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>No poetry thread
Let's get one going /lit/
>>7969115
Today has been cancelled
Please return home
It's raining out
Out by the old, red-brick corner,
there's a gutter with old beer and cigarette butts
and some old, abandoned dream
left-over, still unfinished
Today is cancelled you know.
The sky grows dimmer
The day grows older
I'm heading for the corner
into an old dream I'd forgotten about
Tomorrow has been cancelled
please stay home
It's still raining out.
>>7969115
Today has been fucked
Please return your shithole
It's pooping out
Out by the gold, brown-brick corner,
there's a glutter with old pee and cigarette ass
and some old, abandoned Rick
leftistscum-over, still finished
Today is fucked you know.
The Mexicans grows Zimmer
The night grows older
I'm shitiing for the corner
into an old wet dream I'd forgotten about
Tomorrowland has been cancelled :( #imsad
please stay home in Facebook
It's still shitng out
Past burgergurgling gutterbrook,
and grannyrot back lot,
the Country Fair cajowles by hook
of hot pink polyglot:
Here gams and guns and cans and tongues
and hams and bungles of fun
“a perfect combination”
writes Robin Morgan of the Sun.
--Jangle the turnstile a few—there!
Now Haste! The starlets come!
We watch, we all, our answered prayer
their rintinnabulum:
with Lips that glitz like Typhoon Dew®
and Swaffel® maquillage (Dutch!)
and chintz and chew and razzmatazz too,
they sell catwalk mirage.
So caught awhirl in the hungry grab,
the random fandom slosh,
contestants march with bodyguards
and shorn OshKosh B’gosh®.
Up on stage:
Lady RixaTrix
and then Chardonnay
and then Froufaraw
and then Miss Risqué
and yes beautiful,
ten out of ten each sexy same…
But Mary Anne Sue.
Mary Anne Sue was golden Home,
American True,
Our hearts’s mome
Which starts!--and spindles and hopples and tortles and fangles and drooly is judged;
and last, the questionnaire, run fast, to prove her wit’s no grudge:
Is it our responsibility as a nation to punish Syria over using chemical weapons on its own people?
“We all need to help each other…”
Applause shatters and shatters and pitters and patters and fadens to a refractory hush.
“And team up to end war… be confident in what you are…”
And shatters and shatters and pitters and patters and fadens to a refractory hush;
She palms us so--like mercury--
adroitly vortickal;
she goes in for the killing spree:
“God Bless, I love you all!”
And all Hunder and hackle and holler and rain, and hinders, and hems, and hups;
And huffing and guffing and hurgling and stuffing to the last, phlegmatic sluff.
I look one more time, but I forget.
It must be how those hot lights,
those Electric Eyes—resplent her lustrous guise
Like the tincture of a Dream.
Like the offal and fermata of a Dream.
I kill your brother
you made cum the music
I forget the hot lights
She kill a dream
My voice is not slow
Not boring like every fuckim poem
The war is the end
The begining is the peace
>>7969605
reddit.com/u/PoemForYourSprog
>>7969697
this anon anon anon,
its eating my canon
like a tamal, he is in rule
hours dont aged her
vagina bomb are useless
Boobah show is the geopolitical hell
modern compresor
tha cant fuck you pression
you shouldnt be scare
im not a robot
this captcha is putting a knife in my tongue
my teacher of english
yeah, she have dat ass, she have dat attitude
mexican sugar is not dancing anymore
Holocaust denial is prohibited
You cant talk, unless is shit
Banana is not spell out
Normie get out
A trap is killing my dreams
my knowledge is off
Responsability, Education, every place where we go, we make our self slaves,
Its not raining out
So shut up, shut up, shut up "KE PEX" Shutt tt UP
Tomorrow is the gold,
the legs are our skinny stairs
Your inmaculate mom is masturbating
A moderator is watching
Hes cool, but can he understand my poetry?
>>7969720
reddit.com/r/ShittyPoetry
>>7969727
The young Rick
Hes a man in a feminine suit
He replys, He replys, He replys
He undress me
The siege of my Homeland
The fate of the cold sun
A banana is breaking in a breaking down
The slave sells herself
/lit/ cant understand, tha all is in our minds
3, 4, the numbers are delusional,
the killer rabbit is the shadow of the eclipse
Mountains are full of holes
Denied, your face, that head, can be so strong
The climbs and the sunny killer
The place where threes are black
where you can get paraplejic
That ass old man is a epilogue
from the nasty sex
to the rapt of angels
The analogic death
Mrs. Hamilton I think
Her suitcase felt like old dollar bills.
What kind of work are you going into?
Finance I said, that was my kick then
Just make sure you get a pension.
I let her work the TV by herself
Tasting her Lemon Drop childhood 60 years away.
>>7969689
who /cringe/ here?
>>7969142
(My spanish version)
El hoy a sido cancelado
Porfavor vete a casa
Esta lloviendo afuera
Afuera por el viejo, esquina de ladrillos rojos
Ahi un desague con antigua cerveza y colillas de cigarrillos y algun viejo, sueño abandonado
Abajo-izquierda, queda inacabado
El hoy es cancelado tu sabes
El cielo se ve mas tenue
El día se hace mayor
Estoy alrededor de la esquina
Dentro de un sueño añejo Me había olvidado
El Mañana ha sido cancelado
Por favor, mantente en casa
Sigue lloviendo afuera
>>7969796
>The War is the End
>The Beginning is the Peace.
That's a pretty iconoclastic message he's got going there.
I came to the place where the lone pilgrim lay
And patiently stood by his tomb
When in a low whisper I heard something say
How sweetly I sleep here alone
The tempest may howl and the loud thunder roar
And gathering storms may arise
But calm is my feeling, at rest is my soul
The tears are all wiped from my eyes
The call of my master compelled me from home
No kindred or relative nigh
I met the contagion and sank to the tomb
My soul flew to mansions on high
Go tell my companion and children most dear
To weep not for me, now I'm gone
The same hand that led me through seas most severe
>>7969878
Dirty Hippy/10
The time is swiftly rolling on
When I must faint and die,
My body to the dust return
And there forgotten lie.
Let persecutions rage around,
Let Antichrist appear;
Beneath the cold and silent ground
There's no disturbance there.
Through heats and cold I've toiled and went
And wandered in despair;
To call poor sinners to repent
And seek the Savior dear.
My brother preachers, boldly speak
And stand on Zion's wall.
Confirm the strong, revive the weak,
And after sinners call.
My little children, near my heart,
And nature seems to bind,
It grieves me sorely to depart
And leave you here behind.
Oh Lord, a father to them be
And keep them from all harm
That they may love and worship Thee
And dwell upon Thy charm.
My loving wife, my bosom friend,
The object of my love,
The time's been sweet I spent with thee,
My sweet, my harmless dove.
Though I must now depart from thee
Let this not grieve your heart,
For you will shortly come to me
Where we shall never part.
>>7969885
Pretty good man. I'm a Fedora Tipper but even i enjoyed it so that says something.
>>7969809
>Pues está lloviendo fuera (sounds more poetic and it flows better if u used connectives at the beggining of the verses)
> La vieja en vez de el viejo (esquina usa articulo femenino)
There's moar but i'm too fucking lazy.
>>7969115
For us, when we give up to the light,
Our price and value is just one cent!
It is a difficult time to understand life
The sun sets, you are mortal,
mortals, we must go to bed at night.
After a hundred years, tell me a thousand.
Similarly, in 1200 then hundred and thousand.
Then after we went into the thousands,
We eliminate his friend, who may not know,
Or, may be jealous -some people, you know...
>>7969885
good if anachronistic
A GLIMPSE through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the
stove late of a winter night, and I unremark'd seated in a
corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching
and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking
and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
>>7969809
>El hoy
Just "hoy".
>Por_favor
With a space.
>Está
c'mon
>lloviendOAfuera
Make it "Lloviendo fuera". Sounds neater.
>...la vieja esquina...
C'mon
>Un desagüe con cerveza y colillas de cigarrillos, algún sueño abandonado
In such a simple poem adjectives are going to kill you. Use them, but not a lot. Also, C'mon.
>Abajo Izquierda
Ok, I'm done with this. Stop using google translator, fag.
>>7969885
http://genius.com/Doc-watson-hicks-farewell-lyrics
you're a huge faggot. try harder next time.
>>7969878
0/10 would not smoke weed with u
>>7970386
nonsensical
you can eschew grammatical rules if you want but it still has to make sense. You're making me work too hard and the pay off isn't worth it.
Waiting For Class to Start:
Today I met Academy Award winner Gwyneth Paltrow outside of school.
She told me this: tomorrow I will break up with my boyfriend.
She told me this
And then we spent the hour walking across campus talking.
Gwyneth told me about how recently, she and Chris had grown distant.
Gwyneth told me about how they didn’t have much in common anymore.
She told me that she didn’t like his constant negativity,
And that one time he pushed her quite hard and it scared her.
Gwyneth Paltrow told me that she thinks Chris Martin takes her for granted,
So tomorrow they would break up.
Class was in session when she told me these things,
So the campus was empty and it was quiet,
And daylight savings had just ended
So the campus was getting dark too.
At one point we both commented on how large the campus was,
And how easy it would be to spend four years here
And still not have seen it all.
For a while we sat on a bench opposite the theatre
And waited for her rehearsals to start.
For a while we talked
And shared with each other some funny things we’d seen online.
And for a while we talked
About how sad she was and how she wanted to branch out and meet new people
So tomorrow she would break up with Chris.
And we sat and we talked
And she told me these things
Until class had broken
And the campus was full again.
I want to love uncontrollably, free and wild
In the ecstasy of unburdened passion
Where the virgin lilies are left to bloom
As they please, no demand to grow large
And white, alone. Given room to burn
In amber glories, scarlet ignitions,
Caught up in the rainbow bloom.
>>7969142
This is one of those poems that if it had been written by Tony Harrison everyone would study but because its on /lit/ it just comes across as amateurish.
Take of that what you will.
Lo, the temple, it crumbles to the ground!
Seek refuge from the raining stones!
Flee this godforsaken land!
Vie with your brothers for safety!
Lo, the skies, they race into the abyss!
This land shall see no more of the sun or the moon,
These nights shall have no stars to behold
And these fields shall bear the lord no more life
The heavens have drowned in saltwater,
Yet the seas have no more to give
The lands hold no pay for your toil
And the trees bear no shade for your wearied heads
Tremble in fear, ye men of flesh, for I am no doomsayer
Forgive me, chanter, for I am no fortuneteller
Kneel for the air you breathe, o Great Lord
For I do not bear these things for you
She has left us to rot for another
So let us also seek for a home
For the law does not pursue the dead
And the law does not pursue the lifeless
Truly, I say onto you
That not a single word tumbling from my tongue
Has been of the ark, nor the lamb’s blood,
Nor the sayings of the man in the cave
Now, wallow in your bread, your wine, and your stones
For it shall be the last of your indulgence
Before we return to the walking dust
We’ve led ourselves to be
Drink the wine that is white as snow
Break the bread that is crimson and milky
Don the robes that hang from the ceiling
For, at last, the time has come for our reunion
Unfinished invocation to the muse, for a long poem about a lot of things
Sing O muse in fertile verse, the means by
which your ephemeral voice does speak to
all and through mankind, to I as others
long before, that I may craft that vision
which stirs my thoughts, as Durante stirred
by your adept touch did write of the sin
and virtue blazing pure his holy mind.
Or the bard most famous for your gift whose
heart did guide his pen and spectacle taught
his fictional discourse, not long before
your earthly rounds arrived you at Milton’s
stead to grace common man with rhapsody
of God and His ways, though veiled as He your
saintly poetry was true enough to
put to print. As he did lax his grip on
life so did you cut your corporeal
tether to drift, a mist, across Irish
sea and find your waiting host under whose
poor feet gold and silver cloths you did spread.pls b nice, literally first time ever trying my hand at poetry
Flippity Floppity
Flip Flops past
Angel on shoes that are rubbery
Those feet that ass
But im alone
Just a loser coon
>>7969605
This is actually really good.
>>7971537
I'd add "all" before alone in your penultimate line. That'll help the rhythm you have going.
I been getting dirty money Jordan Belfort
Stacking penny stocks while I'm flipping these birds
Sipping on Ciroc, trip em up with the words
I just popped a molly and I think this be my third
Jordan Belfort
Jordan Belfort
I been getting dirty money Jordan Belfort
Stacking penny stocks while I'm flipping these birds
I just flipped a birdy, Money so dirty
Got my bitch a mink, furry like Furby
Came up made a milly, spent it on a rollie
Stackin gouda, feta, chedda cheese 'n' ravioli
Or maybe fettuccine, dirty martini
I'm a fuck yo bitch (What), call me Houdini
Drivin' Lamborghini, yo ho in a bikini
Eight bottles to the neck, three wishes from a genie
Benjamin ain't dirty, but these Franklins be filthy
Always going to court but I'm never pleadin' guilty
Ballin' so hard I only be slam dunkin'
Beat steady rockin' and the trunk straight thumpin'
I be ridin' foreign pourin' merlot while I swerve
Pedal to the medal when I'm whippin' round the curve
Rollin up this marijuana you can smell the herb
And I be getting all this lettuce and I ain't talkin' iceberg
Jordan Belfort, Burberry shirt
LV loafers on my sofa in Bel-Air
Turnin' up daily cause we can't turn down at work
I been lightin' loud lately
Like my volume switch don't work
And my cologne is Versace, Medusa got me stoned
I'm always high on something
But I usually like to smoke
We been long time friends, me and Ben Frank
Every fucking day he needs a ride home from the bank
Muhfucka you don't know me you ain't in my tax section
My wallet ain't fat it's in the gym straight flexing
I don't call your bitch back and shes checkin' her reception
Bitch with double D's she's all up on my erection
And I'm in the ovaries but I ain't about affection
So easily the sober me just smokes and then forgets them
Sometimes this life seems a little stressful
Especially when they tell me that I am something special
>>7969809
>>7969142
I took the liberty to write a loose translation.Sorry.
El día de hoy se ha cancelado
Por favor, regresa a casa.
Afuera llueve.
Más allá de aquella vieja esquina de ladrillos rojos,
Hay un desagüe rebalsado
de cerveza añeja y colillas de cigarro,
Junto a un sueño mustio, abandonado,
Aún inconcluso, desechado.
Ya sabés,
El día de hoy se ha cancelado.
El cielo palidece.
Envejece el día.
Y yo me decanto hacia esa esquina
Encima de algún sueño desgastado
Que ya ni recuerdo haber soñado.
El día de hoy se ha cancelado
Por favor, por favor, quédate en casa.
Aún llueve tanto allí afuera.
(1/2)
the rooster crows in my belly
an old hangout for the billiard cues of the morning
and table-hopping hail hail the ganglias all here
after sunset like a mouthwash last yesterlight
and the white tails of the gorillas on television
and that liberal politician stumping for twilight
supremacy
down by that old
shill
stream
As I buttonholed the Ancient Auctioneer
how goes America going
going
after the thunderbird pooped out over the canyon
when he clovered her cleavage
and she pleaded like an electric organ in the rain
the moon greased out of the ten commandments a make-
up too late
what about the negative feedback of death
what about magnetism striking as a poisonous snake
or a hoop of jazzedup wire
snarling up communications over the Morse Pole
after the statesman belched ionized yeast
and the physics convention approved the musical
selection
Quartet
For
Four
Mesons
in an expanding economy they do not matter
the rooster will take us on a guided missile tour
we are knellbent for automation
the minister prays Our Lord Who Art in Heaven judge
us not by our actions
but fractions
the skullskinner intones judge us not by our trans-
gressions
but analytic sessions
the physicist says christ anybody can have a halo
wheres the hesitance
when we can boast electronic resonance
you think anybodyll look for the pinprick in an
expanding economy
look easy and you will see
a cad and a ford in every nebulae
that no comettail you lost
but gods custombuilt Buicks exhaust
Americas producing for the Infinite
Holy Ghost Mongerers for the Universe
Export or Die
theres a report we got a parimutuel for the flying angels
constipation
will be solved by
automation
Miss Wall Street does a dance of the seven ticker-
tapes
mathematicians enter the bullring to lock equations
in the circus the economists show off their
Trained Graphs
the specialists hide from the specialists
the whores organize their first Vertical Union
to which madames
pimps and
cops must belong
waddya mean youre contemptuous of the Middle Class
theyre the
National Compromise
going
going
(it's like some sort of abdominal bell)
the historians yang and yin
says its not too late to get out
and not too late to get in
hole hole the gongs all here
like some sort of abdominal bell
shes a Supermarket Baby with all the skimmings
mate doth look for automate
male finds femalleable
we dont die we reincarnate
this goes for everybody but the lower animal orders
those down-at-the-heel aristocrats who simply wont
take in boarders
>>7971993
Make that (2/3)
its already noon and I'm still expanding
I'm a Paul Bunyan Giveaway
schizophrenia for lonely dolts
manic nuts for shy bolts
paranoia for those who say nobody has followed them
telescopes by god for those who say we've hollowed
them
hail to the architects whove eliminated the five-
oclock shadow
we function beardless from cradle to the nave
free sexual irrigation for the ascetic
and thorns to bower the apoplectic
the cardiacs will look like roses
in this Promised Land without a Moses
hail to the farmers and their cows
in swimmingpools of milk and honey
hail to parity granaries of money
the worker with his fake-home pay
and the sociological gangster parentally rejected
steals his fathers in property quite protected
alls fair in an expanding economy
alls fair in love and boredom
the heavyweight champ
is still damp
behind his fears
the opera star endorses beers
the homerun king belts one into the stratofears
rich as a churchmouse the saying goes
the deacon leaves cheese between the foes
the cathedral is built in stunted gothic
this is america
their very own
I'm going to the bank to get a loan
get a loan
little dogie
get a loan
going
going
get a loan to
integrate the negro in the south
with white hoof-&-mouth
a new perfume
for the bladderroom
pouting purses
for wetnurses
democratic steel
for teething kings
david-slings
for the delinquent
juvenile
and giant breweries
spiking castoroil with luminal
waddya mean whats the international policy
we got an expanding economy
>>7972002
(3/3)
we're counting cosmic rays in the bank
crow
rooster
crow
we got cocacola in labrador
thats what you call getting your mouth in the door
crow
rooster
crow
we'll have skyscrapers in the ionosfear
every suicide'll live a charged particle here
crow
rooster
crow
we're putting extra-sensory-production on the
perception line
get rid of that goose
our economys on the loose
we'll advertise a hermit for snob-appeal
we'll get every hunchbacked shoulder behind the
commonweal
crow
rooster
crow
pile all your energies into the new Golden Calf
THE ELECTRONOLAUGH
THE COMPUTER
WITH THE SMILING TOMORROW
all the great comics willed their bodies to it
the graveyard with the future in it
WHEN IT LAUGHS IT DISPLAYS URANIUM-FILLED
TOMBSTONES
the bones
of contemporary saints
CROW
ROOSTER
CROW
going
going
Forest Lawn?
NO!
ELECTRONOLAUGH!
>>7971375
i'm pretty sure this is not plagiarized, or else you've done a really good job of hiding your source, therefore i will treat this as if it is OC.
why are you writing in 17c english?
>did did did did did
it's unreadable, not to mention you're just filling meter with all those "did"s which doesnt even make sense because you don't preserve meter elsewhere
>spectacle
>discourse, not long before
>under whose / poor feet gold and silver
basically, write contemporary. and enough with this muse shit, it's been done thousands of times and you are adding nothing to the conversation.
>>7970975
I mean, not really. It's a shitty poem.
one night i was restless.
I couldn't sleep!
I lay there minute after minute.
Trying so hard to close my eyes.
But i couldn't.
I didn't know why but something was bothering me.
A little itch at the back of my mind.
It couldn't be scratched. It wouldn't go away!.
So yes i got up
like we normaly do when we can't succumb
to those pretty dreams
and i went to the kitchen to get a drink.
It was dark.
The lights weren't working.
But i could see in the dark (it was ok i could see in the dark).
I grabbed my glass and i filled my glass
and i drank the water because my throat was dry
and that bothered me (but not as much the little itch the little itch at the back of my mind that couldn't be scratched that wouldn't go away!).
Then when i finished i went back to bed and lay there.
And i didn't sleep.
I didn't sleep at all that night
>>7972587
Not really poetry, m8.
>>7969142
>I'm 16 and this is deep
>>7972633
Don't see why it can't be poetry just cause it's loose.
However, there's definitely line breaks (just about the main reason to call it a poem) that don't contribute anything, which makes it veer on pretentious. Overall I thought it grabbed my attention, then got way less interesting with all those fluff lines and basically describing nothing interesting
>>7972651
Too long
Here's my poem:
Just off of work
My dick in dirt
/lit/ is gay
Have a nice day
>>7972651
it's ok to revise stream of thought a little m8.
But for real, a lot of the times you start rhyming just feel contrived, and half your mile-a-second imagery and metaphors and wordplays don't work or make enough sense put together like that. Also don't use 'poop'
There's good parts to it-- the language that's less hoaky. Dig them out and try hinting at a narrative or direction beyond days passing
Niggerz ain't touchin' my shit
They get really excited when they see my dick
My Dick pays rent and my dick pays quick
So I got a little story that would rattle your tits
Breath
let the eyes watch
and learn to count with every pore.
Breath
rape your lungs with air
you need and desire
ever more.
Pepermint crisp skin
frozen
by bitter words
and with acid like saliva drops
crawling
like morning dew across your face
it hurts.
You can't count the times
you've covered your ears
and you've covered your eyeballs
with pretty words
you've sung until they've become harmonies.
They eco across your stomach pit
and they dance and turn your throat raw
with their thistle like thorns
and silk smooth rose petals
that you need and desire
with your every bone
down to your very core.
Shine
who shall remember.
Bring
your brittle heart forward
and see the blackened tar
given to you by your thoughts
Dig
with your bare hands
for reasons only you know
dreams and desires
buried, in the ashes of your brain sells
Forgive
the stranger you've become
See
a shine and the air you breathe
you thought long gone
then forgoten
once more.
>>7972670
>Don't see why it can't be poetry just cause it's loose.
It doesn't really have any of the qualities that make poetry poetry, though, like rhythm, constant or inconstant, rhyme, regardless of scheme, or imagery. The only thing vaguely poetic about it is its relative concreteness.
>>7972717
well that's free verse. As much as most contemporary poetry in this regard is shiet, the form itself can be done well enough as a straightforward, narrative-with-meaningful-enjambment type of writing. Which could be appropriate for anon's poem since it's a really ordinary event.
>>7972717
that's free verse. Though most contemporary poetry in this regard is shiet, it can be used for a straightforward, narrative-with-impactful-enjambments type writing, which I think could be appropriate for anon's poem since it speaks of a squarely ordinary event that wouldn't require fanciness.
i ain't got nobody
ain't nobody got me
i'm just like a little apple
hangin' on the tree
don't nobody want me
i can plainly see
i ain't got nobody
and ain't nobody got me
i ain't got nobody
ain't nobody got me
i'm just like a chunk of wood
floatin' on the sea
don't nobody want me
i can plainly see
i ain't got nobody
and ain't nobody got me
>>7973714
>cucks
GOT EEMMM
Each day while walking home
Past a tall and well-branched tree
A piece of past begins to moan
Of the time I was ten-and-three
With a stolen knife, ready to hustle
I sawed at the cord, hard like muscle
Now twice that age, I see it there
Now just sticks and tattered rope
And I force myself to stare
At the butchered corpse of hope
The Faceless rose, spoke, and so came forth this:
"There lies a land, near, past reach nonetheless,
where mournful peaks glance to ley below,
and roads no feet have tread nor builders kept
in memory of page or scribe. Yet said,
’tis no empty land, though stirs naught within.
Scribes, it has, and builders and fathers and sons.
A King, it had, and courtiers and pipers and drums.
Tables, there are, set beneath still faces,
and no food, though untouched by creature or beast,
but mouldered and rotted to stain.
Those scribes, they hunch, over parchment gone to dust,
their hands stayed, in monument unwilling,
of those deepest crimes for greatest cause
wrought in vain, and none left to lament."
The razor had a keener edge
this evening; perhaps because
I was out of soap, and thus
forced to rub the gleaming blade
(down, down, down, then up, up, up)
against the flushing strip of flesh,
naked, between nose and lip.
It drew blood, of course; incessant
globules bubbling out to mark
invisible punctures, two
on each side, skirting the philtrum,
like the imprints left by some
nocturnal visiting undead.
Caution creeps with every passing night,
I suppose; in twenty years
my drooping lip would repel
the very approach of the razor
if ungauzed by a lather,
and an ungauzed incision
would probably hurt a lot more
the morning after.
>>7974065
>down down down up up up
>flushing strip of flesh
>globules bubbling
>skirting the philtrum
>PHILTRUM
>caution creeps
>ungauzed ... ungauzed
>the very approach
all this gauche alliteration, obscure words, and meaningless phrases. it's like you're calling attention to yourself in the cheapest way possible. the poem doesn't even pay off with a pleasant twist. you've just shoved your pseudo-wittiness in my face and ran off with my time
>>7974108
Thank you for the critique! I am bewildered as to why you think "philtrum" is an attempt at being willfully incomprehensible by using an obscure word, when it is the *only* word for that particular part of the face.
The poem is about the vitality of youth and the weakness, and hence, the caution that sets in with age. I'm sorry it didn't work for you.
>>7969115
Tis folly yes, no?
The poem, nil purpose, so?
Rhyming from go
Tis quite aesthetic although
Inspiration rife aglow
Tis great then I suppose
bump
Going To make and paste here poetry in 11 hours.
Do you feel like taking a nap on a bed of sand under the sea? Ease into the darkened depths that will become your watered dreams.
Sink down passed the Fisher's hook that the blackfish for a meal mistook.
Angelfish illuminate your face and then you wake up with a scream but you can't breathe and so you drink and fill your lungs until you're sleeping with the fishes, see?
Needle in your arm, anesthesia in your veins
Paralyzed your body and your brains
Stick you in a straight jacket
Attached to giant stone
Confess now to your sins
For now you must atone
Don't expect a last supper
Deep hunger you will suffer
You will never have another
Delicious home cooked meal
No longer will you steal
Another precious life
In the name of Satan
Who showed you to the light
>>7974097
just honing my craft G.
(or maybe my computer tricked me into thinking it crashed and didn't submit the 1st time)
There was someone actually looking for a poetry thread besides me? Oh, my moon and stars!
>>7973893
>ten-and-three
stopped reading there
https://youtu.be/SySZdvsFYt4
Ode to spot
>>7974153
pseudfag
Friendly reminder I keep writing all the good rated poems here and will publish a book of poetry in a few months time with all of the stolen OC.
Feels good man
>>7975752
that's why i don't put my poetry here. you all would be aghast at how much below me you are and you would steal my shit.
>>7969115
The girl was singing in a church choir,
About the weary abroad, far away,
About the ships in the sea, so dire,
And those who'd forgotten their happy day.
So sweet was her voice flying up into highness
With shimmering beam on her shoulder of white,
And every one listened watching from darkness
The way the white garment was singing in light.
And every one thought that the joy was there,
That the ships were all in a quiet bay,
And the weary people abroad, full of care,
Were now all blessed with a happy day.
The voice was sweet, and the beam was shining,
And only up there at the royal rack
A child, conversant with secret, was crying
That nobody, really, would ever come back.
>>7975670
Buzzword. Why don't you say what you mean?
>>7969837
How is that iconoclastic at all. It's pretty standard 'hurr war is inevitable'
The moon is in total contrast against the towers.
Awaken, awaken-- the feeling has vanished
laid bare under the light
You converse with luminous bugs in the air
We travel, and
The moon is all bright, shining on the water.
I speak with mournful toads on the riverbed
The vision darkens, and
backlit hungry
in the hallway
killing crickets, with no way out
From which dreams
our closest friends
seek shelter
trying to remember.
I want to be good at poetry
wait no I don't
I want to kill every poet
-Anonymous
>>7976319
Because I think you wrote a stupid poem about nothing and then attached a bullshit meaning to it afterwards. Nothing in the poem conveys "vitality of youth and the weakness." And you're gay.
>>7970606
it makes perfect sense, learn to read before you critique stuff (im not the poems author just an annoyed anon)
>>7972039
>nd enough with this muse shit
retard tier
if he likes it who gives a shit?
>>7977240
It is, yes. I wanted to see how /lit/ would react to it. I didn't think anyone would recognize it.
>>7976387
I think is good for being my 5th poem
>>7977227
Are you kidding? Did you even read it? It's pretty obvious; I haven't even enciphered it.
My Most Recent Position Paper
Bob Hicok
A little bit of hammering
goes a long way toward making
the kind of noise I want my heart
to look up to—or have you ever
gone into a woods and applauded the light
that fights its way to the ground,
and the shadows, and the explosions
of feathers where blue jays
have been ripped into the bright
and hungry future of hawks—
and there’s this—writing an etude
by pushing pianos off a cliff
until one of them howls or whispers
just so—like a vagrant
slipping into a clean bed
or a man lifting a dying child
toward the sun and begging help,
rescue—if my eyes could speak,
they’d be mouths—the tongues
of my fingers ask to be words
against your skin—and when I
was a librarian, I lost my job
for exhorting patrons to sing
“Bye Bye Miss American Pie”—
it’s not what we do here, I was told—
yet I know this is a world
made by volcanoes, and don’t want
to keep this awareness of kaboom
to myself—so have picked up
my zither and begun walking
and strumming like an idiot
who thinks music is all
a body needs to feed itself—
and though I haven’t eaten
in years, I have been fed.
>>7971930
>sabés
Che, regresate a tu choza de mierda, loco!
>>7971930
I was about to nag about the weird rhymes hear the end, but the original shitauthor also used them, so whatever.
Maybe try using less adjectives, tho. But I like it in general.
>>7977314
HE LIKES IT, STOP SAYING MEAN THINGS, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAyou'rertardedAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Peter the piper
played on a viper
Old henry got so mad
Peter the piper
was shoved in the gutter
because Old henry was his dad!
Grauhesch leers from his chamber, unbidden,
as we slink the shade of his view, unseen.
Grey king abed in his prison, unchained—
as our fear far stricter bids us silent.
That courtly mock: a wrinkled brow in thought,
repeated in bulbous and reaching flesh,
scornful wet facsimile of our own.
What hubris took hold and drove us here—
to cower before the insensate?
Long severed and silenced and bound but still,
the echo remains and shackles in turn.
Foul prophet those mouthless lines to lay,
not in mist and shadow but statute and stone.
What fault is this but ours, and ours alone?
>>7977572
no actually it's not obvious, what's obvious is that you wrote a pretty bad poem about shaving and threw in the phrase "in 20 years" just to get us ruminating about the future, has very little to do with shaving. your images are weak, your prosody is bad, and you think your poem is obvious because you wrote it but are blind to its flaws. i am not trying to put you down as i have no interest in you as a person, i am merely stating how things look from your reader's perspective
>>7976024
v good
I told myself I needed to write something before bed. So I just shat this out, and now I can sleep in peace.
I lie at night apart from slumber.
Teetering along the edge
of sweet sleep and steady wonder,
devouring a hopeful pledge.
'Just once more' I warn my finger,
flicking the moon along the sky.
Prying for gold hidden asunder
of the light sought most at night.
Ten, nine, eight, then seven
Few parts remain of the whole.
Yet my digits carry thoughts to heaven
Stoked steadily from a digital coal
The lifeless flame claims no warmth
Sparing no remorse of dark
The cushioned embrace of the hearth
Makes no closer a dreamy dozer
Three, two, one, then zero
The careful night consumes the room
No treasure found -an antihero
Rescued from his gloom
With fingers tired, moon-pulled sore
I swim within my firmament
Until the sun awakens me,
paying me in scores.
>>7977314
muse-writer detected
look, I don't really give a shit either, I am just trying to tell that guy what I believe he's doing wrong. after all, this is a CRITIQUE thread, not a "praise my shitty poetry and if you don't have anything nice to say then just be quiet" thread. if you think that muse-writing hasn't been beaten to death, then please by all means continue writing it
My Manager, The Warden.
My manager parades the supermarket aisles
like they were prison corridors.
He, the prison warden
with his baton,
his flashlight,
his steely gun, stinking of WD40 and gunpowder residue.
His face splits open
and a smug smile rips across his head
his teeth point in my direction.
The smugness is needed for his position,
a position of power and ridicule.
Like the broken heart to the love poet
the bottle to the novelist
the shovel to the midnight grave-digger.
I know that one day too, my manager will dig my grave beneath a laughing moon.
>>7977866
>apart from slumber
obscure / dumb / pseud phrase
>wonder
>pledge
abstractions
>asunder
anachronism
>digits
really stupid word, belongs to CS and sexology classes
>lifeless flame
dumb pseud phrase
>remorse
>embrace
>gloom
>my firmament
>in scores
even more abstractions
god this is such pseudo poetry. read less poe and more yeats.
>>7977888
smug smile is awkward and ugly to say aloud. also, smiles don't open across heads, that makes it sound like a scar or a wound. the last line is nice but the preceding 3 lines are kinda cliches, they typecast these 3 characters and this ruins the ending
Suspended on a petrified strand
from the highest branch of a pine tree is an aged pine cone
swaying its last before the fall; it drops
through the thicket of rustling branches below,
hits with a muted knelling thud the frigid, sodden
slope of its grey knoll that sends it skittering downhill
into the torrential gushing current;
it floats at first, then is amalgamated in the water,
and carried downriver to be buried in the Adriatic.
The general sees this—
it’s early winter, the tenth of January, 49 BC,
and Julius Caesar with his legion is camped in the borderlands,
on the northern bank of the scarlet cordon,
the moat between provincial anarchy and
the fountainhead of scholarship and industry and republican power,
a city of white marble pillars never tarnished and high aqueducts
festooned with the most florid art of the provinces.
a city inhabited by Vesta, Mars, and Jupiter Optimus Maximus,
who armour it with a cuirass over its toga
and place a dagger in the sinister hand
to extort tithes from thralls to Pax Romana—Roman Peace.
Piss on your peace. Caesar carries a javelin to shatter this Pax Romana.
Another pine cone, flesh fortified, has reached
the moment of the fall.
It sways with the wind till the strain snaps
its spine and falls like a rock from the sky,
rolls past Caesar into the river,
and hence to the Adriatic Sea, leaving no trace of itself behind.
From the trees, the river, the very earth underfoot
Rome with elemental voice declaims in the imperative:
Julius Caesar, you bald-headed whoremonger, advance another step,
and the fury of Rome will roast your insubordinate flesh inside your armour;
reforge history, melt your name and titles off from wherever they are inscribed.
Advance another step, Gaius Julius Caesar, consul, triarch, general, governor,
and your memory shall be damned, and your body flung into the Adriatic Sea.
His fingers are clenched around the hilt of his sword;
if he looses them upon this river-lapped embankment,
the soil will absorb the clangor of his surrender,
and his spilt honour will ooze into the river
and be carried to its Adriatic grave.
Living hence will be the burning of a long taper:
intolerable years as patriarch to an intolerable batch of Julii,
growing old and wrinkled, seeing succeeding Marches
and Aprils as harbingers of decrepitude,
and frequent pilgrimages to the mossy riverbank
where his naked sword had once been dropped.
The Rubicon, red from the mud,
appears a bloody slaver’s whip stretched across the countryside.
He readies his die, and stamps with the first step of revolution
his fears against the floor of the bridge.
>>7977894
You're the exact kind of person nobody gives an shit about their opinion.
You could've said only the last line of your post and nothing of your critique would've changed.
I'd watch how much you throw around pseud, kiddo. It's kinda like a guy driving a really big truck.
>>7977927
>debating criticism
if you're the author, shame on you
if you're not the author, write your own damn critique of that poem which I believe is shitty
nonetheless, I get the feeling you believe that poem is not shitty. in that case, you're objectively wrong. you can send that poem to any number of real readers of poetry, they will all agree it's meritless
i don't have to defend my choice of language to you, because it seems like you've been wounded by it, therefore you've already decided upon your own private meaning for it
Formatting will probably get fucked up (it's a froufrou visual stanza poem), but here goes.
Evelyn McHale/ The Futility of Suicide after WW2
You were meant to trip
from strifes empyreal
You falling star, wisher
on 34th and 5th…
lightning sharp concavity,
smashed into the limousine;
a vanquished sunroof steaming,
Groans under her repose.
Her: a pearl of gravity
nodding off in the freefall.
Hands hold a rosary—her face
the manacle of immaculation.
Walking was the pinch of earrings
straining to hold your weight.
The helpless drag of a day job
engraving dog tags.
The wreath of pedestrians,
in vicuña and down,
regard their goddess
and snap pictures.
Was Lysistrata aiming
To crush Mr. War?
Spectators swell red
At the notion.
She swelters too,
as she’s plunged onto Life,
and the Anthologies,
and formaldehyde casings.
So Future, already pink,
Embalms her physique
with Why—what a shame—
Oh, Why.
In the afterparty’s confetti slew
A paper slip flutters to the blacktop
With her last starving wish.
>>7978035
poem does too many things and fails to hold my attention. there is no meaningful connection to war, at least none in the poem. that last bit is untrue, so i don't know why it's there--seems entirely melodramatic
>>7977952
WAH! WAH!
Are all of you this fucking inmature? What a bunch of whiny faggots. Grow up, children.
>>7978111
you are the real child. your poem got slammed and you lash out against those who slammed it. what's funny is that this is a critique thread, meant for critiquing poems, and you are being a little bitch because people did critique it. in real life you'd be fucken hammered for being such a poor sport. on the internet, you can be a dick for free.
Inspiration, come to me
for in this sea I will seek
that muse which does not speak
but sneaks about my pee
or urine because I'm yearning
to get a nice golden scene
splashing over the vessel onto me
I got an A for this poem.
>>7977894
>poetry should be exactly as I want it and anything I am unfamiliar with is pretentious
>>7978138
Don't put words into my mouth. I didn't say pretentious, I said pseudo-poetry, ie non-poetry. that "poem" is really so bad that I didn't even bother writing a full-fledged critique of it. it doesn't deserve such a critique. the author, as he has demonstrated with his antics, is not at a level sufficient to take anything away from a critique.
>>7978111
I'm not the poet, cunt, but believe whatever you want to; that's the life you've chosen for yourself inside that hotfart of a cultural bubble you have going on, you mediocre bitch.
I'm calling you a child because you critique something, yes, but that doesn't mean the author can't write back at all, as you imply:
>if you're the author, shame on you
The act of giving critique, as well as posting poetry, is meant to have the objective of learning from one another.
It's when manchildren like you pretend to be untouchable and can't be debated just cause "lel brah dont b so whiny topkek"
Now, that was a shitty poem, yes. I only called you out on your down syndrome because you're the cancer, not of this board (alone), but also of the cultural-aware (HA!) people of the shithole your country must be if it has people with your kind of viewpoints.
Go choke on your dad's semen and stop making the world a dumber place, gaylord.
I amended it slightly.
The razor had a keener edge
this evening, perhaps because
I was out of soap and thus
forced to rub the gleaming blade
(down, down, down, then up, up, up)
against the ruddy strip of flesh,
naked, between nose and lip.
It pricked with every upward
rake, and drew blood, incessant
globules bubbling out to mark
invisible punctures, two
on each side, skirting the philtrum,
like the imprints left by some
nocturnal visiting undead.
Caution creeps with every passing night;
I suppose in twenty years
my drooping lip would repel
the very approach of the razor
if ungauzed by a lather,
and an ungauzed incision
would probably hurt a lot more
the morning after.
>>7972699
haven't been writing poetry for too long so any critique is welcome
>>7969115
I would literally rather get kicked in the balls than read any of this shit
>>7978145
>if it doesn't fit my stringent and arbitrary specifications it's not even poetry, let alone good or bad poetry, but a congregation of random words
>>7978495
Thank you.
>>7978127
I didn't post that response, kiddo. >>7977952
It wasn't criticism. You pointed out things you didn't like and gave personal opinions because you didn't understand it.
>>7978145
This is just sadly pretentious. I never claimed I was aiming for a great poem and in fact said I 'shat it out before bed'. It seems you're the only one expecting a masterpiece. Not to mention, I feel that I described being glued to your phone until it dies at night while you keep telling yourself to sleep somewhat interestingly for a somewhat dull experience I was having.
J'ai chaviré parmi les doux flots ravissants
Enseveli par une flemme doucereuse
Peut-être qu'un jour ces mêmes saints m'aimeront
Ajourd'hui je meurs de ne l'avoir pas rendue heureuse
>>7978576
v2
Je chavire parmi les doux flots ravissants
Envahi par une des ces flammes doucereuses
Peut-être aurais-je un jour de ces mêmes saints
La fortune dont j'ai vu les heures malheureuses
A million iron butterflies
Convinced me in the woods
To wander left and left and left
until I’m in the woods.
The splintered snaps of stolid cork
Resound within my head.
They pound and hound like butterflies
That put into my head.
And detritus and deciduous
The hair that from my head
Keeps me tipping round and round
And nighttimes is my bed.
A million iron
butterflies
flap slices
through my head.
>>7978484
first thing you should fix are the typos.
Besides that, none of the concepts you talk about are specific in any way which makes the poem sound vague and uninteresting, difficult in a bad way. I'm not sure what conclusion you come to with this internal exploration. There's lots of cliches, which can be fixed by reading shittons of poetry and realizing that some conventions add nothing to the experience. Rethink what you're talking about, find more precise imagery, and replace some of those extraneously short-line metaphors with a personal narrative; then you should be approaching something more meaningful
>>7977866
Anyway, I know it's not good. But could an actual critique with some depth? Because I'm fairly new to poetry and do still struggle to realize what's inherently wrong with certain aspects. I'm already beginning to read more poetry, but advice always help.
>>7977866
>>7978532
>>7979150
You're being an incredible bitch right now, claiming I didn't understand your writing, claiming my critique was just my "personal opinions," whatever. But since you asked nicely, fine, I'll give you a critique. This is the same guy who originally said your poem was crap. Let's not debate about that since you just admitted it's "not good." I will do this line-by-line.
L1: There are simpler and more concise ways to say "I can't sleep." "I lie apart from slumber" sounds stupid precisely because it is too wordy. "Apart from slumber" itself, as a phrase, tries to be Poetic with a capital P, instead of using the simpler "awake." Brevity is one of poetry's crowning virtues. In better words, "great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree." I REALIZE you said you were not going for great literature. That doesn't change the virtuousness of brevity.
L2: "Teetering" on an "edge" may as well be a cliche at this point. Everyone has read it somewhere in print. Cliches are fatal to poetry. They indicate that the writer is willing to take his sentiments and meanings pre-packaged by his culture.
L3: I don't like the alliteration of "sweet sleep," which, coupled with being a spondee, does not sound good spoken aloud. The phrase also smacks of cliche. "Wonder" is an abstraction. It refers to an intangible thing, like love or ideology, as opposed to tangible things like pencils or clouds. Abstractions are fine in moderation and with the proper supporting cast of tangibles. But wonder is such a vague and ambiguous (awe? inquisitiveness?) abstraction that it is practically meaningless. I say practically because it is not a charming word/idea and does not invite the reader, upon a first read, to search it for meaning.
L4: "Hope" and "pledge" are both abstractions. At this point you've dropped three in succession, and I have no idea what you're trying to convey.
L5: Your communicating with your finger is overly-dramatic. What I mean by that is: you are really communicating to yourself, and your finger has no say in the matter. Therefore, the finger is improper and off-putting as your fancied addressee. It calls attention to itself for no reason.
L6: I don't know what this image is doing, since you're describing a phone-swipe. You are not literally flicking the moon. Again, this is dramatic. Perhaps you are watching the moon, but to say you are moving it makes no sense, especially because the moon makes this one appearance in the poem then disappears forever, and because it's combined with the trivial activity of phone-surfing.
L7: "Asunder" is an anachronism, plain and simple. If you think anachronisms are acceptable in poetry, by all means please continue writing them.
cont.
>>7979744
>>7977866
>>7978532
>>7979150
L8: Don’t be intentionally obscure. What exact light are you talking about? Who is it “sought” by? I know that what=phone light and who=you, but a poem generally shouldn’t be shadowy and evasive UNLESS it is a riddle, and you did not write a riddle. To anyone who disagrees, show me a good poem as example.
L9-10: Punctuation after “seven.” Again with the obscurity in “few parts remain.” Few parts what? Few fingers remain?
L11: I cannot overstate how little the word “digits” is doing for me right now. You mean to say fingers and instead give me this ambiguous word because you want to tender the connection to the “digital” in the next line. It isn’t working for me. Also, don’t romanticize the cloud or the internet as “heaven.” It’s entirely melodramatic. Heaven and heavens have their own connotations that don’t carry over into the electronic world, or at least not in this poem.
L12: I don’t know what a “digital coal” is. You are being obscure. This is not an incapacity on my part to “get” at your meaning. This is your meaning being obscured by a nonsensical phrase.
L13: Flames are lifeless, and also lack agency, so they don’t “claim” anything. You will have to find a better description than that.
L14: “Remorse” and “dark” are both abstractions. I have no idea of what you’re trying to convey.
L15: “Hearth” ties back to the coal and the flame, but incorrectly. A hearth is the space before a firepit. So far, you’ve created no such space in your poem. “Embrace” used here is an abstraction.
L16: Why are you saying “makes” when you mean to say “brings?” Either way, don’t be obscure. The embrace makes or brings the dreamy dozer (I don’t like this alliteration) closer to what? Since the dozer refers to yourself.
L17: I still don’t know what this countdown is referring to, and it doesn’t help the poem any.
L18: no complaint here
L19: The mention of “treasure” is incredibly obscure and may as well be an abstraction. What exactly (ie tangibly) are you searching for? Treasure also does not tie into any of the previous lines except for a strenuous connection in gold. Why are you casting yourself as an anti-hero? What’s antiheroic about you? Don’t explain to me, explain in the body of your poem. Right now it’s simply not there.
L20: Who or what is doing the rescuing? Also, “gloom” is such a dumb abstraction that tries to setup this antihero as either austere or else self-loathing, which are stereotypes. But the word also fails entirely, because there is no support for it in the rest of the poem.
cont.
>>7979746
>>7977866
>>7978532
>>7979150
L21: I take issue with the phrase “moon-pulled sore” which syntactically makes no sense. “Moon-pulled” is an adjective and so is sore, but they are not separated by a comma and anyway I don’t know their object. If they modify “fingers” then fingers has three modifiers which is too many. If they modify yourself, you need to be in the sentence.
L22: “Firmament” is an abstraction.
L23-4: I don’t know why or how the sun “pays” you. There is so much useless stuff between the sun and the “gold” from earlier that it fails to make an impact. And anyway, you haven’t done enough to support this connection between gold and sunlight, which reads as juvenile. This ending does nothing for me. “Scores” is an abstraction.
Big picture stuff: the poem has not done enough to paint a scene. It likes to go off on tangents with concocted phrases about gold, flames, hearths, treasure, and gloom. Abstractions truly have killed anything that once lived in this poem.
The subject matter itself is completely trivial. There’s a saying in my language, “no one’s ever written a poem about orange rinds.” It’s probably untrue, but the point is, some things in life do not warrant poems. Sitting in bed on your phone is one of those things. There’s no real emotion there. It’s just boredom and a guy who has too much time to think, and nothing to think about. I find that this type of subject matter is popular on 4chan because of the userbase. This doesn’t mean anything in the real world of poetry.
You switch freely between ballad meter and tetrameter which is off-putting. Also, you have a few spondees which throw everything off. And I don’t know why you abandoned periods halfway through the poem, only to throw the last one in.
I am not being spiteful when I say: read more poetry. You’re truly writing at a high-school level. Everyone who wants to write poetry must eventually teach themselves how to avoid mistakes like you’ve made here. The only way to teach yourself is by reading. Yeats is a good place to start. In real life, no one close-reads your stuff until you’ve made it. Even friends will give your stuff a cursory look and a few comments at most. So when I dismissed you in my first comment, I was doing so because you are not at a sufficient level.
>>7978309
Fuck off. You have contributed nothing to the conversation. As I originally said: since you're not the author, write your own critique. I doubt you will, because talking about poetry is probably beyond your mental capacities.
>>7978309
ITT: autism
a dolphin slid itself to shore
tore a rill through stubbled sand
rarely graced by water nymph
a shame she couldn't stay
quickly dealt away by birds
who liked the silver taste
her flesh had made
so fresh and free
>>7979744
>I'm responding with a lot, but it's truly because of such a detailed critique; it's great. I'm not arguing with you when I bring up some points. I'm doing it so maybe I can get some advice on my thought process for writing to stop being so exclusive with my choices.
Though you did all that out of spite, I honestly thank you. In this, I at least know why you pointed out those flaws. And I'm going to comment back, not to argue, but to gain a little more insight by helping you understand what I was going for with the things you said didn't make sense. I wasn't sense a ting you didn't understand it as in you were dumb, but that, well, you just didn't understand some parts. With more blame on my end.
>sweet sleep
You say you don't like that illiteration, but it really drives the meter there and has a good bounce since they don't flow. I actually chose that because I said it out loud. In this, I chose not to use sleep in the first line so as not be saying it 12 times through out.
>hope and pledge
All is fair against hope, but I do declare the pledge in the immediate next line. That really doesn't work?
>flicking the moon
Yes, I did mean for that to be dramatic. I refers to swiping the phone, yes, all through the night. So no, I'm not literally doing it, but I'm using it as a metaphor to show how important it seems to be swiping the phone all night.
>light sought at night
That actually doesn't refer to the phone, but to the sun. Because.. I mean well.. why else do you go to sleep? I honestly didn't try to be obscure, I felt it was fairly clear.
More coming..
exquisite calm
and my bones sagging
one foot to the other
her ass is alright in those yoga pants
but not enough to keep me looking
i am standing in the way of a car
i can walk slower than was possible before this moment
adizero fucks to give
>>7979746
>L9-10
Yeah, it was late and I gave up on editing punctuation and just left it all as sentences. The few parts of the whole refer to the count down which is the battery life draining. I can totally see how that would be missed, and I was torn on going with the countdown or not. I guess I felt it fit the theme, but it is very obscure.
>digits
Actually are meant to tie into the countdown as well as digital. That was the main reason I chose that word. Knowing it was a little queer.
Heaven is meant to stand for everything I'm scrolling through as it goes up and off screen. But I can see how it would not carry over to digital, in a sense.
>digital coal
Was the battery of the phone.
I'm just genuinely not trying to be obscure. I build off the first line in hopes that the word choice will still make sense.
>lifeless flames
I choice that phrasing because of the the weight I'm putting on the morning and the sun, which are life giving. The phone then is a 'lifeless flame' in relation. It claims no warmth meaning it gives no real comfort to me.
>sparing no remorse of dark
I know what I meant, but the line really is shit, I don't think I should even explain it.
>hearth/embrace
I actually thought this was clever;after referring to the phone as a flame, my bed would then act as a hearth, embracing me.
>dreamy dozer
What alliteration do you like? Not trying to be rude, but I don't understand I suppose. I'm not the dreamy dozer though. That's who I want to be but am not becoming thanks to the phone. I also thought that was clear.
>no complaint
Thanks for that at least. But why is 'careful' not obscure but so many other descriptors are? It just seems conflicting to me. I'm not saying you're wrong.
>treasure
It's meant to be obscure though. What are you really searching for when your aimlessly digging on your phone? I really thought it fit well. Heroes usually get the gold and the treasure. But I'm an antihero to myself because the true treasure I want is sleep and the morning day, which I'm denying myself.
I'm rescued by my phone dying and the darkness bringing on the sleepiness I was putting off. Which is why I chose gloom, because it's a gloomy feeling after spending many hours in the dark staring at a phone.
>moon-pulled sore
Yeah, I knew that was a stretch. No surprise to me here, and if I had edited, that would've been so.
The sun pays me in life's experience when woken. Which I chose scores because of how much more rewarding it is than sprawling through my phone.
But I admit, I think the end was weak myself, and I wrote it.
I really just wanted to explain myself so maybe I could get some tips on bad thought processes and practices I'm using. Whether from you or whoever. I'm really trying to get good at poetry here.
Thank you again for the critique. It was really helpful and I'll take much of it in consideration.
>>7980739
>>7979750
Lastly, thank you for the metric critique, I really needed something like that. Sometimes I struggling determining what syllables are what in poetic terms.
And I do honestly believe that the growing dependency on technology is a concern. Not that I'm the first to touch upon it, nor am I saying that my poem was special in that means. But I do not believe that modern, first world issues can't be expressed. And I can't think of a better format that glum poems, because of the contradiction and irony.
>>7969115
I'm too high/drunk to write a good poem, is what i'm thinking
a poem good enough to make me happy
because it made you happy, and you said so, and you paid me money, and it sustained me
it was the crack of dawn
eyes adjust, crackling to the sun
this burning inside
this feeling in my gut cant be undone
pain everlasting
a fire that never rests to firm
my uncontrollable hunger
for a blood as sweet and asunder
for a skin as pale my lover
how my heart beats, i wonder
forgive me for what I done
forgive for whatever I havent begun
im not me, im a shell of another
i longed for a day please please bring the rain on the weather
drag the dark on this day
i sank my teeth, ill beg you to stay
please dont be scared of the thunder
please dont be scared of drum beat on my chest and for whats under
how my heart beats
how my heart beats for you, i wonder
and if my dying day comes
take this wreath for you to remember
even in pain of the world, you were my nurser
how my heart beats, i wonder
Pls. Will also be posting some critiques later tonight.
>>7981157
I got a boner while reading this masterpiece
>>7977336
I only know it from having read Milkbottle H, distinctive style.
>>7973368
Best thing on this thread so far. You've got a mostly consistent meter going, decent rhymes and that strong amount of repetition. It sounds pretty folk-y due to the use of ain't and simplistic imagery but I think that adds to it the feel of it. Well done.
Are you for real, idiots? Why are you posting your shit here? It's all going to be stolen by some pathetic writer-wannabe who can't possibly come up with his own retarded horrible poems and has to steal yours to continue his mediocre so called "existence".
Besides, any critique you get form these assholes is going to be coming from either an underage fag who has read one-too-many essays about Shakespeare's sonnets, or a failed adult human look-alike that has tried to write one-too-many essays about Shakespeare.
Fucking retarded idea for a thread, topkek. Go cry yourself to sleep, failures. Maybe you'll dream about some qt to be your muse for your shitty poems.
>>7981641
I only post throwaways that I know aren't that good but aren't inherently bad. And then I enjoy seeing what people say about them. Partially because I know when they're wrong and because it's insight into the next generation.
>generalizing this hard
You're one of those 18 year olds posting about less superior18 or 30 year olds because you've got it all figured out, aren't you?
>>7972699
I think the only line that wasn't a clishe was the peppermint one. As a satire,ä it was quite comfortable to read through though
>>7969115
here's a poem about ordinary struggle:
Detergent
Is fucking
Expensive
>>7981641
/r9k/ is that way, go troll someone who will take you seriously
>>7981313
Well, congrats for being able to figure that out, and double congrats for reading Milkbottle H. I just wish Ice Never F wasn't so expensive.
>>7981250
f-f-f-f-fake-and-gay, fake-and-gay
>>7977295
"it makes perfect sense!" said the anon who didn't say anything at all about the poem then disappeared in a puff of red smoke
>>7978490
and yet here you are, shitposting per requirement
>>7976822
bump
Time not Reaper Sonified by Old Beginnings
We are obscenities written on the flank of lunch trays,
Shallow as ever since we met on school days.
You: How are you?
I: …think I’m fine.
But I’ll show you yours if you show me mine;
It’s the only way we’ll know for sure.
And so we dive, mind over mind,
Opining that Freud was always/never contrived,
With nothing impersonal in the back of my mind:
This I do/don’t mind.
And/But I’m unsure you would/wouldn’t.
I’ll let this one go ‘cause I’m smarter than you.
You’re taller than me,
I’m Au Revoir* for two.
And you’re functionally castrated.
It’s a shame that The Physical’s hell-bent to bring,
Scores of men disappointed by that sort of thing –
And we’re nothing special.
“Stop! This is not why I came!” is what you might yell,
And by the grace of your voice it’s so hard to tell,
But by The Grace of God’s put plainly as hell,
That clearly I’m selfish.
And you’re a fucking idiot!
I’m not dying inside ‘cause I cannot die,
But I will always be your friend.
“The price of liquor is exorbitant these days.”
…So I’m unsure I care whether or not you’re mine.
*Au Revoir (French): Goodbye.
