Come on, you know you've written a few poems, anonkin.
i'll start.
>dream-weaver
>arms are that of memories
>& wings that wrap around us
>between the holes in our bodies
>where flesh-spiders crawl
>& all this time, i've been eating
>the little grey pieces of love
>that fell out of your body
>on the day that they found you
>pissing out flowers
>& they all smelled like semen
>& all else was broken & wet
pretty shite, i know.
(pic unrelated)
it is
spit frothing on my tongue
blood pooling in my toes
oh, how angry I am
no one knows!
>>7856242
made me think about suicide (as if i needed any help, amirite)
>>7856248
I'm sorry :(
The eyes of my child
are nothing today as I write
once green, like a grape
watery, bloody, the humidity
creeping behind the small orbit
crawling to the front
above the eyelashes
it gave up, this eyeball
the rotation of this planet
like marbles that roll
behind the counter
they get lost
sad
stepped on
I want nothing more
than to find this eyeball.
Cash dollars and magic. Tragic ends river distends bleeding trope in the garden of fuel to feed the fire. Orwellian gruel. Pishposh stolen wand paid the piper fruit. Hoot riper. Cipher. Wind. Where did it go? Same. Glow. Whispered in the the mind of the master. No. No. No. No. No. - No disaster - I disavow it. I make it not so by will alone. The thing and the thing of it in my mind do not agree. Synergetic degree - tingling freely - sights to see. Let me free. Deep ‘Z’. Kind of mannerism made to planetism gorged erratism spasm. Plastic rehearsal majestic dispersal kinetic pursed hole rejected might delegated to the stars and imagination the subjective truth of a highly unpleasant event. Invented seconds to fit more pain into the experience. Deliriant height rejected respite - I call it a… a… a… ring on the right hand stuttering blithe and… rejected…
>>7856396
nah senpai its cool i was just jesting
Once a statue, this old man,
born from rock and our four hands
kept track of planets and the stars
until one day he lostly ran.
He chased a sky of clouds.
For years and years he tried.
Times changed and earth died.
Only he survived the crowds.
>>7856443
Kind of Ginsbergian but ultimately didn't have the kind of direction it needs to be cohesive. I think prose/poetry's pretty hard to pull off. 4/10
Wish I could teleport to a horny woman
Kind of wish a horny woman could teleport to me
Houseguest anxiety keeps me from the latter
Laziness keeps me from entirely ruling it out
Sometimes while asleep I jerk my arms unconsciously
Kind of worried I'll punch a bedmate
Kind of worried they wouldn't understand
Pretty worried I'll never meet a girl who likes me
Not really concerned with actually meeting anyone
Kind of wish there was more good porn
-
Alright,
See you soon.
Oh, wait!
Bring an hdmi cable haha.
Haha.
So what do you want to see?
Haha, okay, sounds good.
Haha.
It’s not like it matters,
We’re not going to watch it anyway.
Yeah, nice to meet you.
(It wasn’t)
I’ll call you.
(I won’t)
Yeah you too, haha!
Haha!
I'm shit.
-
>>7856656
>>7856492
liked these a lot
>>7856214
alright, it reads well but i didnt really get any meaning out of it
Blud stainz thes wrist
my tears fall like outboy
nobodey to be missed
Nobody to admire
I ll choke w my own (skate)shoe strings
my sole is a lyre
avril lavigne take me higher
(copywrited )
Kick in the door
Waving the four four
All you heard was poppa dont hit me no more
There's a heart in my hand.
Muffled beats, red life
Coming from underneath
Memories of an undertaker
Other parts give context if anyone cares/wants to read
Again (pt.4)
Once I saw her again, I lost it--
I had gone insane.
Chance takes a chance
Takes a chance take a
Chance!
Time moves tortuously in this
Forward stepping fashion,
I am his slave!
He moves me against my will,
And I bend and I bend
Now I bend, then I
break!
I can cut all chords,
Snip my veins,
Prick my eyes,
But as long as there is a me,
(And there will always be a she)
I can see her crystal clear.
Again, and again, and again,
Again, and again, and again,
I will see her again--
I am meant to suffer.
A little house and a farm in a quite vale
And led to them, a tiny trail
Pretty flowers at his side
Where harmony and peace used to reside
But destiny has many strange turns
For now the farm is barren and the little house burns
The tiny trail all soaked with blood
And the pretty flowers lay rotten in the mud
Peace and quite cannot forever stand
For chaos is the true king of all man's land
>>7856666
Post-modern garbage. Fucking call her you prick. I like that 'I'm shit' line at the end though, shows the apathy these kinda things bring about. Also why is she bringing an hdmi cable wtf dude
>>7856686
Perfect amount of angst. Should make it (sk8)shoe to bring it full circle with that reference in the end.
>>7856719
Nice use of imagery, but I do have to admit that I'm not a fan of these types of (imagism?) poems since they rely heavily on context.
>>7856656
Consider experimenting more with punctuation and structure, maybe you could get more out of it.
>>7856492
I dun get it :(. Some kind of god??
>>7856436
Pretty fucking sad gg. Reads really well with pretty language. Idk if you need those last two lines tho.
If I've been dead inside, I would like to know it
I've striven all my life to be my own poet
after being let down by all my peers
after suffering through so many years
it's an unpleasant and painful surprise
to find the only one I hate in my own eyes
>first ever poem in english, created just now
be honest
>>7857517
>Nice use of imagery
it's from a rap song
Words define all that, in time,
Could crumble into yesteryear.
And anything I could call mine,
Your hand, your heart, your lovely spine,
All turn to ash, and disappear.
>>7857550
nice rhymes, pretty poem.The voice seems pretty absent though, put yourself in there more (may be difficult in a language non-native)
White moth fluttering
against jet streams of my breath;
please, call me Ishmael.
She could be all there is and I wouldn’t know the difference
Paling, she sits in her
crooked chair in the
grey space between two
light fixtures. Her left hand
trembles, its depthless fingers
overflowing with her hot mug,
as if there could be no mug but only
the depths of black coffee it contains.
She may open her mouth to speak,
but it is hard to distinguish between these
false starts and her vague cheekchewing.
We know if she let us listen to her
we would fall to our knees, close our
eyes and reach toward her bare heart,
now open and welcoming.
We know if she was to lift her head to
the sun, it would blink before her.
She is not a book to be read from
her looks or her fashion.
She is not to be read at all.
She is a mirror and the sea and
God and you and me and her
and she contains this all in that
hot mug which could not exist.
Fiction kitchen
The staircase shaped clank
clank
clank
of metallic kitchen jazz as
The POPS and whirs of conversation
Light as bird song
Thick as liquid
As syrup
Erupt
Out
And
Out
Static yet heavy
The movement of mahogany
Muted, wooden limbs crumble
In the beat of some deaf delight
Rotten misconceptions left to simmer
Here there is only soft lights and
Koy colors playing hard to get
The love of warm infrastructures-
Those shouting social comradaries
Now distant lines are blurred between
Family inebriation
And first love fantasies
yet I sit here
Alone
Feeling misplaced by a distant hand
But I still find the fond warmth in it all
Cries came out from the streets
The enemie they called and screamed
He burned the monument, did it mean something?
Not a word he said nothing
Just ran away and left it in flames
The men they wanted blood
The women they wanted peace
His head on a stake
His blood on the concreit
But if i may ask whats the thing?
Because the deafining screams will all fade away
and one day I know that all of this
will be forgotten as time goes with its memory
and in the end nothing ever mattered
but everything meant something
Darkest night put me to sleep
these knees are tired
the ink is weak
this sad and alone
has turned into dull and old
and the rum is cheap
sold in this flourished street
comfy as always
but just too discreit
dumbfound and sweet
can I sit in this seat
at the old bar past the eve
as i sat alone
staring into a cold cold light off the tv screen
they told stories of a man who shot the whore
he was drunk and found dead on the Friday
the reporter asked what, what do you make?
his mother sought
thinking what was the thought
in her whispered tears
she said despair
and his dad was a quiet man
I didn't talk, I didn't even bark
for I didn't want to drink
because I made sure if anything
I was made for many things
Blinded like Tiresias
Instead of snakes they were lovers
I hit them both with my rod
and truly regretted it
This pocket has eyes for me
And is the best.
Years in tokens collected so loosely,
So politely sized.
There are gypsies and Hell and you
Like that. More wood than fire.
You and Hell and gypsies, fine slices
All filled up and sparing the bit of fruit.
Put on a fair under crust brown and
Unburnt, holding a decent worth away
From the bite still gathering up the most of
Its muscle.
I just like you, stacking up grit and gaps
to a head sharing with mine our sides.
You truly are the fucking sun.
Once a statue, this old man,
born from rock and all our hands
kept track of planets and stars
until one day he lostly ran.
He chased the starry pathway.
For years and years he did.
Earth died and the sun hid,
he's now so far away.
One day he'll stop, hear me,
someday this man will die.
A halt shall come, it's nigh,
and our souls will be free.
mfw no crit
>>7856436
I really really like this, very simple but somehow very powerful. But I don't really like the use of enjambment, it messes up the rhythm in my head and not in any particularly effective way.
My poem:
Looking down
I see two sagging tits.
They're surrounded
By bits of lilting black,
And look as if they yearn to drop off entirely.
When I was young,
I was short and clung to the hope
That one day I'd grow to be as tall as a giant.
Since then,
My body's grown,
But not in the directions I want it to.
Since then,
My body's grown,
And now I wear a size larger than before.
I'm not sculptured stone,
Instead I feel like its glue that's pouring out my tits,
More McDonalds than Adonis.
Harboured in the lake of mind
The SS Safety never leaves;
instead it stays with its own kind,
its rust consumes, its green moss breathes
life into a dying vessel, attractions for us all to see -
The great Titanic, pulled ashore
from seafloor and antiquity.
Its equity value increases as bidders place their bets
on which engine fails first:
the native or this newcomer.
The dew rolls in with the summer,
feeding the parasites, the hummers,
the ummers and the ahhers, vows to indecision.
Blind businessmen leading deaf investors
with a paraplegic's precision.
Meanwhile, the two ships
stay anchored to the docks,
their infested outer bodies floating
deftly on the Loch.
From underneath, a raucous rumbling;
jetstreams spray, they vaporise.
The ahhing and the umming
begins to cease as the rain falls down,
staining fluorescent greens to browns
and blacks, like thumbtacks falling
they sting and prick the skin.
The paper, now unrecognisable, renders the bids useless.
Indeed, these two ships now look the same.
The burning eyes of bidders sting
with acid rain and acrid shame
but also with a tinge of doubt
and regret over their past.
The two continue floating on
their flags pulled to half-mast.
The blind men turn but cannot scream,
The deaf ones could not see.
Outstreched arms lead to touch,
they tried with most their will to speak
but could not muster much.
They only communicated desperation,
a flailing or some such,
the sinews struggle and then break
so they cannot move that much.
Meanwhile, the two ships, musty, mossy
having lost their shine and gloss
from the rain,
groan under their own weight
and rupture - in a sorry state
by being left alone in pain.
Slowly, the two sink into the oily water,
and evermore through graduation
become wracked, shiwrecked. The Titanic now, it's thought her
vessel remains in pieces pierced by crags
rotting, and in emulation
The SS Safety does the same.
This is when we all must come into the frey,
and this is when we all must face the decay
and lose.
What is it I thought when I did it?
A purple flower quaking in the warm green breeze
...almost violent
>>7857941
I like this one it makes me think of the kitchen i grew up working in. It really just sets off possibilities like peripheral words
>>7857941
>Koy colors playing
Coy
you have something here, don't stop
Angry engine
Passing trife
Lines blur
I hope you are
Here and not
Off living some
Better life
Tribal fire
My instrument play
Watch my coveted dance
Around the fire
With another
I wrestle the snake
More desperate and
And jealous as ever
But it just makes them
Dance the better
Wrote this one about mycherrycrush
Can i trust these ones
with the pillars of light
When they send the elf of pleasure
for my delight
The bliss could be enough
to convince me other wise
and it seems the place I
cant get is floating and happy
Eyes and smiles
Liquor and wiles
eat their cakes
her hair changes color
and so does my mind
>>7857941
Only work of worth here.
Care to share another one?
>>7860177
I like it, nice choice of language
Don't know if this disrupts the thread or not but...
I used to really enjoy writing poetry and people enjoyed it and were supportive of me
But lately I've been so uninspired and havnt been able to write anything for months.
It used to just come to me
Any tips on unblocking the ole mind?
Also does anyone here read their stuff at bars or clubs or open mic nights?
>>7861954
What I tend to do is not think and just type random words at first, then you find this natural rhythm you just flow with. Usually I write a trash poem then write a good one after it, the first is kind of a warmup.
Have you ever stopped to consider
That things unseen; untouched,
Would carry on suspended in their natural course,
As if the universe were void of life?
No matter how many times they went on their way,
The rocks and stars would fall the same
And nothing would diverge from it’s granted track
All would start in black
And end in black.
No decision would be made
As to whether the comets would fly this way or that;<br>
Would time fold or would it be flat?
Only life can cause ripples in the stream,
Unless the stars had brains for themselves to deem:
“Am I fit to whither or shall I erupt?
Or devour my friends into a voidance abrupt?
Shall I be blue - or a carnelian red?
Why can’t I see what lies ahead?"
But without conscience,
The cosmos remains rigid in a regime
To comply to its own physics
And never stray
Or think
Or feel
Just cause faint bleeping in the darkness.
>>7862067
I agree that the rhyme is a bit forced but i honestly couldn't think of anything else. Thanks for the critique man.
Also, the bleeping could be anything really, but from a scientific viewpoint, since sound doesn't travel in a vacuum I'm going to go with light.
The fireplace
is empty.
The TV
dark as if
It never lived.
The walls
shadowed
on their running faces.
The carpet
speckled
and somewhat dirty.
And here I am
a beggar and a King
seeing too much
panic
in all the stillness.
Like a bastard dog
clawing through
the heaps of earth.
The air
is restless.
There never seems
to be
enough warmth.
My lungs are dry
My lips chapped
This pen fading
The page ending
My mind
escaping as the world.
Some men climb to the top
to simply jump off,
tempted by the dizzying drop
that makes simpler men scoff.
For some men the end is just the beginning
where hindsight metes no more
than does the act of self sinning
that reason would never implore.
The destination is the journey, some men say,
while others drool into their caskets,
for here and now is where they stay
woven in their own golden baskets.
For some men, all is lost
to the bleakest destitution,
unable to pay the cost
of bartered restitution.
So 'The end is nigh'
shouts a bum beneath Trump Tower,
yet why, oh why,
do the remaining cower
tight-lipped and sour
with so much power,
and so much power.
>>7862364
Overall, I quite like what you've done here anon-kun, but I think you could make a few simple changes to greatly improve the flow:
>a beggar and King
>no period after 'stillness'
>clawing through the heaps//of earth
>The air,//restless
>There never seems to be//enough warmth
>>7861967
That initial semi-colon seems very out of place. Other than that, I'd say you have an enjoyable piece, particularly from "As to whether..." to "...what lies ahead?"
>>7861954
Meditation, recording your dreams, exercise, journalizing, watching a favorite film you haven't seen in awhile, reading more poetry—masturbation without porn?
>>7861922
This desperately wants to rhyme. Also: try to string the imagery together more cohesively, as of now it impresses as arbitrary word-glitter.
>>7861892
A messy second stanza. Reads as if you haven't read it aloud to yourself, specifically "and it seems the place I"
>>7861868
What are you trying to say here?
>>7860878
Could be trimmer, slimmer, a winner.
>>7858542
Blobby, though I do like the line "There are gypsies and Hell and you"
>>7858452
You and I both know you can be more original than this.
>>7858419
>Not a word he said nothing
>>7857941
A unique thought thrown gently.
>>7857891
People will bitch at you for not following the rules of Haiku.
>>7857893
Syncopated line-
cuts do not
equal
good poetry,
robethalpin.
table
table
we spent eighty five dollars on this table
table table, ikea table
table
where i sat and watch their first,
second
and end of our nights
Prosperous future of a green field and mills
Tractors drive themselves on orderly hills
A failure in the sight of the pineal eye
And the penny a lie, the penny a lie
>>7860177
You're right, how's this?
The eyes of my child
are nothing today as I write.
Once green, like a grape,
watery, bloody,
humidity creeping from behind,
crawling to the front
of the small orbit
above the eyelashes.
It gave up, this eyeball
the rotation of this planet
like marbles that roll
behind the counter
they get lost.
Get sad
Get stepped on
jesterday was today
maybe Tom and sorrow
are kinda tomorrow
or really i think
might be his sorrow
though tom seems glad tis be yes_terday
Today I was playing rising revengeance
The boss on hard was quite a hindrance
I felt plastic resisting
as my fists started twisting
Now my controller has gained independence
thoughts from bed in the wee hours of a sunday night (morning)
I lay in dark at two a, m,
the newspaper comes, an early job,
in the dark and cold and rain,
under the orange of streetlight,
mine is an early job,
but not as,
i must be at macdonald’s grill in six hours, but,
I lay in dark at two a, m,
composing poems
— j. keating, Seattle, 2016
Ictus
There's a certain dark depression nested
in the blacken'd hollows of the Subdued
An amorphous expanse long infested
by the corpse of fearful Solitude
The King sits 'top a throne that is not his
laughing at the land that spins around him
his constant mourning at the thought of this
acknowledg'd only by his long-dead kin
"The Mortal Plane is a land of hatred,"
the Philosopher etches in the stone
"The world would be better if Man were dead,
for war is born of his flesh, not his bone."
The Mother bathes in a crimson river
as Phoenicians watch from behind the glass
All of Creation begins to wither
under the force of Armageddon's blast
"There are many things you still must learn,"
says the scornful Autocrat to the Blind
"In the end of days, the things you will earn
are ten thousand times any thing of mine."
Pierrots dance about the city streets,
unabashed laughter fills evening air,
the spectacled Miser points t'ward his feet,
"I'd rather be here than somewhere down there."
The Hangman ties the gallows' final knot
Protesters decry the immoral act
"This is the future my choices have wrought,"
I shout in remembrance of that old Pact.
>half this thread reads like slam poetry
beautiful soap bar
many blind people
singing with the bells
the tom cats, cackle
please
rub money in my shoe
thanks
you're so sweet.
>>7856214
There are many things to worry about in the US right now:
Apartheid, for one, is simply not done,
And we need to slow down the arms race.
Terrorism is fine,
it keeps the Commies in line,
And ending world hunger will save face.
The Middle East is a beast
A big drag of least,
It sure needs some kind of send away.
But the last thing we need
In the land overseas
Are displays of American meddling.
We need to ensure,
that America'a pure,
And takes care of the domestic.
Old men and old rabies,
And babies, with rabies,
And the places where AIDS have infested.
So let's take some axes,
To federal taxes,
Let's throw away our inhibitions.
Let's open the doors,
To vagrants and poors,
And mergers and acquisitions.
So despite all the fighting,
And talentless writing,
Our slate will be wiped a la blanca.
Now strap on some denim,
and get ready for venom,
and give thanks to good ol' Sri Lanka.
>>7856214
Puppet Elevator:
My dear, my only
The trials that bewing my frosty wiles,
Do tremble beneath thy twisting hallows -
We rode once, together, twice in opportune,
The Puppet Elevator, betwixt the nettle Drone.
>>7863438
comfy
We're all
The same
Until
We're aged
We've all got the same smiles on our
Faces
We can to to the same places
But it's up
To you to be the best you can
Because you're the man
When it's good
Enough
Life lives you even quicker
That's why you gotta think big
And then you gotta think bigger
Here's one I submitted for class:
>Clayton
The boys are sitting in the car
But barely, ‘cause they shake like stretched wires
The hour hides them on the curb
They wait for the dude with a bag
The one with no surname,
and slurred speech
They fear cops but they won’t say it
A bored thumb clicks a lighter
The boys feel Earth pull them inside
Something like guilt is born in their guts
But it crawls along up intestines
And dies in their stomach juices
Jackson gets passed
Bag goes in sock
Lined up and well-measured
The nosebleed is worth it
Forgetting what hurts is
worth
it
too
The boys go home and watch patterns,
as they feel the air eat itself
Like the sweetly mauled bridges
that stand between their brain cells
Now occupied by emptiness
a strong affection
for apathy, and chronic lack of sleep
>>7864159
I like the message but your execution is awkward and way too general to have the emotional impact that I think you're looking for. I would recommed doing some more writing and reading, as it seems to me you're only barely starting. Either that or you're trolling me. Regardless, practice some more, clean up grammatical errors, work a bit on the flow of the piece.
I got Prada on my ho ass, got my last one mad
Pop a nigga like a damn tag, shopping on they ass
I just bought a new old Jag, yeah, it's so fast
Smoking flocka, you a jackass, all I smoke is gas
Don't you ask me where the pole at, where your clothes at?
I ain't talking 'bout my niggas damn it, but y'all tripping, too
Is it you? Damn, my nigga what the hell got into you?
Project Baby, y'all was skipping in the hallway, I was skipping school
On my Ps and Qs, all them jiggas, call me jiggaboo
Bleeding concrete, bet you niggas won't come cross the street
Pardon me, I don't talk to you, so don't you talk to me
I ain't dissing on nobody beat, I'm vibing on the beat
Honestly, I'm just trying to be, I just gotta be
Trying to get over on anything, they telling lies to me
I spent five on my pinky ring, she love my diamond ring
In a way, I'm married to the game, she said her vows to me
I ain't getting on my knees, bae, you bow down to me
You go down for me, you lay down and do the time for me
Sorry boo, yeah I lie to you, but don't you lie to me
It's little Kodak, the finesse kid, boy who hot as me?
Told the doctor I'm a healthy kid, I smoke broccoli
I will run around your whole board like Monopoly
Ol' boy, you's a broke boy, flockas got you beat
Chocolate, call me Reese's, can't catch me without the piece
C'est la vie, I'm ten toes down, you falling off your feet
I will trick your ass for a treat, call it Halloween
Yeah that money's what I play for, call it lottery
Goddamn, you's a clown to me, you's a clown to me
You can't smoke no Black & Mild with me, get in the car with me
You a funny guy, don't you even joke around with me
How could it be? Get from 'round a G, you grounded from me
>>7865641
Was that James Joyce?
>>7865641
>Chocolate, call me Reese's, can't catch me without the piece
kek
>>7862792
0/10 grotesque
>>7862499
0/10 what is this??
>>7862366
5/10 not horrible but not memorable in any way
>>7863448
6/10 ok, not great. seems very psuedo-intellectual and lacking substance
>>7863502
why even spend time typing this? this means nothing to anybody. it looks like it was written by a random sentence generator.
>>7863550
5/10
>>7864159
3/10 overtly positive message, awkward writing. two things that generally should be avoided in poetry
>>7865344
0/10 complete garbage
>>7865641
4/10 use of rhymes and nigerisms are sub-decent. lack of effort put into the metaphors and similes is only matched in awkwardness by their own execution. 4 points for using french
Only posted once before, looking for more tips/critique. Any is welcome!
She awoke, with fever induced excitement -
but unwilling to leave, her land of fantastical dreams
Dimmed orbs of dark, squinting at the winking light of a newborn sun -
Drowsy fingertips grasping at sheets, flinging them off her naked form
The soft whispers of robes, sliding, covering clammy, goosebumped skin -
A one dimensional protection against the unquenchable thirst of the wind
Seeping, twisting and slipping through cracks of a frozen house, as the world changed around it -
An electrifying shock as bare feet pressed against the icy chill of marble tiles
Soft padding of footsteps down an empty corridor -
Guarded by painted eyes, unblinking as time passed by
That looked away, from the door that led -
Out, out into the outside world.
The whispers of ghosts following her trail -
As she flings the heavily ornamented doors open, yet weak as they crack and bend
Down into her fragrant gardens she goes -
Toes digging into the soft vibrant soil, bursting with life
The tender touch of petals -
warms her blood
As the prick of thorns -
bleed rubies down her once unmarked hand
A blissful smile turns into grimace and sadness -
a head turned in question
Her life secluded -
to the eternal building, she called home
A dainty form, vanishing in and out -
discovering a new thing here, and here and there
The delighted laughs -
and muted whimpers
Always quick to run back to the heavily ornamented doors -
their hinges creaking, quivering as their form weakened
Until one day, she left -
She left, left too far that allowed for no hurried escape
Ending in a shy face, hidden behind a vine covered pillar, among rubble of ancient civilizations -
As a stranger, beckoned
With answers, and questions -
That he freely gave, and whom she freely went with
Years went by -
When she finally visited the house, with corridors of painted eyes
She slipped back into robes from her youth -
Snuggled under the sheets that had warmed her in the coldest of nights
She closed her eyes -
And as she did, fire was birthed into the house that had stood frozen, as the world changed around it
The chorus and singing of flames with their suits of red, blue and orange, reverberated in the home -
their contralto and soprano tones creating a symphony of scorch and ruin
Leaving a skeleton wall and blackened faces -
And the form of a sleeping maiden
As vines and trees creeped in and all other forms of green took root -
Growing and twisting, bathing in the warmth of the sun
A shelter alight with the beating heart of life -
A mass of roots and shyly peeking tendrils
Allowing for gentle breezes from the tenderest of winds -
Yet shielding from the mightiest of tempests, as their leaves shook, bending and turning but never breaking
Stirring in her slumber -
She woke, to find herself laying in a bed of grass
And never went back to sleep
So swiftly, gently, then I pooped,
it flew out out, as from a chute.
If I've been dead inside I would like to know it
I've striven all my life to become my own poet
after being abandoned by all my peers
after all I've suffered throughout the years
it's been an unpleasant and painful surprise
to find the only one I hate in my own eyes
>>7865641
thanks for putting me on to new nigger muzik
>>7863468
>tfw my writing class is doing this next week
Kill me. It's going to be about a bunch of lbgt shit and high school romance drama. (Senior)
if you write in rhyme or meter fucking kill yourself
>>7865839
>doesn't know how to rhyme
>>7865848
Settle down Rupi Kaur you ruddy nigger bitch
>>7865848
kiss my butt
>>7863438
the language and thoughts are a little too basic but it still succeeds in creating a cozy feeling. Kinda reads like a modernized Whitman poem.
>>7856214
Basically just feeling suicidal and wanting to dash my brains against the walls to never have to think another fucking mediocrity. To never know that I'm on the cusp of being good enough for myself, at the cusp of being something actually fucking meaningful to myself, and then just fail, constantly knowing that the literally 5 pounds of gray matter that let's me see let's me see with every turn what it will never be, what I will never be. And here I fucking am, blabbering on as if to justify my own insecurities to you fucks, to dodge vituperation or lambasting(thanks GRE flashcards) from an anonymous picture fucking board.
I wonder if there's a word for simultaneously criticizing the angst you feel for being a weak pussy and for simultaneously being crushed by inadequacy -yes mediocrity is inadequacy, it is the worst of fucking crimes.
Anywho, rate the ramblings of another /lit/ pseudo piece of shit and have a nice fucking day.
I wrote this poem, or what ever the fuck it doesn't deserved to be called, in that mindset.
To The Damned Mast I Row
Most damned of all, to the blackest
and most swirling of abysses are those
with the good nature enough to see
-
Most blessed are all, are those damned
that can only see the pure milky white
-
their own souls stained black from
their own inevitable damning.
I usually don't write in english, and I never post anything because I'm a loser. But here you go anyway, try not to puke.
Be at ease
within fear.
Lurk
with me
still
in the dark.
This air
is not to be consumed
before
you've engulfed
by fear.
Look for it;
The scary.
It'll take
away
the pain of boredom.
>>7856686
>my tears fall like outboy
Had a genuine laff
>>7865745
>5/10
i am glad that i got one of the higher rating for something i wrote as a joke in under a minute. how come im the only one who didnt get a comment? heres a poem for you, anon
Anon, with a manner of bleakest day
whose eyes doth shine like a tantric river,
censorious of knack, fault finding of many
the blood of the artist dries neatly on thy hands
On 4chan time I don't much spend.
Anymore, and watching I stopped tv.
And stop ago like three avid
Months. I can't. I became an reader.
I here did how it.
100 pleasure for -50 commit.
I swear a day to read pages 5.
With three after. Don't- force a reading
If after a day the pages 5 feel zero.
You'll average 5 pages or so a year.
The person above you should average it.
You read the books? Remember like the person reads.
Are pages like feel? Days reading more, a month.
And read to you. Be yourself.
Thematically refresh a difficult fiction.
Switch your head, I of sleepy head.
And economics read, keep another grab.
Them should this and I me makes that book.
The one time read, same books I grab.
Or when at the various books race.
Aren't which fast, you sleepy feel.
You'll money own, fast money slowly
And read your wasting feel to books.
The get when you are highly motivated.
You feel to discuss discussed books here.
So start- acknowledge reading isn't physical.
To try won't make the copies buy-
For what that you avoid from them
To read to your need.
>>7866954
Is this intended to be so stilted and awkward
>>7865883
Why don't you first try writing in a strict, classical metre? You novices are hurting yourselves. Most of you have read little then you go wandering disheartened into free verse.
broken piano
weary hands
attack the keys
>>7866954
this is funny to me
I've seen some places with poetry names
Plucked from a search, a couplet of neon
To excite the dancers with the new songs
sitting around the fire
the trees lit ominously
we call each other liar
and drink to speak easy
why is this happening
we dont know what were doing
we know how we got here
pushing thru unknown fear
we dont know how to leave
or why we should
i say we burn all this down
scorch the earth and blacken our hands
well burn until the next town
burn our way to civilized lands
'A Shopping Mall Somewhere in America'
Not from the tears, just self abuse
I'm on my way to impact, taste the high speed dirt
God something must've gone wrong
God something must've gone wrong
Eradication of earths
Roaring through my head
Squeeze the trigger that makes you man
This one's pretty old, around two years old, I think.
"A Lesson in Fatalism from a Tree"
The leaves have lost their lustre; standing on
The dry, brown earth I brush their weathered rind
And forthwith burst with flashes in my mind
Of rising on the softened soil at dawn,
My arms outstretched, suspended as a yawn,
Towards the leaves,—which in the sun are lined
With gleaming veins—and on the ground behind
The blistered deadwood stretches shrivelled awn.
My knees quake and buckle; I try in vain
To war the dogged march of age, and drop
My shaking bones upon the dry, brown earth.
Prostrated, in my rightful place, atop
A countryman in death and birth, I wait
The rumble of the storm and driving rain.
>Here's two simple ones I did for practice:
Consciousness stirs you out of deep sleep.
You feel a slight tickle upon your cheek.
Before you have time to come to grips,
it quickly scurried between your lips!
>&
Cool, soft, summer's breeze
Carries whispers through the trees
Singing so gently
I don't dabble in poetry much, though I do love and wish to get better at it. I do have a more mature/major project I'm slowly working on now while I hone my understanding.
>>7867673
>Scurries.
It's supposed to be 'scurries'. God damn auto correct.
carpool enema
fishing for pool cue vertebras
calypso mother on sale
bone, ham, rust under sail
crowbar cocks pouring grain
Due to divorce,
we are offering two cemetery plots.
These are located in section C-5,
a very nice location.
Not to sound too morbid, but
they have a wonderful lake view.
Price is negotiable.
Please feel free to call or text,
day or night.
His farts smelled like eggs and bacon,
and there was a rim of caca around his anus.
"Daddy," he said in his deep black baritone,
"my diaper needs changing."
Daddy wasn't there, he spoke to a mirror, semi-turgid
in the cold November morning.
His behind gave another sad, long squeal
like tyres whispering away down the drive.
The fatigue of disheartenment sucked away
enjoyment and excitement like a vampire,
like a god damn vampire.
Niggerz ain't touching
my shit
They get excited when they see
my dick
my dick pays rent
and my dick pays quick
so I got a little story
that will rattle your tits.
>>7867565
Hard to take such a cliché image and elevate it to anything worthwhile, but I like this, m8 - especially the second line. Rind has got to be one of my favourite words.
Sit simple—
put up your own
shifting sheaves,
and try not to meet
the eyes of those aliens
dancing around you,
with a thousand smiles
for a thousand other paper castles
who totter and leer looking lusting
for gaps that give pry-hold, tell difference
and deviance from the diversity
so deftly maintained.
Sit simple—
find your own
sad sample
who will sit simple too
while the monsters dance and
hunt for sacrifice among
themselves.
Wait and sit simple—
for the ones who will see your face
without killing you.
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.
Another , another , another!
Let another day come.
Let the sun rise again for it'll only bother some
Feel nothing for those forgotten ones
Delay all memory
Delay all thought
Deny existence for those who are gone
Unless of course , they're part of one
An entity that's nothing but some
Something , somewhere
A person I loved
>>7856686
really good
>>7858526
spectacular, i-love-you-across-the-screen, etc.
>>7870574
Not an interesting enough thought to carry itself without an image
>>7870019
You have the start to a strong rhythm, but keep playing around with it and listen to an Art Blakey record. You need more unexpected beats. The word neuropath really should be tossed, but if you're in love with it, consider a place for it that will submit to the tone you have everywhere else
>>7870847
It's kind of unfortunate that "neuropaths" is fairly critical to the poem's meaning and structure.
The structure, also, is pretty rigid. I wrote this mainly as a test piece for a rhyme scheme that leans on specific syllable counts and and oblique rhymes to create a sort of subtle tightening effect as the piece progresses. I intend to use a variation on the scheme to write a longer piece that eases in and out of tension to create an overarching rhythm, but the scheme is kind of a bitch to write in.
A pup finds happiness in the toss of a stick
Dashing through woods with snow slick
He's followed by his master, just shy of ninety
When he slips, he shouts "Christ, almighty"
>>7870847
>Not an interesting enough thought to carry itself without an image
Yeah it was pretty shit. Would be better as a lame indie song.
First two poems I ever wrote. I usually write prose so let me know how I can improve
Idle inkling of an issue
Illusory ideals interfering, imagined plights insue
Eyelids shut, I can't deny
immature impulses imbue desire
inexperience impales inside
infected injury, would apologize but can't get past my pride
Dot my I's with icicles
insipid idioms plaguing my tounge to imitate wisdom
irrational nights with tight eyes and internal insecurity
Tell myself that I'll survive, tell myself that tomorrow would be a surprise
Intimate interchange lead to isolation
You left me for an unnamed upstart
Unveiled a euphemism in an attempt to unscrew my heart
But you didn't have to hide, I know I was too preoccupied with I
>>7870973
Second poem I ever wrote
predation, malnutrition, disease, suicide, homicide, starvation, dehydration
blood gushing into my lungs, losing my concentration
vision blurry, surrounded by a gun flurry, lying on a street that's in a hurry
coughing up my guts, steel starting to rust, stench commencing to bust
slideshow flashes, of childhood, loved ones, and emotional lashes
reminiscing of shaded trees and exchanged pleasantries
I thought about how I got mad at her for not calling me back
I thought about how my mom never gave me enough slack
I thought about how I spent so much time pretending I don't give a fuck
Ears can't hear, chaos of silver and red splashing the cement canvas
My eyes water at the thought of never again hearing jazz
The back and forth exchanges of curse words and gunshots imatate prose
I'm wondering how the sky can stay so blue above a string of body dominos
I wish I thought of deeper thoughts
I wish I talked to the girl in my lit course
I wish I hadn't went out to eat today
I wish to god that there was a way for me to stay
Lots of interesting poetry here.
I entered a small-time poetry contest with this one, I'd like some feedback, it's called, "The Liar"
To be with the person your heart desires
Full of movement and eagerly caressed
Amongst the graves and woeful pyres
To be at rest and truly blessed
A spaciousness stemming from within
Defies the flesh and bone you call home
Daunted, willing, and free of sin
Your blood and heart seep with stone
The warmth that helps the restless sleep
And warrants tears of sweet relief
Will not be yours to hold or keep
By that vile, favorited, once-held belief
That love and death are closely tied
But neither will care when you have lied
>>7870898
Nice flow, you did a lot with very little. The first line is great because it is so happy sounding, works great with the dark humor.
>>7865839
Rhyme in the poetry creates order and expectation, it soothes the soul. The world is chaotic and scary, but poetry rhymes, and people like that.
>>7870973
>>7870977
Nice, but a many of these poems rather egocentric, they are very obviously self-serving. That might not be a bad thing, but personally it turns me off; I don't really care about you, so why should I care about how you feel? Many of these are hard for me to read in that sense, maybe that's a limitation of this impersonal chat-room.
>>7871033
I'm not sure what you mean by self-serving. Neither of these poems are about me or a previous experience, just ideas that I came up with. Are you saying that the way they're written sounds as if I'm just trying to make a part of me feel better? If so I would appreciate advice on how to not make it look that way
>>7871039
It has to do with the tone and negative subject matter, I don't know enough about poetry to explain it well. Maybe it's just difficult to write really dark, angsty material while remaining lucid; so maybe some experimentation with the subject matter? Thanks for hearing me out, I'm trying to keep my reactions from sounding too pretentious haha
>>7871072
No, thank you for your opinion and advice. I'll keep them in mind for my next poem
>>7856492
Do not know your intention while writing.
But, The mental imagery this gave me is soul shivering. I applaud you.
>>7863468
> Implying there a problem with slam poetry
Favorite Thing i have ever written.
Please don't be gentle
Will be two post.
*Twang Twang Twang*
“Run, all you run dammit get ye out of here”
The voice shouted some where in the darkness in between the continuous chorus of
*Twang Twang Twang*
we tried and tried to run. The flames seemed please to dance in are way’s to stop are escape to the chorus of
*Twang Twang Twang*
The man who screamed for us to run was not even slowed by the way of flames he went right through the flames enveloping him and pulling him into a lover’s embrace before he escaped on the other side in a cloak of flames his hair gone a blackish tinge to his skin.
But, alive he was.
*Twang Twang Twang*
The boy who tried to copy his brave endeavour was not so lucky, the flames would not loose two lover’s in the same night and we heard his cry’s of pain almost passion as the crumbled to in a heap of flames.
Living and flowing over him
like a dog on the foot of it’s master’s bed
as if they wanted to protect him from the
*Twang Twang Twang*
as they themselves took the light from his eye’s.
We tried another direction i look around wondering where everyone else had whent
*Twang Twang Twang* *Thwack Thwack*
What was that second song this night one i had not heard before..
The flames adding there verse to the song that night
*Crackle Crackle Phwume*
The fire itself more alive than ever i have been
jumping roof to roof chasing me down the aisle of houses.
*Twang Twang Twang, Thwack Thwack, Cracle Crackle Phwume*
This song was growing louder.
Cries of some unseen men joined the song of the night.
*Twang Thwack Ahhhh*
The silence of the night was growing into a orchestral performance.
More and more musics joined the night.
*Twang Twang Twang, Thwack, Ahhh, Twack, Ahhh, Crackle Crackle Phwume, Thop Thop Thop*
The foot steps of the frightened masses rebounding into the night.
It was by now that i realized i had stopped running
i was Entranced by the song that was sung by the night.
Rain was falling hard and heavily on the cobblestone path and i noticed sticks and feathers Standing as grave stones for those fallen souls
The water that ran through the crack in the stone
stained red by the song that night
>>7871181
But, Then as i saw the hard rain fall again.
*Twang Twang Twang, Thwack, Ahhh, Thwack, Ahhh, Crackle Crackle Phwume, Thop Thop Thop
* I realized This was the song of death.
I stood their arms spread wide waiting to join the song.
Silence in my heart the song in my my mind.
*Twang Twang Twang, Thwack, Ahhh, Thack, Ahhh, Crackle Creackle Phwume, Thop Thop Thop.
I stood and waited tell the song started to end,
*Twang Twang Twang, Thwack, Thwack, Crackle Crackle Phwume*
The Footsteps and screams faded to nothing.
*Twang, Twack, Crackle Creackle, Pwume*
The hard rain ended
and only the flames still sang.
*Crackle Crackle Phwume*
Then even that faded into the night.
And, there i was in silence
The one who survived the song of death.
And, I wept the terrible Beauty of it all
And i walked in silence forever more.
>>7856214
What if we’re what’s volatile
And all the world is stable
Except for our shaking eyes
Like the way spinning in many circles
Turns the world into a a whirling
Blur of color for a while
We are the poured, unwilling water
Boiling in the hot skillet of the universe
Fizzling up and out
Into insignificant vapors
I understand the flavor of their suffering
And find my mouth sewn shut with phantom threads
Afraid to swallow, I
Have let it sit and torture on my tongue
>>7856214
You could choose to join us or,
You could fight your daddy’s war.
You are not original.
It has all been done before.
Your thoughts about the universe
All fit inside your skull.
Some mend this reduction
To the labels ‘one’ and ‘all’.
>>7871254
Please don't. Just that little bit is enough. The last stanza add another depth to it. Thank you for the response. Great work!
danky poops
cranky pops
why does he make
me
.......
Here's some stuff that isn't strictly poetry but I'd love feedback
Golden Laughter
She drips honey in my ears, swirling with a silver spoon, layering cinnamon, spices – the mix bubbles up and threatens to overflow but she stirs faster now, commanding, “don’t you rise any higher”, and she sprinkles tea leaves, a dash of cocoa powder, dropping the spoon in my mouth which I swallow then spit right back out, and she’s giggling with rhythm now, the mixture spins faster, circles form and she tiptoes on the hills of the contours, swishing her arm, dropping sugar and crumbs of biscuits, and she’s leaping up now, twirling, her hair, too fast, she pauses, and dives in.
And
Cnunt
A pale pink plaza, walled off, a fountain atop a flight of cream marble stairs, gentle aquamarine water rolled, sparkling artificially. Nuns lounged, spread over the steps, white flesh beginning where habits ended, bare tits exposed, dangling wooden crucifixes hung between. Parched, but ignoring the fountain, some fanned themselves with Holy Scriptures, others connected palms, others read psalms. Naked and X Rated other than their headdress they styled pubic hair into crosses and let out sultry moans due to the heat of the limelight. Fenced off from the scene, stood beneath the stairs, men dressed in slovenly brown wigs and crowns of thorns, and nothing but a cloth. It began silent.
Appearing out, from beneath the stairs, a real gang of men whooping and hollering, carrying morning papers and fags and empty bottles. They stormed on, bringing rumpus and ruckus, shouting even louder at the sight of their vestal virgins. Grey saggy suits with orange and purple ties, the nuns spared the men no glances until forced to. Bounding up the stairs, the workers cast shadows atop soft snow mountains.
“What’s your name, love?”
“Mary”
“Is that how you all answer?”
She giggled, he spanked, she squealed and giggled more. Partners had been found, and cunts began to drip holy water. Sliding himself between her white arse cheeks, she couldn’t ignore him now. The fountain began to overflow, drenching the stairway in sterile turquoise that stained.
Saccharine sacrilege she sucked slowly.
>>7870872
I'm probably not as good a poet as the other guy who critiqued you, but either way, I experienced exactly what you said you intended. I thought it was good as is.
Do I
love you?
Do priests
fuck little boys?
At the neon, greasy spoon,
The coffee swirled heavenly
And my thoughts, bloomed
Creamy mixture imbibed.
electric razorblade shave
stinging and bleeding
my thoughts, cascading sand dune.
Get on the train, time to make
the castor oil jerk sing:
money for nothing, chicks for free
