I hate the first stanza, but I'm going to post it anyway. Plz tips on how to improve
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When feeling fades
I expect the relief
of the freedom
being finally released from
the lighting that dragged me for months
Yet
desire leaves a hollow
when it goes
I can't deny it; it's there
the absence of nothingness
laughing at matureness
supposed to kill it at birth
Puppy love is being missed
I was always fond of fluffy beings
I think that's cool, maybe you should work on the rhythm ?
The Eater of Dreams 1/2
A warm and forward wind hums through the treetops.
The black hand children run when they see me, crouched as I am at the top of a baobob.
‘Cours! Allons-y! II y a le mal dans cet arbre!’
There is an evil in this tree.
Am I an evil?
I lift my spindly fingers to wave.
But they do not notice, their backs disappear into the forest, fear in their wobbling shrieks.
And I continue, dead-eyed.
Continue to scratch and to scratch and to scratch and to dig and to dig and to dig. Nails chipping and cracking with every drag across the bark.
In hope of grubs and insects.
In hope of finding something.
Here is one that’s square, and subtly less alive than the others.
Swallow, feel the beat hit me.
What is it.
Where is it.
How will it affect me.
My pupils balloon and fill my strepsirrhine eyes.
The hair on my bulbous knuckles bristles.
My internal organs retract and dehydrate.
I cling to the trunk as the world whips around me.
And as the larvae drags me through the cracks in reality.
Across the great gulfs of absolutely fucking nothing.
And into the twilight realm.
The sleeping realm.
The kingdom of rapid eye movement and dimethyltryptamine trances.
The stars are portals which solar winds pour out of like a smoking gun barrel.
The moon is a fermenting orb of liquid ambrosia and aqua vitae and potentially semen.
The distant lights of fires
Across the canopy.
Messages between dark eyed men and women
Who sharpened stones in fear of the coming night.
And I am that coming night.
I am at odds with all that was.
I am one with all that is.
My tongue be forked.
My eyes be fire.
My baobob be a nebula.
My heart be the drumbeat under the quantum strings of the universe.
This be my land.
Where the rain is black.
Where the snakes bite with sugar.
Where the birdsong has rhythm.
Where I am the King of Kings of Madagasikara, Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah, Elect of God.
2/2
And now,
Where the children run screaming toward me:
Please, Daubentonia, please eat our dreams.
Our dreams, they terrify us, we cannot live our lives but for the fear we feel when the sun goes down and our lids grow heavy.
Wherefore are our dreams so uncivil and barbarous, Sweet Daubentonia?
Wherefore must we dream, and not stay awake forever?
And I thunder in my arboreal tongue:
Whoever said you were asleep when you dream?
What dost thou mean, foul cannibal ape?
I don’t know, I’m just trying to sound portentous.
Eat the dreams, little monkey!
And they proffer them to me, as sweets and jewels illustrious in their glad and glucose-rich fruition.
I feast, because it is the only thing that pulls me along.
How do they taste, prosimian?
They taste like you are very afraid.
What fun, we are so very afraid!
As you should be, for the storm is coming. I see the inferno and the lightning. I see God killing the infidels.
Fucking God, always with the killing infidels.
Tell us more, little ape.
Order and purpose are fallacies.
Brilliant.
If I were you I’d end it now.
That’s the plan, tree-rat.
Tie stones to your feet and jump in the river or eat unknown fruit or just put your fingers in electrical sockets.
We were thinking ropes. They follow us everywhere. Nooses from the branches of rainforest trees.
Great idea. Let me know if it works.
We are very afraid.
I don’t care any more.
Goodbye, night demon.
Oh, I’m feeling it.
We are going to run now.
Come up and get me.
No.
I’m in your area.
Goodbye, we are broken.
I gave you the fever, aye aye.
You gave us the fever, aye aye.
And they run again.
The sky fades to blue.
I drift back.
The gulf of reality closes.
The tree coalesces under me.
My tongue is flat.
My eyes see dark.
My tree is rotten.
My heart is a pitter patter in silence.
A faltering one.
A candle waiting to be blown out.
I was at one with all that was.
I am at odds with all that is.
A chill and backward wind hisses through the treetops.
>>7810718
Being too abstract and vague with imagery that could be accomplished more tactilely.
Have you made any discernable decisions in regard to meter and form or is it just purely free form? If so - why?
>>7810808
Real dope. Noided as fuck.
It seemed different before
A night on the town meant a tab and the lights of the city
I know we didn't mean any harm
At least most of us
But every misadventure has its consequence
You were green in front of me
The dark force of it weighing down
Oppressive but the constriction kept you high
High and dizzy
A gun, some masks and shitty blow.
Easy money from a dummy honey
She must have known it was you
And I don't remember you a year ago
Maybe a glance in the hall?
Nothing ends innocent
Across the galaxy
a new force of evil is rising
Wizards of Chaos fight
to dethrone the brave king of Dundee
Entwined by mystic spells,
they know where the sorcerer hidden
Imprisoned in ice on the planet of Knights
The powerful heroes of Crail
Aeons of warfare returning
No longer peace will survive
The intergalactic great Empire of Fife will die
For the king we will ride
Through the dark galactic skies
To defeat the foes
When the Chaos Wizards rise
Now the universe will burn
Evil sorcerer returns
Tragic fate rages tonight
Chaos Wizard rise
>>7810895
hmm, I'll keep your comment about vagueness in mind. Other people have said the same.
It's supposed to be free form, but it should have more rythym I guess
>>7811153
I get that it's free form, why though?
A man of such, not yet scorned by the wisdom age, his wild ambitions not ready to fade.
He wanted more out life, then they way he was to live could possibly ever give.
It was the dreary nights full of gloom, spent reclused behind his bedroom door, that his soul began to bore.
His youthful plunders, his reading, his writings, he began to wonder.
His ventures in life thus far, he had never succeeded , and a bitter wash of dissapointment is what would usually proceed it.
It was the time he spent in the past with a pen in hand that he was to most adore
So it was this lonely night spent held up in his room, he refined his writing, his works began to bloom
Hours of scribbling, his energy completely diminished, a page of handwriting sat in front of him, a masterpiece now finished
The revelations of his mastery of the written word shocked him to the core, what was it now that life had in store?
The next morning, he knew what was now his calling
With his poem in tow, his university was the only place to go
He walked up to his professor, and handed him the poem, he asked "what is this for?"
The professor glanced at the paper and said" You present in front of me a poem, yes? And you ensure me lad it is nothing but your very best?"
"Yes sir it is, I worked all night, it could maybe do with an adjustment slight"
"You needn't bother with the adjustments lad, only halfway through it and it has became a chore, now lad I have some work to do, please find your way to the door"
With his heart broken, and the paper he clenched a reminding token
Of another failed scheme, his soul now torn apart, his future left completly in the dark
How could his professor rip him him to pieces like a brutish carnivore
Just like in Poe's Raven his Lamentations grew, his writing ability, nothing worthy to pursue.
His throat now laced with a feeling of swelling, on the verge of tears he retuned promptly to his dwelling.
He feelings of grief not for an ex lover Lenore, no the sorrows he holds are for his poems never more.
>>7812145
This is the first proper poem I've ever written, only took me 10 minutes or so to write. I'm after some legitimant feedback
how do you even critique poetry it's literally just mumbo jumbo that only makes sense to the writer lmao
>>7812174
I've read this poem in one of my undergrad classes I swear
>>7812174
Thanks
Let's see if anybody knows what I'm talking about
The stench of piss soaks the walls,
the s’s broken up on every corner,
torn and twisted beyond recognition
empty cups lined up against the surface
of a desk that once had legs.
Three bottles roll among the breeze
that blows through six glassless windows.
Swollen books tower below the crack on the ceiling.
Drop, drop, drops tick tick tick
R I
O C
P K
S
a wet hole through the paper
wroingdoing words wasted on water
that no roots fed,
that no leaves grew,
that manages somehow to stench of piss and broken bottles
blowing eerie whistlings through the rubble
among which you can see a little arm
and you pray,
you pray that’s just a doll under debris.
You move the bricks and dig in
and the blood stains your fingers.
You pick up the purple, swollen body of a baby,
swollen like books, broken like bricks,
purple like curtains in postmodern tales,
and you cry,
(first a sob, then a heaving, then a whimper,
then the tears and the wail and the limpness of knees)
because this,
all this destruction
was not really necessary.
This used to be a house.
Now, it isn’t.
>>7812145
>Just like in Poe's Raven his Lamentations grew
jesus. if you want your reader to connect this poem to poe's raven, would you really just say "like in poe's raven?"
>>7812145
>>7812148
Too efectist and solipsistic, inasmuch as you talk about yourself and writing about yourself writing about yourself and all that shite with an intensity not proportionally related to the events you are portraying only because they were appealing, attractive, worthy of actually remembering by you and you alone.
Having said that, avoid jams, dude. They're doing jackshit favor to your breathing, and I am serious. You'll rush fucking through any text older than the seventies without any semblant of consideration for the actual logos being portrayed.
Listen to recording of 17th century English metaphysical poets and try to learn. My own narrow opinion, of course.
Oh, and avoid the fucking cultural references. Poe's Raven and shit.
>>7812145
ah my friend you seem to believe, that alone with rhyme a poet can weave
That meter and form and subtleties cues, were naught to he who could write lines in two
So remember young lad when you just want to rhyme, that meter is needed which pops right on cue
>>7812200
I used a very similar rhyming structure, I literally spat it out in 10 minutes, although I am a novice at poetry I'm aware that it needed to be addressed, just havent gotten around to editing it. I was after some criticism a bit more constructive lassy
>>7812219
Thanks, i couldn't care less about the shit poem I wrote, I was just after some sort of groundwork advice to actually write poetry. I really appreciate it, I've always struggled to keep my writing balanced and focusing on the important stuff
>>7812331
I actually don't know the death grips, nor which line you are talking about, mind directing me to which one it is?
>>7810718
>poetry
>doesn't rhyme
bumpin bumpin
Out pouncing on the streets,
a cracker come thinking
he the real MVP.
WE
know he ain't shit,
Heracles Smith, my granddaddy:
took him years to make bank, he
WUZ
a tailor, he had them suits looking tight.
"remember what we were, boy."
Back in the brown lands, royalty:
KINGZ
Was this lust or the love of the chase
That moment when I saw your pixilated face
Cupid swiped my finger right like an arrow
I dream you to be my dove to my simple sparrow
It's all about powerful tinder dates they say
This chic makes my day sunny from gray
I drink I drink, I sleep I sleep
Eyes dry like desert heat
This year there is no wreath
I cannot stand on the floor beneath
A knock on my numbered door
Legs shake and drag across the floor
He sees what's outside me and I wonder
If he knows what it's like to die of drink and hunger
I offer my last time to You
Pennance for all that we've been through
First drink I gag and chew seeds
First always tastes of burning weeds
I lay in bed and remember what it was
What exactly this room does
To take me away from all my feelings
Replaced with nothing but walls and ceiling
I think and feel nothing for years
Forced to oblivion to see my tears
On a nightly basis I drink I drink
And wonder what brought me to the brink
And into insanity
The words are too familiar. This somehow makes them sound ingenuine to me.
