Poetry thread
Wiccan Witchcraft
Working late shift she came to my shop
With such beauty I was left in shock
What a surprise she knew me by name
Wishing I'd play her demonic game
Interested I made the first move
In this moment she knew I'd lose
Incantations and words she knew well
Intricately, she wove a spell
To my absolute glee we hit it off
Time to close shop and head for my loft
The party we had was one for the ages
Truth is my heart still rages
Carefree and wild we danced
Come morning I'm stuck in a trance
Collapse into each other, I had no choice
Can any man deny her voice?
High noon the very next day
Hop out of bed hoping she'd stay
Hot and heavy the feelings ran deep
Hungover and tired without much sleep
Lost and confused she no where in sight
Onto her next victim of night
Very few men can tame these wildfires
Even the strongest submit to desires
"bad poetry
o noetry"
- drew
>>7687596
It's my first attempt at a poem. It's too blunt?
For my playwriting class we all brought in a small piece of writing that had language we found interesting. We got in groups of three. I brought in the first verse and refrain of Emily by Joanna Newsom. One guy brought in a small part of The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County by Mark Twain. One girl brought in a Philip Larkin poem. Then our instructor made us write using the style of the piece we brought in and write from the perspective of the speaker as if that speaker wants something from one of the other two characters. I did this and changed Emily to Eleanor because using the same name would be extra lame.
The frog and old Smiley Webster all say that
The bread of the birch is the base of the belly's beloved
And the whimsical rhymer hoards the riches of Kaisers
As Eleanor sleeps none the wiser but whispers to me
That that man in the bar is a liar, a liar, a liar
Spinning tales of old tadpoles trapped drowning in fish bowls
Who never jump out of the fire, the fire, the fire
So I recruit Larkin and use both our voices to pull good old Eleanor back to good choices
Our lyrical boldness will bound the now-hopeless
With bricks as they sink in the river
Drowning in dampness they'll mildly panic
in stoic acceptance, their efforts invested are sunk costs like ships on Lake Huron
Me and you, Philip, my God what great teamwork
We just put quite a stir of a play on
Working late shift she came to my shop
With such beauty I was left in shock
She knew me by name
For a demonic game
I was thinking with my cock
Interested I made the first move
In this moment she knew I'd lose
Incantations she knew well
Intricately wove a spell
Hopeless I was to her groove
To my absolute glee we hit it off
Time to close shop and head for my loft
We party hard
I let down my guard
My heart melted and turned soft
Carefree and wild we danced
Come morning I'm stuck in a trance
There was no choice
For her sweet voice
Reminded me I had no chance
High noon the very next day
Hop out of bed hoping she'd stay
Heavy feelings ran deep
Hungover without sleep
She had disappeared away
Lost and confused she's no where in sight
Onto her next victim of night
Very few can tame these fires
Even the strong submit to desires
Remember to just put up a fight
This is a poem hot off the presses of a very drunk sad man.
I hope you enjoy
Tear stained pillows,
In the dead of night.
Yearning, Burning
for a taste of the light.
Empty bottles,
strewn across the floor.
When the morning comes,
my actions I abhor.
Underneath this mask,
is anguish like no other.
I need but one last chance,
let me be your lover.
What we had was special,
what I felt was true.
Though my life was in disarray
I'm coming back to you.
So how can I convince you,
to only look my way.
I promise.Kylie.
I will never go astray.
>>7687615
poetry is like masturbation.
everyone thinks they're good at it, but there are very few people in the world who can do it well enough to be paid for it, and nobody wants to see you do it. it's best if you do it under the covers in your bed at night.
>>7687596
"o noetry" is a pretty good synthesis
>>7687635
good, but slightly overdone, prosody--excessive rhyme. some meaningless phrases like "lyrical boldness" "bread of the birch" "riches of kaisers" etc. the imagery is way too rapid-fire for my taste
I once met a man at the bar
who had his hands stuck in a jar
he tried to drink
but couldn't think
of a way to get into his car
My tiger, it seems, is running ’round nude. This fur coat must have made him perspire.
It lies on the floor – should this be construed as a pernament change of attire?
Perhaps he considers its colors passe’, or maybe it fit him too snug.
Will he want it back? Should I put it away? Or use it right here as a rug?
A bed of grass amid
springtime's tender flowers.
Kissed by pleasing showers.
Jewelled in dew they hid.
The soil had held their shape.
Blue canvas stitched a roof.
The grass still blonde in youth
softly frames her nape.
>tfw you'll never feel the way Diablo made your ten year old brain feel ever again
>tfw you'll never feel like the labyrinthe is more than just a video game level, that it's a real place and you're going to get raped by eldritch horrors if you go down there
>tfw the music and atmosphere and slow walking speed all mush together to create palpable fear
>tfw even when you had a high level character it felt fragile and more of a "veteran" than an "invincible level 99 in cookie cutter gear" feel like other MMOs/ARPGs give
>tfw Diablo was perfect
>>7689696
tfw every time you opened up a new shortcut passage to the underworld
>>7688535
This
>>7689696
stay a while and listen
