clearer connection between the two themes.

Additionally, the line "Makes sure your separated with a phone directory" could be edited to "Make sure you're separated with a phone directory," to correct the grammatical error.

Overall, "Sister Pauline" is an engaging and well-crafted poem that could benefit from some clarity in its messaging.

Please send feedback about Neo (our computer generated critique system) to https://www.neopoet.com/contact

he got one thing right (AI) it is a well crafted poem. Sister Pauline seems to have had a penchant for being dreary. while the priest is more sinister... I need to think on this for awhile.

*hugs, Cat

The question that this poem leaves me with is: Upon who's knee had Sister Pauline sat? Was it some priest within her order or someone from her past prior to joining the sisterhood? The former might be the reason that "She was the nun who had complete control", while the latter might be the reason that she joined the sisterhood.

Of course, there is the third possibility that both of those possibilities were true. What a hard life for her!

Oh, I truly hope that she got to sit on a mans knee!,,
(I like to think your nun was,,, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE-BKrAAZGc

The Catholic school just up the road from my heathen school used to make girls wear two pairs of knickers.

I'm curious as to your comment "I've had negative reactions to some of my work before when I've implicated a priest or a nun in my fiction work ha ha." You mustn't be afraid to annoy, embarrass, offend anyone,,,,,,, fuck 'em I say!

Obi.

be afraid of offending everyone or you will please no one! I don't know if anyone has ever said that, or I just made it up, but it certainly seems true. I liked this one, it is a story, that likely seems true. I've known a few people that have been so narrow minded, and obsessive about sex and not having it, that they border on crazy. [Maybe even crazy].
The title is good, the story better, and the language equally so.
The pace and rhythm not too bad; the meter could use some attention and the piece
would certainly profit by some work on it. It is a good, solid piece that deserves a little bit of TLC. ~ Geezer.
.

A poem that reflects the early school days dominated by nuns. I’ve been there, experienced some of the cruelty. Not all nuns were cruel, it only takes a few to dirty up the rest!

Do you believe the bullshit
the brain is pitching us?
You have got to be insane!
Running round with your eyes cast to the ground.
Is God such a heathen
That He would leave you
without reason.
To stem the tide of blackness
Welling up from inside you?
Come now, make sense of
this mess.
Goodness and virtue are at
your core
Whether or not you pass
some godforsaken test.
Can you not look Him in the eyes
and believe anything less?
He put it inside you!
Lay down your self scrutiny and rest!
Then stand again and walk on.
What this brought out in me
were the feelings, intense feelings of a
young girl under scrutiny and condemnation
as well as emotional suffocation.

I'm not and like thay all say above me don't worry about offending anyone I enjoyed it thank you

Freedom of speech is getting taken away from us A. I getting more insane soon no humans will be working in an office
a shop anywere even the powers to be have got even worst changing all the Ronald dahls books and trying to change
Fiction horror, extreme horror. Then we have what pronouns shall I use to speak to you ? to address you so you are not offended then we have chipping pandemic just goes on. Anyway blahhh to tht I just see more censorship all the time

Good luck....

Isn't it amazing how much writing material we can gather from our childhood experiences? You did well in describing your memories of Sister Pauline. I very much enjoyed your work and can relate whole-heartedly with every line. I wrote a much longer poem in an attempt to recapture and tell of my experiences. I am including one stanza of a twelve stanza poem entitled "Coping With Penguins".

They always smelled like soap, plain, clean, black and white
Trusting me with the popcorn which I dutifully
Evened out stuffing my mouth with my tithe
Smiling to myself
Kernels stuck in my teeth
Salt and butter oozing from my pores
My eyes yellow quarter moons…Proclaiming Joy

I shall continue to look for your writings.
Horacio Chávez

This should probably be more "memoirish" in form but, nevertheless, here it is...warts and all.

Coping With Penguins: How To Break the Habit Without really trying… horacio

Don’t get me wrong
Penguins
Are dying breeds in many ways?
That we fail to comprehend

They used to be my teachers at
St. Mary’s
The things we learned were important
And the requirements were strict
Like the Penguins with rulers and yardsticks
To herd you to and from Mass in a state of Grace
Without pushing and shoving and setting off
Fire extinguishers to run down the hall and
Back again scared shitless the soda water
Would eat through the floor

Or singled out of line sent to the library
To wait
For the thrashing with the rubber tipped ash pointer
Darting around the desk avoiding the grasp of the
Penguin with desiccated skin
Unaccustomed to the dry New Mexico air which mummifies
As she stood by the door ordering me back to class
I froze
Eyes fixed on her proximity, measuring distances
Calculating the odds
Finally she moved and I could escape the grasp of
The Penguin

They always smelled like soap, plain, clean, black and white
Trusting me with the popcorn which I dutifully
Evened out stuffing my mouth with my tithe
Smiling to myself
Kernels stuck in my teeth
Salt and butter oozing from my pores
My eyes yellow quarter moons…Proclaiming Joy

Good Fridays were in deed Good!
Fasting for Holy Communion
Afterwards for nickels and dimes hot cocoa and doughnuts
A feast not fit for Penguins but for me?
Of course
Let them eat fish on Fridays
I will eat doughnuts and swig sweet cocoa

So was the school Parochial?
Yes in response to the heathen public indoctrination
We were filled with catechism and phonics
Serving Mass in Latin much like parrots
Repeating prayers with meaning unknown
But not at all like
Penguins
In their defense they put up with our confederacy
Reputation preceding us with good cause
Frankie, Gomicindo, Victor, Alfred, Barney
And me: silent, smart, slippery, toxic, lethal…

Then there was Anita Long my secret heartthrob
Who could have been a
Penguin
Or maybe The Red-Haired Girl
Though she did not have red hair
I was Charlie Brown before he was
In hindsight she was somehow beautiful
Tall, skinny, white, in her blue jumper and white blouse
Beenie folded in half, stylishly placed on her head
With bobby pins
She had not a clue how I loved her from my secret place
Behind her purposely in the pews at daily mass
My prayers were for her to return my love

As an altar boy I was a success
Swigging the left over and not so left over sacramental
Wine
(Especially Fr Mac’s sauterne)
Munching the sacramental but un-transubstantiated
Bread
Dinging out the notes on the xylophone with
Father Mac’s golfball mallet
Going to missions with Fr. Patrick Boyle
An Irish transplant blonde, funny and loaded with
Mr. Goodbars

The bonds formed by mutually assured destruction
Are strong
They have the sticks and we have the
Projectiles
They have their rosaries and soap
And I have fenders held by la parrot
They had Jesus and I had…Anita