>>7475654
i like it. i think in places it's a bit heavy handed but that's easily fixed.

pretty good

My shoulder hurts.
I've been leaning on it for a couple months straight now.
It's not a deep pain between the joint. Both shoulders,
I think. I've been relying on cushionizing soft shit
for the entire time.
I'm not sure if my hip displacement is growing worse.
Was it ever bad in the first place?
I saw the sun for the first time two days ago.
I held my head just in view, sitting on my bed,
as it shone through the window. It hit me.
I'm worried about moles that are forming. I can't
tell if they've always been there, or if
they've grown from nothing. Fine circular spots of
oak brown rooted in my skin like blackheads or
acne. Every night I go to sleep thinking that I'll die.
I'm not sure how I feel. First it's panic at the
thought, that everything - the thisness of the this -
will be gone. Then nothing.
My sleeping is ruined. I'm afraid that if I
get on the exercise bike, I'll only
extend the damage caused by a poor sleeping cycle.
At the same time - I need to get on the exercise
bike. Whenever I don't, for long periods of time,
my limbs grow cold - the skin withers atop
and the veins beneath show through. It doesn't look a smoker's
purple, but a pale multicolour of shades
you find on something dead. The sort of colour
someone goes when at a hospice.
The first time you step through and look at someone
there, perhaps, and think "this is your life -
this is you"; they look back at you and
they say nothing. Worse than screaming or shouting.
They don't do that, because what's the point.
Have they realized that yet? Maybe they have -
they have no choice.
"This is your life and this is you"
and they sit there, and for the first time
you see their pupils and their cheeks
and their hair and the colour of their blankets.
You can smell the air, and you don't feel
the need to cry, and there they are.
Here's to the future.
A father that sits for hours playing a
video game marketed as slowing the progression
of neural diseases associated with age.
Books on how to construct fictions in memory.
10 lines of dialogue each night and it's not me
and it's not him; it's whose fault then? There
isn't fault but you think there is.
And a sister with a flat, and a sister in Asia.
And a lonely mother with 5 cats who has been banned
from a pet rescue centre because a cat she sold
was thrown out. But she rescued a cat, one of her old
ones, when it turned up out the blue - from one of
the many litters sold. She had this one tagged.
But it's
better.
I've not told the government about my situation
and they think my course ends this year
and so does the bank and the means of living
has been taken so I can't live alone most likely
if I go back, and if I don't I have no idea what I'll
do and I can't call a helpline for a therapist for
my anxiety because I'm too anxious and I've
tried explaining this to the doctors but I haven't.
Suicide looks healthy.

>>7475654
in this moment...

ok as an offering to a girl who doesn't read poetry but it's treacle as an actual poem.

>>7475654

it's really bad

so ham-fisted

why not just write 'I'm so happy we're in a relationship" and save everyone the overstated "we are all le made of stars XD"

It's in French.

La vie en rose.
Un coeur bleu.
Une vie d'un.
Des vies de deux.
Les pensées de moi.
Du jour heureux.
De la fleur d’hiver.
Des gens qui ont perdu.
Et au printemps, je pense à vous.

>>7476607
this

i wouldn't be caught dead using the word "stars" in anything i write at this point

the power of astronomical/logical terms in general have completely wasted away after being put through the undergraduate meat grinder so many times

plebs are still impressed by this shit though

>>7476616

I don't think it has lost all of its significance but because of so many liberal arts shills taking Astronomy 101 or whatever for their science credit and then spinning some of that what they learned when they weren't staring at facebook on their macbooks into pottery that to pull it off now actually requires a subversion of either the omg we are all made of stars trope or the we are but a speck on a rock hurtling through space trope and some skill

>>7476607

Thank you

>>7476623
>omg we are all made of stars trope or the we are but a speck on a rock hurtling through space
spot on mate

OP here. How can I improve aside from trashing the sugary, memetic angle?

>>7476634

>know we're as old as the heavens themselves
>we are of the universe, and therefore - eternal
>there is no end to us
>we are wonderous, resplendent constellations
>we are each a marvel to be beheld

etc

the force of these understandings is GREATLY cheapened by you bashing the reader's head with them, constantly saying what we are instead of using imagery from which a reader can make these conclusions themselves. Adding adjectives that literally mean the feelings you want the reader to have or take from the scene of floating through space on your teenage love or whatever just feels forced.

this part is good I think

>but you, your light, jetting through celestial clouds, founds it way to me
>it passed through a splintered pane on my heart

because it express an image or a scene that is unique, and there is a change of scale from celestial clouds to window panes which brings pleasure to read

there isn't the same ham fisted explanation of why this moment is special or how "wonderous" it is, the moment should speak for itself.

Then you go back to the adjective laden fedora bullshit "ecstatic levitation of disbelief" which just makes the actual image of floating above the earth redundant: if you're hovering then no shit it is a levitation, if you are with your loved one then no shit it is ecstatic.

Think how much better that line is if you take some out, like for instance, "Here, higher above the earth, in disbelief"

>>7476609

I like it but can't tell if a native french speaker would like it. It feels a BIT too "red fish, blue fish" but I think it would be better if you rearrange it a bit to break up the pattern of syllables as such:

La vie en rose.
Un coeur bleu.
Les pensées de moi.
Du jour heureux.
Une vie d'un.
Des vies de deux.
De la fleur d’hiver.
Des gens qui ont perdu.
Et au printemps, je pense à vous.

>>7476669
In all honesty, it's only presented like that because it was for a class and we had to follow that format.

>>7476654

Thanks for the constructive criticism m8. I think at the time I wrote this up I was too focused on the vocabulary, hence the fedora-esque section(s).

Death's next grayed take lies before a flight of stairs: its banister, hand-worn; its steps, foot-worn alike, by the innumerable past.

The familiar rendering illuminates a corridor above. Ten-pace past white walls; ten-pace past nailed beauties; ten-pace past long shut doors; that wretched room remains.

The room of regretful stagnation, of lone nights of loneliness, of life and death marked by sloth. In the gray room-cage the gray man drew a final gray breath.

The feet of the sacred flight set him inwardly ablaze. The heart laments in fiery form- this is the Inferno, the path most choose.

Slowly, a scratch is made upon the first step: vindication for a man requires much clawing. The journey to self extinguishment begins.

Atop the staircase, of course, lies not the feeble climber's deathbed, but the unknown.

Towards the unknown must we all feebly shamble, for release is in that of the unknowing; he who only assumes, is free to assume his own freedom, from death, from fire, from Hell.

>>7475654
Saccharine and terribly clunky.

>>7476878
liked this a lot family

File: thanks-for-reading.png (2 MB, 1680x1050) Image search: [Google]

2 MB, 1680x1050

>>7475654
Fairly clunky, and perhaps contradictory? You say that you are eternal, then momentary. I might be reading it wrong.
>>7476588
Overall I like it. But "the thisness of the this" seems like a poor attempt at being profound, and the last line feels a tiny bit clichéd. Remember that overall, I think it's solid.
>>7476878
Awkward punctuation in first line.
It feels like this piece of writing is trying a lot of different things to emotionally resonate with the reader, but it just didn't have that effect on me.

Mine is pic related, any feedback is appreciated, so long as it's not fruitless insults.

Written as I was coming up on vyvanse and there was silence everywhere but within me.

Quite possibly my best poem, but that doesn't make it good.

http://pastebin.com/QvYxHa9Z

>>7476588
Really nice but not a poem; just turn it into a prose paragraph

>>7476607
How come stars don't sound so terrible when ts eliot uses them, but anyone just sounds like an edgy teenager?

>>7475654
Eyelids: guillotines through my own,
ink black line of demarcation
Spanish-Portuguese usurpation,
native lives cut by unknown knowns

In a yellow office a man moans,
eyes closed to cracking
,nitrogen sapping tired bones
atramentous lives spread across thighs.
Dotted is in designations of time.

Blindness in truth
lies in youth
idealistic follies dappled chartreuse.
From throne they go
in rusted armor
to conquer lands and mold
the rough hewn land
into alabaster and gold

>>7475654
It's OK. Don't give up. You heartbroken senpai?

I excite myself
with the promise
that with renewed vigor
I shall attack the day
when I rise to engorge
myself upon
what I cannot
this eve.
The deep and
profound need
to ingest
to imbibe
the new excitement
the newest marvel
the words that spill
from pen to pad
that reach the
toneless ears
of those
that lack the
remorseless hunger
of the novel.
The passion of interest itself
unbound
unheeded
untamed
must wait for
me to rise
again.
Such limitless drive
strains my drooping eyes... To bed. To bed.

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now i am become death, destroyer of threads.

>>7479192
me too, mate.

>>7478155
Very good! Really gives off the tone of something of the 1800s, good work with that.

I'd be cautious of erring on the side of being forced and stilted; that's there a bit in the second paragraph. Unless the scene's being created or something powerful is happening, I'd shy from being particularly poetic. It's not bad and when it's well-placed it's golden, but sometimes it feels a bit much. Examples are the words as the sun's light and suggestions as a star. It's not the idea of such a concept necessarily; it could just be a wording issue (a suggested (!) rewording: "... as absolute as the irreducible summertime sun ... As suggestions - distant and diminutive as stars lost in the night." All this may just be me and my taste though; ask others too.

Sometimes it feels out of place and sort of modern (the second half of the penultimate sentence as an example; seems more flatly descriptive - like you're an encyclopedia or report - than attracting or inviting to read on; a suggested rewording: "interpreted them as but ideas to answer a greater, unquenchable question that bothered him at present); watch out for that if you're trying for the 1800s vibe. It's delicate to keep that tone, but you've shown you can do it. Just be cognizant of it.

Overall, it's good writing. Good luck with your book!

>>7476588
Really liked it. It reads like a passage from a Jonathan Safran Foer book.

Twelve asses. Male asses. Hairy, male asses. All in a row, lined up like at the supermarket.

No one knows about these asses. Because they're hidden. Hidden in a pumpkin patch. A pumpkin patch of male asses. Hairy, male asses. All in a row.

You can't put one over on these asses. Because they've got experience. And they're ready for anything. Anything involving pumpkins. And patches. Because they're asses. Hairy asses. On male models. In a pumpkin patch.

These asses are plump. Plump, male asses. All in a row. These naked, male asses plumped up to infinity. Male infinity. To their asses. And there's no stopping it. Not even for Obama. Obama can't stop these hairy, male asses.

Why the fuck did I read that in George Carlin's voice?

These asses are coming. Coming for years. Into the future. The ass future. A hairy, male ass future. All in a row.

These pumpkins are into it. Into male model asses. Plumped up in a row. Like a supermarket. A supermarket of hairy male asses. To infinity. Model infinity. Like a pumpkin.

Republicans are looking. Looking at infinity. Hairy infinity. A hairy infinity of asses. To Republicans. And there's no stopping it. Obama can't stop these Republican asses. In a row. To Obama. And models. Male models.

These asses are plumped. Plumped like Schwarzenegger. Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the gym. Near a pumpkin. A pumpkin patch. A pumpkin patch of hairy male asses. With a model.

Who's looking? A woman. A male woman. With hair. A hairy male woman. Plumped up to infinity. Ass infinity. Like Arnold. Arnold Schwarzenegger. With his ass.

You can't hold these asses back. Because they're strong. Male strong. Near a gym. An ass gym. Obama can't stand these hairy male asses. By a pumpkin. An ass pumpkin.

There's someone near by. Who is it? A model. A hair model. On his ass. His hairy, male ass. An ass that's plumped. This plumped, male ass can't be stopped. An ass stop.

These asses are all in a row. Like a supermarket. A plumped, male supermarket. Near a model. A male model. A male, ass model. Who's a pumpkin. An Obama pumpkin. All in a row, lined up like at the supermarket.

Hairy, male asses. Male asses. Twelve asses.

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B u M p

>>7475654
Reads like something these fellows would write.

Shit. Watch if you dare.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjoPjn3OPnA

>>7475654
bamp

>>7480747
Kek

She looked at me for a moment locked in time
eyes, emerald gilded sunspots through shattered glass,
this ore a boon, alloyed spirit held at length,
winds of change spewed from Eden's maw,
eyes now further than the stars littering the empty sky,
those eyes, now sultry soil.