poetry critique thread
post your shitty poems and have them shat'd on
try your best to critique others.
Dr. Pavel, I'm C.I.A.
He wasn't alone
Outside the plane in Scottish day
Uh, you don't get to
Bring friends
They are not my friends.
Sulla marched on Rome.
-xception is the Phaedo (...
[see: texts on Alcibiades]
saviors of the polity
"I am leaving out scads of things" ---always these qualifications, nothing set in stone.
[see: Hesiod, Homer, Whitman's Leaves of Grass]
...Inferno
...Heracles
the living rags
justice
eros in Symposium- lust- bastard
(601C) "half spoken"
“The Woodcutter”
The woodcutter lives alone
In a cabin, in the forest
Surrounded by birch.
He’s lived his whole life
all alone
Chopping wood.
Chewing Gum
No family is perfect.
Mine was stuck together
with gum I chewed compulsively
while my parents drank
while my older brother drugged
while my younger brother copied in turn
and while my dog walked.
Perfection has always been
a sort of urban legend.
If you swallow gum
it stays in your stomach for 7 years
at least.
I had bad breath
for so long without knowing.
No one told me—like
spinach in my teeth—
so I stunk everywhere until
She made a face.
After that, my jaw
was constantly churning
paste into concrete.
I vandalized desks with my gum-
graffiti. Hard grey blotches marking
the undersurface. I was here.
You’ve touched an unsavory
piece of me I’ve left behind.
I leave pieces everywhere.
There’s no word for the texture,
so we use it in its own
definition.
Gummy: adj.
having the sticky, tacky
quality of gum.
I suppose there’s no word
for what I had either.
Beautiful morning
Mind the milky mountain peaks
Contemplate nothing
Sunset; slapping flies
Directionless dry ashes
Fresh loneliness
Drunkard’s old annal
Midnight grief; mosquito dance
Tears and dew - green grass
>>7723833
>There’s no word for the texture,
>so we use it in its own
>definition.
>Gummy: adj.
>having the sticky, tacky
>quality of gum.
I would try to make this more concise, but I'm not sure how.
I fucking love the lines "Perfection ... Least"
but the earlier lines were a bit much for me
Fleas are... (zyklon [be who you are]
B) sincere.
Right here (reich, fourth, race war now!),
race, more or less, tips enter peace.
Faith is a virtue, in Him we are all made clean- faith, not work, will set you free.
>>7723845
Edited the first stanza, I've been struggling with the definition part for a while now, thinking about cutting it out and replacing it.
No family is perfect.
Mine was stuck together
with gum I chewed compulsively
or any number of things
we don’t really talk about.
Perfection has always been
a sort of urban legend.
If you swallow gum
it stays in your stomach for 7 years
at least.
>>7723866
be careful about cutting it out, it's a pretty powerful part, at least to me I mainly would like to see
>so we use it in its own
reworded
First Stanza looks much better
>>7723845
Your poem is a good start but it's pretty wordy in some places that need to be tightened up.
The three "of" phrases at the start of the second stanza are the strongest example
> A fisheye lens stretches against the bump map
>of dew lays today's texture
is one possibility to make it easier to read.
and then later
>I trace small circles in my tea;
>my stirrer-compass
>guides the warm winds clockwise
>as i stir
Overall I think the poem is actually saying something interesting and good, it's just the few spots where the image is overstated or unclear.
Going through random folders from hs creative writing courses
“The Smoke”
Tend to the Smoke
So that the Angels will see
Tend to the Smoke
So that the mirrors will gleam
Tend to the Smoke
So the pleasure will please
Tend to the Smoke
So that we will maintain our glittering sheen
>>7723834
Very subtle.
No wasted words.
Strong images.
>>7723873
There’s no word for the texture,
so we had to make one.
Gummy: adj.
having the sticky, tacky
quality of gum.
Hows that?
>>7723900
Did you intentionally respond to me in a semi-haiku?
>>7723893
>dew lays
should have been
>dew to lay
Here I am telling you you're unclear. So embarrassing
>>7723893
how does
>A fisheye lens stretched against a dewy bump
>map lays the days texture.
sound?
>>7723914
No but it would be badass if it was intentional
Pic related was the writing process, but don't look unless you want the rhyme scheme spoiled.
I hardly hear them now.
Just auditory clues,
cues to signal– keys to
slot in neuropaths and
drafts to notes to sheets to
this music. Peace in the
pieces– where I sit but
don't listen. These songs that
tend to sidle step in,
change some stone to flesh and
numb law to love. I want
rest but instead this sly
test sets in for the night.
I hardly hear them now.
>>7723921
Yeah, much better
>>7723929
thanks, how do you feel about the overall structure? it's the most i've played with structure in a more serious work and am mildly obsessed with it
>>7723899
Get rid of every instance of "that," and change the last line to "So we keep our glittering sheen"
It'll flow better.
Gum
Gummy bears
Chicken ten-dares--- that's five double dogs, chili and cheese.
Poetry: critique me,
Will it rustle your jims in just the right way if I'm sparse---
Otter-swim-ripples-in-moon-beams
---and nature-themed?
>>7723937
The structure does one thing well, it breaks.
The change in structure marks the change in tone and style in a clear way.
Can't sleep, don't want to sleep
don't want to, they don't want
me to sleep. They don't want
to, so I'm stuck, but sleep
wants
me.
Needs me, I need it.
Don't want it, want rest
so go– sleep's not rest
though. I do want it,
want
rest.
They get to talk
when I don't sleep
they don't like sleep
no chance to talk
in
bed.
I want rest.
They don't want
me to want
sleep but rest
want
talk.
But I
just want
they want
and I
can't
form
words.
Rest
now
just
want
sleep.
>>7723486
when you kiss me and say you love me
it makes me feel so good
i want to break down and give in to you
i want to believe that you're the one
you give me my pills and sing this strange song
and all my hurting goes away
i start to drift off with you beside me
i want to believe that you're the one
cry and cry and let it out
we have to face that it's over now
even as i anoint your door
i'm looking out for something more
cry and cry, i'm crying too
'cause no one touches me like you do
i don't want my mom to know
that i've been a dirty boy
i try my darnedest to be a bastard
i want you to think that i don't care
but i feel sorry and you're so pretty
you start to cry and i kiss your mouth
you're a tragic girl
you lead a tragic life
i'm just meant to be
your latest tragedy
this ain't no butterfly, girl
this ain't no butterfly love
i'm gonna have to be
your latest tragedy
>>7723952
DJ Khaled?
>>7723952
The repetition is boring without additional structure. Consider something like a pantoum.
>>7723911
better, but that beautiful way of commenting on how circular the definition is is kind of lost
I wish I knew what to do, but I believe in you, anon
To who am I to write?
That audience of my eye;
gold beached in blue,
orbiting marooned
an inward black.
Where sees the eye
but lack?
Green hills
Red skies -
pale stains
of holy skin -
drawn tight
around something.
>>7723833
Good slam poetry.
>>7723961
What repetition, exactly?
>>7723959
Who and why?
>>7723988
Your poem sounds like his snapchat. gave me a chuckle
>>7723997
Could you give an example?
Trout belly soft. me likes.
Glass On glass slide. We Light.
Bent on a toilet
Stand where I stole you.
Bathtub meth's all right.
>>7724013
This fits together very nicely
I got home late last night and I wondered if he got home too
I wondered what he's doing right now
or what my other friends are doing
and I thought
if anyone else thinks about me too
if they cared about what happens to me
and how nice it would be to have someone to come home to
The families tear and come unraveled.
Cruel fate's victims.
Fatal disease runs rampant on these plains,
and seeks to end life.
What a mean and harsh and undeserved strife.
Their northern brothers love and drink and dance
No shortage of food
and no one is in an unpleasant mood.
The fates smile on them,
their needs fulfilled so very easily.
Whilst life proceeds so damn drearily.
I walked, languid, mouthing desperate syllables among these dregs on Spring and Seventh,
Clouds writhe, amassing, trembling, trembling, as some macabre lord sends them to drain. Palm tress bend underneath the immense weight of the sky, beckoning below
Reverberations of demise, pulsating and conducting that symphony of sinewy inevitabiliy; they bleed crimson onto thick asphalt and neon lights.
Two a.m, a homeless man is screaming into a forty ounce and then the sky. That great magnanimous, terrible fool, crouches among skyscrapers surveying his crafted apocalypse,
Just started on a poem about
>tfw can't sleep
I'm setting it to music for mixed choir. I feel way more comfortable putting emotions into music than into words. This is my first time writing my own lyrics.
"Nocturne"
>Awake
>Awake at nighttime
>Sleep is afar
>Rest a faint dream
>Dreams were never further from life
>Life never further from dreams
>Scores of sheep have I counted
>Under an impotent moon
>Astray my flock wanders
>Seeking shadowmade pastures
>Slumber, here I lie!
>Face me, embrace me
>Engulf me and fly
>Into the sweet, soothing realms of night
>>7726679
I like it. It reminds me of a piece by Eric Whitacre called Cloudburst - particularly the part from 5:32 and onwards.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwsHdamKjfM
Regrets
You prayed it would get better but it never would.
You tore it all apart just to put it back together.
You tried to live as they made you think you should.
You forgot to remember you would never live forever.
You blamed me for not being like you and that's fine.
These regrets are yours and they will never be mine.
Transendent-
Risen high above
.
I,
Take a look at,
Myself,
To realize the dream is,
So far away, just a light that will stay,
Forever astray,
Around the sky, around the mind,
As if by a dream,
Taken back by,
This infinite struggle to understand,
Will be the tourniquet to scourge my spirtuality,
Perhaps this is how I should seek out this,
Serendipity's eternal jest to awake my stimuli,
>>7726943
Sounds like a NIN song desu. I liek it mate.
>>7726996
Thank you.
Bradford Pear
Look at me, look at me!
Another Bradford pear tree,
But don’t eat, but don’t eat!
My fruits, they are not tasty,
Underneath, underneath!
I am not quite shady,
I line the streets, I line the streets!
In perfect uniformity.
>>7727057
Sounds like a nursery rhyme. Quite impressive.
When Saturn on his plated throne
did wrap the veil of dusk around
the jewel of earth I call my home
I started cooking noodles
I boiled the water for a while
and beat an egg into a slurry
set the timer for three minutes
placed my plastic Ark in salt
In the time it took for some odd
thousand souls to be transfigured
from the former to the latter
dinner came to be
Now I eat my eggy noodles
basking in the glow of liquid
crystal torrents giving form
to frogs and friends and foes
Ode to Hemingway
Oh! Great fool, great bellicose fool, belligerent and
Breathtaking. Terse and unnerving, the lithe sentences
Crafted side by side. I don’t much like absinthe,
But somewhere in English 20b, students sit supine,
Blackening the pages, lighting spliffs, and toasting
IPAs dripping dripping dripping like honey
On the unintentional profundity of that rising sun.
Truthfully, we’ve always admired you, with left hooks
And ruinous dissertations. We’ve long endured
With frivolous exasperation, that grandiose
Forcing of morals down your metaphysical throat,
Flushed onto the ephemeral pages of archaic ideals.
At the helm, that “distinguished” “erudite” shill
Of contemporary idealism, racked with insolence
And some self-righteous vindication.
She asks me: Don’t you love your mother?
She clutches a book by some other
Ostensibly enlightened scholar,
Analyzing kerouac’s portrayal of women and
Mouthing the desperate syllables: shitlord,
Underneath her labored breath.
Yet we’ll laboriously trudge these wretched concepts,
Still studying Jake Barnes in quiet admiration
>Shit on me family
Pine fingers rake the sky
held down on all sides
bound by mountains.
It bleeds early sunset
and we could call it torture;
or we could call it something else.
Wood gouged cloud
the shade of maple
or flies stuck in amber
floats without motion
or the sluggish sliding up the sky
that airplanes do.
Musky dirt is our Chanel.
Tongues lick this distance,
eyes sniff the needles far from us,
dart more and more toward the smell of you
who is beside me
wrapped in the tartan of your people
who killed my people
and tortured others slow,
precise, on dark bruised nights,
hanging in the wind.
Headless, I bought you a
necklace made of zircon which was
nonetheless beautiful to the blind.
Retire this nasal eye to slow breathing.
The sheet wrinkles, changing length
From two to one
from one to zero
until zero bleeds to utero;
this dark is fetal climbing through a pussy only physicians touch.
On my hands the look of you
on my ears the taste of you
against my nose the nose of you
on my tongue the sound of you
everything is the touch of you;
origin bleeds from two.
Retire these lips to slow breathing.
when i die do not bury me
i want to rot on the earth
and fall to pieces slowly
my body shall serve you
as inspiration to the young
and a reminder to the old
my bones will look over us
as i haunt this town forever
His body enveloped in ecru hued tears
gentle whipsers escaping his disjointed mind
screaming his name
my voice, a familiar landmark
to help guide him though the haze
i wish i knew
the nascent idea of a lonely soul
wandering
i too just as displaced
Lots of poetry in this thread, not much critique, and I am not the man to critique all this
>>7727569
This is really bad.
It reads like something a grade nine kid would write.
Way too forced. I suggest reading a lot more poetry.
>>7727578
There's a lot of that in this thread.
Way too forced. More what people think poems are like than actual poems.
>>7727592
Then give some of these poems some critique. How can they know they're shit if you don't tell them? Do your duty, /lit/
>>7727605
don't tell me what to do asshole
>>7726735
I could really use some feedback on this, considering that I'll eventually have the music performed and the score published.
>>7728510
There aren't any very strong images that capture the feeling of being unable to sleep.
Also, the last paragraph you might want to change either 'lie!' or 'fly' so it doesn't rhyme to keep with the other lines.
A face, not yours I'm happy with
She talks shit like I do
Like you didn't
I find myself happy
Like the time you said that
That house looked nice
You could see us on the front deck
With a little girl and I'd read to her
And you would listen as I read warmly
Looking back to you smiling with a contentment
I find to this day unattainable.
I hope that I am as content with her
As content as the content you imagined
Now not to be.
>>7728628
Put a comma after 'yours' in the first line
When I was a small child around six or seven,
My parents taught me that good children go to heaven,
Before my adolescence, around the age of twelve,
I'd realised the books are something I should shelve,
When I became a man, I think I was eighteen,
I realised the truth remained to be seen,
Then I read Richard Dawkins at the age of twenty-six,
Now I'm not just sceptical, I'm a total dick.
>>7723927
Fuck, can you give me some advice? This is the sort of thing I'd like to write
>>7728638
>When I became a man, I think I was eighteen,
Drop the "I was", it's cleaner
Funny though.
There it is, the people arriving at the scene
Fear not fellow human, the karma police is here
Judge, jury and executioner, they know what is best
Save the good for society: Save the good in name of the rest
No sympathy for the victim, one of which living too many
Empathy disregarded for those committing social felony
Of rumour enough to commit the punishment
No defence given for those lost, in abuse of the moment
Of no value to this world or yet still,
Who cares - look in the eyes of the devil
Look in the eyes to reflect the worlds pain
Abuse, trauma and intellectual murder: A person of vain
Has nothing been lost, nothing left to strand
Presented now the finale, the void of the end
With my last love left I will say: Goodbye my friend.
>>7730282
killmyself/10
Do we think
or are we thought?
Learn ourselves
or are we taught?
Born to shape
Or are we wrought?
Soul alone
Or are we nought?
>>7728650
I'm really not sure what specific advice to give.
I don't sit down with the intent to write a poem. I'm usually at my desk, doing other writing or fucking around on the internet, or in bed about to fall asleep, when my thoughts arrange themselves into a first line, and I can feel the rest of the piece lurking behind that line, mostly formless but wanting to be written down nonetheless. After that, it's a scramble to find the right words and rhythm and structure before the feeling of the poem slips away from me. I don't know if I've ever spent more than an hour from idea to final.
>>7723486
Pasty fresh pastry faces
penalty of death
for
impersonating a person
copping a feel
feeling a cop
donuts
fabulous food feeds the officer's delight
BAM
Jelly everywhere
They didn't read him his rights
BAM
Diabetes in the air tonight
Dough lives matter
fatter and fatter
pay no heed
No lives matter
slaughter at the Timmy Ho's tonight.
>>7731056
feeding a cop not feeling a cop... BAKA
>>7726735
you are either trolling or on the way to make something epic.
>>7731497
Thanks, I plan for it to be the first poem in a collaborative photo/poem book on my home town.
>>7727526
I question your use of "it"s because it grammatically refers to the immediately prior singular noun, so the sky bleeds and the sunset is torture, but these don't seem to be handled with precision in the poem.
"Wood gouged cloud the shade of maple" is nonsensical, either as wood gouged or wood-gouged. "the smell of you who is beside me" is janky as fuck.
I didn't like the use of "pussy"--a change in register. The penultimate stanza seems hella synesthesetic. I guess that's an excuse for pairs like "wood-gouged clouds" or "dirt Chanel" or "licking distance." But at the same time, it's not really an excuse. I didn't get anything from those phrases, they sound clunky and inept.
The last line is really... ugh. Sanguine, sappy, at the same time viscous and unappealing.
>>7728602
That's actually a good point, thanks.
I'm also worrying that three paragraphs is a bad structure, and that I should have four, looking at how I'm structuring the music. But we'll see how it turns out.
>>7731344
If only the truth was as polarized. I could be making something really bland, or really pretentious. Who knows.
>>7733083
I thought I might write something about the same idea. Maybe it will help you?
A quiescent movement;
Mediate and meditate
on demented sleep control.
Dendritic limbs
Mental diffusion although
rats gnaw unregulated
and my heart pumps thick and slow
to no rhythm.
>>7728602
On second thought, I think I'll keep the lines as they are. "Wanders" and "pastures" actually rhyme when sung. Switching from non-rhyming lines to rhymes halfway through may be unorthodox, but why not? The music to which I set the poem, matches this: The first half loose, the second half more tightly structured. Musically this structure works out rather well, I think.
>>7730282
Anyone want to give an actual opinion about this?
serving two masters
gotta make hay
but when he comes askin
you gotta pay
Aethiopis - a fragment
Trans. Fagles
Sing to me Muse, of how the defiant
Aethiopian tribe met and
Decimated Menelaus’ troop.
Relate how Memnon, Son of Dawn, prepped his
Bullish horde of burnished Aethiop men
For grave slaughter and great glory at the
Scamander’s banks.
Tell how Memnon scorned the lord of the war cry:
‘Warlike Menelaus, I have heard you
Compared to the lion in the fray,
Ever relishing the fight, caked with gore.
But here I see a stag, like Minos CK*
Brought low by your wanton wife’s shame, crowned with horns.’
Memnon then hurled his spear into the Achaean
Multitude - guided by the Thunderer
It gored and gelded Antilochus, son
Of his [father’s] wife. ‘Poor little Greek boy’
Memnon vaunted glorious, and marshalled
His Aethiop army, bristling with ashen
Shafts, to descend on the quivering
Achaeans like sable vested night.
*translator’s note: CK = Crete King
walking down the dock
with my bitches beside me
got so much fucking swag
they can't ever deny me
walking down the dock
with my bitches beside
got so much fucking cash
they can't ever deny me
i got so much cash and pussy
that i don't know what to do
all these fucken hoes
my balls never be blue
all you artsy bitches with humanities degrees
get a fucken life pay back your fucken fees
my niggas make more bank than your broke ass ever will
if you can't accept that, then yourself you should kill.
bruh, you got some jam on your chin
it's right over there
let me get it for you now
cus i'm your kin
and for you i'm here
you're no cow
>>7734528
i feel it
i think this board is very very bad
i used to think some time back
that it was very very rad
but that opinion now I completely lack
critique my poetry anons please
put down that junk with grease
dust off all those cheetos
from that beard under your neck
and type some frickin "neato"s
for my post or else I'll be "what the heck"
i'm new to poetry
and it seems better than toiletry
i think i'm not to bad though
my flow isn't too good though.
I like rum
and also chewing gum
and also eating bum
and also banging drum
and also finding sum
and also doing ur mum
who likes to take my cum
>>7733171
Nice. I like it. It's not what I'm aiming for myself, however.
I've written about 2/3 of the piece, and made some changes to the poem, mostly to make it fit the musical structure. If someone has a good word for the colors or visuals of night sky, bring it!
Awake
Awake at nighttime
Sleep is afar
Rest a faint dream
Dreams were never further from life
Life never further from dreams
Scores of sheep pass me by
Under an impotent moon
Astray my flock wanders
seeking shadowmade pastures
Slumber, here I lie!
Face me, embrace me
Please, I beg of you,
Engulf me and fly
Let me ascend into soothing realms of
sweet velvet night
>>7727517
>>7734489
good
>>7723548
>>7723946
>>7727122
>>7728638
>>7731056
heh
>>7734210
>>7723552
>>7723594
>>7723833
>>7723834
>>7723845
>>7723846
>>7723866
>>7723899
>>7723911
>>7723927
>>7723952
>>7724013
>>7726943
>>7727526
>>7734528
>>7734535
>>7734582
>>7734645
bad
>>7727569
>>7728628
>>7723954
>>7723979
>>7725850
>>7726735
>>7726955
>>7727057
>>7730282
>>7730658
atrocious
>>7734701
3/10
really pretentious and poorly written.
>>7734833
>>7734764
Thank you for replying to my nocturne poem. Please take into consideration that the poem is intended as lyrics for a choir piece, and not as stand-alone prose.
If you find it pretentious, please explain why you find it as such - otherwise you're not of much help.
I started writing 3 days ago; I have to edit notation and polish the layout, but otherwise I feel mostly finished. There ought to be more counterpoint in the alto in bars 49-52, and I'm a bit reluctant to divide the male choir in 5 voice parts, otherwise I'm quite content with what came out in so short time.
>>7732825
Hey man, thank you. I appreciate all the effort you put in.
I agree with what you said. This poem has always bothered me, and I haven't been able to figure out why.
>>7734764
Great critiques, very productive.
>>7734833
Sunlight floods the bathroom like piss
Puddles. Bliss!
I eat all the tissues
Which one of you faggots is it then.
>>7735059
I thought it was a good critique
>>7734764
Thanks, I wrote the "Ode to Hemingway". Any suggestions, comments, criticisms?
[spoiler[ It's the first poem I've ever written. It's for a creative writing class. The only poets I've really payed any attention to are Ginsberg, Plath, Kerouac, and Bukowski- aside form what I've had to read for classes, of course. I know I'm a pleb.[/spoiler]
>>7735076
Nice spoiler
I present: Horny Studying. Dedicated to all the sluts out there.
Hunkered, tinkering minds
Delicate, recycled library air
Fingers galloping along
Tip-tap, clickity-clack
I’m ready to stay all night long
Soft chewing in the mouth
Echoes clamor in the head
When the delicate, recycled air
Sits, flat and dead
And when I stand you glance at me
Which is why I stand and stretch so often
And this white paper, blanched and read
Dries the eyes and and dulls the head
But I will not leave without you
Nor will I say hello
But should you leave first
I will gaze, sullen, as you go
Tip-tap, clickity-clack
As your image fades away
So does my hollow longing
And in my pants unrest has led
Me to the masturbation shed (i.e. the family restroom)
Lathnos het faltern on the high stump
Tious masses rustling their coats in root-eaves below
while Istern hordes trample in a growing spiral
on gods' faces, antipodal.
Sammandrion, sivy settled Satremonger
he may be, lends animate to callowed, mallean Prentics
and holds barred many a mangled law-tracer
but has no heed of his brother
Taphylos, who's none below but the deads' hands
agaze to the primate roil past halted lands.
>>7735233
I can't read this without seeing you in a trenchcoat
I woke to find that golden day
had come again, my rancour stayed
by those I've come to call my friends
my cigarettes and coffee
When I was young I lost a son
we flushed him to the sewer bed
you pleaded me to never tell
your father, lest he do the same
I showered, shaved and brushèd well
my eyes in mirrors, constant mud
descended down the oaken well
for cigarettes and coffee
At twenty-two you left me standing
at your door with flowers fresh
they carried you to wheelèd white
and took you from my arms
I set the pan with Attic oil
upon the stove where, burning dim
is made the ovum I consume
with cigarettes and coffee
At twenty-six I saw my uncle
strong and loved and full of light
reduced by dull Alzheimer's blade
alone and scared, felled by the night
The hum of thrush's melody
a brief yet potent rhapsody
a choir that accompanies
my cigarettes and coffee
Now I lay at twenty-eight
with all companions gone to stay
I sigh to face another day
with cigarettes and coffee
>>7735233
Splotches of Joycean grandeur marred by a heavy handed semiotician and flagrant pseud
>>7723833
This was good until the last three stanzas had to shit it up with typical millennial "CANNOT SPEAK OF ANYFING"
A dip into blue,
One slip, you fall, you rise,
Now you’re yielding to the peace
That shines behind his eyes
Hands filled with the flowers
Richly coloured, they won’t lie,
They are woven with knowledge,
Mock the folly of the wise
Beautiful folly,
The jewels of flesh and blood,
Picked clean from the bones
Left behind from the flood
At his bountiful feast
The black bird, he knew,
Among the flesh-bread, and the blood-wine,
What’s rejected is true
Now you dip into blue,
The woven flowers are swept
Below the flood where you swim,
Where his promise is kept
Semen, semen burning bright
in the darkness of the night
dare not wake my roommates who
are but a thin walls breadth from you
If they wake and hear the creaking
of the plastic chair I ride
pray they think it but the beating
of the waves brought by the tide
>>7735797
Top kek.
That's actually really well done.
Wrote it 2 hours ago, thought I'd post it here to be "shat upon". I'll critique others tomorrow as I'm very tired right now. Although after you read my poem, you'll see that I'm not the one who should be critiquing, really...
An empty shell of a man.
No more and no less.
Your life is an achievement
Made by someone else.
Keep hoarding all the way,
Keep being a playable pawn.
You're not there to stay,
You'll soon be overthrown.
Keep your dear possessions,
Keep being their obedient slave.
They won't quiet your obsessions,
They won't follow you through the grave.
And when you ask your final question -
"Was my life a decent one?"
Your deeds will flash in rapid succession,
Although decent will be none.
>>7736235
Wow man, you cut me with all that edge.
This isn't bad as a first draft,and the message is somewhat universal. Try and cut down on the heavy-handed melodrama. You need to be much more implicit, give the reader something to think about
>>7736235
The metre is awkward and the subject matter is pretty bland and unoriginal
Although, barring the overlong "succession", the last stanza is a nice turn of phrase
Fair Lady
She rustled a ticket’s worth of change
from the bitter beer stained cushions.
Powdered sugar laced the fabric,
fallen from the nubs of half-finished cigarettes.
“Be home later” tacked to the fridge,
written in unsteady cursive.
She readied a taffy pink bow atop a strawberry blonde bun,
and exited her tin can on wheels.
Her lollipop braids bounced like tumbleweeds,
catching each sunbeam, teasing the lurking dark.
The wind sprinkled her dress with white wisps,
cotton candy seeds caught awash in the wind.
The lemon drop sun nestled itself snug beneath the horizon,
covered in a blanket of pine sap and summer haze.
The girl skipped along a path between the trees,
growing brighter under the lights of the Carnival.
She noticed a figure heaving behind a metal shed,
a boy sick from too many nows not saved for later.
A bag torn inside-out rested beside him,
wrappers strewn unopened, his fingers dark with chocolate.
He’d eaten the world before the rainbow bright
Ferris wheel sent it back out again.
She’d come to ride the rides but the candy urged a taste,
glowing like fireflies on the dirt.
She approached the boy and placed half her tickets in his hand,
his pallored face nodding in subtle surrender.
She plucked a peppermint from the earth,
dabbed her tongue and swallowed it whole.
The Ferris wheel spun above the two,
changing the moon’s color like a turning kaleidoscope.
She’d never go home,
not on a night as sublime as this.
The boy stood up straight collecting his treasure,
grabbed her hand, walking the ramp to the wheel as one.
>>7736235
I have no idea who this is directed at. It needs some serious focus. If you are after a tyrant, I need more imagery, if you're after someone closer to you, give examples.
Like some others said, this is super duper vague.
A Villanelle
Do you suppose that roses even know
How lovers give them meaning quite beyond
Their humble place in nature’s greatest show?
If titles meant a thing, as Shakespeare shows,
As singers must eventually give songs,
Do you suppose that roses even know?
As goldfish swim in decorated bowls,
Or flowers sit in vases, do they long
A humble place in nature’s greatest show?
If love would die as all things tend to go,
And rot creeps in to houses where it’s wronged,
Do you suppose that roses even know?
The hugs or smiles, as signs of love, grow cold
Lovers go back, return the rose torn from
Its humble place in nature’s greatest show.
And all the poems burn away, you go,
Like dust of stars to dirt where you belong;
I don’t suppose that roses even know
Their humble place in nature’s greatest show.
>>7723552
i like
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.
Bump
I need your scathing critiques
>>7737816
I like Last Year's Man better, personally.
Prepare to have your work stolen you fags
>>7738532
Good taste
>>7738547
Jokes on you, my poem is terrible.
>>7738547
To Anon Who Would Steal Work Off A /lit/ Poetry Critique Thread
lmao
that is
"laughing my ass off"
Anyways, I can only spare
abbreviations for such a
shortsighted suggestion.
Yet to elaborate:
imagine turning one in
after stamping your name
upon it. Past a fortnight
returned, with bleeding Arabic
zero. You inquire, and rebuffed thus:
"This is asinine. Why, pure
emulation without emotion.
Why pupil, I thought you promising,
until you turned in this
flaccid Pound emulation.
Yet,
you're not just a wannabe,
you're a fucking meme"
>>7738547
All of this is copyright protected, you moron.
I carved a cave beneath the foundation
under the family home
drip drip-drop!
the water pops
in the quiet of my cave, to me alone.
I drink deeply from the pool--
never mind green coprophagic strings
of filth
which cling to my teeth,
I like the mice, it's good to hear them squeak--
in my cave
beneath the home
alone
The drugs will kick in.
The drugs are going to kick in.
The drugs should kick in.
The drugs ought to kick in.
The drugs have a moral responsibility to kick in.
The drugs are kicking in.
tHE DRUGS HAVE KICKED IN. [1]
tHE DRUGS HAVE KICKED IN.
The drugs kicked in.
The drugs have kicked in.
The drugs are gone.
[1] The drugs were kicking in.
>>7739060
This gave me a giggle
>>7739048
This is actually pretty damn good
Seeds – And we had so many
And now we may have no more but
Some stored them and grew potted plants
Which they sell and we buy with soil –
Our infertile soil, this is why there
Are no more seeds.
But the plants sustain us or we think
They must do.
There are fields everywhere but this is
The one we chose because it had a
Sign that was ironic as any semblance
Of meaning it purported to contain was
Immediately negated by the absolute
Vapidity OR barrenness of the soil.
So I eat the seeds
– the ones I have in my pocket.
And now they say we can’t eat meat.
And conversations are supposed to
Convey emotion not information.
I get up and walk away
When he starts talking.
We’ll see how well that works in the
Next few months.
I saw a little girl with wondrous eyes and golden hair
Her father smiled at me
I got on my knees and handed her the toy she dropped
She said thank you and kissed my cheek
Next day I wondered how is she so carefree
Why doesn't a child know nothing about the suffering
The pain in her father's eyes softened me
Will she be learned of the same torment?
Strange is to feel within the duality
Stranger is to be felt with the same empathy
Love is there to remain when we need it, all of it
Beings made of love are its kindest mastery
>>7736444
Man I really like this poem. Some of your metaphors are killer, like the sun "covered in a blanket of pine sap and summer haze". And also "a boy sick from too many nows not saved for later".
A sweet poem (sweet as in adorable)
>>7735413
>>7736444
Favourites
>>7735797
>>7739060
Favourites with a humorous bent
Rate me lads
acrasial adnascentia
austerulous autexousious
welmish vellicle
>>7739325
philoligerotica/10
>>7735041
who the fuck writes choir music in english? latin italian or german, gtfo with this shit, that's all i have to say to you, i'm not mad but simply baffled and annoyed
>>7735797
fuckin saved
Untitled Fantasy
Cinder column of the earth!
birds rest on your emerald perch.
Down your roots shoot into stone,
snake through ancient dwarven homes,
wreath the elder lizard bones
yet do not reach the crystal dome.
-------------------------
Fragment of a poem on Ottoman Slavery
Seventeen opals on seventeen chains
bound about porcelain stomachs of slaves
----------------------------
Untitled Science Fiction
The last bells and whistles of a galaxy faded
wraiths oversee their autonomous slavery.
Black star ships, hollow inside,
record nanobot swarms stealing the light,
stealing the light of the stars.
In the core there is warmth,
still flickering light:
a torch held against the encroaching night--
wraiths kept at bay by the lingering might
of a god long dead, last of his kind.
We walk hand-in-hand, our eyes to the dirt,
blind to the sky, the dimming, the dearth,
content not to confirm the demise of the light
and the doom of the Earth.
>>7735076
those are some pretty awful poets you've got there.
>inb4 "who are good poets then?"
Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Stevens, Yeats
re. your poem, don't expand your vocabulary unnecessarily. "bellicose-belligerent" is awful alliteration and prosody. "lithe-side-side" is bad, lithe is unfit. "students sit supine" is really awful beside being . "unintentional profundity" is high-school tier abstraction. I won't go on because most of my criticisms are similarly directed at your diction, which seems to have mutated around your prosody as a tree limb grows around a steel post. try writing in blank verse, it'll be good for you.
>>7739022
I'm almost certain that people think, at some point in their lives, that being meta is a stand-in for talent and skill. When they are outed, they fall back to "it was ironic duuude." But if they were praised I'm sure they'd say something of the opposite vein. Fortunately, the world has standards and faking-it-til-making-it is only applicable for plebeian activities.
tldr back to the drawing board anon
>>7739472
Consider finishing your poems before posting them
>>7739261
Are you 14 years old? Then why are you writing as though you're wishing you didn't have all these "teensponsibilities"
>>7739148
>they must do
Is English not your first language? Either way, watch your grammar. The idea here is nice but you can choose your words better. Watch what you emphasise.
>>7739060
Funny, but one suggestion would be to have more lines like "the drugs have a moral responsibility to kick in". Also, I'd improve the portrayal of the comedown. You can definitely take this semi-hackery to the next level senpai.
>>7739566
>Funny, but one suggestion would be to have more lines like "the drugs have a moral responsibility to kick in". Also, I'd improve the portrayal of the comedown. You can definitely take this semi-hackery to the next level senpai.
I'm surprised and shocked that anyone liked this steaming pile of shit at all, since I wrote it in literally ten seconds.
>>7739576
It's actually kind of endearing, for whatever stupid reason.
>tfw always find that the less effort I put into things the better they sound, except when that's not true.
This one is called "Fashion Hurts".And no, I don't live in London.
I look so hot in these shoes from Ealing
Can't stand up cuz my feel'll kill me
I don't need to wear my jeans so tight
but without the pressure I just wouldn't look right
enough heel support I should be disabled
But hey, I don't care, just look at the label.
I'm tripping all over these high heel boots
But our dates look good in their Saint Laurent Suits
Waiting in line to get into this place
Bouncer tells my boyfriend "get out of my face"
I gotta keep moving, takes a lot to dance
Especially in clothes imported from France
I can't see a thing because of these glasses
but at least I look cool in Kris Van Assche's
Another day over and deeper in debt
I lose five pounds and get upset
Not addicted just keeping in style
Afraid to lose friends so I keep my smile
Fashion hurts
I can't stop crying
Fashion hurts
I can't stop buying
Don't have a name for this, finished it last night.
>We cannot know his undiscovered head
>in which the apples of the eyes ripen. Yet
>his torso still glows like a candelabra,
>in which his seeing, now constrained,
>remains and shines. Otherwise the curve
>of the breast could not dazzle you, nor could a smile
>pass through the quiet axis of the loins
>to that centre where procreation swelled.
>Otherwise this stone would be disfigured, and cut short,
>under the shoulders’ transparent fall,
>and would not glimmer so, like a predator’s pelt:
>and would not flare out from all its edges
>like a star: for here there is no place
>that does not see you. You must transmute your life.
My world is so taught
I hung myself on it
>>7727122
I'm too weak to hurt
I trample my pains in cold
And hide my pains in bruises
>>7740099
Are you for real?
>>7740129
die in a fire
>>7723486
warm fuzzy socks in summer time and i cant remember why i loved you.
Were it fear of the dark that warmed that light?
Was it love or fear of being alone?
Warm fuzzy socks in summertime and I cant remember why I loved you.
>>7740130
Ah, just wanted to make sure.
>>7739472
I thought the ottoman was alright
>>7723834
This was really great, anon.
>>7740307
Thanks; any of yours I should critique?
>>7739556
What the fuck are you talking about anon.
That was a shitpost hardly pretending to be a poem. Can you not ascertain intent?
>>7723548
>Scotland
>SCOTLAND
I know it was FILMED in Scotland BUT...
It takes place in Uzbekistan..
_
Pain and love are two and the same
Is love not pain w'out personal gain?
Or shining does, the light on the heart
And tear between lies, divide'em apart?
O, dear Anna my dear, please do not fret
My love is so pure, for you not regret
This ring on my finger, embellished in faith
A faith cannot keep, what's left as a wreath
This demon inside, my life has its Bane
But come back to you, through heavy Uzbekistan rain
>>7740580
Subtle/10
Some quality shitposts in this thread.
I keep losing to feminist chicks with free verse poetry when I enter into competitions. God damn
>>7740677
What is the poetry judged on?
To me, poetry is about eliciting an emotional response and all aspects of a good poem (words themselves, rhythm, style) help that emotion come across.
I know what you mean, I was at a poetry festival in Brisbane, Australia and everyone who read was a woman and they were awful.
It would get across the feeling better if the person didn't realise the problems with their obsession.
A cracked flute plays
Draped transparent cloth of agony
Dusk, firefly blood whirls
Hanging hurricane’s honey smell
Bright lightning scars shadows
Scattered filigree: a sleepwalker’s thread
Tiny hand; blown sand disappears
Pierced exposed bubble emptiness
The motionless foetus you love -
and silence
>>7740801
Mate I feel your pain. In the UK there are, I swear to god, no good female poets. I genuinely know one who has no less than three poems about periods, and that's it. I'm not saying I'm a good poet but I'm better than them, but my politics are "wrong" and I'm seen as bad. Half the time it's because I'm a white man and that's about it, so the only poetry I take to these spoken word nights are emotional ones, not political. I've just stopped going now.
>>7734764
Derivative but competently executed.
Nose turned opposite
the direction of the train.
Time moving forward.
>>7723486
Aren't any of you afraid of being plagiarised when posting your stuff on here?
Just curious, as I myself would like to post but I don't want very little good stuff I have getting taken.
Comments of any nature will be appreciated.
When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Here you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew.
And he is come to visit you.
O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover's chant,
'Tis I that a your visitant.
>>7723552
Perfect as a parody of Pounds poems; but as something that's supposed to stand on its own, it's not very good.
I stepped off the train and into a storm.
Not its eye; but a great sweeping lash.
i find no rope left to tie me to the mast - and you were too quick besides:
You emerged from between panes; great bolts of blue were should be eyes.
Red in the rain...
But they'd never let me read them. Their deep encryption. Not destined for me. You're truest fiction.
>>7741909
Something a little too vague in its meaning for me? It sounds a bit like a prayer.
>>7741183
The last line about the foetus just screams cliché to me. Which is a pity because it's provably intended as the bit that really hits home?
"Scattered filigree; a sleepwalkers thread" and "bloodwhirls" are great little images though
First week:
I internalize the faces of too many strangers on these streets and through these halls so when I sleep all day the dream and reality are identical
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
I found a single slippery sandal last night
A rough rancid realistically unoriginal sandal
That was too small to be mine but just large enough to be significant
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
I have vivid flashbacks of the times I walked home alone
Introductory, perfunctory, seemingly circadian phrases by which I am bludgeoned with on a daily basis
angry patriarchs with shiny heads wear sunglasses that they don't need to see at night only to stare bitterly infront of themselves
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
I'm forgetting a piece of me wherever I go
From strands of hair to newspaper I am forgetting
I think I forgot my allergy meds this morning!
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
I fell asleep in puddles
I struggle with the action of answering, but not asking big questions
I second guess their significance in my world view based on the assumption that they have been answered for me. I know this is wrong, but it's something I can't help but do
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
Is the only thing I have right?
being fundamentally wrong?
Where did this all start?
I need a new way to see others and myself so that I can stay
happy, as long as I don't get sick
I hate being sick
Please don't get me sick
Please don't get me sick
>>7742962
I just straight up hated everything about this.
Maybe I'm too harsh, or just not who this appeals to but like...
I don't want to read a 16 year olds angsty diary. I want to read poetry.
>>7734764
The correct answer is that everything is meh
Your top two are descriptive greekshit (well all old major Greek Poetry is descriptive greekshit) and Ginsberg-Ripoff with the 'sarcastic' edge we can see in so many poetry slams.
>>7741392
It's totally facile. Here in Brisbane, on spoken word nights they pick members from the audience to score each performance. And these performances are typically held in a suburb commonly seen as extremely left-wing.
>>7739489
This is what I call 'snobbish academic with too much free time on his hands'
Plath kills Wordsworth dead on language choice alone. The period just before her lunatic poetry contains some of the thickest shit in the world that kills all the Romantics out of the water (see "Stars over the Dodorgne", "Among the Narcissi", "Blackberrying"). Her post-lunatic poetry is mad-raving 50% of the time but stuff like Ariel is lauded rightly for its terse power.
Ginsberg massacres alot of the old boy stuff with Wales Visitation alone. Pity he declined.
Only Stevens and 30% of Willy Shakes is better really.
1.
Oh you little fucker with your blank verse
Who can'st see faster than graven pedestal
Try speaking with more weave and verve
And, with thought, endow that empty vessel
With a bit more foresight into the stream
Than your velveted corpulent dreams
See sightless mind into the vast
Rests far above the tides of ease
Don't quill your pen to break the fast
And quill it hard on olden screed
For olden screed, is as, noted, old
Monument of the frivolous, not bold
Perchance you may say, what type is this?
That dares to say, fair history persists?
Well I'll tell you motherfucker drone
The motions of heaven are not your own
Go fuck yourself with a spatula of glass
And I hope it breaks in your whimpering arse
2.
For those that care
The styles of the Word take no notice of the ballast
That comes from Rome.
Did Empires not fall to yesterday?
Did your puny ass not realize the significance of the swallow that seeks the greater dawn?
Ruinous parchments of the eiderdown, stand apart to firmous corrugate of leather
That persist among the meanders of the ill-made
The ill-made is starker than meanders
Fire reroute enfire, is coagulate of this
So stand back little academic
Your post of dreams is but a crown:
A night-sea blazing with aptitude for the faculty
But not the faculty of men
Of dreams, mere salt, of dreams
As salt turned back from Sodom & Gomorrah
You are the wife of Lot.
Take heed of this continuation, you sot.
3.
Red carpet. It is the motions
Of blue, Arrow to the mean
Airless impregnate. Leviathan.
Star-driven motions of the frost
Earth condescends to the mode
River condescends to the ecstatic
And we are the notions of mud,
Never forget
The grass is empty, full of sound
4.
Celestial axes burdensome manacles of rot,
As titanium made its mark on the iron pot
But tiresome tropes make even little dent
To the ecstasy of the unknown, which birth no reverence
To any kind of standard, mode, make, or device
That click-clacks aberrantly into sultry vice
Of the banal, no, shall not, no, shall ever not
The tides of new creation are stigmatized and hot
The main places backstream into the dis-matter
Of the “complancies of the peignoir”, historical character
Doesn’t concern itself with tripe or twerf
Only what, mate, has proper worth
And proper criticism is a godsend
But your make is abstract, abstruse, and it condescends
I just finished writing a Sonnet about the Brexit (UK leaving the EU). It was surprisingly tricky.
Anyone written a Sonnet?
I might have fucked up because a Sonnet compares two things, and the initial attempt at comparing it to American Independence gets lost in parts.
I might post it, but it'sfor a creative writing class at UniversitySo I don't know whether I'm allowed to without the chance of getting caught for plagarism by some unthinking, archive trawling software.
Final Couplet also needs to be more of a swing. It's a Shakespearean, but its only different because it becomes knowingly poetic and archaic, as apposed to the more contemporary lexicon in the earlier parts. Saying that, I take parts from the Declaration of Independence and the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, so what I'm saying is:
'I wrote a poem that's "meh" like everyone else here.'
I'll ask my Professor, if it's okay to post things for online and still use it for assessment.
>>7743606
Fourteen rhymey lines and a zap at the end
Though in these times some sonnets don't rhyme
But most important is the ending bent
A lazy verse is a complacent crime
See Willy do his magnificent shtick
Where he pisses on looks with profound sarcass
But by the turn theres the marvelous trick
That transfigurates, abound with pizazz
As he softs the verse for perpetual time
Making Love's monument in caress
Of the lock at the end that surprises aghast
And carries the terms on a lingering stress
But whatever you do and whatever you say
Never talk about Love. That's the easy way
>>7742903
Revised - please critique/review etc.
I stepped off the train and into a storm.
Not its eye; but a great sweeping lash.
No beeswax or rope left
To tie me to the mast.
Emerging from between panes,
You took me aback.
Two shock bolts of blue
...Red in the rain.
But you'd never let me read them. Their rings deep encryption.
Not destined for me, you are true-fiction.
>>7743846
I like the idea of the weather representing the character's emotional state before they see their eyes. Try to reword it to remove a lot of the 'the', 'you', 'me' and 'a' to get at the emotions the character is feeling.
I especially like the Odysseus reference.
>>7743480
>Plath kills Wordsworth dead on language choice alone.
Stopped reading there. Get some taste and learn how to properly criticise a poem, pleb
>>7743846
>not its eye; but a great sweeping lash.
im pretty sure that's incorrect usage of a semicolon
i get the eye thing, but the poem comes across as disjointed, and not in an artful way. there's no rhythm. i get the mast thing, if the Odysseus reference is on purpose, but it comes across as funny for someone stepping off of a train. have you ever stepped off a train?
the punctuation is weird in general. grammatically incorrect or just poorly used
>But you'd never let me read them. Their rings deep encryption.
>Not destined for me, you are true-fiction.
this made me cringe. my reaction to that is something like "wow, dont know how you got such an edge on that sad-sack"
very high school
>>7743882
Thanks! I will indeed do that.
>>7743902
Yeah my grammar is pretty poor. Could well be incorect usage of a semicolon.
Yes the reference was on purpose, and yes I have stepped off a train. I literally stepped off a train into a storm when the line came to me.
You feeling cringey sounds harder to fix... but it is about unrequited love so maybe feeling a little "ugh" isn't a bad thing?
>>7742939
Changed the last lines.
A cracked flute plays
Draped transparent cloth of agony
Dusk, firefly blood whirls
Hanging hurricane’s honey smell
Bright lightning scars shadows
Scattered filigree: a sleepwalker’s thread
Tiny hand; blown sand disappears
Pierced exposed bubble emptiness
Cracked debris towers backwards
Dark sun dissolves itself
Falling feather flaming -
and silence
>>7743925
the siren metaphor falls flat because because there's no sense of danger. neither is there a sense that the narrator is being drawn toward her. the impression that i get is more like the narrator is pushed away or at least held back.
the sirens want their song to be heard, so the whole thing about her never letting the narrator read her eyes breaks the metaphor.
so I think it fails on that level.
as far as the cringe. it was cringing from the execution, not the content.
it would be less cringe-inducing if both the narrator and the girl were humanized (or dehumanized) more. the poem doesn't give me a reason to care about either of them.
"true-fiction" is too heavy handed. there's got to be a better way to make the point that the narrator has mythologized the girl. or just leave it unsaid.
>>7743936
I think that works much better, and has much less of an edgy teen feel. Fair play!
I feel kind of weird being responsible for someone changing a piece of art.
But yeah lots of really nice, concisely worded imagery.
A bit hard to decipher as a whole though (or maybe I'm dumb). What are you describing?
>>7743975
Thanks man. I had felt using the word 'foetus' was edgy and gave the game away (at least partly). To me, poetry is about making someone feel emotion and using the word 'foetus' seems like cheating to cause that.
What mainly inspired me was the death of Pan, Icarus' doomed flight and the recent stillbirth of a family friend.
>>7743959
Yeah, rereading it I see what you mean.
Think I'll take that into account when redrafting.
Thanks anon
In utero, as the funeral procession begins,
To let sin be forever entwined within, to know what it feels like to be withheld from death,
To know what they mean by their roses and dark gowns,
Finally able to understand, what has been sown
As the moon rises above my eyes at birth,
To let my dreams fade to the past, to know how it feels to be alive!
To understand the sentiments I shared in that capsule,
It feels as if it should never come to an end!
On the edge of the dismal reality I have grown accustomed to,
To have this life soon be over, to have this night eclipse my final notes,
To know how they held themselves for so long,
This is the void that has always welcomed me, she is so beautiful to me.
Veteran
I sleep with a gun in the night-stand drawer.
For the first time that night you woke me,
little one.
Your feet, small and soft as they are, made no sound
on the hard wood floor
until--
squeak! went the board 'neath the frame of the door,
and I rose reaching for the gun in the drawer.
wait--
The heart in my chest rolled in quick beats,
I saw you there in the light from the street,
foot on the floor where the board is that squeaks,
my hand dropped and I grabbed at my sheets
horrified at what could have been
had the light been out in the lamp 'cross the street.
>>7744270
I really like this one
"dreams come with many cares,
and a fool's voice with many words"
light in the night is fulfilling.
it gives me a full feeling.
they've shown, you know,
that light (blue) at night,
from computer screens and phones,
is associated with obesity--
quite possibly causally.
How does that make you feel?
You're reading this,
likely at night, growing old and fat with me.
Fatter all the time.
With each word you eat more light.
You pig.
Disgusting swine.
>>7744270
This is good. Worthy of showing to someone.
Lover, you've got pretty eyes,
but plenty do.
Pin a peony to your lapel.
They're much too big for that,
but who on /lit/ would know one
outside of Keats's poems,
and I won't tell.
>>7739060
I probably laughed too hard at this. Thanks anon.
>>7744311
Try changing this to be from an individual's perspective and how they feel about it, it's very detached right now.
>>7741872
Only post stuff you would mind getting plagiarized.
Stuff of which you know could use some improvement.
Henceforth I will be called ire.
I've laughed for the last time,
my dear.
Your face, sweet and lovely,
against my bloody knuckles.
Your cries, my former pain,
are now my pleasure.
REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE
>>7743655
not bad
>>7743898
Oh Mr Wordsworth your furious cum
That I suckle on to give me bliss
Even the cunt of Lady Dickinson
Could not envelop me as much as this
White birth from your loins. That plainly seems
Made from the supreme stuff of aire
And I would float through your thick mist
But, ah, bugger it, Coleridge's there
So let me afar tickle your grave
With my red tongue slicked with spit
And let me rape you in lusty waves
Cos clearly, my dear, you deserve it
Ah my obese gut is trembling with delight
Oh Mr Wordsworth, lets savor this night
Lenin's Nap
A fate worse than death
to scream and scream
and never be heard
always a one way mirror
always so close
but never close enough
to actually be touched
to be heard
to be seen.
Like an embalmed Lenin you are
the country falls in your absence
to the worst of traitors
(is this your 'friend'?)
though you still look like
you're taking
a little nappy-poo.
Curling sinkhole of the dimensionless desert
Blazing totem of instability
Stokes the silent smoking will
Shallow stardance of delusion
Blindfolded neophyte navigates
His labyrinthine swirling senses
Immutable fractals birthed -
and dead
