Poetry thread. Don't be a fag, post decent poetry (self written or otherwise). Get feedback, critique poems, offer your deep (read: baseless) interpretation. I have to imagine some of you robots have class enough to appreciate the only decent art form.
>>24083922
And have others steal my work? Nice try pham
>I have to imagine some of you robots have class enough to appreciate the only decent art form.
>only decent art form
Oh ok, so this is a Film thread?
What have you been watching lately robots?
>>24083957
>thinking some autist wants to take credit for your crappy poem
>clearly too insecure to post your shit tier writing
I bet you consider yourself a writer, but really you are a NEET
>>24084033
>y-yours jus scared!
Not falling for it buddy
Dark finds me gnawing
Restless,
streaming against my skin
with layers of an ocean deep
and stillness of a quiet calm
I wade through
alone and upside down
torn apart and twisting
wrenching
yet standing still
a dead still
endlessly falling ahead
numb orange street lights
awaken in me the hope
a lost sight or dream perhaps
a stray optimism may still catch
piercing the night
I continue to wade
I wrote this one.
I am the clear-mouthed whisperer of old,
the rustling in the reeds and leaves
the earthen stench that rises from the mould.
I walk beneath the dripping chapel's roof
under bells that knell the giving-out of lives,
and in the wards where row on row,
life leaks away in bags and bowls.
Stones cannot speak. All that they were,
are, will ever be, when the dying spirit fades,
is boiled away, the stuff that still remains
is the grit of human life - three paltry lines.
They were born,
they lived,
they died.
This does no justice to the shades.
Sometimes I'm afraid to be alone.
But being alone is what I enjoy the most.
>>24083957
if they want to steal my shit, fine
not like any of us will ever be published
Reposting mine again. Still trying to work out the metre
>If I was so lucky, to hold the light of life, I would surely drop it, for I am just a boy
>A boy who's tear stained sheets, sit on a bed of hurt. A bed I must lie in, for I am just a boy.
>A boy who's dreams shattered, when life came dashing by. That life has left me now, for I am just a boy.
>My end does not matter, it lies too far beyond. I sleep with out a stir, for I will die a boy.
>>24083957
>writing poetry for credit rather than to inspire people
>>24083958
>film
>the art form for people too lazy to learn how to draw and too stupid to be able to read a book
woke up and saw my love
beside me was chad violating my dove
what he had was a face
was my love not worth something so superficial?
They told me that were plenty of fish in the sea
I had hope,I had a dream
and I realized that there was no chance for a blobfish like me
Excuse the shitty poetry,I'm drunk this fine morning.
Lies
I am a replica, made of glass
Without style, without class
Living in a home that exists only in my mind
Walls made of deception
Built on a foundation of lies
And as soon as the first stone flies
I will shatter, broken inside
I have been blind
The world is not kind
Especially to those that try to cheat
I am just a factory, making nothing
Just hopes, dreams, and empty promises
Never to be fulfilled
The darkness is spreading, consuming
Bringing with it pain and misery
But the worst part is
I'm creating it all myself
Lies spreading pooling
Building up
Overflowing the cup
Lies to my family, black as the depths
Lies to my friends gray as death
Lies to myself, worst of all
Keeping me from being free
No way out
No possible escape
Yet I continue to scrape
By
Barely staying ahead
Of the
Storm clouds
Gathered over my head
Falsehoods , mixed with dreams
Nightmares of truth
Break the glass
Scatter the ash
Send my soul into oblivion
I couldn't care less
I'm too busy
Doing nothing
End
>>24084286
if you worked out the metre an rhyme a bit more this could actually be really good m8
>>24084295
these feel like song lyrics
are they song lyrics?
When you get what you want, In your struggle for self
and the world makes you king for a day
Then go to a mirror and look at yourself,
and see what that man has to say
For it isn't man's farther, mother or wife
whose judgement upon him must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in life,
in the man staring back in the glass
For he is with you,
clear till the end
And you have passed your most dangerous, difficult test
if the man in the glass is your friend
you can fool the whole world, down the pathway of years
and get pats on the back as you pass
but your final reward will be heartache and test
if you have cheated the man in the glass
Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum
>>24084318
yes and no. all my poems are songs and all my songs are poems. but I can't write music so they stay as they are, just words
Okay, please rate this one.
I made this one after I lost my virginity to a prostitute 3 years ago (I am 24 now)
And I moved to West from the East Texas Plain
To chase girls from the far Eastern World
And the Highway was a dancer on her back
That spread her legs just to guide me down the track
But who controls the sex now anyway
Pointless as a match struck in the rain
Is this the end of the world
I sold my sould to be a free man
Now I wander in the dark
I conceal my way a little
Like a painter with no arm
And I moved to West from the East Texas Plain
black-haired girls from the far Eastern World
Stole my eyes like a gypsy with their crime
I lost my sex to the tyranny of wine
But who controls the sex and all the rest
Monogamy has bored them to their death
I want to keep it there forever
there's narcotic in my vein
always thought about becoming a burglar
not this peasant I became
Is this the end of the world
>>24084389
I liked it, saved it in my sadness folder.
Don't Look Too Long, by ananon.
What's to be seen when all is heard,
in inner voiced symbolic word.
The 'external' world's it a bitter trick.
I tell my mind to suck my dick.
>>24084415
>I lost my sex to the tyranny of wine
i read this as the tranny of wine first
kek
some nasty ass nigger with yellow fever lost his virginity to a prostitute
i would describe this poem as: if morrissey was a virginal robot with some grim ole yellow fever
Oh sorrow,
for I have not one of my own kind by my side
whose spirit indistinguishable from my own
and for thee I care
and thee, care for I.
But you are simple,
to thee I am but a man,
to thee the starry night is but a sky,
to thee these words are but scribbles on paper.
And though rarely do my actions bare complexity,
The products of my mind flurry about,
incessant and precious that they are
my verified existence.
Oh how I long for her who's thoughts are aflutter,
whose restless mind keep awake by my side,
to her I am my thoughts,
to her the night sky is the universe beyond our ineffectual world,
to her these words possess meaning beyond myself,
and so discontented am I,
not in body, nor soul,
but my heart weighed down by my head.
>>24084295 I've got more.
Butterflies
Patterns, almost too beautiful
Facing towards the sun
While the delicate face sips
The nectar of happiness
A net, out of no where
Violently entangling
Crushed wings like broken heart strings
Taken back to a clean place
Beaten, battered, broken
Sweetness lost from absence
Of hope
But what is this?
A window opened
A bit of breeze to bring
The hope in
And with a bit of a falter
Free
Struggling, for some altitude
Suddenly surrounded by
A multitude
Of kindred souls, butterflies
Helping even the crushed rise
All helping one
And one helping all
End
>>24084430
Thanks! It's on of my ones I think is halfway decent.
>>24084474 This one has some references to nicknames and other things that are related to my personal life, but still
Blues and greens
Blues and greens dominate
My waking thoughts, my sleeping brain
My every action seems in vain
Conscious moments filled with pain
Every word a loss, not a gain
The blues and greens, swirl around me
Forming a cage from which I fear I will never be free
There is a door in the cage, with a lock
But I don't know who holds the key
I reach out for help but no one is there
I have work says momma bear
There is no response from the one with brown hair
As for the blonde one he cracks a joke
And the last ones already broke
To my family I can barely croak
And a psychologist? What a joke
There is one way for me to see
Evidence of reds and pinks
But no one seems to understand
That it frees me, to lend a helping hand
I spend more time helping others than I do myself
Shove all my problems in a box on the shelf
But I need to face the hand i've been dealt
However I have already begun to melt
Now I feel my mind filled with doubt
But I'm many years in, too late to go back
My time has not been as hard as some
But still I am turning to crumbs
The only thing left is the beat of the drum
Cause this little apple is now a plumb
I'm afraid that by the end of my time here with you
I'll be a flower no longer, no longer a youth
For without help, something to soothe,
I'll be as dark as a rotten tooth
And at the end of the day...
As it all... fades away...
There will be a lilly no longer
Just a lone black rose
Slowly drifting to the ground
Falling out of a bouquet
One of all red
In which it never belonged
Anyway....
Or is it all...
Just in my head?
End
>>24083922
>There once was a man who loved CP
>And his name was OP
cont anyone?
>>24084202
this is beautiful m8
>write a poem in a thread for self-eroding typing dead.
reporting in from sea of blues, just like you I just want (You)s.
Not really poetry, more rambling thoughts.
How much better if I had known from the start, if someone had said, this is what is different about you. It would have been so simple, would have explained everything. But no one ever said.
This way to be, this way I am, gets me into trouble. I am a minority, part of a community that is an anti-community. Part of a culture that, on principle, will not join hands. Remote on principle from one another. Each of us swims alone through a sea of social types. Talkers. Lunchers. Touchers. Nonloners. The mob.
The mob thinks I am maladjusted. Of course I am adjusted just fine, just not to their frequency. They take it personally. They take offence, feel hurt, get angry. They do not blame owls for coming out at night, yet they blame me for being as I am. Because it involves them, or at least they believe it does. They assemble the troops and call me names.
Weird. Cold. Stuck-up. Selfish. Aloof. Sociopath. Nerd. Sad. Freak. Unfriendly. Loner.
When I turn down invitations they know I am making up excuses, but they can't handle the truth. The mob makes definitions and assigns identities based on the sorts of clues loners do not provide. I frustrate those around me, try their patience, make myself amorphous. Make myself either unintentionally scary or invisible. With the blithe assurance of a majority, the mob nods knowingly when Anon stays home alone on Christmas Day. He is depressed, they say, or else he has something to hide.
>>24084149
a well written metaphor but seems lacking in substance.
>>24084202
good imagery, but cliched in my opinion.
>>24084242
arrested development is an underrated albeit sometimes unlikable, but your words are sincere and so I think its a nice poem.
>>24084286
you won me over with blobfish. don't be so hard on yourself though, it can make you a cliche and rob your poetry of personality.
>>24084295
interestingly apathetic, but I think you suffer from lingering on the same topic and while I'm all about dark imagery, it deserves a bit of nuance
>>24084324
isn't that a Micheal Jackson song?
>>24084415
your poetry isn't necessarily technically impressive, but there is sincerity and contemplative nature that more than makes up for it.
>>24084436
I liked this one.
>>24084465
you might be a narcissist
>>24084531
this reminded me of World of Warcraft
Show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually clean kitchen, and 8 times out of 9 I'll show you a man with detestable spiritual qualities.'
Too much! Three times I said!
what a way to fall from trees!
cliched and real
far too over meme'd I mean :^)
Like an alcoholic purge
unlike an amphetamine binge
cruise with me away from
seriousity
The brakes are red hot now
when my red hot eyes bake
bread, a bodybuilder's pharaoh
cursing the jewish
descendant degenerates
Let them invade now, it's ok :^)
Filthy addicts of war
edicting crass cause on lebanese shores
and yesterday there was another
haha!
Another shoe-ting mon, 'cept by
an ugly frogman paralyzed to irrationality
Just B urself :^)
and that's what the gunner was
O.k. Ok.
Be LIKE us but don't just copy us
because then you're just unoriginal
you know, put your own twist to it
filthy war addict, that's not how you do the twist
in the slightest
It's like this :^)
Who cares if you're genetically inferior
I need to feel better about myself
>>24084748
The clerk who goes home after work to have a bubble bath instead of joining the gang at the bar is declared undeserving of a raise, afraid of women, afraid of men, too smart, a pervert.
I'm just a normal guy who will go to great lengths to avoid unnecessary human contact. Is that so wrong? No, it is not. Human being are nasty, disgusting, hypocritical vermin.
I live among the mob, so the mob mistakes me for its own, presuming and assuming. When the mob gets too close, the truth is revealed. I will run away, in effecting telling the mob that I don't need them.
Hell hath no fury like a majority scored.
Yet here I am, not sad, not lonely, having the time of my live amid their smear campaign. I am someone who knows how to entertain myself, how to contemplate, how to create. Loners, by virtue of being loners, in celebrating the state of standing alone, have an innate advantage when it comes to being brave like pioneers, like mountain men, iconoclasts, rebels and sole survivors. Loners have an advantage when faced with the unknown, the never done before and the unprecedented.
The mob is not as actively hostile as it is intolerant. Even this accusation would surprise the mob. It prides itself on having evolved beyond prejudice. It parades proof of its enlightenment: its multicultural government cabinets, legal rights for same-sex partners, wheelchair access, plus size models. But there is an innate bias. Anything done alone is discredited, demeaned and devalued.
The mob wants friends along when doing errands, working out at the gym, seeing a movie. The mob depends on advice. eating alone in decent restaurants horrifies the mob, saddens the mob, embarrasses the mob. The mob wants friends, it needs to be loved. It lives to be loved.
I find myself puzzling over their strange values. Why do they require constant affirmation, validation, company, support? Are they weak or what? What bothers them about being alone, what are they so afraid of?
>>24084781
>interestingly apathetic, but I think you suffer from lingering on the same topic and while I'm all about dark imagery, it deserves a bit of nuance
yeah well, these are written because I'm stuck lingering on the same topic (person).... so it makes sense.
i have something
to tell you all
i'm gay
thanks for reading
Be twixt the twists of trial and time
My son,
There is another path
Where what must and what cannot cross
No man can navigate
Twist tasks and ticking time
Eh, I tried. Battery's dying.
>>24084781
>>24084242
Thanks for the critique. I've been trying to get more into traditional poetry but seem to gravitate towards freeform.
>>24084465
its possible this is underrated
I saw a man
he was walking beside me
but then
he walked
away.
stumbled and fell
I reached to him for help
but still
he walked
away.
called out his name
but he never came.
maybe he
was ne-
ver there.
if there's a scream in the woods
but nobody hears you
were
you e-
ven there?
i haven't written anything in forever, this is super old
this coffee tastes like dirt
i start to think, as you
inhale another dose
of that toxic grey smoke
i think that i would like
to know what it's like
to truly fall apart
for once and then have
you pick up the fleshy
pieces of me and rearrange
them in a new kind of
macabre jigsaw game
so i could finally see
the mess you would make
of me.
Tobh I want to write poetry but I don't know how
I'm great at easy writing but I've never delved much into creative working
My past will die with me
I'm not trying to be against me
But I'm easily friendly to people who are against me
Which makes me the enemy of me
Nothing here will be any good, because poetry requires a mastery of a language as well as a pseudo-encyclopedic knowledge of the history of poetry from at least Homer to Eliot/Pound.
From just skimming through this thread, all I've seen is Crawlingesque teeny-trash.
>24083922
My God you are pathetic.
>>24083958
Film is awful though, so rarely is anything done well.
>>24084265
>poetry
>the art form for people too lazy to write prose
From vile swamp emerges
a frog with joints that moan
No frogette greets this lonely soul
This frog will die alone
He REEEs across the water
The mud of decades gone
Surveys his empty kingdom
Declares himself fate's pawn
No one can hear his protests
The shouts of damned life
He screams until his green turns blue
He cries with all his might
"DAMMIT, REEE I SAID! REEE! REEE!"
The swamp has no reply
Alone forever, muck and fog
The frog lies down to die
I thought I found a match
It was just a lighter
I thought she had my back
I guess true love's a liar
>>24086523
Proper meter is more difficult than prose.
Memes, memes
Don't let them be dreams
CRAAAAAWWLING IN MY SKIIIIINNNN
lebron james
Bumpity bump bamp
>>24087530
bumpity bamp
I voted fo' Obama fo' mo' handouts
Yow yow
i am bumping
>>24086983
this is the best meme i have ever seen
I seek wavering glances
If glances seek me mine wavers
Move your feet and you take steps
A life in mine and by me your life slips
They don't want their glances at me
But they're betrayed by their glance
From a feeling glance to a lingering hug
If there's someone for me in this world it better be you
It's not always that you dare to feel
It's not always that I feel like daring to live
But I find reason for my life in feeling and sensation
And if I don't find the warmth of your glance
I'll find myself snowed under in damnation
I met unrest in a motionless glance
Between the tokens we're all equal
If I can't picture that glance any longer
Give knowledge of the moment volition to live
Man drifts away
Towards the horizon everything is fluent
But none of us is at the forefront
We let everybody else jump ship while we contemplate
Moments are underestimated
Could eternity be exaggerated
It depends how you see it
Glances seek glances that can understand it better
The past can only live in history
Can't hold on because time doesn't eke
But I saw eternity momentarily in your glance
Distant glances following stars in the tree tops
Stuporous glances staring in empty glasses
Glances that are distant to me
But I can see them hoping for something
I can see them opening something
Hidden behind their eyelids
My glance slides past
All the time becomes no time
All becomes nothing
An ensemble of the mind
Accumulated ideas of what it is to live
Glances doesn't follow steps that take you nowhere
Touching at the innermost
A touch that finds a grain of trial and suffering
But glances are soothing
As long you find something nice to see
You can forget where to bottom is
And you can snooze with ease
>pretentious bullshit
