/lit/ - Literature

I've gotten 3 published this month, feels good man.

Post on lit? fuck no.

T
e bleep clock e
t
e dangle e
t
e blowing shirt e
t
e
e
~

M
j numbered issue j
M
j blab juice j
M
j crumb j
M
j
j

.
_п_
mut
e
. stun cager .
f
o
g
g
. y .
.
s s
h l
i i
r c
t e
. .

●
e
y raw eye y
e
y gang and mutters y
e
y snow boom y
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y
y

I guess I'll post one I just wrote. Feel free to tell me how bad it is.

Isn't it in the face of inspiration that we laugh?
We feel foolish,
Dull,
And we make sense lesser still - lesser still.
These nights are cold and sleepless; colorful in perspective, but so black and white.
It's in our nature, then, that our muscles stiffen - we become hungry - the world turns faster, but we clench up at the emotion.
So why, on nights like these, do we become inspired?
Why, on nights like these, do we love?

>Post on lit? fuck no.

>>1261135

Vocaroo junkie here. Will read any poetry I can get my hands on.

Oh, and that little poem is alright by me.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vatL6dpwUa7noyROG

I tried my hand at it a few minutes ago. It is rather emo, and I usually write funny poetry (well, funny in the sense of puns), so it is a bit of a departure for me.


Over plains and grassy fields,
Beyond our oaken cottage white,
Lies you in slumber like a child--
I can't raise you through human might.

What are you dreaming of; I wonder
If ever you will dream of me
Or never, choosing to fly over
Mountain tops in snow-white sheen?

Know you of the oceans blue?
Have ever you the coast-line seen?
Or ever over whales flew,
Or ever into clouds careen?

We were to chart the coasts of wild
Africa in golden sun
sets framed by eyes of heaven mild
Hazel -- gifts from heaven spun.

Britain, too, we swore to see:
We'd walk upon the London streets,
Every sidewalk, every alley
Known to us by our two feet.

We talked at length about these sights
To see these things with our own eyes;
To walk upon the Arctic ice,
And sleep beneath uncharted lights.

And looking into your gifts now
I see only unconquered pride,
Within them only starlight found;
Without them only human mind.

Empty, gazing through the air,
At the bright and morning star
I feel your eyes are still as fair
As mine to yours are deadly far.

Is space as cold as winter snow?
Is cold a thing you'd feel at all?
Of you there's little I can know,
Less than of the stars that fall--
But that their momentary glow
Cannot be ever stalled.

>>1261158

I loved that, thanks.

Consequences, Punishment, a lost cause...
He asks himself;

"What is there to go back to? A few empty bottles, Permanently rain-stained skies, nameless enigmas..."
A half-sobered cynic mumbles...

He reaches for a new glass of cognac, and rottened, turpentine-bathed brushes...
He wants to paint the exact moment he falls apart.

The circles under his eyes,
The frown-lines of papery-cement

Some kind of Harrlequin,
Fading holistic medicine,
Some kind of dream...
Some kind of memory...
Some kind of life...
Some kind of living...
Some kind of gravestone,
Some other kind of lips...

Twenty-something years,
Her smile fading through molded frames...
Half-a-decade, some kind of years,
Some kind of Pristine-bride, going back to Earth...
Some last few years, he doesn't even know
Some kind of Queen going to some kind of castle in the sky...

Some kind of loner, reading aloud Bukowski,
Some kind of girl, mumbles along to Plath,
Some kind of romantic reading Keats,
Some kind of Drunk reading Poe,
Some kind of Joker readin Shakespearian Tradgies...
We're all daft here.

Some kind of cold winds blowing through,
Some kind of cheapness, lacking fixed windows...
Some kind of rotting wood, some kind of smell...
some kind of boarding House,
Some kind of solemn, rainy sky,
Some kind of Misery, some kind of metallic taste...

Same kind of Lament.
Same kind of melting inks,
Same kind of glass,
Same kind of tears...

Same kind of Apathy,
Same kind of lonliness,
Other kinds of sadness,
Tell-tale signs of madness.

Midday irony,
Saturday melancholy,
First day duality,
Last day, reality.

(xxxEspeonLadyxxx@deviantart.com)

>>1261131
>>1261132
>>1261134

Oh shit...


e e cummings on /lit/! No way?

>>1261161

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v7rHRlLAtDxgh02jP

>>1261170

Took me a few tries on this one.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vF1OmVH5dCujxNRBh

Whoa, I love how you've read that so clearly, and so eloquently... You made my day, and the sun isn't even up yet, Thank you, for making the poetic-mind-vomit of a 15-year-old, sound clear.
I might actually start writing again.
It's been a while...

>>1261191

Glad to be of service. *faux salute* :D

>>1261171

È. É. Cummings!

John M. Bennet

>>1261174

That was great!

>>1261199

MOAR READINGS

Read some Crowley:

Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.

His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden's imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience.

>>1261110

Hey, I'm interested in doing this. Where'd you get yours published?

No love for Gerard Manley Hopkins? /lit/, I am dissapoint.

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
>The Windhover

I love this poem, the intricacy of the language is just so pleasing

>>1261833
>>1261872

Check out >>1259232
I've been ruining my voice for a couple of days over there.

>>1261104
We herehence indenizen chloe above combe's sweepy impulsion and chloe.
Scalebeam is with duke balistoid impulsion?
Gif valetudinarian eclaircissements will booze.
We didn't pue?
Howbeit if you are a peristalsis, refresh...
Albeit the farcical paraffins and secretariate underdo.
Windless duke fluxure conventionalizes another moky disembarkation...
Only when don't you scry shepen?
You preindispose secretariate...

>>1261886

here's your resource, good luck

http://duotrope.com/index.aspx

>>1261872
Here is some Crowley. (miissstah crowley...)

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v39A0SMPCXHkvtaG6

>>1261930

wat is this i don't even

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vxid1eoq6CGvcC0IA

>>1261894
Gerard Manley Hopkins

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vN6yYQe4TdYV61Fne

>>1261938
2deep4u?

It's clearly about his girlfriend Chloe who works in admin.

bamp

Clashing teeth are what they promise,
lakes of fire, and fields of woe;
tortured voices howl distress
which no one dares to think or know.
But I know better -- and I see
plain as day that you are walking,
sleeping, in an endless sea
of blooming, ruffling buds of poppies.

Do you hear me now? Unseen,
yet seen by hearts aligned and near,
I hear your voice which calls unclean
to follow you through night unclear.
While holy church-bells sweetly clash
I scream to you to hear me now,
but onward marches midnight mass--
I hope that you can hear my vow:

"You ate the seeds from Hade's hand,
and now by styx you walk alone,
and decorate the scarlet sand
with dust and bleach`ed maiden bone.
I'll come meet thee upon the shore
of timeless man and time-ed gods
who met their end in Charon's moor,
and now do naught but restful yawn."

Silent, somber, reach me never;
Never will we touch or hold
ourselves against the whitest winter,
nor summer shade we'll share for cold.
Nor moonlight shared on walks at night,
or sunlit paths to follow on--
til dusk at last wins over light,
and last I give a final yawn.

Sure I'll share.

Grid:

The lines are perfectly parallel
and never stray to one another
without a movement toward or away from another
destined to never intersect.
There are another set of lines perpendicular to their brother
who go South
while they go North.
they only intersect at assigned points
that can be calculated and formed into a
Grid.
A mechanical
Grid.
An abhorrent
Grid.
The gilded, jaded, ancient, storied, narcissistic, self-involved
Grid.
A dishonest grid that stretches the world over and
leads to its consumption,
multiplying in an unfounded idea
that it is the manifest of all life's destiny.
Yes, for it is a grid, and saddest tragedy is
that it was once
Human.
It was once natural.

Here's a poem I just wrote:

It hurts me.

Thread on 4chan's /lit/
Lazy boy writes a poem
A haiku is short

>>1262611

FUCK POSTMODERNISM

Need more original lit poems.

>>1261161
>>1262593

Author of these two here.

I'm bored and out of ideas. Someone give me a prompt to write on?

>>1262807
Birth

>>1262859

Stirring restless, signs of life
kick through peace and waken her,
and show to her the natal will
to birth and seek out life's short thrill;
To cut through silence like a knife,
and kick and scream till death defer.

The time grows close and hours grow long;
Genetic drive and feelings electric
Knaw on nerves and kindle fear
that motherhood draws ever near
and soon the selfish way and song
Will crash with baby's crying -- quick!

Searing pain that drowns the self
Is soon forgotten, drowned by love;
Another member human kind
has gained, another heart and mind
to salt the Earth with unknown wealth,
free and pure as whitest dove.

>>1261161
>>1262593
>>1263155

Another theme!

bump

>>1263442
The Suggestive Limerick (could use a little editing e.g. "with aghast".)

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vcKYHIjdC3bIFatMD

I.

A solitary lamp post streetlight
Stands at attention on the corner
Of the only road I've ever known
Leading into Homewood.

And now the morning mists shall join him,
born of the slinking river, and creeting, ebb up through the sleeping homes
as fingers flicked through empty tomes
might brush a black, leaf-flecked reservoir
without so much a ripple as a breath would elicit.
Thr morning mist so old and tired implicitly
of cold desire
is calling for the children.
Luring them with responsibilities
and privileges.

II.

Like a cat's eye, E705 goes tinkling down my throat.
Oh great signifier, what do you mean?
A tree is a tree, but never a pine, so what can you tell me?
It's all bullshit anyways! It has to be!
Celebrate with me then! Let's pour us something a little warming!
What a Fiesta we're having here!

Now Larry acquires cigarettes
for a little collection he keeps deep down in his lungs
before brushing little yellow butterflies away,
oh! the horror! The horror!

How melancholy they must fly, like lovely little pegasi.

Later he will find a cute little high school girl,
and lose himself between whitened thighs.
The hours he spends... I could write a eulogy for that time.
I promised them women though, I did.

Let's have another drink then, and feel the warmth.
I am a liquid now.
A sea of Mercury.
My blood is flowing cool, and I am on the ocean
I am the ocean.
There is no pain.

>>1263461

Somewhere out there Dave Freed is walking across a fire
in boots
and boxers
and not much else
but a quiet look of intense and drunken focus
and maybe we'll find him in the morning
curled up beneath an oak
because his ride left him.
The rain it raineth every day.

So we beat on,
in a river of liquor
borne endlessly into the past.
Ceaselessly.
Colors and borders fade,
everything becomes one,
a screaming comes across the sky.
Creatures in the night are moving against each other.
Pressing against their flesh.
Fingers are moving up... someone's leg “Are you nervous yet?”
Audacious, but assured.
“Not yet.” Coy smile. I know the voice.
Pounding. Shapes.
Pain?
A sea of...
did you ever have a sister did you

And I'm staring at the world through bleary eyes
and weary eyes
and teary eyes
and feeling the warmth in my stomach radiate up and out,
though I may try to fight it.
The leaves are crisp and
bruuuugggggghhhh
bruuuuuuhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhh
hhhh
huuu huuuu huuu
He wheezes in,
It's just really fuckin' funny when someone pukes
and like... you feel bad and shit... but it's really fuckin' funny
heuh heuh heuh
sorry man, it was a brilliant cure, but we've lost the patient.
he-ehhe-ehhe-eh

My stomach... the pain...
Like I've been run through...
There is nothing to wax poetic ab-
Like the man from Taffala.

A great gnashing of teeth
and turning away.
A great fading
I wish I had time for

>>1263463

III.

There will be no fragments to collect
No disillusionment
No savior
There will be no renewal
No fresh rain
No lilacs
We are frolicking in loss
and can not understand it.
We cannot see our own destruction.
And so we will continue on
Our eyes hollow and our fingers never daring to reach beyond...
I know these eyes... are they? They are! My own.
Forever and ever.

We were not lost,
and I could not become nothing.
I was not lost.
I never was.

>>1263446
Making the product (This one was fun. You know anyone that plays instruments?)

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vRQEy6JXKq9ujnIT7

My footsteps falling over leaves
echo lonely through the wood;
Heard by none, but for the trees,
I would but wish my footsteps could
enjoin anothers, passion freed
to dance beneath the harvest moon --
to steal the night as deft as thieves
and with the stars in brief commune.

>>1263447
The year's at the spring,

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vHEtOKDJVgDS6PsCb

>>1263454
We buried him in satin

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vRMvTu6dAW6Zf1n7a

This guy's voice is epic.

>>1263477

It's true.

Seriously, can you read for me The Raven and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock? I've always wanted a perfectly read recording of those pieces.

He needs to contribute to librivox.org

I love that site, some readers though.. painful.

>>1262593
Clashing teeth are what they promise,

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v6ENGKpQSXyYwuOmy

>>1262595
Grid:

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vkGE7Sd68zBBJQPXB

>>1262623
Lazy boy writes a poem.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vF7Sfv01MBkszfoce

>>1263383

Boy, that was creepy.

>>1263461
>>1263466
A solitary lamp post streetlight

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vGWuELsdMC0icihyZ
http://vocaroo.com/?media=vpDPlBSTjcHMMcDLF

>>1263155
Stirring restless, signs of life...

http://vocaroo.com/?media=viCskOBxGQG8r2HuL

>>1263487

I will investigate this. Haven't heard of it before.

>>1263400

Success! :D

>>1261161
>>1262593
>>1263155
>>1263361

Another, because I have nothing better to do:

Umbrellas open all around,
shielding hair and suits and heads,
while cars drown rain-drops humble sound
and on those rain-drops prideful tread.

The city lights all blur around,
reflected by the new-fell rain
that sits upon the urban ground
and runs beneath the subway train.

One hundred men, times ten or more
have splashed and jumped in those same streams
en route to work, but all ignore
that mankind's tamed by natural things.

>>1263461
>>1263466
A solitary lamp post streetlight (ALL THREE INCLUDED NOW)

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vGWuELsdMC0icihyZ
http://vocaroo.com/?media=v68G8AfDCXIQWTvDA
http://vocaroo.com/?media=vpDPlBSTjcHMMcDLF

>>1263361
My footsteps falling over leaves

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vFO0drhC0cxkYxRte

>>1263510
Umbrellas open all around,

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vCFQfwRwJZYszZZad

>>1263510
Err, should have been "The city lights blur all around"

Regardless, the repetition was supposed to show the way in which humans react according to nature, but still claim to be in control. That said, now that I'm reading it, it just sounds weird.

What the hell? I show you some of my shit.
--------
The high cost of luxury
Is a sad, painful misery.
A penny here, some hurt there,
Ride the train wreck of wants
For only a small fare.

Here's another:

What does it all mean?
------------
A man told me
That in this life
People seek simplicity.

People don't think too much
In their daily lives
Of this daily rush.

But one doesn't know
Of the true meaning
And where to go,

For the one true answer
Of all this mess
In one splendour.

He felt he knew,
About life's pleasures,
In all it drew,

Together, with some feelings,
(people didn't admit it),
Is one's true seeking.

What he said
Was something strange
That soon hurt my head.

His message was hard to see
In thie mixed up existence,
Of this mystical ennui.

And another...
------
This life, so precious,
We hold in our hands,
Blows away easily,
Like grains of sand.

This fire we have
That burns our crop,
Extinguishes quickly
Without a drop.

The Summer ends
With the first fall of snow.
Happiness will end
But that's how it goes.

>>1263428
The high cost of luxury

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vmfBUViVwAQjrwtg4

This one sounds odd, but it's sort of funny.
--------
The Suggestive Limerick
----
I was fixin' up my car,
Yet I didn't go very var.
So instead I thought, "Hey!
It's still a goog day!"
My pocket still had my tool,
And I was feeling pretty cool.
"Something's playing at the matinee".

While on my way to a seat
A gooey gob stuck to my feet.
Gently kneeling to the floor,
I hit a chunk (which flew out the door).
Reaching now for my tool,
Again totally keeping my cool,
I started to whack it some more.

I pulled out my long rod,
And some lady looked at me odd.
I thought I was mistaken,
And laughed, "Is this spot taken?"
Again she looked odd,
And screamed with a nod,
"Yes, it is taken!"

When I traveled slowly past,
The woman said with aghast,
"What is that in your pants?"
Stopping now I stood with a stance.
Again I pulled out the object,
And said of the subject,
"What is this? France?"

Quickly, with a flick,
The rod became slick.
"Don't think THAT far,
For I use it in my car!
If you think of that other thing,"
I said with another fling,
"Then you must incrediably thick!"

>>1263432
missed up existence

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vwRx8hiIHsbwKT8vu

And one more for the road.
----------
Making the product
---
Make it, create it,
Fake it, hate it,
Monsterate it.

Lose it, fool it,
Muse it, fool it,
Emasculate it.

Stem it, hem it,
Stand it, fan it,
Generate it.

Tear it, wear it,
Dare it, Share it,
Proliferate it.

Get it, hit it,
Wet it, set it,
Deal with it.

You guy's are small time. Let's get this shit started:


The year's at the spring,
And day's at the mourn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven-
All's right with the world!

>>1263434
This life, so precious,

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vwRx8hiIHsbwKT8vu

Thanks for all of the readings, Stoferin.

I finished it a few weeks ago and I just finished a rough draft of one tonight. Tell me if you think it's publishable somewhere. I'm gonna try to turn it in sometime this month. Dunno where to yet.

We buried him in satin
and together sang requiem
upon requiem, and said prayer after prayer
and we crowded around to see his little thirteen year old body
pale as a lily in the sun
and still as snow
and to console his crying mother.
And it was my mother
that smacked the back of my little head
when I mumbled under my breath
“Serves him right.”
But I couldn't understand it,
the smacking,
because it was she who had said under her own breath
just days before
that the little bastard
would be burning in Hell
one day.

He had been plucking the legs and wings from little things
or taking toys from little boys
or tossing the yarn-haired worlds of little girls
into hungry ripples
when the bank shrugged
and contemplated
and assented
and, finally, leapt in.
“Don't cry over spilled milk” or “When in Rome...” they say he said, and started swimming there in the river
which we all did
and we all knew the stories
of little boys
that went down and did not come back up
and none of us believed
until he went down
and his screaming trickled into gurgling
and gurgling dripped into silence.
Lily white silence.
And the water swallowed him whole,
like giant sucking lips
of concentric green and muddy brown
a little evil boy,
a little bastard,
and spit him back up
pure.
As if he had been baptized.

>>1263539

It's getting there. Maybe try different perspectives. Where is the water after the city is gone? How does the water subvert life in the city? I lived in Upland, CA once. Every time it rained, two feet of water would rush down the north/south streets. Some cars tried to push through and didn't make it. The owners had to abandon them in the street until the rain let up.

>>1263539

Also, my dad is a farmer. Rain is sent from the hand of God.

>>1263481
I can't doe Poe justice tonight. I'll try tomorrow, but here's a true professional for you. Ladies and Gentleman, John De Lancie.

http://io9.com/5675982/q-aka-john-de-lancie-reads-poes-the-raven

What I've Been Wondering

I see the people on the streets running
riding wild on the inhibitions of
a state without power reason or drive
gangster children riding on roller skates

rhythmic breaks and mathematical drought
the world is moving at a largo pace
literary lackluster living without
a reason or drive, like a car on blocks.

Tell me the decline isn't near, and I'll
tell you that I've seen it all heard it all
around behind the wheel no drivers with
reason you can see it in the faces

of the people on the ground floor
cleaning up the messes of the bourgeoise.


A modern sonnet I wrote for Creative Writing 2.

>>1263608
What I've Been Wondering

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v0i9um7qRnpJ4QjhE

well i dont know if this counts but check out my rando blog. lemme know what you think, do you like it, can you relate?

http://rambleofabadpoet.wordpress.com/

Thanks

Thanks Stoferin.

I posted What I've Been Wondering. I have another. Not quite a sonnet, missing 2 lines.


Lewd and Rude and Crude and Possibly Untrue


I remember this girl from my algebra class
she had hair like Cleopatra
and wore a red sweater one no two sizes too big
once she talked about fucking a guy on a boat at night and almost getting caught
I remember thinking for an instant, I wish I was that guy on that boat
she and I, our skins a thin wall separating us
pale in the moonlight
as our hearts beat against each other
and a man dressed as a police officer shines a light but misses us
and we run away anyways
scrabbling for our clothes and hands
and dashing off into the night half-naked

i remember when i was a kid and always sang the song that never ends
it annoyed my parents because i went on and on my friend
i dont know how to stop thinking
my mind is plagued with thoughts of you
every day and every night i think of you as my light
i guess its just me but i gotta stop for one second to write
about the first love… the first love, implying that there will be another
i dont want any more, i want this love to real on both sides and not wither
someone who will always love me back
but i guess if you’re love wasent true you have thrown me a sack
pack up you’re things and dont look behind
walk the road and never remember what was
its not that i can say you were a cassette i can rewind
always playing, when am i gonna flip to side B
the part of the album where we’ll be happy
instead of this screamo crap that got me sappy
i’m afraid we’re on our last track
this album better have an encore, im not done with it yet

Pretty good, Car Rides kid.

I'd recommend removing the rhyming though, first of all.

A couple of Christians
Pour over a calendar in a corner store
Comment on July’s picture;
A nigger in the basilica.
Calender back on the shelf,
They step outside,
Onto 125th Street.

>>1263656
how come? i kinda like rhyming it adds more flow IMO

Car Ride kid: (I don't know how to do the quote thingy, sorry)

When you put in rhyming like that it takes attention away from the words and how they flow. The rhyming is simply awkward and out of place, draws your focus away on what each line and the poem as a whole is saying.

Also rhyming is kinda campy these days, no good poets really use it.

If you rhyme, there's gotta be a good reason for it.

>>1263669
Yeah, i see what your saying
How bout this then

And I'm bushed. See you guys again tomorrow night. I'll start reading with >>1263641

Take it easy.

>>1263641
Leftover Dry Heaps as performed by Dennis Hopper's bastard son.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vY6JCBKBgzNo4GnmJ

>>1263669
Each individual post is mark with a number. Click that number, and the link will be deposited in the whitespace at the top of the page.

>>1263659
A couple of Christians

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v5utBaQoOaLDBvXKH

>>1263653
I remember those car rides - Anon

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vpSUSmoidS2lBEN00

I haven't written much since high school, I'm trying to start up again though.

Paint my world shades of orange.
I want to feel the way I should.
Tell me all your secrets.
Write the truth across my flesh.

Teach me how to live again.
Show me the way to zen.
I wanna read your thoughts
Let me under your skin.

Let me become you,
(At least for the moment)
So I can see a different world,
Make me real again.

Paint my mind a rosy pink.
Teach me how to love, again.
Touch my soul (with carnal sins)
Kiss our pasts away.

>>1263642
Lewd and Rude and Crude and Possibly Untrue

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vtQ6lBItd9FQ1TsKg

Music scraped the corners of the walls
While streetlamps spilled their orang on the streets
And most men will one day stoop here and fall
Trampled under revelling singing feet
To the very thing which not far away
Is peddled from a low faltering star
While other men like me await the day
When all men can accept quite what they are
A single glowing drop of rain
Illumined by a moment's sun


I wrote this a few years ago, and only recently found it again. I'm not sure if I like it, it comes across as aimlessly preachy to me now but I thought I might as well post it.

>>1263641
Everytime I think of the past...

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vg6cjEqwIGcZRhi6C

My favourite Tiffany,
a still dragonfly.
Speckled scarlet.

They call it art nouveau,
the men in their galleries.
There is a beauty to the scene.

You, on your back,
branches spreading from your head.
A butterfly of crimson wings.

He will be a star,
the modest architect.
Everyone will know his name.

You said it was the quiet ones,
back when we were kids.
We used to laugh.

>>1264629
Paint my world shades of orange.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vmKooAsZZ2tu7RBcw

>>1264644
Music scraped the corners of the walls

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vpCMoYhZ9Dt22cAy7

>>1264654
Meant to be 'orange' but thank you

>>1264648
Turning off the Lamp

http://vocaroo.com/?media=veJbAHwfKJCIJDNDB

>>1264657

Oh my, that is very nice! Thank you

>>1264655
FIXED

http://vocaroo.com/?media=va4VNE2fMCu9y1K6N

>>1264661
You're a very generous man

>>1264664
Don't be fooled. I'm just a lowly attention whore.

>>1263510
* expanded

The thirsty ground cries out for air,
to wet its lips on clowdy days --
when there were no humans there,
before the humans scoffed their ways.

Umbrellas open all around,
shielding hair and suits and heads,
while cars drown rain-drops humble sound
and on those rain-drops prideful tread.

City lights in rear-view mirrors
melt and blur and streak and run
forming rushing painted rivers
that bake and dry out in the sun.

(A twisted mural painted brown
from twisted streams of gluttony
that twisted men of iron crown
betwixt the sea and shining sea.)

The life of city streets is found
reflected by the new-fell rain
that sits upon the urban ground
and runs beneath the subway train.

One hundred men, times ten or more
have splashed and jumped in those same streams
en route to work, but all ignore
that mankind's tamed by natural things.

Poems are merely
Cryptic fragments of nevers
That ought to have been

>>1264649

That come out very nice. Thank you! :)

>>1264671
Poems are merely
Cryptic fragments of nevers
That ought to have been

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vk6PJkbOVCzSfG9uk

>>1264669
*Expanded - (Well done!)

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vHFqyszqjbxIN05Nh

Shit gotta work. Back tonight

>>1264643

Thanks again!!

Someone give me another prompt to write on!

i wrote a poem about Caligula's horse that /lit/ liked, i write lots of poems though- this one i wrote last night. my name is table salt.


it needs to be rewritten, or extended.

The houses i inhabit all sit along the lower new york bay,
obediently.

like cores to a termor
our catastrophe
of populationpeople milling
everywhere people milling
our sidewalks crack under the
pressure our youth sweat hot
hot the summers become more
humid and sultry daughters

all inhabit houses along the lower new york bay,
we take in excess

from HM Great British Empirical Sea,
who stretches nigh Acadia to the
West Indias

like cores to a tremor

Someone tell me what to write about

>>1265648
That girl who didn't care about you. Even though you made sacrifices purely for her benefit.

>>1266042

lol, I'm gay

(I just write about women in poetry because 'men and women' sounds better in an iambic poem)

This is the only poem I've written I consider even decent. It's been accepted for publication, then rejected before it's published, a half-dozen times now.

Self-propelled phonetic photograph after 24 sunny revolutions.

He's a bigmouth babbleboy, a sloppy-eyed shuffle-stepper stamping
'cross the downtown paveypaths. He glimpses own gaze in the glossyglaze of the glassywalls:
This witless warrior for woebegones and woebeheres and notathingnothings,
with bundled broke brow and unlicked limping lips.
Then! a twinge in the twines that tie the cheeks tug taught.
Self-pityish, boredomized in angrystagger his ganglyslack wrists flap,
and up their tempotap of the local atmosphere as each foot faster unfreezes the further and farther.
His blankblue seescopes peeping notruths and untruths and the vaintruth:
he's a hurtboy sickman seeping out ruby plops that drop 'cross the paveypaths and glassywalls
cause when this selfyish cynic feels the unsolaced stabspots spatter his shirt
a raving romantic reaches undercloth and clutches the worldweary wounds.

>>1265395
I REMEMBER YOU

<3333333

>>1266135
Self-propelled phonetic photograph after 24 sunny revolutions...

http://vocaroo.com/?media=veWvXdz45SHrczHGr

>>1266221
Appreciate your mockery. Not even joking. I really am one of those people who should give up.

>>1266316

Wait, what? I was just doing a cold reading in the presence of my roommates. No mockery intended, bro.

AND LET YOU PLAGIARIZE MY WORK?

I THINK NOT, YOU CLEVER LITTLE MAN!

>>1261131
>>1261132
>>1261134

A long time ago
Christfags thought the Earth was flat
Now they think it's young

>>1266397
Imma steal that

>>1266397
Rambling with no poetry :(

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vYld8gCM3HRtqrETk

I've shared some other poems with the /lit/erati before, I must say it's 100000x easier to share it anonymously.

Here's one I wrote most recently;

What I'm unsure of today
will hurt more tomorrow
The more you ask if I'm OK
is more guarantee of sorrow

Your malice has been noted
but I'll forget your intent for now
Please refrain from your fun and games
and I'll remember always to smile

A melodrama of drama, mellow
and for below the common bellow
ringing loudly, clear as a mirror
two-way pane and one less to hear her

For she answers via sympathy
a charity that you give to me
What is left is all that was dealt
to me that is all I've felt

I could say it a million times
"I'm fine" described in twice the lines
I'm not angry at what you have
I'm happy with what I don't

A false sense of directness;
A careful approach
You hardly seem reckless
and I've rarely been coached

To handle what's wrong with you
on your days of reproach
You seem so upset but still you're gleaming
which means you're seeing what you seem to be meaning

What I mean, out of courtesy
is that it's your lying that hurts me
A mocking of foolery fills my with impunity
acting as if my feelings are thoughts that are new to me

I'll forget it for now
for now I forget
why your laughter hurts more
than my original regret

The regret that was lost
after I promised to forget
my plans to get home and the cost
to the loved ones who await my return.
Not yet.

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying

Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying

So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing

I write a bit here and there, but I'm deathly afraid of it being bad (oddly enough I can write fine, it's just my poetry that I dislike) so it never goes anywhere under my name. Anon is fine though.

The Party

It could be a shell
To hide a shattered heart
A mask like what I wear
To ease life's smaller bumps
But she'll open up to me
And together we can love again.

And so persuaded by your delusions
You sit her down and chat her up
You prod and probe, and make some jokes
But your attempts fall flat
And her eyes glaze over;
There's nothing there for you.

And the dance goes on.

>>1266425
Not my best reading, but here you go.
http://vocaroo.com/?media=vpwuVRGLcmRDc1Hi8

>>1266444
I ain't gonna fuck with Dylan. (They think you mean Dylan Thomas... Whoever he was.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oH4x0Psy22c

>>1266448
The Party - This poem is just fine by me.

http://vocaroo.com/?media=v0mX6hJPDzv9cWAAy

>>1266499

Oh hey thanks man, didn't really expect that.

People mull about
in the parking lot
of stores that sell both
knowledge and furniture,
basking in neon
glow of OVEN BAKED
SUBS

Headlights, floodlights,
and Chapter bound
hipsters wash out
every inch of pave
ment(ovenbakedsubs)
blinding both the
eyes and the mind.

Above, the navy
fabric of the night
is aglow of en
chantingly gar
gantuan full
baked moon, being
awed at by the
crowds of
subs burbia.

>>1266489
>>1266499

I want a voice like this.

An imaginary world where it not the matter
Of those who imagine a world where they gather
A many, the most, a betterment but rather
An understanding of other, not happiness in tatters
Fulfillment is here near but work brings it further
From days that were sunny, how many were there?
They happened and past, no solace in the latter
The future is waiting as the days slowly shatter
Above the foundations as steady as a bloody splatter.

I'm busy with what I'm doing,
don't bother me, I'm focused
That girl is so interested
She smiled and giggled cutely
I'm so fixed on her smile
You called me again yesterday
Sorry I missed it, she called too
You call me all the time
She never responds how I want
Yet you call me all the time.

I'd actually like some feedback on this poem, strictly on what people think it means.. I know the words aren't brilliant and it doesn't rhyme.

We were taught to sing and to focus
On the words, the notes and the smiles
The jolly large man, our teacher and
Masterful Mr. Merryman
Gave us the trick to calm our nerves and
Bashful insecurities, so simply
He pointed out the simple clock
Between the judging adults heads
In the dark and grand auditorium,
"Stare at the second hand and sing"
Until the song was over and stop
But don't forget to look at the adults and smile.

>>1266519
People mull about in the parking lot...

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vTEpFSjVTLthfnFdf

>>1266547
An imaginary world where it not the matter

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vs439919t7NDiKRvf

>>1266560
I'm busy with what I'm doing,

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vJiV34twTfO2G2cS0

>>1266640

We were taught to sing and to focus

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vVdT0oGsq58mXRlaw

BONUS POETRY
The History of One Tough Motherfucker - Bukowski
http://vocaroo.com/?media=v3YUWu4El1P8kkRiP

bamp