Poetry
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You are currently reading a thread in /lit/ - Literature
You are currently reading a thread in /lit/ - Literature
Post your poetry.
Hail, a fair stranger
Feminist, dyed hair and cats
Another left swipe
so much
depends upon
the thoughtful
informed post
fraught with
wisdom and insight
beside the
blatant shitpost
I threw a rock in the water. The water was slow so the surface was flat and showed the mountains clear, but not true.
It doesn't show the mountains true. Always that dark flow below, slow, on which the mountains show, pass little clouds of foam.
My stone, what a beauty: round and flat as I could hope for, with all years I stalked the bank, skipping its flat rocks into the water.
Does it mean anything that I wasted the choicest rocks when I walked with a waddle, diapered bottom, and animal instinct bid me pick up the best and let fly?
Standing there, weight forward, arm flexed, watching my rock skip across the water I thought it did.
I thought it spoke a lot to love, but I'm not sure now.
I watched the rock skip until it sank in the deepest part of the river.
The literary merit of sincerity:
the Void: those stretches between galactic clusters:
apathy: (Romans?).
Colonades- pillars of creation undone before we saw them.
-----
He tugged at his khakis-- his thighs looked fat. His graduation gown hung over his shoulder.
It didn't look at all like an anime cape.
He was hot. He felt foul sweat welling up from inside, pushing out his pores,
and pooling between his breasts,
so that when he tugged at his shirt a convection current wafted his stink up from out his collar.
The girl of his dreams walked out of the civic center and he knew that high school was over,
and nothing would change.
You know that pain is pleasure,
Can you make me shed a tear?
Smack my ass,
Grab my neck,
Got them cumming everywhere,
I'm a freak so I don't care,
Just don't get none in my hair.
The creek ran clear, stripping the hollow of its flesh so that its bones showed sand stone.
Tree roots branched to the stream, jade moss clinged, and the water ran jingling.
Then the cry of the red tailed hawk.
The forest stopped.
And all was quiet.
pervert's prayers
(I)
Real talk, bitches, I am not depressed.
Dysfunctional, unhappy, piece of shit, repressed…
...Blessed is more correct.
I blame myself for this mess.
More than once while under duress
I’ve lost my hold, was more than necked.
Yep, I checked, it’s just what you’d expect.
correct, the best sex is when you’re wrecked.
sufficed to caress while you dreamt of the rest.
Ignore pressure without measure to ensure she’s
unimpressed by material excess
I wouldn’t be writing, had I had success
(II)
I tell myself I don’t want random sex
Since I know what I’d get’s not the best
(No:) Bless me, and let me be absolved expressly!
Don’t tempt me; I’m not as evolved as you had dreamt me
Un-bent, we got as resolved as souls are meant; she
don’t assent, Be. shot devolved to tepid debt spent; See
perversely self-absorbed id’s a puncture wound short of morbid
abstrosity is subtly horrid, only if you’re quickly bored; did
you expect a different style of bullshit subtext
perfect
witness shaking heads (such as i collect)
Trees Are Dying
How many hundreds of angsty teens have written free verse about falling leaves?
Quite a plenty, maybe too many,
But think of how many trillions of trees have lost all their fingers.
Not a single one lingers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAes-ULSG70
From the dirt and mud of Tobolsk I rose,
The fifth of nine,
I clawed my way toward the face of God.
As our Lady of Kazan spoke to my soul
So neither monk nor saint, I wandered.
In Kazan I found holds to climb.
And so I did unceasingly.
The son of the Tsarevich lay dying,
The last of the house of Romanov,
Lifeblood slipping into sheets of silk.
Man’s medicine was of no avail.
So to me did Alexandra turn.
And thus to God.
And he did not bleed unceasingly.
High I climbed in the house of the Tsar
From a muzhik boy to something more.
The pleasures of life I fed upon:
And in the flesh I was alive.
Drink and women, ecstasy and lust.
For to be redeemed we must sin
And redeemed I was, unceasingly.
Take from my heart's deepest well
its reddest blood
Each long draw subtle scraping
with bucket clanging, scooping out
Let my voice creak and rust
a high and shaking pulley
So your little thin-rope
to greater depths may go
sleep past
consumed by the bright midnight
waking hours
find me heavy eyed
drifting into
nocturnal dreams
reflections
refraction of choice
down the darkest shard
A light beam
malnourished by choice, working on caffeine
to hold a roof above my head
the rain already
falls too much
>>7812906
it's ok, prose is good, but it can't stand alone and you have to have a point, you can't just gesture towards things and hope we find one for you
>>7813662
too teenage confessional for me but as far as that sort of thing goes it's good. the rhyming is fun and used to good effect.
>>7813900
good until the last stanza. it suddenly shifted from a sort of memoir to making weird and pointed statements about pleasure and redemption. these should be more subtle and within the scope of the memoir tone.
>>7813925
i done did it
>>7813934
absolutely terrible
this is something one can quickly jot down in a journal for cathartic purposes but i have no idea why you've decided to share it as it is
>>7813941
absolutely terrible
this is something one can quickly jot down in a journal for cathartic purposes but i have no idea why you've decided to share it as it is
>>7813946
absolutely terrible
this is something one can quickly jot down in a journal for cathartic purposes but i have no idea why you've decided to share it as it is
The night was littered with shadows, liberated from the shackles that bind them to their hosts during day-
They revel in the freedom from their daytime routine.
The shadows of the reserved man, precariously sits atop of the towering oak tree.
The shadow of the gregarious man, seeks solace in the furthest corner of the world.
The shadow of the violent man immerses himself in the serenity of the night garden.
The shadow of the gay man broods in the gloom of a dark cave.
All this while their hosts lay asleep, oblivious to the deeds of the dark.
You people are vultures
>>7812854
somehow this river mourns
every wrinkle in time
the lost seconds downstream
arent tears
they tear at the blind
their legs struggle the workdays away
while their mouths gasp at boring air
the very oxygen that keeps them afloat
is their doom in the now
their smiles coalesce and unite them
they feel a brotherhood
not far from the truth
but is it the right one?
I dont think they deserve a singularity
the salt builds up a film of sameness
they can see but blurry clouds
and cleft faces
they will drown in their sameness
and gurgle cries of injustice.
>>7813997
dont listen to this asshole. These were nice. I dont know what their about, but they sounded nice.
No h8 pls
>>7815132
you didnt critique at all. That's why you will never be taken seriously when you post in these threads. take your shit somewhere else and let others actually help.
>>7815151
cool. Juvenile, but cool.
>>7815152
I'm the only one who's critiqued in this thread. When someone writes a very bad poem, I tell them so. Since we're all adults here I don't see the need to coddle people with "Here's what you did good and here's what you can work on."
>>7815168
Oh I see now, you have no idea what the word critique means. Poor child. isnt it time for you nap? perhaps mommy has tendies ready.
>>7815151
>that stanza
the last part was good, not really original tho
>>7812880
p good
>>7815201
>>7813919
I like it. Use something else other than "reddest" blood is blood and it's usually red, it's redundant. take out "little" and replace it with an attribute of the subject you are referring to. I'd say add two more lines to close it, ends too suddenly. otherwise I like the "creak and rust pulley" line.
>>7813017
...
>>7815042
I like it
>>7815227
WRITE MOAR
>>7815224
So your idea of a good critique is one which makes specific remarks about specific items?
Almost always when I say "this sucks" it's because:
1) no discernible intent (neither the author nor the reader can tell exactly why the piece was written)
2) short lines (pet peeve: they can work for certain poems but I don't understand why people post them for critique, there being so little to go on)
3) trope topics/word choice (mountains, rivers, snow, night, dawn, sun, stars, forest; soft, sweet, singing etc.)
(1) drives me up the wall. Avoiding (3) is a matter of having clear intent and avoiding cliches.
I fucked it in the ass, I did
And it hollered
Then I fucked it even harder
Spurts of blood and shit staining mud and brand-new sneakers
>>7815238
>>7813919
bad
ok ending
>>7815238
newsflash asshole, I cant discern what your shit poem is about, your rhymes are juvenile as shit, and your analogies are cliche.
My throat dries up and my skin starts to itch
Watery eyes and trembling fingers
I consume it all but it dissolves within me and it escapes me
>>7815247
No, you misunderstand. I can take the critique fine. He said "reddest" and "little" are bad choices. They might be, I'll think about it. I think I agree about "reddest." It's not a great poem, I'm okay with that. I'm not good at writing poetry. But I do take it seriously, as in, I read it and am trying to improve at it, and I wouldn't call myself a poet until I could really write the stuff.
The post you're referring to describes a few of the things that really annoy me when I run into poems on these critique threads. I said some people wrote bad poems earlier (>>7815151
and >>7813934)
They share all these 3 things in common.
I don't have anything to say
But I have something to do
Other than live life in the shower
Dirty and plated in Plath
Feel my dead eyes roll
A thousand yards—
I have a bad habit
Of telling people what to do
Except for myself
Always myself
Unawares—beware the ides of March.
Cesar died today
Like some sun tomorrow.
Turn the knob
And dry
Then dry
Then pry
Then rhyme/die.
Please.
Here's a lil triptych
-----
I have an itch
But it's only the surface.
-----
The merry-go-round goes merrily round
And round
And round
(Ad infinitum).
Then the conductor croaks.
------
At church
The Tin-man's wedding ring:
Tintinnabulation.
ded thred redemption
Wake up one morning
And see a cloud
Shaped like a cloud
Not a gun, a lion or a little mouse
You are no longer who you used to be
You are no longer a child imagining your wildest fantasy
A cloud looks like a cloud
And you are only filled with doubt
The word in french, the word is cul
And a nice one thou hast, tis quite full
R8 my opening line
suck.my.boot.you.stinky.anon.
and the funniest
but also most saddening
is natural death of a poet
who used to write about suicide
>>7815404
better back it up with a good ending, reared by some nice plump rhymes.
>>7815093
meter is off everywhere. try to keep down the syllable count
thoughts
they race in my
brain
KABOOM
and you thought
you knew yourself
but who is that in the mirror you wonder
you point your finger and laugh
existence falls in love again
yes, it is truly you
truly
;)
Thereisn'tenoughspace
Forspaces
Ortimeforerasing.
Dentrimentalsentiments
Setmonumentalprecedents—
Nothingisevident.
>high school garbage that i kind of like
Do you remember when we were together
And you said that word that I loved,
“Archaic,”
And it made me shiver
But at the time, my eyes remained glossed?
That’s because I wanted you to say it again
Because my ears are drawn to re-runs
And I wanted to be drawn to you
Before we evaporated in the light of the dark
Do you remember last night,
And you said that word that I liked,
“Antithesis,”
And I was forever bound to you by my ankle?
Lassitudinal studies reveal
Sasquatch and Reagan in cahoots—
Headlines read sidelong
Blare, scare, rarely repaire,
Now say this aloud:
"I'm sitting. You're sitting.
Fuck I'm deep, so we're sitting."
Go ahead, scratching your mother-
tearing head. Who's your influence?
Better yet: who isn't?
Woman pope's leg-walled schism:
cunt. (Little is intentional.)
Say collage.
Say it again, now say 'adage.'
Sublime, a mirage, now I do
Bid (on the highest, you) adieu—
What'd you construe?
True true true goose.
She
“It’s strange,” I want to say,
I had a nightmare too
That twisting swirling darkness
I had before I met you
But I can’t get the words out,
I’d only whisper it
Wondering if I were she,
If you’d’ve kissed me yet.
throwaway I wrote a few weeks ago.
My legacy lays in dried grass
Cheated by himself;
He's trapped Summer in a jar
Without air holes in the lid.
"Dying's better
The second time around."
He tells Him,
As if he believes it.
"We die two times-
Once, when we write the truth
And again, when we accept it."
The sun sets
And they wilt like time.
good dog's dish water
wet lips; broken ceramic
bad man's mint julep
>>7816153
razzle dazzle clever words, but saying nothing ultimately
>>7816193
it would be better if it rhymed since it's limericky
>>7815703
bad
>>7816244
I love the image of "summer in a jar without holes"-- the rest is worthless. I'm not convinced '
"We die two times-
Once, when we write the truth
And again, when we accept it." '
means anything but if it does I'm curious if you could explain it.
elderly misstep
angled concrete, bone ballet
please call life alert
i got all drug problem
and
only substance solve them
but
i be full absolved when
my
mind adjustments solemn
The spring is approaching
Forget what you've been hearing, tasting, dreaming
Forget what you've been wearing
Because I am coming alive again
Just as I park my brand new Benz
I get the ladies shaking like Parkinsons
She takes my phone number and saves it in
Her Indian hair doesn't suit her choice of footwear
It is really rather too many cheap whores in this brothel
Real sophisticated gentleman comes out again
With my black boots right on your couch again
With my penis in your wife again
"Such a shame," she said,
but a bit ashamedly;
shame was the poison.
>>7817214
For some reason I absolutely love this.
>>7818511
No brassiere let's keep it jiggling
I am the world's
greatest loser.
For every
minor victory, i am
rewarded with a dozen
monumental defeats.
I am a man
in some frozen
wilderness, rubbing
sticks together so I live
through the night.
whenever I get a fire
going, God snuffs
the spark
just to see how far
he can push me.
tonight, hell find out.
because tonight,
my wifi
keeps going out.
>>7819383
its decent. id take the word "tonight" out of the third to last line because you used the same word in the line before it
>>7817178
I didn't mean anything by this poem. Just something I wrote to put as many pseudo-poetic and misleadingly deep phrases into one work.
study hall gets boring man.
>>7819403
that, and maybe switch "hell find out" to "hell get his answer" because that'll clash with the other "out" in the last line.
you are no better than am i
as such, we are both well inclined that the x day token is a lie and we are ovens of our breeding
its not a comfort to recall that after all, we’re deeply troubled and the state discerns a schedule for these sorts of things.
there’s a seligman response to carceration and im not one for hollywood vacations in the hills
but you are.
it comes as no surprise then that you end back at the start, washed up and out and over under in the swill of cleansing and the thailand ill.
i am no cancer mage, but my potions are too strong for your weak heart. try leeches if you want a bleeding.
inhalation is methodology to death, but gravitation is the means of it
>>7819383
the line separation breaks up the natural rhythm of the words. it works in the last few lines, the reveal, but it makes everything leading up to that a test of endurance.
>>7815673
agreeing with>>7817354. don't capitalize. you have a really interesting flow of though with the lack of spacing and lowercase. the capitalization adds unnecessary punctuation.
>>7817214
I love this too much for what it is, but good job, you clever shit.
>>7816244
Such potent and vivid imagery! And your line breaks suit the syncopation of your words perfectly. I could read this over and over again and find something to love about it a little more each time.
>>7816153
The term for this is vocabulary masturbation. It's interesting and I could sit here and analyze it to tits, but use your command of words for something more substantial.
>>7815428
i feel
>>7813900
Ra- Ra- Rasputin,
Russia's greatest love machine
religion is informative
it educates
it informs the reality of devotees
it is constructive
construction of thought can be designed to be a destructive force
-architectures of constituency's thoughts , the political and religious actors
on summer in the park
yawning gap between your dog and You-
You? Sorry i mean Me
or perhaps Her- We are a multitude in the park, You see-
A perfect composite of all Park Goers:
/scruffy shoes and a warm sweater/
/smiling face at the Nature around them/
/But glad they are not too far from the Shops/
urban stasis Zone, emotions recollected in tranquility,
maybe!
you could even retire here-
retire Her?
she is getting a little long in the tooth,
that’s the truth (haha!)
Write about dogs and their owners,
the owners and their flowers (can you own a rose?)
flowers, and from them power
power to guilt
and from that, parks
to remind of simpler times?
when there was no empire-
(yeah, right)
just the flowers and the dog
who is getting a little old, dontcha think?
(linebreaks a little fucked up. was practicing odd formatting with this one, for fun. there's no value in it)
>>7819798
this one is titled; construction/destruction
pls no steal :^)
>>7815703
Pretty OK. Becomes cliche in `light of the dark', and the ending is jarring/weak.
>>7816153
Fun, jolty first stanza. Free verse as its meant to be. Falls apart towards the end, the worldplay becomes predictable. Final line reasserts the chaos however. Good.
>>7816193
awful title. First line is ok, soon descends into vapid rhyme (too/you) and ends terribly. Go read some poetry. I recommend E.P, "The ABC of Reading"
>>7817155
image is clearly thrown onto the readers mind. now attempt to paint an image that is not STATIC. This is the next step in "imagism" so little seen.
>>7817214
Excellent. Clear intent in reportage, abstract second line works in syncopation with the other two to create a MOVING IMAGE, not STATIC like so many imagist snaps.
>>7818565
meaningless drivel.
Seen some good poems in this thread, or at least snatches of good poems. Keep posting!
>>7819798
literally infested with zombie nouns. this `poem' is barely alive. Short lines give it some life but it's not enough. Last lines are especially bad. Back to the drawing board.
>>7819856
last lines are an explanation of the first, "dead" feel is meant to reflect the 'complex' subject to give it an academic feel
A leaf touched down on the water,
And ripples fell out around it;
Crossing over one another as the tree
Wept on to the lake, dirty halos
Crowning these dead pieces of Autumn.
Passing under the bellies of ducks and geese,
Unmoved and uncaring of the water's caress,
They stretched out like wings to whisper against
The nests of reeds stood on the banks.
I wonder where my ripples reach.
Tonight, if I was to die and leave,
The world would turn no slower
And the sun would shine no darker.
I'll pass under the bellies of ducks
An unheard voice, a disregarded ripple.
Prose poetry's acceptable, right?
The jagged outline of my desk has worn into my forearms from sleepless nights spent trying to think of emails to type to you. If my computer were conscious I know it would judge me but the blank screen just likes filling up my eyes. I'm struggling back through memories like piles of photographs of days we spent laughing at things we were too stupid to understand and arguing over things we were too young to care about. My fingers have never felt so heavy. Every moment I spent with you is a lost cause, lost in the back alley darkness of bad horror films or buried under soil and dirt of albums we tore our vocal chords out to. Humming hallelujah isn't enough to keep the quiet fuzz of the computer screen from filling up my ears but I know the click of keys could if I only I could get my fingers to move.
>>7819856
also 'life' is defined according to religious ideas.
what are 'dead' nouns to you are perhaps alive to others (if we understand the subject according to the poem)
>>7819893
No music, imagery, life or point to your `poem'. Just dry academic posturing. Maybe keep it in your journal next time?
>>7819886
Only comes alive in the last stanza. Trees weeping, wings whispering, water caressing? Give me a break. Your first lines are a dynamic image thrown onto the mind, and are an excellent beginning. Your `dirty halos...Autumn' line is `poetic' drivel, cut it. The minutiae of the ducks and geese is good, keep it. They prevent the poem from slipping into the `poetic mode' that the rest of the second stanza. MELODY/RHYTHM wise its excellent. You have a real ear for music of the lines, putting you above most in this thread. Just work on dropping the vapid, learned, `poetry' elements in your writing.
>>7819947
there is a point. you're right about the imagery I'll work on that, but life and music are religious and so fall as part of the subject of the poem (so aren't intended to contribute to the imagery, for example)
thank you for your feedback, already in my journal just wanted an opinion ;)
Cut from curious cloth
My ire burns like ice.
A dog bit me at 2
And tore my flesh like blue rare filet mignon.
Ornamental matzah balls
Soak up salt in my soup
But I'm only Jew-ish
So I will penny toss a wish
(So racist?). Beguiled in ruins!
I know u r but wut m I—
Simulated
Facial exp simulated
Fellated
Belated
Irritated
Hated
Hated
Jaded.
Things just end.
>>7819947
but I feel the lack of imagery keeps it abstract which I kinda like for this one, maybe a matter of opinion
You're warning me, to get out of the way.
Was the safest thing to say.
This trying to, get out of a tight spot,
Isn't even worth a shot.
And all of the world calls out at once;
give us pain;
It's a friend to us.
And we don't decide for ourselves very much;
What we are, we owe to the fear of love.
Don't bring it around,
I've reached for that.
Give us a point to miss;
Endings are killing me slow.
I only ask for this;
Emptiness replace my soul.
r8 b8 h8
FEEDBACKPLZ
fret unless cortex gets effects
sent to resent how present is expressed
(Guess. Y)es (?)
only caressed unless undressed
Less™ incontinence prevents
(Once X)er (?)
surgery merges 'you" or "me,"
Her burgeons his identity
perjure accidents ceaselessly
adam's apple's a dead giveaway
your warning me to get out of the way
served mainly as the safest thing to say.
your perceived need to exit tight spots,
warrants more than just one shot.
the world calls out at once: give us pain
what else will still remain
enough to leave a stain
and we don't decide for ourselves very much;
what we are, we owe to the fear of love.
don't bring it around, I've reached for that.
please, a point to miss? Endings unmake me too slow.
please, I ask you this: Emptiness, replace my soul.
>>7820036
i chose to refabric8
I walk a path, it is framed with trees.
The air is warm, and beset by breeze.
I coast along and my eyes brim full
Of the way ahead, and I feel a pull . . .
I do not think of where the path leads.
I take it all in, and pick up the seeds.
There is a quiet crunch, under my feet,
A sound of dry dirt—crisp, sweet.
I cherish the sound,
I collect what I’ve found.
I hold them in my fingers,
the sensation lingers,
And when I let them go,
they melt away like snow.
Blue shade is splayed across the path,
Like jagged strokes of lightning
—fractured, frozen—broken
By my own shadow moving forward,
Absorbing, seeing all,
Surging with light (with life).
I am the leaves, the trees, the breeze.
I am the green and brown and blue.
I am the myriad shades of hue.
I am drawn forward by invisible strings,
Drawn by yellow dragonfly wings.
I am the scattered sunlight, puncturing treetop;
I paint the path with golden-gilded beams.
I am the dry dirt echoing out, in
Swelling air, surging now, nearly still;
Like raindrops on a windowsill.
I trickle down the path,
Just a leaf in a stream.
(Can this be a dream,
If the wind blows?)
I do not think of where the path goes.
I am caught, and carried along;
A single note in a polyrhythmic song.
I am the rain. I am ready to fall;
Walking this path, absorbing it all.
Is it an issue if I steal some of these to put in my zine as white noise
>>7820483
yes
Good Lord, we have the Saturday.
The frost of the Mulberry morning
slithers brass along the frame of my neck,
it coaxes me into biting heights azure,
and ground; a sturdy earth.
Now we go, to The Den.
Swiping hauls, tyres crumbling on tarmac.
These sounds grow weak, replaced by evening's calamity.
The swooning wood pigeon:
its looping cacophony torments my tranquil mind.
Needs be cannot hold my hunger;
A cluster of blackberries held in the brambles,
snatching a few, we make feast along the constructor's track,
They're bitter beyond even my wincing,
wry, these pips ruin my torment.
Within The Den's glade,
my friends enveloped by the canopy.
Fragrant pines tingle the air,
their scent is on the boundary of desire.
An aroma it is gentle, and washes the glade.
Though day turns night.
Scenes of the canopy waft away,
go home, it's getting dark.
Away from The Den, the azure has changed.
My eyes alight. A sable blanket covers the night.
>>7813662
Kek, name drop a couple philosophers and this would be a Milo song. Not a bad thing but funny.
Globes of white,
Dots of dark,
Inside is still a tiny spark.
Humbled by the trials of life,
beaten down by years of strife.
One might ponder why he keeps along
This beaten path,
The distant song.
He sees a future, bright and clear
Not overcome by any fear.
He trudges on, his legs are weak.
Past the dangers he must sneak.
Alas he reaches the endless plain,
Worth all his work and all his strain.
I don't talk about it, be about it, everyday I sequel
If I got it then you know you got it, heaven, I can reach you
Pet dog, pet dog, pet dog, my dog, that's all
Pick back and chat, I trap the back for y'all
I rap, I black on track so rest assured
My rights, my wrongs; I write 'til I'm right with God
>>7821061
It's more to feed your mind
Water, sun and love, the one you love
All you need, the air you breathe
if you ain't full of shit you're dead
if anyone asks
that ain't what I said
>>7813662
I like it little hommie
My Desk
My desk was giving me eyes, “you’re a brilliant writer,” it said.
I rubbed its drawers, “you like that?” I asked.
It begged for more, so I gave it some tape.
“I’m not into this,” it said.
>>7812898
heh
>>7812951
read poetry before writing it.
>>7812957
awkwardly switches tone/language a few times (compare any two consecutive lines to the rest really). reconsider and it might be better. dont you dare tell me that's the point.
>>7813687
second two lines are kinda nice. first two are shit. dococ rules.
>>7821112
I dig it, quite amusing and clever. keep it up.
>>7821083
eh whatever. any connection to the Bruegel or is that just there? regardless check out wcw he wrote an entire series of poems about Bruegel paintings
keep this thread bumped fuckers
>>7819961
This was actually very helpful, thank you.
>>7820470
DIS NIGGA ACTUALLY RHYMED 'TREES' WITH 'BREEZE'
I have a small collection of six poems I wrote in senior year of high school. I'm not convinced that any of them are good and I haven't written any poetry since.
The poems I wrote were basically all about the feelings I had from a failed relationship and my own general awkwardness around significant others. Two of them in particular were written as vignettes showing the anxious thoughts and feelings of the speaker during a date, and the last one was a reflection on those feelings and moving forward afterwards.
I can't post them now since I'm on mobile, but I'd like to ask about a sentiment I encountered when I was writing the last one at the same time I started really getting into music.
It's hard to explain without citing examples directly, and I may do that later if need be, but basically: I started seeing the use of metaphors to describe feelings as dishonest and that I was wrong for stopping once I had described the feeling and not making a statement.
Does anyone have any experience with this feeling, or any advice?
>>7821321
so what
>>7822227
a poem, particularly a personal one, should be honest. if it feels dishonest its wrong. but I see no reason why metaphors, similes, general imaginative devices etc should be dishonest - you can express a very real and honest sentiment more fully and complexly by using them.
alone in bathroom
smell of piss burns my nostrils
Ive lost all my friends
![75027[1].jpg](https://i.imgur.com/xStt6i4.jpg "75027[1].jpg")
My arms ache to hold you, I feel as if they were made to hold something that was lost, or that I never had, and they just don't feel right without you in them. I long to feel your touch, to know that you are there even when I look away, I long to feel your hand clasped in mine, the soft warm caress of your fingertips as we walk, not knowing where we are going, not knowing where we came from, only knowing that where we are is perfect.
>>7812854
And when I farted
Soon we parted
And left broken hearted
But not forever
Alas my hamster
Breaks free from pure
And sure
My butt
>>7822303
Read more poetry
>>7813017
beautiful opening line
>>7814130
hmmm. you seem to have something here, but the way you are presenting it needs work - I had to read it a few times before I saw it wasn't total edgy shit. firstly, I'd say work on your diction - your language is too taxing and strains your rhythm.
>>7815240
wow are we now at the point where you people are badly ripping off Future?
>>7815258
last line is particularly bad. nothing here is powerful enough to pull off the expressionistic vibe you're going for.
>>7823256
repeat after me: I will not write horrible haikus about nothing.
Let’s go down at some knapweed hour
To the sea, the chapel:
Look! Its burning porch and tower.
Shall I shore myself against these walls?
It falls, it falls, umbral against
The silhouetting sky.
Crosses, tipped, spread themselves in
The longer grass: I lift stones to sit—
Learning lichen on the graves produces
A different shadow to that of
My own just-budded body.
Fear the darkness.
The childhood clothes on rocks
Show me my fat baby arms so I weep
And consider the gated ways
Of earlier days, where, under mosses
And with politic hand, uprooting the
Curling celandines seemed relief.
I am not aged yet, but I
Fear the darkness—I cross my
Memories questioning,
Under the day’s declining beam,
Among the deepening shades:
Could soon a fragment such as I
Walk among the graves in a twilight sky,
And sit atop my torso, which
Buried in winter
Now blossoms?
10—7—15
just wrote this one to be in the thread.
theres nothing left to write.
Homer told the only story that needs to be told,
Shakespeare told us what love and death is,
and Whitman showed us that theyre the same thing
(yeah yeah there are some writers before and
between but whose gonna remember them a hundred years from now?)
The modernists broke every single rule there was
Then the postmodernists did the exact same thing a few decades later.
Alt Lit's fucking retarded
(this is an alt lit poem)
And feminist slam poetry is too.
There's nothing else to say
So have this poem.
it might as well be the last one we ever write.
bared knee, lip curl.
down under the smoke we’ll
fray late, go lightly
with your iridectomy tremble.
when July gilded us from
beneath, and you – swelling
under your veil – taught
me to sway thinly
Between the wooded lines,
Where I'd sculled since morning
And still stayed in place.
>>7823359
Will do. That still doesn't explain why I shouldn't rhyme breeze with trees, though. I meant it to be a slant rhyme.
>>7823435
it sounds very silly
There once existed an angry baboon
Who was angry simply because of its existence.
The baboon called upon ancient powers
And removed itself from this horrible world.
>>7823579
what the fuck is this?
whatever it is it aint good.
Come into this room with the warm green light
Rest your head in my lap and do not fight
In here it is safe
And the fire glows until morning
Although the world outside may blow and whirl and rave
With your weak legs there is not a soul you can save
We have no windows
These walls are too thick for windows
There is no difference between night and day
Don’t be so stupid as to throw this chance away
Out there you will be lost
You will wonder until you can’t
So stay here; lay here:
Next to me and us all:
Where we gather in the fall
Of seasons or men
Who repent in angst their fathers sins
And burn flags to raise them up again
In this room, in this light, we are at ease
As decaying men drifting in the seas
We have plenty to drink
So close your eyes and never think
Life is too short to think
And anytime you feel empathy or guilt
Remember: on our natures these walls are built
Of men with hammers
Who repent in angst their fathers sins
And burn flags to raise them up again!
>>7823579
kinda a mix of Blake and TS Eliot
post moar faggot
>>7823406
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDxxtFrsy9s
reminded me of this, honestly
the pauses, the short line breaks i mean, make the lines come off pretty melodramatically
i liked the last three lines tho
>>7823405
>just wrote this one to be in the thread.
i dont believe you
i hated all of it on the first reading, the second reading was better, and the third one makes it seem alright
that last line is shit though
i like your style (its post-ginsbergy) but the subject matter is clique
>muh everything worth saying has been said
>>7823435
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line,
While they ring round the same unvaried chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes.
Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze",
In the next line, it "whispers through the trees":
If "crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep",
The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep".
Since nobody has critiqued mine >>7823621 yet,i will keep critiquing so this thread doesnt die
but be forewarned, im a fucking idiot
>>7823392
>Shall I shore myself against these walls?
>It falls, it falls, umbral against
>The silhouetting sky.
literally the best poem in this thread, really liked this part, paricularily the repetition
>Learning lichen on the graves produces
'produces' seems like an awkward word choice here, try a word with less syllables, otherwise, nice
>Show me my fat baby arms so I weep
>And consider the gated ways
>Of earlier days, where, under mosses
shit, you are a better poet than me, nice word choices, good imagery
>And with politic hand, uprooting the
'politic' seems to have some harsh consonants in it, consider changing it? i'd recommend something, but im not sure what it is youre going for here
>And sit atop my torso, which
noice
8/10
>>7821055
try a different rhyme scheme, with less stanza breaks to make it flow better. right not its just hard to read, also try rhythm, you can never go wrong with good rhythm
>all his work and all his strain.
liked this
>>7823691
desu reading your trash rhymes and embarrassing sentiment anyone is a better poet than you.
The hispanic maid and I have a good-willed, but maybe strained relationship - I’m not exactly sure
Milky dreams of honey
enveloping me.
Muffled screams
instanced periodically.
Wake up to …
toast at my plate.
>>7823725
what do you have against rhymes?
>>7823648
alright man fair critique. had pretty much the same opinion of it when i wrote it.
any particular reason why the last line sucks though? i can see how it would be melodramatic and Bukowski-ish but i just wanna make sure that's why its bad.
>>7823734
its definitely melodramatic, and sort of redundant
>"So have this poem"
would be better for an ending, imo
>>7823684
Thank you. This actually helps, unlike the majority of the 'critique' people offer here.
So basically you're saying my poem is cliche.
>>7823731
Against rhymes? No.
Against trash.
Child in jail
Water into hail
Jonah into whale
Strong arms turn frail
I'm seeking the holy grail
This poem looks like stairs
My dick in your mom's butthole
>>7823788
could you be more specific as to why they're trash?
I understand that its an AA, BB scheme, but i didn't think that i over used it.
>>7823794
6/10
use some rhythm
Inner desert.
There's an absence.
Within myself.
It is almost like the feeling,
the emotion has left my body.
Not just love, but hate. Anger.
Fear.
This almost emptiness is such
a concept, I myself find hard
to grasp.
All I want to know is why,
and how.
Have I bled myself dry?
The blood of my soul,
drained into ink?
Even these words, only drip out.
Not a stream to swim through.
It is simply an eye dropper
in comparison.
Have I cursed myself?
Did I anger some being around me?
Perhaps I price I have to pay.
Pay for the words I've written.
Seven works truly open of heart.
Each one taking a piece with it.
I must have met the devil himself
and sold my soul.
It seems this may very well be
the last of them.
The last scribblings.
All scribed from the walls of my heart.
Maybe those words were the
only glue.
The glue that held it from dust.
All I know is there is nothing.
Nothing there
>>7823794
nice twist at the end
>>7823794
would only work if you screamed it out loud like in a Death Grips song
Enfolding my breath
into small shapes I cherish
watch them float away silently
as if pulled out by a quiet magnetism
into unknown and unseen—the inexplicable—
-------------------------------------------------------------
And this existence we suffer is unpredictable
how the hell do we act with pragmatism
while cascading down violently
into the earth we perish
Enfolded in death
>>>>7823621
It's not the rhyme scheme, its the flow of syllables and thoughts. Linear is how i woild describe it. Straightforward declarative sentences. No interplay between lines. Single syllable words. Blunt masculine rhymes. Lack of specificty or imagery.
Shit like "out there you will be lost" is abstract and meaningless. You're trying to make 'high concept' poetry without any effort put to elevate the reader there.
I will say towards the end it gets much better in terms of rhythm, but overall it reads like a pop song: a collection of generic phrases with no cohesion or purpose.
Silicone Sonnet
Today I wish to send a text of love,
Emoji heart to show I care so much.
Electric messages on wings of doves,
mechanical and passionate- your touch.
If I could sit with you in your embrace,
then I could whisper how you make me feel;
Instead a screen will substitute your face
to take the place of your soft touch, is steel.
But in my head I still will see your form;
the beauty of your image in my mind.
From this perception I will not be torn,
these precious thoughts of you will outlast time.
Our tie so intimate and strong as stone-
I spy your semblance from over my phone.
>>7823879
haha gay
I don't understand poetry, can someone explain it to me? What makes a poem? What makes a good poem? I have preferences (>>7823810 is awful, >>7823406 is good, for instance), but I have no idea how to justify them. What is your creative process like? I write songs, but in my view the music comes first and very rarely do the lyrics hold up to scrutiny. A lot of (bad) poetry strikes me as little more than a song without music.
Poetry strikes me as an incredibly insular, irrelevant artform in this day and age, even more than other artforms. I'd like to proven wrong in this regard.
>>7823859
> Straightforward declarative sentences. No interplay between lines. Single syllable words.
that's.... almost exactly what i was going for
I understand that a lot of phrases are generic and such, and the rhyming is simple, and really i suppose the entire poem can be considered simple, but why is that inherently a bad thing?
Not trying to dismiss your critique (i hate it when people do that) its just that i would like a deeper understanding of your opinion.
thanks for the critique, btw
>>7823879
wew
Said the straight man to the late man
Where have you been
I've been here and I've been there
And I've been in between.
I talk to the wind
My words are all carried away
I talk to the wind
The wind does not hear
The wind cannot hear.
I'm on the outside looking inside
What do I see
Much confusion, disillusion
All around me.
You don't possess me
Don't impress me
Just upset my mind
Can't instruct me or conduct me
Just use up my time
I talk to the wind
My words are all carried away
I talk to the wind
The wind does not hear
The wind cannot hear.
>>7823892
i'm pretty sure that poetry is supposed to evoke emotion
like Yeats, "When you are old", is something i read in a time when the person i loved didn't like me back, so it really struck a chord.
Poetry, imo, is supposed to describe what you can't say outloud, or collect in one thought. Writing poetry, for me, anyway, is a way to deal with things that bother and sadden me. I only write when i'm feeling an extreme emotion about something. it's a way for me to be honest with myself
but then again, im a faggot
>>7823892
It's similar to music, there's little technical aspects you can praise but at the end of the day you have something that simply resonates with you.
>>7823879
i can just imagine the cheesy shit youll write when she breaks your heart
>>7823901
Nice try m8
>>7823901
literally posting King Crimson lyrics as if they're poetry
Now listen anon, I love Sinfield's work as much as anybody else. But save this shit for /mu/.
>>7823916
tfw no gf
>>7823834
someone critique this. i tried to make it like a mirror
I will deny your own humanity through a series of foolhearted and fleetfooted decisions, made at inopportune times and among unscrupulous people. You will awake blank to the point of subtle madness as you drudge further into the abyss.
>>7823953
You will* lol whoops ;p
>>7823834
impressive aesthetics, but tacky
i see lots of words and very little being said
i liked the description in the first stanza tho
>>7823953
go 2 bed cthulhu
>>7823988
Deliver us from ourselves, as we do not walk in the garden of youthful expression. Tired we may be, our lifelong acquisitions serve as a supplement to the loss which cannot be restored.
Now that I’ve wasted
five years in Manhattan
life decaying
talent a blank
talking disconnected
patient and mental
sliderule and number
machine on a desk
autographed triplicate
synopsis and taxes
obedient prompt
poorly paid
stayed on the marker
youth of my twenties
fainted in offices
wept on typewriters
deceived multitudes
in vast conspiracies
deodorant battleships
serious business industry
every six weeks whoever
drank my blood bank
innocent evil now
part of my system
five years unhappy labor
22 to 27 working
not a dime in the bank
to show for it anyway
dawn breaks it’s only the sun
the East smokes I my bedroom
I am damned to Hell what
alarmclock is ringing
ginsy is that u
A fat fly hovers up to the window wide
Of the library's third floor and loiters there—
And returns, hourly, to eye me inside.
He is cast away by the thick and blust'ry air,
But I dreamt of opening the locked window,
Crunching his body in my fist, and dropping it below.
>>7824200
Bad and the archaic language makes me cringe.
>>7824234
what is archaic other than the syncope?
>>7824234
>bad
lol nice critique you stupid faggot
the interlocking gears of artillery
disentangle themselves from themselves and
rattle and crash in the heavy coldness
of the night. the air was silent and now
a cacophony of explosions
a pyrotechnic orgy
a hot mist
and people dead. you heard
beyond the soft metallic ting of cartridges
tumbling on the ground
(smelled beyond the tart odour
suffusing the air)
the echoes of faraway gunshots
answering your call
but you
kept
on
firing.
The soul, straining, secretes a narcotic
to slip into the fissures of limbs, when
their motions stutter and stumble in time
and by margins the pendulum slower swings.
It sets the brain on a delayed pursuit
of the skull, plodding across the carpet
of the cranium. From its hems hang the eyelids
like the counterweights of a delicate machine.
The morning cup of tea on china tray,
exhaling breaths with milky odour, capped
with plumes of soapy vapours, only tints
acetic bitterness an orange hue.
It’s not a sweetened brew the brain demands,
tormented to the cusp of boiling, fuel
nor lubricator, but to yield command
and put machine to soft and dreamless sleep.
Over rolling hills
Streaks of bright neon eyes
Driving ever onward
Not even the corn has such small ears
>>7824369
I'd pay to read anon.
>>7824494
Very WCW
>>7823579
Is this about Schopenhauer?
>>7824126
I think you'd be better of deleting the first stanza, and somehow communicating the information that was in there in an imagistic way. Pretty great otherwise.
>>7824494
Why neon eyes?
Other than that, it reads well.
Depression sticks like tar.
There is no getting out.
You don’t get in it on purpose
Yet there you are. Stuck.
It doesn’t scrub off either,
there is no getting rid of the stains.
For, once you’ve known sorrow,
once you’ve known the world
what does happiness become?
Happiness changes into a lack of sorrow.
Less tar than you started with.
It’s stained happiness.
Ruined happiness.
There is no going back
there is no childhood innocence left.
no sudden unappreciated happinesses
There was no way to know you ought to be appreciating it
you knew no other way of life
and now you’re stained
no you’re ruined
an old soul
a damaged mind
The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as no one.
no one that has known sorrow.
No one that has denounced faith.
Spitting and cursing it’s titles.
And yet, here we all stand
gathered in masses
for nothing.
We cling to life because life is mystery
We cling to life because death is mystery
>>7824556
No, but it was a dead giveaway.
Man a lot of these suck. Don't you guys pride yourselves on literature?
>>7816244
this is okay.
The sun
A karat of gold beyond degree
Luster beyond the horizon seen
But does not know the time of man
It only shows the brightest gleam
Truth, it's omnipresence brings
I suck shit at this
>>7824664
well gee maybe you should revise your shit then
>>7824618
Rewrite
The desparation sticks like tar.
There is no getting out once in.
You don't intend on getting stuck,
And now you're here, stuck blundering.
You try to scrub the tar away,
but dutifully, it sticks and stays,
for once you know the stick of tar,
to reach that feel of joy again
is sisphus' task, for you,
so joy becomes a lack of pain,
less tar than had latched on before,
a stained state of bliss that which
you know will start to fade again.
there is no going back to that,
the innocence forever lost,
and aged soul, a damaged mind,
just memories of joy remain.
Morose in life, but fear we death,
so turn and cling to God in faith.
Heaven belongs to such as none,
none that to all denounce it, red,
spitting, cursing, blindly in fear.
They stand in mass and cry - For what.
If faith means fear it's all the same
The slightest spark to set off the matchlock of my mind
The lust to feel these phantom fingers with hers entwined
Though I know this cannot be:
the past immutable
the present jejune
the future perdurable
Three figures infallible stand before me
Conquered they must be ere our Love's return.
The past wields thoughts and memories potent as the venom once spewed from your lips.
The present wields thoughts sombre and actions perverse.
The future wields the uncharted:
the dark, welcoming, shrouded, open being to whom all owe their petty allegiance.
The ghostly mist unveiled fore my soul
What hallowed daemon have I awoken within?
conflict, plague, Tumult, arise!
Chaos aged akin to the finest wine
Left unmolested remains Future's shrine
Afore returning to nothingness future's gloom
set forth her finest bane – her signal of doom
Miasma set upon my mind
To end my thoughts of independence
To end my search for reconciliation
To rectify the wrongs once done by I.
Poison so sweet, so bland; take me by the hand
Lead me to the future, where life hangs not by a strand.
Past and present, to you I implore
Leave me be for she who you show I do not adore.
A mirror my only companion, my only voice;
Walk with me into the darkness, into the corruption
For I never wished to walk alone.
formatting's a bit weird, written about my wife - criticism all welcome.
Note to self. "Going to hell."
Shorthair shared, bared, oh well.
Pert face misplaced
Recollection erased
Until hip hop shill's profile filled the bill
Digitally linked to a bitch who's likely inked and so I blinked,
spirit sinks
If Key just drinks
Maybe make her think of my wink
Nudge till she budge or defend
begrudge the drudge, whore pretend
Drugs with no hugs
hurling on rugs,
guts unplugged.
>>7824200
I'm smashing up my baby bumblebee
Won't my momma be so proud of me
YEAH
AH YEAH NIGGA
IMMA FUCKIN GO BLAPBLAP ON YO ASS NIGGA
YEAH YEAH FUC U HO U A BITCH
YEA
NIGGA
>>7824730
More melodramatic than a hindi soap opera. If you could harness the rotational energy of my eyeballs as i read this poem, you could generate enough electricity to power a small city for 68 seconds.
>>7824363
Cut the 2nd line. Dont do the dumb line breaks at the end. Add some more stanzas. It's good, but undeveloped. You set the scene and introduced a character, now do something with it.
>>7824804
Thanks for the critique. The second line can go, I agree. The line breaks at the end were so that I could simulate the feeling of bullets launching from the barrel of a Kalash. Does it not work?
As for the poem as a whole, I didn't intend to write a narrative. What I was going for is a kind of short stream-of-consciousness burst of moralistic emotion, if that makes sense. How can I develop it further to this end?
>>7824812
>>7824812
Hmmm. Yes the lines work as forceful bursts. I guess i just prefer the straightforward approach.
And I think in terms of displaying an image, you did well. I guess i just want the idea explored more.
Or maybe you could use "and you kept on firing" as a refrain? Give a series of stanzas, each one a different image - end each one the same. Dunno. There'a definitely options. But it's not a bad poem as is, just a bit bare.
>>7824839
Thanks for the suggestions. I'll work on it.
Shimmer, hack, and slack;
a rag is
clammed around a frigid khanjar;
scarlet oozes steaming into
blackened crust; serrations rip. A
squeeze and push dissolves the cruor,
presses gore along the gutter
over twisted rabbit carcass,
and speckles mist-enshrouded turf.
When I see a couple of kids
And guess he's fucking her and she's
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That'll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark
About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
title: c:/user/downloads
Pink Floyd - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn (whole album)
Kendrik Lamar - Good Kid M A.A D.city
Albert Camus (translated by Stuart Gilbert)-The Stranger-Vintage.pdf
Cough syrup - Young giant.mp3
Hentaiporncomics.MS.exe
Jenniferlawrence-nude354.jpg
Jenniferlawrence-nude355.jpg
Jenniferlawrence-nude356.jpg
JimMorrisonGreatestHits40.zip
Kaleidoscope-TangerineDream(1967)(@224).torrent
kurtvonnegutcollections.rar
Little book of String Theory.PDF
Pink Floyd - Comfortably numb.mp3
Sadgreenfrog.jpg
Sasha Grey - The Girlfriend experience.avi
SunnyLeone fucked on a table.mp4
ThatfeelwhenNoGirlfriend.gif
TheFrontBottoms-all3albums.zip
[Bret_Easton_Ellis]_American_Psycho.PDF
[Bret_Easton_Ellis]_The_Rules_of_Attraction.pdf
[Chuck_Palahniuk]_Fightclub.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Lunar_Park.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Less_Than_Zero.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Glamorama.PDF
xvideos.fuhd577436.mp4
xvideos.fh566fh577.mp4
>>7825244
>I got a positive response to this once so I stopped doing anything new and just kept reposting it
>>7825270
it's my masterpiece
>>7825288
Don't rest on your laurels, they won't support your weight.
>>7825199
nice one philip
This one is inspired by you guys:
yes, i mean
it's really important
you must read
Finnegans Wake
seriously, you can't
just pretend
and say you
know Joyce
oh, you know
it's the one
where the old gash dies
and there's a fire
right, and the son
he gets arrested
for arson
at the end
and there's the daughter
and she's trying
to get an abortion
are you getting any of this
oh, wait,
that one's Faulkner
>>7824678
You're doing too much explaining. Have some faith in the reader. I got the following just by cutting some lines in the first. It's not perfect, but at least it doesn't drag.
The desparation sticks like tar.
You don't intend on getting stuck,
And now you're here, blundering.
for now you know the stick of it,
and joy becomes a lack of pain,
you know will start to fade again.
the innocence forever lost,
and aged soul, a damaged mind,
>>7813662
You could be an ok-tier backpack rapper. As poetry this is terrible. The majority of free alt-lit ebooks are better than this poem
>>7825615
I think it sounds like the lyrics of some UK rapper like Skepta. It's pretty bad but I can imagine hearing someone say it
There once was a mouse named Keith
Who circumcised men with his teeth
He didn't do it for leisure
Or even for pleasure
He just wanted the cheese underneath
As you are reading this,
a universe is dying
while another is being born.
The neglected universe once
glistened with the unrealized
totipotence of your first hello,
its unfolding repercussions
clustered with an impending
goodbye.
But before the universal finality
is reached, know this:
I will be reminded of you
through your speech lisp,
when your soft sibilances
morph into fricatives
where nuance wrings
with the propensity of the rift
in space and time;
the gravitational singularity
that once dismantled
alternate universes
before it gave birth
to our own
and now remind me
of how silent
the death of a universe
can be.
need help, /lit/
I read an article yesterday.
it said our universe is a simulation
designed by hyper-whatever aliens
kind of like the matrix.
Sup a sip, itched an itch—
nothing's changed.
I hear Descartes rustle
and Nietzsche scoff;
mystics laugh
and Kurzweil's off.
Cosmos tickled pink.
The ants have learned to think.
God becomes the wizard
and time becomes Oz.
and I wait for the Aahs,
the oohs and the Aahs,
The wounds and the gauze.
The curtain and applause.
I'm not a robot
(not).
Constricted by time and rhymes and dimes
Depicted by limes and crimes and mimes
Stymied like the Heinrich maneuver
I've had one eternal love but never knew her—
You're a micro-Brewer? How quaint!
I'll take a pint and pride in sayin' I ain't!
Plain: paint gets predictable like cacti prickles
When 2% sodium equals pickles: bollocks Jackson Pollack.
Hand me my mallet you stupid dog,
HARLEY and me in love, you Cupid hog—
It's smog you smug rug of an average mug
(Joe). Blow up like bazookas, en el super barrio like Koopas,
Shellin out shells, real state troopers. Saved By the Bell, bloopers:
Right meow the cats got my dog (hot)
And I can't help but break the fourth wall
And say "why'd you right call on this bathroom stall?"
It's not cool, Deadpool. Relinquish squeamishness, drool.
Kawasaki mule, stubborn as nonsense.
Sorry not sorry not sorry: calm sense, hence:
Shits deleterious, and fuck am I serious.
>>7815093
crit please.
I am after death in the no place
But because Death is on vacation
Everyone gets a day off
To go to some yes place
And mine is the ice cream factory
Where I lasted three days
As a teenager, boxing fudgsicles,
And there I am back on the line
That whispers like a long tongue
Dark prophecies about my co-workers
And just like before they come down
Faster and faster, and in my haste
I cut my finger on the edge of a carton
And pretty soon the foreman comes
Shouting down the line about
"Can it possibly be fudgsicles
With BLOOD on them,"
And he traces the trail to me
And starts bellowing like
A whole orchestra in a pit,
But this time, because
Death will be home soon,
I do not guiltily acquiesce
Like before, but instead
Unwrap a fudgsicle, and biting
Off a hunk down to the stick,
Say to him that he is beautiful,
That they are all beautiful,
And he should give them all
Vacations and raises in pay,
And just then, to everyone's
Astonishment, when it looked
As though he might really blow,
I just faded out, like in some films
Solid to vapor to wisp, to nothing,
But not before I scooped up an
Armful of bloody fudgsicles to take
Back with me, something frozen and
Sweet, and bearing the sticky mark
Of seriousness, my life so handily
Upon a stick.
Ants skittering across teeth
Eyes plastered to flashing screens
We sat in the faux-vintage diner.
Luckily the dreadful beings
Had yet to rise from their slumber
And only the smell of manure drifted through the air.
I'd forgotten what it was like
To awaken near you.
Though I'd never done it before
My false memories,
Propagated by dreams and delusions,
Flood the backs of my eyelids again.
It begins subtly
The tiny prick on the finger I never noticed before
Erupts with blood and despair and anger at myself
And as we shared my final cigarette,
I almost told you what I'd meant.
But I didn't, and I'm better for it
>>7815093
very bad
Blind eyes sparkling loose
Yet again I face destiny and sleep on the street bench
Better than seeing a falling star, is to see it rising to the skies
Under this drizzle I wished the stars would all fall down here, illuminating these streets
Maybe you would see me at night
So better than seeing a falling star, is to see it rising to the skies, because if it fell we wouldn't see it again, sparkling still.
Also, fuck sweden
>>7825947
I like this one a lot
Rearrangement of English Translation [no attribution] of Polish script for Tadeusz Kantor's "The Sea Concerto". Panoramic Sea Happening, 1967.
Chairs are situated on the sand
several hundreds of chairs in regular intervals and rows
the front rows are gradually submerging in the sea
the audience is taking their seats
a compact crowd of sitting people is there
now the rows and columns are very carefully aligned
chairs are resettled and pushed around
people are transplanted — endlessly
removed — pedantically
straightened — and minutely — adjusted
again and again checking — correcting
lining up — in all directions
with full understanding of the significance of the arrangement
absurd — and obsessive in itself
this being an orderly adjusting
obedient shaping
— checking
— loyalty
the sedentary square on the sand
all of it turned toward the sea
in which it is gradually sinking
a motor boat brings a conductor in a full evening dress to a pageant yonder in the sea
he mounts the wave-washed steps
facing the sea he raises his hand up
the sea concerto begins
the obedient square of the audience flowed by the waves
the conductor in his black dress-coat far from the shore
he seems to be more and more remote
the movements of his hands are suggestive
— hypnotic
he raises his left hand high up
along the strand among the public whizzes a motorcycle at full speed
it sprinkles the waves
crazy fast
another one after it
a third
and fourth
fifth
a fugue of motorcycles
the conductor raises his right hand
from the other side a huge farm tractor is approaching
the din of motors
the heavy rattle of the tractor
sprinkles of water
rhythmic strokes of foamy waves
the conductor shoots right up a rocket
a rescue boat is coming from the sea
with its buzzer set on
a permeating whistle of the siren
the conductor turns toward the audience
he picks dead fish from a huge bucket and throws them at his listeners
methodically then with growing fury
all of a sudden he strips off his dress coat and keeping it at its sleeves' ends
with its skirts hanging down
he veils his face
and so he remains.
>>7819383
tappu tappu pretty good, nice ending
>>7824678
Is there an anon who can tell me what meter this one is in?
That secret shame
Make it go away
Turn off the flame
Cant remember my name
I dated a girl who's a ghost
I'd sleep at her grave to be close
She'd rise from below
With a luminous glow
And tell me she loved me the most
I looked at the night sky and saw you
being eaten alive by that bear with a tail.
Orion didn't bother trying to save you
and neither did I.
Mark my words, whores
I am the shadow of death
and he will have no mercy on you faggots.
For verily you are too ashamed to receive
And incapable of giving
You are a whore
Nothing but
lips compressed in irregular bobs
a disappointed lack of fiery passion
a dry herpetic scab tickles my mustache
a sandpapery brush of young love
Every day is a ship without an anchor to make us stay
In one moment of time, or for us to keep it at bay.
It came out of the blue, but no moon
In sight; despite the fact that I'll see you soon.
A typhoon stole the thunder at the drop of hat,
And in a quick flash, took the boat right from our laps.
It ended our love that's suspended from within,
And when will it end, and where does it begin.
>>7826952
>A typhoon stole the thunder at the drop of a hat,
If I could lay within quiet words,
on a pillow piled of petals plucked
from a field full of flowers;
If I could rest in the gentle light
from the windowpane, a pattern pressed
on fabric folded across the floor.
Finally, I fall fast asleep.
I normally write quite flowery, so I tried something a bit simple.
>>7827494
I like this. You have a nice touch. Thank you for sharing.
>>7827507
Thanks for reading it dude, brightened my evening
HAHAHAHHA...
>>7827494
The last line is completely unnecessary. I'd advise you to take it out and let the poem end with the Senegal part.
the critical moment
titanium winces the bark bites
eyes lock
when in doubt
i never pull out
these feels
i know them because im acquainted
these memes
i consume because they are dank
these hoes
i hate cuz they be hoein
these niggaz
are pussy ass bitches
this money
i get it cuz im a playa
these playa haters
i give em plenty of space
this space
i look to it when there are limits on the ground
these limits
i bust through em like pussy lips
these lips
i want to suck them off your face
that sucking
the sound gets me off
that sound
its just so incredibly soulful
that soul
i wonder if i ever knew it
that knowledge
shadap
>>7827527
I think I added it because it was unnecessary
>>7825615
Where can i find these ebooks? I wanna learn to hone my artlessness.
And yeah I've thought about trying to write verses for rappers. I don't really aspire to making "legitimate" poetry, nor do I appreciate most of it--old school stuff is a mixed bag but mostly boring, I like some pleb verse like Yeats, Eliot, Hopkins, Crane but most of the stuff from the last 80 years is over my head.
>>7827578
>Hopkins
>pleb
My God, you really are artless.
>>7826989
I like this, maybe just because I share your seeming penchant for alliteration and because I struggle with insomnia.
>>7824902
I like, but it seems abrupt and contextless. I'm not clear on what you're writing about. I would give you the same advice as you gave the herpetic mustache anon
Or maybe condense/shorten it and give it more punch. But it's weird at the current length, I think.
>>7827592
Lol I'd assumed he was pleb cuz I know/ like what I've heard of his poetry and it's very easy to like
It seems like next level shit, gives me ASMR but deadmau5 sounded like next level shit when I was 16 which is comparable to my level of poetic exposure
>>7813662
here you go senpai
https://clyp.it/eojgki50
there is paper peeling off the ceiling above cobwebs and spots from my bleeding
this phone is charged on an orange extension cord, which chains me to the floor
many books and papers lie in waiting but i can't be bothered to stop masturbating
>>7826942
YES anon - nicely done - fuck
One day
none of this will have happened
cause I will have no none-being
place to store it. I will be gone,
this will be gone,
but you won't. And that's something, I guess.
I guess.
giuess giu ig ues si gues sigues igu ges i guess igues s iguesssgui ug eisgu geiusiguesiguesssisussigugggue
What does everyone think is the best poem on this?
No thoughts but brain pulses
I can feel the weight against
Gravity stretching downward
Only that, no images appear
Not even the ones unseen
What signs are traveling
Around inside this skull?
Let it all be repeated
I am empty I am empty
Of something that exists
Somewhere else
I'm tired and feel weird.
nocturnal goonery
boisterous and bold
with autistic charm
I attempt to engage
young harlot-nymphs
In the den of my comrade
I put one young pass-around
in a playful headlock
the gambit succeeds
on her own volition
she envelops herself with my body
later that same night
>>7826989
too much alliteration. the imagery is generic.
Every day is a ship without an anchor to make us stay
In one moment of time, or for us to keep it at bay.
It came out of the blue, but no moon
In sight; despite the fact that I'll see you soon.
A typhoon stole the thunder at the bottom of the bottle
And in a quick flash made the whole boat wobble, but it didn't topple.
Life is just that way: One second everything is okay,
Then in less than a blink, everything is in a state of dismay.
But it was our fault; we played with sand on a beach.
Hoping it would always be in our reach,
And then we complain when it's swept away by a wave.
A tsunami came our way and I'm only person I could save.
It ended our love that's suspended-
From within,
And when will it end, and where does it begin.
Because I gave nothing less than everything,
And you deserve that more than anything.
Never fear the method to my madness
Even if my actions grant you overwhelming sadness.
Because I tried to give and take as you needed,
But as my embrace became wider, yours only receded.
You wanted to fight in order to keep us free.
The only thing I wanted was you here with me.
Heroes, like you, become statistics. Whenever citizens are enlisted.
I let you go only because you insisted.
And, missing you
I dwell upon the sphere of green
Of the world you thought you knew
And all the rest left unseen
Forgotten with the summer rays
To dream of the vivid forest
Along with all the passing days
That had never gone before us
You feel it on each lasting breath
The never-sought missing part
That you knew as a lighter deather
Held inside my drowsing heart
So I lay down in the grass
And close my eyes at last
>>7829558
>deather
supposed to be death
>>7812854
Oh Draw me in your ocean
Of Cherished books and bleeding rooks
So meet me in my theatre
Where I may speak, but never be with her
Let me see her in a rainy lounge
With a thousand people or no one around,
I'll promise her something that no one else has
A lifetime of music, both classic, and jazz
Mine. Such a world is
Mine Such a word and a weapon is
Mine
They tell me I am killin it
I tell em I'm just skilled in it
No matter what may happen
Let em know that I am still in it
If only for the thrill of it
>>7812854
a fear that i have
to post my poetry
i know that it's not well
but i also know that it's mine
it's probably shit,
but i don't want anyone taking it.
since, it's shit that's mine.
>>7827662
Danke.
Laughed in real life.
>>7813687
The first line immediately makes me wonder why I should keep reading. You basically told people your poem was worthless.
I do like the third line though.
