/lit/ - Literature

>>12069678

I'm cold and sleepy.
I'll try writing one if you're
Here when I wake up.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Im constipated
In lieu of poo

>>12069678
Cold
Bored
Time to fap
To warm up

as i walk along the stream of conscioussness where my mother’s body lie
i flipped on the tele to find that princess di had died
i gnashed my teeth and pulled my hair
soon ill vote for tony blair
halfway through our time in iraq
my father said i have a nice cock
i thanked him politely
as i do nightly
and whispered in his ear
“kill all whiteys”

SI NO YO MISMO, QUIÉN SERÁ CURADOR DE MIS POSTS, QUIÉN COLECTARÁ MI ESCRITURA DISPERSA POR DIVERSOS DOMINIOS DE ESTA RED MUNDIAL?

CUAL BARRUECAS PERLAS DE AGUA DULCE, DISPUESTAS EN EL MONDO OCÉANO.

SI NO YO MISMO, QUIÉN SERÁ MI DEVOTA ARAÑA, MI PÍO PROFETA, MI BIZARRO ÆNEAS, MI PÓRFIDA DOÑA MARINA?

TENGAN, PORCINOS, MIS MÁRGARAS.

A man apart
Not a man alone
Betwixt the hum of wires
You can find my home

>>12069678

Bump

It’s an odd thing to see the sun after
Bursting abrupt out the lilac sea;
Birthing again where men jumped to their deaths,
Arising from the splash of Hart Crane falling.
That is whither hurled: daemon from the bridge
Drawn out primeval to love frenzy clapping
Sand rising like a mushroom cloud,
A crimson coup out of the water.
We come bright from cliffs crashed endlessly like
The fossil trail of continental drift.
And now standing at the mastheads over,
As proud messages in bottles riding waves,
We coast the gravity of men to bring
The changing tide of the moon’s own soul.

Every year the same old tale
Civil arson, saviors fail
Happy is that happy does
Pretty sure I never was

Major Tom to Ground Control
Tinker, tailor, soldier, soul
I sold my home for nothing less
Than magic beans of happiness

cold wind blows outside
i drop a candy cane, splash,
down into the tea

There rang a chill of frozen air, around The Kingdom of Heaven
The a Boy was sent above the stars and the clouds, set into vision
A guard at the door, A man an angel Stood
The boy was questioned, and authority driven
The boy simply looked and stood, stupefied
The Man in the Hood tried to cast him back downward,
But he him Self was stricken in his stead, stood for he instead
Flashed like lightening, as from fast into future,
The clashed to the ground, and was brought back in instant
Now stupefied he him self was
The boy spoke, Take me to God
And the angel Responded,
One must be pardoned, But who showest self to thee?
The boy, as if saddened
I am but the lowest of low, I am but the most lowly of sinners,
And I clamored in a prayer, a blasphemy worst than all,
But I asked under faith, that God woulds't respond
It from the deepeth of mart, and now to his throne I am to be slain

>>12069678

forty seven-sixty two
that's some money from me to you
If you're drivin' for work don't be afraid
cause your mileage expenses will be paid

tick-tock, tick-tock
tapping away aimlessly while time runs out, eventually
tick-tock, tick-tock
the strike of the clock at half past three signifies what comes to be
tick-tock, tick-tock
a slow descent, a quickening beat
tick-tock, tick-tock
doubt and dread, oh such a treat
tick-tock, tick tock
five till four, a blade revealed
tick-tock, tick tock
four has struck, the flesh is cut, deafening and thunderous
tick-tock, tick-tock

>>12073461
read this how you would read a nursery rhyme. it has a very distinct rhythm

Not bad. Is this original work?

>>12073486
are you referring to >>12073461
if so, then yes

>>12069678
One for the daughter, one for the son
One for the child, whos life has begun
One for the sailor, one for the shore
One for the sea, one for the moor

Walking to class, I notice the leaves that have fell to Fall
but this time, I truly and consummately notice.
On this wet and dreary day, I can’t help but see the outlines of these corpses
etched into the ground, and the darkened and decaying chlorophyll
bleeding into the sidewalk.
The once distinct tapestry of death stains formed by the carpet of crunchy brown foliage
now slowly being washed away by endless chilling rain.
I’m not sure what it means to me at this moment,
but I know it means something.

Faceless, tasteless and crude men
leaving you with eidolons of fleeting validation.
Evoking a specter
that claims your claim to character
and thieves from you at the ripe old age of 14.
Burdened by an identity and an existence,
that wasn’t your choice (why would you?),
but one you’d gladly choose again and again.
Burdened by those uncritical yet seemingly and contradictorily hypercritical,
and those darting pupils of strangers
that you hate so fucking much.
If only a single pair had bothered meeting yours
then they’d understand (?)
But they wouldn’t and couldn’t, and it wasn’t your fault at that ripe old age of 14
And at an even wiser 22, you know that.
You wish for clairvoyance for that old 14 year old
but his vision was hazy and short sighted
22 hasn’t been any better for you, but it always works out. Right? Right?
right?

a wooden spoon, a shattered plate
a broken toe, and a knife, serrate
he pulled your hair, and bruised the skin
he took the kids and wore them thin

>>12069709
The first half was fucking great, and then the "halfway through our time in Iraq" part fucked with your rhythm.

"Write something original" doesn't necessarily mean "don't proofread your own shit", anon.

I give this a B-

>>12069835
Good, 2bh. I give this a B-

>>12072024
Finally. I've only ever seen about a handful of good poems on /lit/ every year. They come about 3 or so annually. This one must be my third.

I give this poem an A

>>12073501
>>12073681
Also very good. Give these both either a B, or a B+

>>12073692
Fuck it, I give it a C+

When she was young, a bride was she
And took the curtains hung
And pulled them down, and draped them 'round
A wedding song she sung

She took a doll, and made him prince
Her husband sweet and tall
And kissed him once, and kissed him twice
And lovely it was all

Then she grew up, a kindly maid
And all said she was beautiful
She therefore found, with mothers aid
A bridegroom much more suitable

The man had class and seemed so nice
But time would show alas
That he preferred the company
Of vice and drinking glass

Then twenty years, in sadness all
Did pass them by and by
With bitter tears, she buried him
And wished she'd had the doll.

>>12069678
I want to eat my pork at home, I bought it from the store
I cut it up just yesterday, the sweetest meat of boar
The flesh was red and bloody fine, where meat had met with bone
Alas I work from nine to five, when pork alas is home

I want to fry it on a pan and eat it slightly raw
It can be eaten undercooked, 'tis not against the law
Domestic sow is fed with corn, and corn does not worm hold
I want to eat my porker rare, the porker butcher sold

'Tis not a tale of parable, 'tis not a metaphor
I mean precisely what I mean, when meat I mean implore
And though the poem shallow, I hope it didn't bore
I want to eat my pork at home, I bought it from the store

>>12073775
Good shit, my man. Good shit.

A

>>12069678

i get in the uber
don't say it
don't say it
don't say it
don't say it
don't say it
so, how long have you been ubering for?

the cold air of november
has dropped every last nut
and now i'm so sensitive
yes, even my butt

First poem I ever wrote. I really like Camus. Posted this on another thread but it is better suited here.

>>12073828
Youd better be in high school.

>>12073832
I was fresh out of high school when I wrote it.

>>12073842

Well then you better get practicing. Read more. A lot more. Contemporary stuff too.

Thumb purse paper ends:
strike tobacco line between
crease, lip, light - wind in.

>>12073861
Y-yes sir!

>>12073842

Dont worry as long as your honest with yourself and seriously pursue your curiosity for its own sake, youll be leagues smarter and more capable in just a few years.

My high school poetry is awful beyond description.

>>12069678
>tfw you write contemporary poetry because you're too lazy to make something with a rhyming scheme or meter

All I want
In a significant other
Is for me to respect them
But it's difficult to respect anyone
Who's dumb enough
To fall for my bullshit

>>12069678

electric window 10 feet from my bed
says all the cats from the 80's are dead
passing grief turn a new leaf
time slips away from me it always has
wasting away with a feeling of pizaz
turns into a sea of despair
why is it that I'm often there
boulders thrown into my path
my yield, the grapes of my wrath
it aint all bad so why does it feel that way
you in my arms, the hottest days of may
the best parts of life are in the past
why the fuck continue if nothings gonna last
I'm not the man I was 15 seconds ago,
doesn't mean I can't take credit for his shit though

>>12073862
I like it, but that may be the nicotine addiction talking

>>12073901
Fucking CALLED IT

>All those threads fucking with Nu-Poetry, intensely accusing them of just being lazy fucks who refuse to rhyme
>All those times we directly accused Nu-Poets of choosing "freestyle" poetry over traditional poetry, because they were hacks and simply didn't have it in them to have good meter or rhyme
>All those fiercely debated threads where we accused Nu-Poets of being Vietnam fucking shits who tried to hide their lack of skill with "I-It's the hip new style, old man!"

I fucking KNEW IT. Why don't you freestyle fucks just admit it? We fucking knew from the moment we saw your shitty "poetry" that that's what was going on. We're not fucking idiots, we were in Middleschool too, you know?

>>12072024
yeah damn good

>>12073775
That's rough my nigga.

>>12073901
Your poem is kinda meh too, no offense. I'm not even being biased against free poetry. I give it, like, a C? Maybe a C+ if I was feeling generous and I liked you as a person.

>>12073910
I mean hey, I write that way because I'm an who's only really read Bukowski I can't really speak to the reason other people write contemporary.

>>12073917
Honestly I'll take it, I have no talent for writing but it's fun. Currently working on some prose. Writing poetry is fucking hard man.

>>12073926
No one starts off good, anon. Hope you know I was just busting balls and not being serious.

>>12073910
I admit mine has a tendency towards blank verse but I’m still slowly learning the usage of metre, syntax, the finer details. I have no real thing against rhyming but at times it feels unneccesary, sometimes important. I grant mine can be stream of conscious thought wise but I try to parse it back to
something more structured.
Two of mine for reference and tearing apart.

>>12073775
A fucking poem written by a stranger on the internet made me feel things.

Good job anon.

Benjamin Franklins asshole was pink too

Like my love for you

>>12069678
I sit beside her during class
She looks and she laughs and she smiles
At me I think, but I know not
How I could ever be the one
When all I do is cower from the sun

>>12073926
*I'm an idiot who's only read Bukowski

>>12073927
It's all good, I wouldn't post on 4chan if I wasn't comfortable being criticized. That's the nature of this site and it's hard to find people to be honest about the things you write.
I honestly just need to read more poetry, my ex turned me onto the stuff within the last year and I've only ever read contemporary.

>>12073929
1st one was pretty confusing. Train-of-thought is fine, but this one is disorienting. It almost feels like instead of you reading a poem to me, you're thinking of your poem in your busy, cluttered mind, and by trying to read your mind, I got your poem all scrambled and shit.

If you fixed it up, it has a lot of potential, and I'm not just saying that the way your Karate sensei told your mom you "had potential" after one failed seminar.

I never read the second one because I'm cooking right now, but I'll get back to it when I'm done eating.

Poetry is shit. Practice your prose, faggots.

The loudest have the final say,
The wanton win, the rash hold sway,
The realist's rules of order say
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The Kubla Khan can butt in line;
The biggest brute can take what's mine;
When heavyweights break wind, that's fine;
No matter what a judge might say
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The guiltiest feel free of guilt;
Who care not bloom; who worry, wilt;
Plans laid better are rarely built
For forethought seldom rules the day;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The most attentive and unfailing
Attentiveness if unavailing
Wheresoever fools are flailing;
Wisdom there is held at bay;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

De jure is de facto's slave;
The most foolhardy beat the brave;
Brass routs restraint; low lies high's grave;
When conscience leads you, it's astray;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

It's only the naivest who'll
Deny this, that the reckless rule;
When facing an oncoming fool,
The practiced and sagacious say
Watch out - one side - look sharp - gang way.

However much you plan and pray,
Alas, alack, tant pis, oy vey,
Now - heretofore - til Judgment Day,
The drunken driver has the right of way.

Burn down your city
And pay me my money
Get your DMT insurance
And piss on your own Eros

The fly opens your existence
And caulks up your body
The fly made your boulevard
And took all your pills

The eye saw the fly and grew a mouth
To chew it back down the food chain
And now your favorite insect protein
Is in all the restaurants

>>12073944
Agreed, surprisingly succint analysis. It was very unfocused, which is definitely something I want to convey without actually leading the reader to a state of confusion. Cleaning up is an ongoing process, this is an older version I had saved on my phone.
If you can, do read the second. I’m happier with it and would like to hear your thoughts.
Enjoy your meal!

>>12073947
Post your attempt at poetry, and I'll post my attempt at prose.

I'm fucking calling you out, faggot. 1 hour time limit, any topic, any length. Be here, or be queer.

Purely a coincidence that it ended up being 23 lines. I'm not really happy with it; I put a lot of thought into it, but I just suck. I don't often write poetry or even regularly read it, so I forgive myself.

Lads, I did mail it to her.

>>12073929
So the impression I'm getting from the second one is that you're trying to express the feeling you get seeing an organic, natural, free bird in a gritty, urban setting.

Am I correct? I can't be certain. This one also seems to suffer from train-of-thought syndrome. The imagery is present, but could use refinement. Right now it's too heavy-handed and blunt, though it could be intentional; but something tells me this poem was meant to be taken to the heart, not to the head.

The 1st one, I give a C. This one, I give a C+. With work and practice, these could make good pieces in your book of poetry. A simple trick I like to do is make a title for each poem that helps me concentrate my thoughts.

If I named my poem "A Walrus Journey", I could sort of keep myself in check a bit better. Is my poem straying too far from the idea of a walruses's journey? Am I even talking about walruses at all anymore? Will people know that my poem was about a walruses's journey if they didn't have the title? You know, just simple stuff like that.

>>12074015
Like the other dude before you, needs some refinement. Your reader is intelligent, not psychic. If you use allegory, reference, and metaphor (She looked like Adam's apple, and she smelled like holy wine), they will understand it. If you use LSD-tier references and Beatles-style obfuscation, then unless they're Sherlock Holmes or Batman or something, no one is gonna fucking get it (disturbed pools of sepia skin, marred by the Mars of Ares' sin)

I'm talking about some dark skinned dude who got shot by the way. See how for the second one, unless I explicitly explained it, you'd need an IQ of 400 to get? Try to avoid that. Think of your audience as smart, but NOT psychic.

>>12074026
>>12074026
Close, Grace Darling was a pub I frequented after a break up, to someone named Grace, of whom my pet name was GraceDarling. I was aiming more for the blurred reflections of the two and how they’re still present even after I left for the country.
And thank you for gpod feedback, I would like to attach names to them if I find them but this is a diary of sorts I kept during my heaviest months of alcoholism, just trying to parse it and refine it into something good. I will keep going.
Thank you. Anything you’ve shared?

Yeet yeet
Niggas mass they teef
Aggressive burrito received
Death of my ego, repeat

>>12074049
>Close, Grace Darling was a pub I frequented after a break up, to someone named Grace, of whom my pet name was GraceDarling. I was aiming more for the blurred reflections of the two and how they’re still present even after I left for the country.

This was kino. I want to hear a poem that builds upon the feeling reading this gives me. Very candid and open, and it makes the reader feel like he's reading a part of someone that makes them vulnerable-- something they wouldn't normally see.

>>12073793
I wrote this. And yes, while I was out making dinner, this is exactly what I was cooking and eating. Mmm....

>>12074044
Thanks anon, I've found that to be my biggest issue. I feel like a monkey when I'm any more explicit, but I think I just need to get over it.
>Your reader is intelligent, not psychic
That's good advice and easy to remember.

The promises of angels spill through the winter air, in silence dumber than death
I watch the sacred garment of white blanket the earth, a seal sent from heaven

>>12074082
Also, I think the line placement and the word arrangement can really help with your poem. Like, I can see where it tries to rhyme, but the meter is all over the place. It almost sort of reminds me of Eminem.

His rapping and rhyming works because he's really good at hammering the words and phrases into holes they don't belong in. In order for your poem to work, I sort of have to do what Eminem does, but it's not ideal, you know what I mean? I can't find the flow.

>>12074108
Also, I want to say the last stanza was freaking kino though.

I would have organized it like:
Only once daily is the world harsh,
A sunlit lie I see
Most people sleep for seven hours,
But I get twenty-three

>>12074069
>>12074069
Glad to hear, I’m constantly torn between obtuseness and wearing the ol ticker on the sleeve. I might try and rework it into something more honest, straightforward, maybe longer. I have latched onto the image of the gray starling though.

Also you’ve convinced me to pick up some steak on the way home. How do you cook yours? I find a kangaroo cut lovingly rubbed with thyme, lime and red wine is beautiful

>>12074062
What did you mean by this?

It's called 'On the Occasion of the Parting of the Red Sea'
Hurt me I'm new

>>12074137
There's no "wrong" way to write poetry, but if we're being frank, I'd prefer a poem about post-breakup depression to be as open and raw as possible.

Poetry should try to provoke some sort of emotion out of the reader, and it should be a way to express yourself. Why not go big? You strike me as a very stoic person in public; but poetry should not be a mirror for you to bounce your hardness of off. It should be a piece of you that you offer to the reader on a scalpel.

As for steaks, anytime I can help myself to a good cut of meat, I unironically don't season it because I want to taste the meat for what it is.

If I were a richer man I would probably salt it, and pepper it, and baste it in hot butter and herbs, but since I'm a poorfag and good meat is rare, all I do is cook it in the frying pan with some mild oil (olive or vegetable) until it's rare.

Gaze slides from the sky,
Turns down towards the town below
From this lone mountain peak I try
Try to bring order to this maelstrom of utter fucking confusion and uncertainty and disorder which not even the sweet pure simple night cleaned air cannot ease

But then a happy thought offers its relief to me
As the city's bright earthly orbs drift into sight
Truly, I'm in the best of company
When even the stars doubt their place in the night

>>12074172
Good call, I'm trying to find my own voice by distilling influences down to something that's uniquely my own. Fairly stoic, bit withdrawn but not in an offputting fashion, but correct again. I'm trying to find the vein of outward emotion and expression to try and come to terms/deal with the last few months.
Good meat is a fantastic taste in and of itself. I've recently been cooking a lot more since a good friend gave me something called the Flavour Thesaurus, kind of helps you find compatible flavours based on what you're cooking. A good find if you can get your hands on it, and usually skews towards the less pricey option

There once were some poets on /lit/
In a thread where their verse they'd submit
And then lurk there for days
In the hope they'd hear praise
But the poems they posted were shit!

>>12074389
What the fuck, this poem is based!
I checked if it copy and paste!
To mine surprise, doth Googled it, I
This limerick be in good taste!

>>12074436

I presented a limerick online
To promote my poetic design
But alas, my lone boaster
Was a faggot frog poster
And his limerick was better than mine!

>>12069835
Say between you fuck. Works better anyway

It is on page one in black and white.

In the beginning, who created light?

When you define the light bearer's name,

You'll him, Lucifer and God. The same.

>>12074446
What the fuck, this poem is cringe!
You need a good kick in the minge!
I dab on the jannies
And soak your girl's panties
And knock off your jaw like a hinge!

>>12074474
It is on page one in black and white.

In the beginning, who created light?

When you define the light bearer's name,

You'll know him, Lucifer and God. The same.

>>12074479

You've surpassed my skill, sir, in this pairing
Of lyrical limericks ensnaring
With our words we have joked
But those panties you've soaked
Are the ones I am currently wearing ^_~

>>12074479
>>12074508
Get a fucking room

>>12069682
>>12069689
>>12069692
D+
>>12069709
C
>>12069835
B-
>>12070575
B+
>>12072024
A-
>>12073060
C+
>>12073461
B+
>>12073501
C+
>>12073594
B-
>>12073600
Nice dubs. C+
>>12073775
A
>>12073949
B+
>>12074389
B+
>I'll post a few of mine:


I came upon the flowers to sniff the nice scent,
While I saw the bees buzzing around, on and on they went.
I picked a rose so bright and red, I picked it from a flowerbed.
I looked at the daisies sitting in the sun,
I sat there counting them one by one.
I lied there in the field next to my friend,
We stayed there in that field until the day came to an end.
>(First poem, wrote when I was 8)

The night is a pale blue, with foaming and frothing white and cream colored clouds circling all around. The sun has just set, and the fireflies, the black-bodied, dark pink-headed, glowing-ended fireflies are beginning to come out. The lights around the city are being turned off, even if there still are a few people who are watching television or are reading. The sky is darkening to a deep, bold violet, and then eventually to a crisp, clear black. The stars are suddenly appearing from all different angles and twinkle and sparkle, as if they are communicating in a secret language. The moon, a quarter full tonight, is rising from behind the clouds. It is as if a beautiful opera is being performed, every single night of the year. It is something so awe-inspiring, and something so warm that it makes everyone want to say,

“Good Night.”
>(age 12)

Here I write on bated breath,
Not for love, but for death.
This world is cruel I've come to find.
My heart is dead, as is my mind.
I care no more for women nor pleasure,
No more for joy, nor pride, nor leisure.
My friends are not, my family's gone.
I have no brains, I have no brawn.
I loved this one as I loved another.
There's no love for me, so I'll cease to bother.
What once I was I'll be no more.
I'll remain like this, a mortal sore.
>(age 17)


Old man’s been dealt such a tough hand
Such a shame he doesn’t understand
Just how it goes
Who’s running the show.

Old man yells, “Well, God damn!”
These bureaucrats, all Persian fat cats
How he wishes he were done
As he shivers in the sun.

It’s just like he’s in another world
Caught in ribbons chasing a rainbow
All torn up by the dawn
It’s so tough in Tehran.

Old man has had quite enough of it
Cutting a rug while dodging snake pits
He downs a cup of tea
It’s easy to see

Forty years fly by so fast
Surrounding sands of time mark the past
No more peacock throne
No good relations with home
Much the same, but it’s the little differences
He thinks of his kids.
He can get so alone
I guess I’ll pick up the phone.

It’s just like he’s left the atmosphere
High in altitude scaring off fear
Far away from his sons
It’s tough in Tehran.
>(age 23, written two days ago)

>>12074614
No one asked you to rate

>>12074615
No one asked you to tell me no one asked me. Faggot.

Fruitful fungi feast on fallen fir,
Like a feather freely floating in frivolous form,
Flesh feverishly frigid with flattened fur,
A fragile friendly fawn faded into the fertile forest floor

>>12073775
Fantastic. My only complaint is that the last verse breaks off from the rhyme scheme

>>12074614
Yours all range from B- to B+. I took into consideration age and self improvement as well.

>>12074987
Thanks, mate. I'll get that A someday. I have stuff I think is better, but it's all too long to post here. I picked out some of the shorter poems.

>>12074614
What do you mean by dubs?

every morning i
dunk my balls in ice water
for testosterone

>>12074620
i dig alliteration poems. B+

>>12075009
>What do you mean by dubs?

Hi, welcome to 4chan! How long will you be visiting us today?

Modern man who walks at night, and stops under the glowing light, of luminating countless light, of bulb and star with dimming sight, who watches footstep far away, that stop and start and stop again, to walk and walk, remain in place, within this moving plane in space, and walking with my hand in pocket, hear approaching car like rocket, tremble past on rusty bone, with shackled door and rattled chrome, like lumbered beast, like dinosaur, who speed along at 44, who miss the chance to hitch a hiker, speed away from sure disaster, operate at frequency, that slip and slide elusively, like past again of future failure, walk until I find a danger, walk at night, no looking back, invite a brigand to attack, and knife is steel to steal a nigger, empty manger make it bigger, bigger at the cost of baby, once a thing but now a maybe, maybe will grow into story, read on news but now a boring, turn it off I know a thing, walk at night by glowering.

"Walking at Night" by Anonymous

My example of a "Train-of-Thought" poem.

>>12070575
Name dropping another poet is never a good look

>>12075033
is this dubs?

Bison! He is a friend of art
who loved utmost to play his part
as model, and before cave walls pose
so that his likeness I may transpose

Truly, I say, a beast of culture
decorating this sepulchre
gazing with beady eyes of glee
upon his artful majesty

All I have to share a the moment is something I wrote as a stupid joke.

Meet Me,
Between,
Sun, and Moon
Soon
Dear Swan

>>12075058
Yes, my child...yes.

Eigentlich sind alle anders,
doch im Prinzip sind alle gleich.

Mum tells me get off the computer
I don't want to
She puts my tendies at stake

laying down in the cool shade of the towers
i feel the vibration of a billion bytes against my skull
take a last breath and close my eyes like a glad cat
quietly going to sleep in the hum of the machines
forever

>>12073828
I understand you're channeling Camus' essay on Sisyphus, but it's much too overt. There's not much to unpack in meaning or symbolism, forcing you to rely on imagery and meter to carry the poem. I like the imagery of "ocean of sable ink", but the rest is pretty forgettable. As for the meter, it's really disjointed, leaving your poem with no pace.

You've at least got a literary foundation to go off, which is more than I could say. I sure as hell wasn't reading Camus at 18. You got any poets you like?

>>12075451
I really enjoy Rilke, Byron, Coleridge, Milton, and Dante.

>>12074389
>>12074446
>>12074479

I must admit, I’m very quick
To dismiss the art of rhyming
Adjusted my words, absurdity defers
A curs blurred lines, tumbling
Growing sick, I take a tick
Contemplating abating such’a’thing
My rhymes a bust and too wordy
Twisting eating itself lustily

>>12073692
thanks man. i was just writing something. to be quick. im glad that you think the first part was good . i dont know anything about poetry

>>12069678 my first poem don't judge
Death.
Listening to the rain,knocking on my window,
such rain, such sounds.
Sounds of;
loneliness...

Coping with death? Is that even a thing?
How does one cope with the epitome of sadness?
How to calm down when everything around you is falling apart?
You can't.And that's the ugliness of losing a loved one...death....;
loneliness...

They say:"It will all go away" don't tell me to keep fighting so i can see the light,
I can see it now. Now, I understand.
Are we even worth the light we all so want to see?
All of a sudden it stopped;
the loneliness stops...

>>12076149
Just wanna say I’ve never written a poem before but I’m a little sad my lines wrapped like that I shouldn’t have posted a picture.

>>12073692
can someone explain to me his point about rhythm? my meter got fucked or what? i just read rhyme’s reason so trying to understand what makes poetry good

>>12072024
loved it

"A Mugging"


1
Jade-hilted blossom, prim virginal blade,
pricked en pointe within astute white stone,
behind clear wall where touch escapes,
qianlong trinket, their mark inlaid with gold.
now left where i stay, today she'll meet love.

2
the sidewalk declared two unfamiliar souls,
a gangly working man, and my javelin glare.
the limp autumn sun laminates our shoulders—
fanned with the scent of a brewing threat,
his head bullets back to greet its consort.

browning leaves flicker in the sea salt noon.
against his neck, the lip of steel beckons red,
a blue hand quivers, its sole preserver:
twelve frail bills reaped from a back pocket—
the pale jade scintillating, a blackbird babbling.

In a magical forest
There lived a lonely florist
Whos porcine friend
Met his bitter end
When she needed tp be nourished

>>12074455

>>12073812

Nice one, Punchy.

LIGHTNING BONES

SPLINTERING YOUR MOUTH

MOANS

PUKED BY UNPUKED PUKER

PUKING ABHORRENT LOANS

FOR YOU TO MILL HIM OMNIRBUKER

WRITHING IN FROZEN PUS STONES

'Til all creation in our hands we hold,
My whole life will never be fulfilled;
'Til I have a year or more to spend
In every single country in the world.

>>12073901
>Anus I want
>In a suppository other
>Is for me to rectum them
>But it's defecant to respect anyone
>Who's doody enough
>To fall for my bbBRRAAAAP

Thank me later.

walk away

WOMB

stay away

WOUND

look away

TOMB

eat away

DOOM

>>12077091
Good until it gets the last line which just makes me think of i.d software

First haiku, how did I do?

He sang like a violin,
and we loved him for that.
To rosin his strings
I gave him extra dry gin,
and he loved me for that.

A solo act was he.
Though his doubters fully orchestral.
Sawing horshair, wisps of juniper breath,
Fully aware and hearts-alive.

A shame they never listened,
he was a virtuoso!
Although, to me, a fiddler.

Slovenly, bedshackled
and indifferent.
My matted mange clings
to the covers
in dowdy, mismatched socks;
I am the slothlord.

Stoicistic and dullen,
I reach for a cup of water
over the course
of several minutes.

>>12072024
beautiful anon

>>12073949
Hi Ethan, i really liked "The Man who was not there".

This makes more sense in the context of the short story I'm writing

Rain …
Rain …

Rain … Rain …
...
Rain … Rain … Rain...
Rain … Rain ...
Rain ...
Rain …
...
Water Droplet …
...
Me …
...
Nameless … Alleyway …
…
(Let the Breathing Commence)

I Stand, Rain falls
Liquid Splatters … Amniotic Fluid?
...
A ribbon of water in an alleyway is a roaring river
Picking up filth
Becoming defiled, unclean …
(Dissolve! Dissolute!)
A trickle of clear crystal flows out onto the street

>>12069678
Brain damage
Dragons
Dragons Dragons
Dragons Dragons Dragons Dragons
Dragons Dragons
Dragons
Dragons
Dragons Dragons Dragons Dragons

When clouds come to smother shouts
Or swirls of dust blind all about
I hope to know within my heart
That you exist, that all I count
Can one day be given freely
My body thawed by cinder
From countless petty verse.

>>12076187
Poetry is unironically like rap. You have to imagine a sort of beat or cadence that you must adhere to; but unlike rap, your audience will not have a beat to follow along with, so you must make it more clear for them to follow along, otherwise it doesn't sound very good.

You can also think of it like one of those rhythm games, like Guitar Heroes or Dance Dance Revolution. It LOOKS hard, but once you understand that the cues match up to the beat of the song, it becomes easier to predict what the next series of patterns will be. Same with rhythm in poetry.

I went to a cat
The cat was a fraud
I saw a good bat
I ate from a log

See how it goes:
A (cat)
B (fraud)
A (bat)
B (log)?

Now imagine reading a poem that goes:
I went to a cat
The cat was a fraud
I saw a good bat
I ate from a log

The hole had some mice
The mice had some gum
I asked for some rice
They said I was dumb

I called them retarded
They didn't like that
Dearly departed
You've gotten too fat

Hungry as I said it would ever
What an endeavor
I like to eat pickled journalist pies
I told lies

Jungle book one
Jungle book two
Jungle book run
And a jungle book too

Now see how that ">Hungry as ever" part fucks with your rhyme scheme? Not only do the syllables not match, but the rhyme scheme is suddenly transformed from:
A (ever)
B (pies)
A (endeavor)
B (lies)

to

A (ever)
A (endeavor)
B (pies)
B (lies)

You COULD switch up the rhyme scheme halfway through and make it sound good, if you're good enough, but the actual big problem is fucking with the extra syllables.

Imagine Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me To The Moon":

Fly me to the moon,
Let me play,
Among the stars
Let me see what Spring is like,
On Jupiter or Mars

Now let's fuck with the syllables:
Fly me to the moon,
And have me play,
Among the stars
Let me see what Summer is like,
On Earth and Mars

Not only does it sound weird because I changed the lyrics, but it also sounds weird because it defies the beat you're given. It's all over the place. Poetry often went hand in hand with music in ancient times because poetry WAS just another form of lyrical expression, and it still sort of is today. That's why I think freestyle poets are often just lazy.

Sure, there are freestyle poems and poets that I like, but most times, they're just lazy hipsters who are too much of a hack to attempt to fit within the rhyme scheme.

Listen to music, study the lyrics, and that should be able to help you out. Especially shit like parody songs, like Weird Al or something. They've mastered the art of putting their own words into another beat to keep it flowing as smoothly as possible.

>>12077315
It's alright. Kind of gay though, don't you think?

>>12078076
Get the fuck off of this board and go listen in shame to soundcloud rap.

>>12078102
>t. Freestyle """poet"""

Post poetry, faggot. I'm calling you out. It can be any length, about any topic, in any style, but you got 15 minutes to post it immediately after you reply to accept my challenge.

Has to be original shit you came up with, on the spot, otherwise you're a faggot. Winner will be decided by public decision.

If you don't reply, and if you don't post anything, I'm forced to assume you're too busy sucking cock and eating soi.

>>12078102
>>12078188
It's been an hour already, Jesus Christ, fuck you.

>>12076239
too much going on
doesn't take my anywhere other than a thesaurus emporium

>>12077531
big depression mood

>>12074614
I like you anon

>>12078435
Oh sorry i just noticed this. I posted a limerick earlier in the thread about a little girl pretending shes getting married.

If you want you can propose another topic and i write a few stanzas on it in 10 minutes.

>>12078076
Nice anon ty

>>12079072
Thanks! I like me too.

I only write in french fellas

Dropping a one n dun before moving backwards to critique-

The beams of this ceiling
Can be bent
Can be wrecked
They will still be
The beams of the Mail Exchange

The walls of this building
Can yellow
And can stain,
These are still however
The walls of the Mail Exchange

I, within this building,
Will rejoice
And will vomit in this sink.
I, however, am nothing
But temporary stainmarks on
The interior of the Mail Exchange hotel

>>12078899
Agreed

>>12079081
Aw shit, I just got back from work. Eh, forgot the whole duel, I don't feel like defending my honor anymore. If you're talking about this (>>12073775), I'm not gonna lie, that's pretty damn good, even though it doesn't sound like a limerick to me. I was even the first one to respond to you too. My poem was the one about pork (>>12073793).

>>12079301
Fuck, I wish I knew French so I could grade you too. Sorry bro, I don't know French.

>>12078899
>>12079890

I know what you mean but I haven't gotten crit like that before. I thought the poem was clear, as it's called "a mugging", the first stanza is the speaker seeing a blade stuck in a stone behind glass and describing how he randomly obtained it one day. The following describes him robbing somebody with the same blade later on. The only lines that deviate from the narrative are those that describe the scenery. Is it really that confusing? I've never had someone read this and not know what's going on until today. Also the only unusual word in there is "scintillating", everything else is pretty common use.

>>12079449
Meh, I see what you're trying to do, but it's not as powerful or poignant as it should be. You're trying to instill a sense of somber realization that your own humanity is but a minute blink in the grand history of the "Mail Exchange" in the hotel.

I can see what you're getting at, and the subject matter can be a very effective form of inspiration for a good poem, but right now it lacks depth. I know you probably wrote this in a couple minutes, but if you really wanted to, you could probably go back and turn it into something better if you really tried.

But I get the feeling of writing a quick poem just for the hell of it. In fact, I did just that in this very thread. Not all poetry needs to be your Sistine Chapel.

>>12079301
>s'épaisse
?

>>12079903
Read this (>>12074044).

Your audience is smart, not psychic. If you took away the title and presented it to me as is, the poem would be too confusing and cluttered for me to make any sense of it.

For the 1st part, you could be talking in metaphors for all I know. "Behind clear wall where touch escapes" could be a literal glass wall, like you said, or it could be a metaphorical wall.

The second part just comes off as too pretentious. Too much flowery prose that detracts from the "mugging". If you're trying to juxtapose the violent nature of a mugging with your baroque lyricism, then I can kinda see what you're trying to do, but it's just not moving or thought provoking in any way. There's no further insight into this poem other than just "I used fancy words to describe me putting a knife up to someone's neck until he gave me money". Instead of wasting all those words trying to describe that essential plot point into two stanzas, I would've liked it more if it dealt with the emotion and the humanity of such a rugged act.

It's a mugging. Someone got mugged. What are you? Writing a love letter to your 13 year old cousin? This ain't the 1800's, man.

Walking down the street I saw
nothing but freshly laid ashphalt
Darker and wetter than the rest
Softer underfoot
Jimmy Carter built these houses
but did he know who
would live in them?
The roses only bloom every
second year

>>12079944
B-

Pretty good, but the roses part felt tacked on and out of nowhere.

You did the idea of "humans come and go, but our works will outlive us" better than this guy (>>12079449)

>>12079935

Thanks for that, what you're saying makes sense. I think it may come down to a matter of taste then. I don't think a poem needs to say anything deeper than the surface, I personally think conjuring an atmosphere or aesthetic is enough for any piece of art. It was never about the emotional aspect of a mugging, you nailed what it was right on the head, and that's all it was meant to be. A romanticized form of a robbery. And not liking that is fair. I've noticed that people on this site, as far as crit threads go, like to see some sort of meaning behind a poem whereas I prefer to just arrange images I like because I'm more interested in what that evokes on its own than what you're describing. Thank you for that though, especially since you didn't have to respond & elaborate on what you said. I mean, some stuff I write does have "meaning" but a lot of fun for me is just images.

>>12079954
Thanks man, I agree re the roses part. I've never actually written a poem before, just dropped by on a whim.

>>12079967
"Jimmy Carter built these houses,
but did he know who
would live in them?"

That was the part that made it a good poem for me. Three lines, barely 15 words long, and it captured your point perfectly. Good job for that.

Sixteen books sat on the shelf
Covered in dust
Jane had bought then
Chapters read here and there
Ticket stubs and receipts
The faded bookmarks
Jane lay still on the floor
Covered in dust

>>12079944
>>12079981
Wo-ho-ho-hoah. Calm down, buddy, I said they were B-Movies, not Hollywood blockbusters.

No offense, but I preferred the first one to the second one.

It's a good time
I passed by six men
Twenty teeth between them
I went to work

Tabula rasa
Asked me how the trains ran
Bits of earth flung into fire
Thousands of miles away

The praying mantis
Trapped under a cup
Saying one last Hail Mary
There is no salvation now

>>12078188
Bumfig, ety, dumdig, ety, this nig, ety, is dumb.
Dadig, ity, babig, ity, helig, ity, his cum.
He think, ity, that rap, ety, is probably the best
Way to explain how poetry is done, and makes a test
Where write a facile rhyme (like rap) is all you have to do,
And basic cadences ba BA ba BA ba BA b'adhere to,
But even in a demonstration of how dumb that is
Sneak in prosodic nuances like hypercatalexis.

So many words for a post equally worthless and long.
Even if he in fact had something to say about song,
Starting his thesis with rap tells you his point isn't strong,
Citing Weird Al at the end, that it's entirely wrong.

>>12080061
">tfw too intelligent for rap" by Anonymous (Please read it out loud, quickly and in cadence. Just trust me on this.)

Yeah, bro. That makes you a brainlet. You wanna wax poetry, but you're not even a poet. You coulda let it go, but now I'mma have to piece it, all together now, and lay the cross by you, Jesus--

Grant me the strength to put a smackdown on "she said", yeah she said, but mommy, this guy said, that rap said, that rap was in pieces, but little, did he know, that haha, that rap's dead, and what's dead, is rested, in graves, resurrected, in 3 days, now get on, your kneeses, and pray for, a blessing, a bless you, that sneezes, achoo, and he freezes, but I can't, be sorry, for apolo, gizing, cause oh holy shitty, the water is rising, and water is rising, and water is running, but poetry's running, and poetry's funny, but everyone, thinks that, hiphop is a giant, when anything popular is just simply biding, its time till it rises, and then we're all fucked...

I stand before you, with a cracker for your nuts.

But now onto my real poem, I hope you all think it sucks. And here it goes thusly (please listen up, you fucks):

A-he-hem, Ahem...

He tried to remind me that his English had guts,
But all I'm reminded is that he was a cunt.

The slave tilted toward
a sky, dark and blue.
A tree blocking the illusion -
of streetlamps mistook for a moon.

From beyond the fence,
hopeful his warden jests
"another day, another dollar,
what else is there to life?
What did you honestly expect?"


feel like I should be adding/changing some of this, but I'm at a loss now
>>12077531
>>12077315
>>12074620
I like these

When you think of that frightened little boy,
And what more you could’ve done,
Oh, what more you could’ve done!
But don’t beat yourself up.

Cause when I walk these vicious streets,
I see what could have been.
If you didn’t hold my hand,
I don’t like to imagine.

And when the house is gone,
And we find ourselves on those vicious streets,
Don’t forget the fight you had,
When that baby girl clung to your chest.

Very new to poetry so don't feel comfortable critiquing, but I like most of what I've read so far, memes and all.

Oer blackened hills and brackish browns,
In dense drabbery the beast abounds
Deathly still, dark muzzle raised
In unseen shades, the phantom hound
His presence is known, yet only felt

I enjoyed this thread, 3 poems we're good.

>>12080903
Which ones?

Restless, repose, repose, rest less,
Worry wins, wax, the candle dims, the herald rooster quacks,
night's gown shuffles off, all a-coil, hips to knees to toes to soil,
Dreams undreamt twice worthless once spent.

Caught in caution's grasp,
breathless hear inertia rasp,
for pillory upon its slightest slight,
for thievery upon its merest merit.
for fear, I durst not share too sincere,

>>12074614
>Here I write on bated breath,
>Not for love, but for death.
>This world is cruel I've come to find.
>My heart is dead, as is my mind.
>I care no more for women nor pleasure,
>No more for joy, nor pride, nor leisure.
>My friends are not, my family's gone.
>I have no brains, I have no brawn.
>I loved this one as I loved another.
>There's no love for me, so I'll cease to bother.
>What once I was I'll be no more.
>I'll remain like this, a mortal sore.
>>(age 17)
Is it wrong I think this is good?
t. r9k

>>12069678
Remorse reflected.
Our faces two mirrors
Pointed at each other,
Remembering a past
We’d long to forget.

Long faces slip into
A stream, consciousness,
A past, driving our present
Over a waterfall, CRASH.
Tranquil waters await.

Steady springs emerge
From eyes, dried in drought,
Glazed over, opaque, lost.
Whittling, eroding
a chiseled guise.

Examining pieces
of a life once grand.
Its luster has faded,
its joyous look jaded,
white covered in black.

For every piece inspected
One more drifts in its path.
Parts of me you shaped,
Slowly coming undone,
Until not me, not you…
No-one.

I've never seen what I covet

What is it?
All I strive for is simply an idea, I have
No clue what it might be or where it might take me
Never have I understood the fruits of my labor, yet I toil
Always toiling. Perhaps I'm following an example, or chasing the ideals set before me,

"Don't fret" they always say, all will be well in the end
"In the end" they always say, but in the end will I be able to enjoy its yield?
End, then there's nothing, and it was all for naught

>>12081369
No, it was unironically the best of the 4 he posted

Exists.
That which hurts, but not that which soothes.
Remorse, but not regret.
The others, often, but me, rarely.
So many things that count but really shouldn't.
The ferry to the other shore.
This wormhole.

Doesn't exist.
The sea, constellations, life, but only when I'm not looking.
Regret, but not remorse.
All these conditions, most of the time.
A beginning, finally, but not an end.
The ferry to the other shore.
This wormhole.

Loneliness
like a car on a freeway.
Making our way through traffic,
without getting too close to anything
in order to avoid a collision.

>>12073060
I wrote this while I was stoned.


I tried editing it sober


Rings of frozen air circled The Kingdom of Heaven
There a boy was sent, he soared
above the stars and the clouds cast into vision
Taken to a man and a door
Surpised by the appearance - suddenly given
The Gaurd of the door, asked with authority driven
Mortal, state your affair, what brings you to our Lord
The boy simply looked and stood,
The Man in the Hood, whispered to none and struck the boy downward,
But he him Self was stricken in his stead, stood for he instead
He flashed like lightening -
He clashed to the ground,
Then back in an instant,
Now stupefied he him self was,
The boy spoke, asking of God
And the Man Responded,
One must be pardoned, But who showest self to thee?
The boy, as if saddened but free,
I am but the lowest of low, I am but the most lowly of all,
I spoke in a prayer, a blasphemy worse than Adams fall,
but it was asked under faith, that God would respond
Now I am here, and my life will be over before long

1am, hands shake
as i pour another drink
i hope you'll call back

I want to be loved,
So my insecurities can be
Shoved out from my mind,
And I can feel like myself

She holds the knife in her hand
She says the words
I love you.
It goes in
sits there
I didn’t mean it.
Withdrawn without a care in the world
At first it barely smarts
Time passes
he becomes sullen
And the wound begins to fester

Songs are sweeter underwater
Less sharp, detached
Out of focus
Thick waves against my ears
Heard but dimly

i burble beneath the silt. It fills my lungs
sending bubbles sighing to the surface

>>12084588
grow up

>>12080913
Shouldn't you know, anon.

>>12084694
O-of course I know! I know exactly which poems are good! I even know which ones are great! S-stupid.

>no-one itt gives their poems titles
never gonna make it

>>12084935
>Put titles on my poems
>"Wtf no one puts titles on their poems here!"

What did he mean by this?

>>12069678
A wayward minute stole me from my task,
To read, improve and write in gilded phrase
My pricy fancies which shall earn my fame –
But ah! – again the cat strolls by the yard
With tail up high, and there a cloud to me
Imparts a shape obtuse whose contours seal
A formal truth, which by and by to me grows clear:
That imagination conjures only for itself,
Grows definite one moment, darkens next,
Then unmends itself in sorrows through the night,
Only to begin anew when morning comes,
To seek what gold and silver it can find
That it might spend when sorrow comes again.
Rapturous I hold the thought in view,
While impatient waits my fame upon my page,
Which, still blank, holds for as long as I wait
The future which is to come, which might not be,
But is as long as fancy fancies so.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

>>12084935
All of my poems have titles, including the four I posted here:

>>12074614

I just saw no one else was posting titles, presumably because they didn't want the experience of the verse to be colored before-hand.

If you must know, my first one is called "Flowers in the Spring". The second is called "The Night". The third is called "Mortal Sore". The last one is called "Tough In Tehran".

>trying to write poetry for the first time in ages
>have clear idea and motifs I want to use
>agonizing trying to construct it in a way which is pleasing in form and principle
I've a lot more respect for people itt than I did 3 hours ago when this stole my day from me.

>>12085359
Spill your guts open and spill your heart out. After all is said and done, THEN focus on editing and making it rhyme, and putting it into neat little lines.

Sometimes that helps me getting past the writer's block. Just try and gain momentum.

>>12084694
>>12080913
>All 3 of them were mine

Sweet! Thanks, anon! I knew I was good, but I didn't know I was THAT good!

>>12085359
>have clear idea and motifs I want to use
That's where we fail, whenever I attempt 'poetry' or any writing with preconceived themes and rhetorical flourishes, it comes out contrived and straining for affect; this may not be your case, and intention is important, but I honestly think 'construction' works best as a to-and-fro feedback loop where a work answers and directs itself from half-conscious intentions.

>>12077521
I almost dismissed this one, since it was nestled in with a bunch of other posts that I dismissed (rightfully so).

This one did not deserve that fate, however. This one is actually pretty good. The first and last stanza are great, but the second stanza in the middle could use some work. In particular, the "sawing horsehair, wisps of juniper breath, fully aware and hearts-alive" does not lend as strong an artistic point as "a solo act was he, though his doubters fully orchestral".

It almost seems like after you wrote the "a solo act was he" part, you didn't know how else to pad the stanza, do you added in another two lines that you weren't particularly proud of, but would do fine for the moment.

I'm sure if you took the time to change those two lines, you'd find it to be a much better poem. I'll be honest, I wouldn't know how to change the lines, but I'm sure you'd be able to figure it out after an hour or so.

>>12074614
I can't tell if you got cynical over the years, or if you've gotten to the point where you're over analyzing your poetry in an bid to make your work appear like it's matured, but it seems like your poetry gets less and less inspired over the years.

Your poem at 17 seemed the most raw and candid, while your poems from 8 to 12 bring out this feeling of innocence and wonder that you haven't learned to replicate or recreate.

I say study your past self, see what made them so appealing, and then try to work back to where you were before. At age 8, there was no technical skill, but that final line; "we stayed there in that field until the day came to an end" proved powerful in evoking a sense of longing and nostalgia, almost as if you were remembering a school you moved away from, and friends you once knew.

Your poem at 12, "Good night", also manages to hammer home the point very well with the final, solid line, but the technical skill is still lacking. I'm going to put my cards on the table with my big, 400 IQ brain and call you out by saying you wrote these poems all pretty recently, but you purposely wrote them in such a way as to mimic the writing skills of a 6th grader.

It's entirely possible for someone at 12 to write as well, or as badly as it appears here, but some nagging feeling in my gut tells me it was actually structured in a way only to APPEAR like it was written by a pre-teen.

If I'm right, just gussy up and tell me I was right. My opinion on you isn't going to change, because I honestly don't give a fuck, but I would like the confidence boost knowing I'm so smart and shit.

Anyways, your last poem is unironically the worst out of all of them. I'd rather have technically unskilled, but bright and inspired, then technically competent, but trite and ineffective.

It reads like some shitty hippy poetry I would find in my local community college newspaper. Very uncool.

The rain outside reminds me, I am a natural part of this world
Other days I'm hardly beckoned, from the blankets I am curled
The outside world reminds me that it's here with ambient sound
The rain outside reminds me, I am tethered to the ground


"Frogs Settle Down, Indeed" by Anonymous

A poisoned phrase
A tainted tongue
Scarring errors made
My real regret
My silhouette
Failing now to fade

>>12085544
U r a fag

>>12085584
Wtf! No I'm not!

>>12069678
The whites threw me out
Theocracy,I reject
A brown maiden I marry
A wheatish spawn I beget
Eventually I adopt the facade
Of a man dark as jet
Why yes, I am Turkish
My name is Mohammed

>>12085706
Holy mother of-- BASED!

I love poems and rhyming.
This isn't a poem or a rhyme. I just fucking love rhymes and poems and wanted to say that.
I like this thread.
>screenshot so many posts ITT too

>>12085760
Actually now I'm motivated to write a poem. Thanks /lit/

Five Guys!
Burger and Fries!
Zoe Quinn Lies!
Men, zip up your Flies!

>>12069678

Once leafing tree fall to Fall’s freeing of foliage
And crisp crunchy corpses of spring’s reminder yield to repeating footsteps.
The fall of each stride surprises critters, summoned by the constant craving to forage
who scurry away, or stand alert at your disturbances.

Approaching the topiary target, yearning for years squandered away
a memorial to folly, and failure, and feeling loved.
The flick and click of a blade, slashing at the scared bark
“A+R Forever”, nevermore. The final cut slipping, slicing away that artifact, and a digit.

At the gym under iron, burdened
My Weakness pinning me down
Inner Will to power, rose my crown,
In the brim of exhaustion, hardened

>>12085491
>I'm going to put my cards on the table with my big, 400 IQ brain and call you out by saying you wrote these poems all pretty recently, but you purposely wrote them in such a way as to mimic the writing skills of a 6th grader.

Sorry, brainiac, but I genuinely wrote them when I said I did.


Also, I wrote that last poem for my dad, so I really don't care about what you think about it.

>>12069678
I'm not the best at poetry but I tried. Also don't know how to end this one.

I have met you, my love, in dreams
Though I have lost you a thousand times:
In clouds of sand kicked up by your passage,
In screens of water lilies,
In spring downpours during which your fragrance
Was smothered by the magnolias

To know you is to know a silver filament
Worked insouciantly through
The eye of a needle; a light cast
In gasps against a silk sheet;
A spark struck wildly
Against the harvest moon

How many times have I called you, my love,
As the bells have chimed in autumn?
How many times have I called you, my love,
When the birds have flown into the southern sky?
How many times have I called you, my love,
When the leaves have fallen on the mountains?

I have chased you, my love, over
Dreaming snow-fields and spires of ice
As the stars loosed their moorings;
I have chased you, my love,
Into hovels of earthworms and eagles’ roosts;
I have chased you, my love,
As the winds gnashed

>>12086790
shit the "When the birds" and "When the leaves" should be "As the birds" and "As the leaves"

>>12072024
An original OP said. I saw this one posted years back.

>>12086798
Yeah, you caught me, I've posted it before. Genuinely surprised and encouraged by the appreciation it's got this time. Thanks, bros.

I went to the drug store
for antibiotics
Glasses in a cabin
is shanty high optics

My dads a criminal
He stole my mothers heart
One portion at a time
It’s best served a la carte

Drink from the bottleneck
Extinction is imminent
Grassfed generation
But they never finished it

>>12085750
claque claque claque

There's something beautiful about random strangers sharing poetry on the internet. Even the shitposts have their reason to be.

across from a restroom dressed as bethlehem,
i promised the thin collegeman in kringledrag
his due gobble of almond jumbles and a half-full
moon before another three dozen little angels
swore the same. after putting down felt-tailed
comet, the elves erected a stand selling supernova-
shaped sunglasses. i once went to wailwander Home
wearing a firepink pair down the tollway. “there, their”
lenses diffracted the halogens heralding 18 wheels
into as many dazzling crosses—
i sidestaggered and stood
in squirrel.

Why did you say no
I'm so confused
Was it a separation of heart
Or a reflection of views

You could of loved me
I should of loved you
But ive already taken the first step
The milestone without you

It hurts when you scorn me
Makes me afraid of my life
Could I forgive my ignorant strife

But this is goodbye now, from all I saw, it's behind me and now's it no more

Wallet

The usual: Driver’s License, Debit Card, Student ID, a 5 dollar bill.
1 ticket to the Tennessee Aquarium: It was his 26 birthday, and told me to stop having so much fun.
A polaroid photograph: you got it as his Christmas gift, and it’s a picture of him with dead eyes.
2 cards to Piedmont Psychiatric Services: 3 weeks of misery and you still feel broken,
the doctor nearly killed you with Lamictal.
Megrim, 7th edition: 3CMC enchantment that damages 2 for each discard. Not remarkable,
but I like to play dirty.
3 pride flag stickers: from the student gov. organization you joined, but it’s really just a waste of time,
nothing will ever change in this shitty town.
1 red car fuse: 10 amps that lit up the interior of his car. Irrelevant in the grand scheme of things,
but you wanted to propose with it.
The fuse is, was, the most valuable thing in your wallet.
That day was so mundane, so ordinary.
Yet it’s been in your wallet for year.
Now worthless.

>>12086536
>Call your bluff
>You call it back
Alright, fair game.

>Give genuine criticism, but be sort of a dick about it
>Get pissy at me
Wo-ho-hoah! I was just breaking balls, chief! No need to swing for the fences!

>>12087024
shut up, you dumb dumbo

niggers
niggers
niggers
I love all my niggers
niggers in the morning
niggers in the night
me and my niggers
we're fucking tight

nigger nigger nigger
go down to the well
nigger nigger
nigger
boy you look swell

nigger
nigger nigger
nigger
pull out that cock
nigger
oh
nigger
oh
nigger

lets rock

>>12087286
I think it's pretty good, anon. I just want to know what it's based off of.

>>12088026
my actual wallet and life lmao
literally thought of the idea earlier today about writing a poem about the content of my wallet
just got out of a long term relationship and it's been a little tough

'the effort'
or at least, I call it
the effort
anyway
that thing inside you that just
sometimes, ceases to exist
either as basic as getting out
of bed
or offering a
witty retort
to one without wit

or sometimes
if you are (un)lucky
that thing that lights a fire
in your bones
like your marrow is
pure plutonium
the effort that makes you
unable to sit still
that swallows your brain up
whole
like a marionette

Too much garbage taken inside,
Corrupted body, polluted mind.

>>12088199
the way you break your lines makes this too much effort to read

Space to think in a mind that isn't mine
A decorated legacy of instinct
I wasn't born with

Rolling the stone upward
Chickens never flying
Unabated hunger in my second stomach

Spartacus
I want to breathe with your lung
I'm alive, aren't I?

To be a song,
A whistling tune,
A tone so sweet the birds do swoon,
the trees they flow,
To the sound that blooms,
To meet the moon,
Its midnight gloom,
To touch a soul,
And reach a mind,
To grow the beauty,
That was long left behind,
A song of old,
Forgotten, untold,
A dance of joy,
That makes men bold,
A coin in the purse,
a sharpened knife,
A thief running swiftly
From a heist,
Oh to be a song,
A rhythm of dance
to make folk happy,
If just by chance.

I’m with a girl,
The one who makes my head whirl,
I am on a farm,
But then I hear my alarm,
I open my eyes,
And to no surprise,
I grab my phone and turn on the screen that seems brighter than the sunrise,
I scroll through my feed,
Seeing ads for things I don’t need,
My eyes slowly begin to close,
I put my blanket back over my toes,
But then I remember the bus,
And how if I miss it dad will make a fuss,
So reluctantly I roll out of bed,
I drag a comb across my head,
I proceed to throw on a coat,
Plug in my earbuds and hear some song about dreams and a boat,
As I walk along the street,
I think about all the people I will meet,
I think about the sun, the trees, the asphalt,
Then I almost trip and come to a halt,
I pray to God,
Then I continue my melancholy trod,
I hope the math test won’t be too long,
And I remember life is but a song,

I get to the stop to stand and wait,
Patience seems to be a valuable trait,
I eventually get on the bus,
I hear a few kids cuss,
I get to school,
Hope I look cool,
I walk into class and see the girl,
The one who makes my head whirl,
Then I remember I am only in high school,
And dating is for the fool,
If only I could be more rational,
But “man is she fantastical”

And when the day is halfway to its end,
I go to lunch and see Tommy, my friend,
We sit and talk,
About the beautiful girl and her walk,
About how to break the ice,
And if his morning was nice,
Then I go to my classes to do work easy and hard,
To make a spanish bingo card,
Once school is done,
I walk to the baseball field at a pace that should be considered a run,

I get in the locker room and see people pulling hair,
Over there someone is breaking a chair,
We start to practice,
If only I could be better than this,
After a while we start the game,
I really hope we stop playing so lame,
I see an error or two,
After we lose the game coach gives us a good chew,
I call my dad to have him pick me up,
He won’t take long if I have any luck,
As I change I look around and see it’s late,
Then I sit and I wait,
When I get home my dad makes me sit down and listen to his side of the parental court case,
I can never tell who is lying to my face,
I hope he won’t talk long,
And I have to remember life is but a song,

I try to go to bed,
But I can’t get her out of my head,
I hope I can sleep for long,
That my geometry answers weren’t wrong,
But as soon as I’m back on the farm,
I hear my dreadful alarm.

I am a masterpiece and a disaster,
Barely holding together as if with cheap plaster,
Made of many parts,
Constantly changing as a infinite piece of art,
A globe of stained glass and trash,
The new additions more and more rash,
Pieces occasionally falling away,
To only be remembered a latter day,
A colorful and disorganized pile,
That’s what’s behind these eyes and this smile,
Little details no one can see,
It’s hard to notice even for me,
A chunk of ideas and thoughts floating around,
Never really being connected with the ground,
But maybe I will be soon,
As they continue to play the birthday tune,
I am a masterpiece and a disaster,
And I’m changing all the faster.

>>12088256
very nice use of rhyming

>>12088283
very not nice use of rhyming

>>12088301
Thank you Kindly anon

I have One Hundred Thousand Dollars on my plater,
And Six thousand Dollars to the drink,
But if the markets look to crash,
I'll be sure to up and dash,
For the ship that I am sailing is sure to sink.

>In honor of /biz/

if you don’t call me ever tonight

we met in school without you, portraits
of absence as one. on a walk to wherever you
take me until i’m ground. lordy-man won’t even
notice me long enough for judgement.
what does that have to do with you? you
would ask—runaway girl-god on the danger.
when you gave me the memory that glew
our advice was flavor; when you gave me
the memory that glew our source
had voice. on a walk to the rain of
lover’s day. the bottle sinks into me like
what you know & don’t. the expression
of trees as they express. we only
had one. grocery store, where that
is again. waiting for every song to begin
without you. it goes ((biting bloom scrammed with every molotov mistake for tears the v mary husky chuckles opening up soul to unknown lights the gun of love erasing the doubt of the sun-men traveling anger the kind that horde-walks worshipping eraser names without your without. sulker-king on the metallic drug biting the bloom as if teeth could aglow the subject of becoming like true love’s weapon becoming explosive like tenderness on the piano the one that knows about us. tap-dancing paint has no questions for you and the angry forgiveness you gave me the kind that became kafka’s worldwide tuberculosis & so delightful with every bow&arrow miracle every absent gunshot delirious as a walking lyric; my dance without your without to my electric bone-song which shouldn’t be about me. aware of trees as they express like danger. only you were the one to have no pride in revealing my weakness, the weakness that had no pride until you. the ghost heart puzzles government but not you. the prophet’s joke becomes the security guard’s break. circle of whiskey fifths on the magic parchment of my idiot longing/musical. drained love begs for the sourness that was never in you. self-immolation of campsite frequency. ((what you got for being genuine)) when you’re gone darling of course we are

don't ever really fall in love with someone before you can trust them, kiddos

>>12086997
horrible bro u aint ever heard of fucking metre hope u die

>>12089199
Agreed, 2bh. But instead of "I hope you die", it's "I hope you and your family dies".

Haha...BITCH