/lit/ - Literature

Her whines tempt me to push further inside,
My sweating back flexing as I gyrate,
She turns her face aside and then smiles wide.
Near the Rapture to come; near Pearly Gates.
Come for me, daddy, come for me. Quickly!
I close her luscious mouth with my left hand,
Then quicken my strokes, fucking: one, two, three.
Her cunt drips more than I can understand,
On dark beaches, glittering tides whip up.
My hand closes 'round the conch shell that whines,
Sea-foam meets knees and cock, is this my sup?
Pleasure wraps our bodies like growing grape vines.
Adonis and Venus finally consummated,
Inevitable? Was it not fated?

The pale-faced, baby-faced man in a suit beckoned at me to enter his study, milk dripping from his wire mustache. -Please, please, have a seat my good sir. He took a long slurping-sip from a full spoon. -The effect of whole milk--as opposed to skim or two-percent--on a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats is simply transformative. A humble bowl of cereal transfigured from a snack to a meal. Would you fancy a spoonful?

Having smelled his breath I was forced to decline. At my refusal he shoved the spoon into his mouth and sucked it dry.

-I, munch moinch, only use the spoon, munch munchymoinch, here as a courtesy to you. I forsook it long ago in favor of imbibing the nectar straight from the bowl. Much more satisfying, much more efficient delivery method. And the fiber is lovely for the journey out. Don't let my paunch fool you, I've never felt his healthy in my, buuuuuuurp, life. Excuse me. But a small inconvenience for the security and upkeep of a firm constitution. Watch this--and here he took a gallon of whole milk from the floor in each hand and lifted them above his head. Quite impressive, no?

-...Certainly. But doesn't it go bad leaving it out like that? And what of the many boxes of your cereal lining the wall?

-For too long, of course. But these are, and here the magician reveals his trick, only half-full, were full but ten minutes ago, and will soon be emptied at the conclusion of my lunch, during which you have been quite rude to interrupt me.

-Sir, I made an appointment.

-Buuuuuuuuuurp, be gone!

With this I left him alone to enjoy his cereal and later resolved the issue I wished to discuss with him alone.

(this is a repost, only got one mildly positive reply a while back)

For a sec there I thought you had posted the back dorm boys all grown up...
Fuck I'm old

An ache ate along my sides. My body throbbed; did it know there are no sudden cures? I am sick, I say. I am sick. Sick. A drumfire of impassable guilts, confusions, and nauseas.
In a morning-after haze, my mind combed through the available - and, sometimes the irreconcilable - of last-night’s memories. A squat Italian, with bulgy, Moltisanti hair (And a mole at the end of his nose), who addressed me as ‘Paisano.’ A native Irish, with a long, sullen face like a funeral director’s, leaning against the open door-frame. Others? Any women? When I thought of one it was only of their tits, made snug in their cocktail-dresses - diving like caskets below the neckline.
Oh right. I was at a funeral.

Long Before the Feed and Seed, that's currently owned by Sneed,
Was a Brothel that was owned by Chuck, when a fuck and suck you'd need

>>13314574
I had been alone most of my life. In my small plot of land out in the green hills of County Clare, All I had was the odd friend or visitor pass by, but most of my life was celibate. I didn’t mind. But it became lonely.
The change from completely lonely to finally having someone with me was alike the impact of changing worlds in the space of moments. It felt as if my whole mind had changed along with the place.
I now had someone with me to share the bed I had slept in for years straight, with no change in pattern. She lay there, resting on my chest, with her legs relaxing on my body as well. I had a book resting near her lap and I poked my head above her velvety soft brown hair to read it. The words began to blur and become nonsensical, the words I read fell through my brain the minute they entered it. Soon all I could focus on was the woman ontop of me. She had seldom spoken a word but I still felt the spirit of love between me and her. Her cheeks, which were similar to the reds that blossomed out of my country house, distracted me. Soon I was absorbed into her and every element of her. Her nose was slightly crooked, the whites of her were slightly too tanned and looked slightly off, making the blue pupils which it engulfed look slightly off as well. But the imperfections I could see molded and shaped into one girl, who for the time and place, I thought to be perfect. Nothing would cloud the overwhelming beauty and love I sensed at the moment. The sense of love I got there I felt like I had just truly got after a long chase.
very incomplete and will fill into a bigger story but I want your feedback.

>>13314577
>is this my sup?
kek
>>13314859
are you imitating someone? Sounds familiar.

Heres one:

Jigsaw smile,
far from space camp.
Cornfield princess;
Joan of Iowa.

Dirt on her cheeks,
covers her freckles.
She's never left,
and she'll never leave.

Daddy says that
boy working the stables,
make him a man,
give him a son.

She never worried,
she never worried.
Avoid confrontation,
aims to please.

Nursing a child,
far from space camp.
She's never left,
and she'll never leave.

>>13314807
Unusual way of setting out your prose, it worked though. Similar to what McCarthy does, and I had the same slightly dreamlike feeling that I get when I read him, due to the absence of quotation marks. I found myself feeling disgust and actually grimaced irl when you mentioned the man's horrid cereal-milk-breath. My only suggestion would be that the last 3 or so lines seem to happen rather suddenly.

>during which you have been quite rude to interrupt me

Here for example. If he thinks he was rudely interrupted, enough to banish him the next time he opens his mouth, would he have shown him the courtesy he did in the first lines? Inviting him in, calling him 'good sir'? It seems sightly abrupt but perhaps that's what you were going for. Either way, I liked it!

>>13314859
I liked this too. Really wasn't expecting the last line, and it's a good way of revealing elements of the narrator's personality. I see that he paid more attention to the characterising aspects of the men and only sexualised the women. The Italian with bulgy hair, mole on the nose and calling him Paisano comes across as a cliche, but it may be that your character reduces him to one in his own mind, so I can't really critique that.

>>13315000
Kino

>>13315716
Opens strong and I like it. I like character-driven stories and it looks like this is delving into his psychology. Would need to see more for context but my critique is largely grammatical- 'felt the spirit of love between me and her' could be 'her and I' or 'between us', for example. Generally I liked your descriptions a lot- 'the reds that blossomed out of my country house', for example- but 'velvety soft brown hair' jarred for some reason. However I appreciate you said incomplete and these basic errors may be revised in a later draft.

First I've wrote, inspired by a state of mind close to sleep where some music is better. Not sure if anyone else knows it.

Bearing the type of fog in the mind which comes from resisting sleep for too long.
With headphones playing, it connects music to conciousness,
I drift off into the music,
surrounded by that now pleasant fog,
I become part of it,
the music.


Songs for reference
https://www.youtube.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-pruDMlPuc/watch?v=ulSVgw3_YWg

Upon fishmongers bounty
Beneath a pregnant sky
A pyre of lice
Withering, drowning, arise

>>13314807
Literally laughing out loud

>>13314574
plush plump pumping wrapped in flames, an unbreakable grip, the equatorial belt, a war drum beating against her breaking pelvis erupting screams under my clasped hand lips wet silenced and like the river Styx, I flowed like buried secrets over her like vesuvius, it was awesome

Here's a thing I made. Is it anything?

>>13316442
and because there isnt much included there, heres the next bit. theres more that i'll post if anyone's interested.

>>13316445
dude, pacing. slow the fuck down, this shit's giving me whiplash

>>13316174
you need to work on trying to create a mood or feeling more, right now you've basically just described a situation without making the reader *feel* it.

I don't know if it was intentional, but starting with a longer line then moving to shorter ones is probably a good idea for this poem. If I were to to try to write a similar poem I would play with the meter as well, start off with more free lines then move into more rhythmically uniform ones, as one gets swept up into music they're listening to intently

if love is a dream then I will dream again,
until flowers bloom in each empty lot
and each hand is held as they walk through the park
with a hug and a wave at every goodbye
and a kiss on the cheek when the sun comes to rise
when all of the night is aflame with the dream
maybe the day will become what it seems

Howling liturgical apocrypha
Smoldering like the birth moans of wolves
My erectile dysfunction is because of Judaism

>>13314574
>goatse cx but with megan boyle's mouth
both of these people are disgusting, like their art

i want to check my email
i want to see a movie
i want to kill people
feels like i need to kill someone
i want to kill you
i hate everything
why do i hate so much
everything is a lot of things
talk to me now
please talk to me
i want you to talk to me
i want you to talk to me about how i want to kill my email
i wish i loved everything
i just want to express myself
i am expressing myself right now
good
thank you
i'd like to see a movie and kill someone
i need to check my email then kill myself
i know that good news will arrive only by email
i'd like to see a movie with you then go home and check my email
can we kill someone in a supermarket
it's better in a supermarket because of contrast
the world has no contrast
i need to resurrect someone
there will be shockingly good news about my life inside of my email
killing people is immature
i am twenty-two years old
i think something happened to me
i think email changed me
i think you and email teamed up in the night and changed me in the daytime when i wasn't looking
i think i'd like to make out with you in a movie theatre
i admit that you are better than email
and after the movie you can stab me in the neck
if anyone else stabbed me in the neck i would feel frustrated
if you stabbed me in the neck with a fork i think i would feel pretty confident existentially
i would fall towards you and you would hold me
i do not want to end this poem with that line
i want to end it with some other line
i want to end my life
i don't want to end my life anymore
i changed
people change
poodles also change
i am expressing myself pretty good right now
i want to express the meaninglessness of life with a knife and a ski mask
i think i can do it
do you think i can do it
can we have a conversation about that
what if i stabbed you in the arm with this poem
i think this poem is serrated
i think the top of this poem is like a handle
i think i wish everything was something else
i think my problems live in a house on a mountain in north carolina
i think they are planning to come gouge me and kill me
i have personal belongings that give my anxiety and make me feel serious
i want my face to be a smooth stone in a cold stream
i want an earthquake to shake me
i do not want to die today or any day
i want something cataclysmic to happen in a faraway place
i want to be indicted for a terrible crime that has occurred on pluto
i want to plead guilty but be acquitted on all charges because of honesty
i am bored
i am expressing myself
i am sitting inside your house
i lied
i just lied
i am sitting inside my parent's house
i just told the truth
one time i told you that i felt like i was suffocating
i said i needed coffee and couldn't breathe
you were on the street going in the other direction and i followed you

>>13318243
is this an actual excerpt?

i'm not fucking surprised. look at what the internet and smartphones have done.

>>13318297
What do you mean by actual excerpt?

Learn to love me
Assemble the ways
Now, today, tomorrow and always
My only weakness is a list of crime
My only weakness is well, never mind, never mind
Oh, shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Hand it over
Hand it over
Hand it over
Learn to love me
And assemble the ways
Now, today, tomorrow, and always
My only weakness is a listed crime
But last night the plans of a future war
Was all I saw on Channel Four
Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Hand it over
Hand it over
Hand it over
A heartless hand on my shoulder
A push and it's over
Alabaster crashes down
(Six months is a long time)
Tried living in the real world
Instead of a shell
But before I began
I was bored before I even began
Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over

How does anyone expect to have their works critiqued if they haven't critiqued others? Critique at least 2 others when you post.

>>13315000
Powerful and moving.

>Here's mine
'Tis the hour for the lib'ral to strut upon the stage,
Goopey of nose, teary-eyed, and with bleeding heart,
He exudes humanism and Goode morality—
Hark ye oppressed people and listen to my heart
So bleed'st for thine suffering in the dark shadows
I am no Conservative nor Communist
Th' only Radicalisme I advocate for be Love, aye to't,
Aye, to love, to love, would make the Monde better."

>>13314574

Wrote this in 10 minutes.
Based it on a painting by Monet.
Is it even decent

The pilgrims crawl down the plank
A burdern on their shoulders
They don't slack
It's coal they carry, the dockers.
A ship awaits tucked
Between the waters,
Exhausted by each heave
A load of charcoal and then another,
Filled the vessel, it will leave
Every docker gained a quarter.

>>13319093
They* will leave.

Sounds better

Womb? Weary?

He rests. He has travelled.

With?

Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Jinbad the Jailer and Whinbad the Whaler and Ninbad the Nailer and Finbad the Failer and Binbad the Bailer and Pinbad the Pailer and Minbad the Mailer and Hinbad the Hailer and Rinbad the Railer and Dinbad the Kailer and Vinbad the Quailer and Linbad the Yailer and Xinbad the Phthailer.

When?

Going to dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the Sailor roc's auk's egg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad the Brightdayler.

Where?

>>13318243
I hate how I instantly recognize it's him the first line

>>13319159
Bf?

Opening to a book I started writing, 1/2:

I have tallied off the days every so often only to stop, and these clusters of tallies are a lot like tally marks in themselves. In the rare situation that I find myself making one such new cluster it is like a breath of light that I become conscious of passing life. But I stop tallying. I have lost the tallies, I didn't date any of them, a few turn up on important-looking pieces of paper when I dig through my cupboard and a few times they surprise me while I'm looking through old notes. Lately I have noticed about them that which they cannot signify, conventional tallies and cluster-tallies alike, and that is the space between them. Of course, the space is completely unrelated to the tallies. It was only spared the fate of becoming one by the particular course of my pen. But I say the space itself is a truer mark of what the tallies try to represent, for dead tomorrow or dead in twenty years, an accurate count of the tallies counldn't round off the days better than the space between them can. But that is not why I stop tallying. The truth is I either get bored, or forget.

Opening to a book I started writing 2/2:

I suppose I wouldn't know for sure, but My Friend is not in the habit of starting such a primitive journal, not even without commitment. Such things usually begin when we impose a better behaviour on ourselves, after all. But I would not call him oblivious to his days. I believe that his days do not disappear into wherever they must when they pass, but as tracing paper containing him exist overlaying his world, piling up on his locale, until the deeds of yesterday are more clear and defined than he is. What ghostliness he must feel acting outside of them I don't know, but nevertheless he craves new areas he hasn't imprinted with his living yet, where he can start a new trend, where the weight of himself won't bear on himself and where he can be happy. I came into suspicion of this about him one full year after we had completed our education, and we were entering our twenties, and he told me:
"I need to get off the Coast."
I disliked the idea. It is not true that our days are drawn on tracing paper, and it is not true they are opressing us in a pile on the present, either for the purposes of comparison or judgement, or simply as a matter of filing. It is true we have to take ourselves whevever we go and that's where all our days are. I did not know any of that at the time, and that's not why I disliked the idea. I thought it was blase.
"No," I said, "That's stupid."
"There's nothing here."
"So what?"

>>13319346
fuck... 'blasé'...

>>13314577
>>13314807
>>13314859
>>13315716
>>13316174
>>13316407
>>13316442
>>13316445
>>13318030
>>13318243
>>13318655
>>13319117
>>13319341
Rate others

>>13318185
Megan's a legit kinographic document when she's unshod

>>13314574
frugle mcdoogle shroogled his doogle

>>13319368
Please don't reply like this. It's very rude.

>>13316090
>a later draft
yes I'm likely going to put this into full context some other time
>but my critque is largely grammitcal
that might be because I typed out the ideas and descriptions as fast as I could. The idea popped into my mind and I needed to write it before it was gone.
But in the example you gave that was due to my influences from very old books and writers from the 30s and so on

>>13316442
>>13316445
>that pravda pfp

Critique Commencing.
>>13314574
Uninspiring OP subject and comment, but the picture was noteworthy. A lost opportunity, all in all.
>>13314807
Good direction but develop the office and the cereal eater to be more rewarding to the reader.
>>13314821
Try posting literature, writing, anything really, besides what you posted. Thanks.
>>13314859
The discomforts need to be more poignant and organized, although there is a dreary and exhausted vibe to the speech, I'm not sure if that's intended or should be foremost.
>>13315000
The knock on the door was in bad faith, you realize too late, as the cobalt and azure festooned Crips burst through and over your clattering door, their sable phalli already in their hands, pulled over elastic waistbands or through highly starched denim zippers, all careful not to be seen tugging, only brandishing themselves towards >>13315000, drawn to the inveterate neghole much as dew to flower petals.
>>13315716
Don't get too lost in expression, which is easy to do when writing about falling in love. I think the reader might be more interested in the "impact of changing worlds" and "my whole mind had changed along with the place." But you should convey these processes in a way other than reporting upon them as an autobiographer might, unless that's your format. Find some subtle thing in your life that changed as a result of your whole mind and world changing. You threw out an old second toothbrush, you cleaned something you hadn't paid attention to for awhile, even bathing, hygiene. Don't be Dunham-esque about it but be real for your reader's sake. Your only job is to feel and write.
>>13316174
Nonplussed. Maybe not my genre. >>13319341

>>13316090
I do not care about a Hallmark card exploded into two thick paragraphs. So what? Why do I care about these people? What happened today that's so notable?
>>13316442
Recalls an admiration for the Pale King, but shies from the Professor Wallace's technique, a good somnolent exercise.
>>13318243
The inner voice of the modern person should be documented more. I like the inspiration and direction. Makes you worry in a good way about the character.
>>13318655
I want to see more itinerant criminal poets. Please write an ornery anthology.
>>13318817
I'd have spelled "2" as "two" so as to not look utterly unserious.
>>13319016
What a bore.
>>13319093
Pretty, could be embroidered and hung in Ms. Tartt's lighthouse solarium reading room.
>>13319117
Nora the Flora
>>13319341
>>13319346
Make the reader care immediately. You must write urgently.
>>13319355
Oh my goodness.
>>13319422
Dude just re-write it.
.

Critique Commencing.
>>13314574 (OP)
Uninspiring OP subject and comment, but the picture was noteworthy. A lost opportunity, all in all.
>>13314807
Good direction but develop the office and the cereal eater to be more rewarding to the reader.
>>13314821
Try posting literature, writing, anything really, besides what you posted. Thanks.
>>13314859
The discomforts need to be more poignant and organized, although there is a dreary and exhausted vibe to the speech, I'm not sure if that's intended or should be foremost.
>>13315000
The knock was in bad faith, you realize too late, as the cobalt and azure festooned Crips burst through and over your clattering door, their sable phalli already readied, pulled over elastic waistbands or through highly starched denim zippers, all careful not to be seen tugging, only brandishing themselves towards >>13315000, drawn to the inveterate neghole much as dew to flower petals.
>>13315716
Don't get too lost in expression, which is easy to do when writing about falling in love. I think the reader might be more interested in the "impact of changing worlds" and "my whole mind had changed along with the place." But you should convey these processes in a way other than reporting upon them as an autobiographer might, unless that's your format. Find some subtle thing in your life that changed as a result of your whole mind and world changing. You threw out an old second toothbrush, you cleaned something you hadn't paid attention to for awhile, even bathing, hygiene. Don't be Dunham-esque about it but be real for your reader's sake. Your only job is to feel and write.
>>13316174
Nonplussed. Maybe not my genre.
>>13316090
I do not care about a Hallmark card exploded into two thick paragraphs. So what? Why do I care about these people? What happened today that's so notable?
>>13316442
Recalls an admiration for the Pale King, but shies from the Professor Wallace's technique, a good somnolent exercise.
>>13318243
The inner voice of the modern person should be documented more. I like the inspiration and direction. Makes you worry in a good way about the character.
>>13318655
I want to see more itinerant criminal poets. Please write an ornery anthology.
>>13318817
I'd have spelled "2" as "two" so as to not look utterly unserious.
>>13319016
What a bore.
>>13319093
Pretty, could be embroidered and hung in Ms. Tartt's lighthouse solarium reading room.
>>13319117
Nora the Flora
>>13319341
>>13319346
Make the reader care immediately. You must write urgently.
>>13319355
Oh my goodness.
>>13319422
Dude just re-write it. You already have it in you.

>>13316608
Others have told me they had the opposite problem.
>>13319447
I used to like GuP and back in high school i thought the communist school supply symbol was the coolest shit
>>13319546
Interesting because Ive actually never read the pale king.
>>13319368
If i cant make anything good, what buisness do I have judging others? Also, I give feedback when I feel I have something worthy of posting.

>>13319546
>>13316090

I had been alone most of my life. In my small plot of land out in the green hills of County Clare, All I had was the odd friend or visitor pass by, but most of my life was celibate. I didn’t mind. But it became lonely.
The change from completely lonely to finally having someone with me was a feeling of which I had never prepared for since I never thought I would get it, and hit me hard as possible. It was like becoming a completely different person. The walls that surrounded me no longer felt as if they were dull and now seemed to be more lively, or at the very least stopped reminding of my isolation and boredom. The grey book spines resting on the shelves which flanked were no longer boring or forgettable pieces which I had read for my studying or to pass the time and appear smart to a visitor, but my memories change and in my own mind I thought back to delving into the pages and reading for the enjoyment of the book itself.
I now had someone with me to share the bed I had slept in for years straight, with no change in pattern. She lay there, resting on my chest, with her legs relaxing on my body as well. I had a book resting near her lap and I poked my head above her velvety brown hair to read it. The words began to blur and become nonsensical, the words I read fell through my brain the minute they entered it. Soon all I could focus on was the woman on top of me. She had seldom spoken a word but I still felt the spirit of love between me and her. Her cheeks, which were similar to the reds that blossomed out of my country house, distracted me. Soon I was absorbed into her and every element of her. Her nose was slightly crooked, the whites of her were slightly too tanned and looked slightly off, making the blue pupils which it engulfed look slightly off as well. But the imperfections I could see molded and shaped into one girl, who for the time and place, I thought to be perfect. Nothing would cloud the overwhelming beauty and love I sensed at the moment. The sense of love I got there I felt like I had just truly got after a long chase.

There's my re-write, I skimmed over some of the grammatical errors as I felt it was more or less my preferred style of writing, but changed it up abit.I liked the suggestion to talk about how things changed.

>>13314574
Oh dear maiden
Pretty and dear
I beg you pardon if you please.
Sweet dreams fair lady
And farewell
For I gotta leave
At night, you see.
Gentle maiden think of me,
Get out of bed and see
Over there, upon the rim
That faggot, OP.

>>13314574
Harder than I thought

Oh my maiden
Pretty and dear
I beg you pardon if you please.
Sweet dreams fair lady
And farewell
For I gotta leave
At night, you see.
Gentle maiden think of me,
Get out of bed and see
Over there, upon the rim
That faggot, OP.

>>13319376
>disgusting irish hooves
looks liked Boiled feet alright

Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis

It was a dream I had last week
And some kind of record seemed vital.
I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem
But I love the title.

>>13316283
munch moinch
munch munchymoinch

>>13318655
if you must write prose or poems
the words you use should be your own
don't plagarize or take on loan

>>13319740
smdf.

>>13319368
I've crit'd several, just not in the same post as my own submissions.

How do you write things that people will read and like to read? Any takes?

>>13318243
Word vomit isn't fun to read.
>>13318655
Seems like you're writing what you think poetry should look like rather than your own creation
>>13319016
Composed well, the purpleness was on purpose, right?
>>13319093
I'd pick different line breaks but the 'they don't slack' line is a great one
>>13319117
Saggot the faggot
>>13319341
>>13319346
The jump from counting tallies to losing count has no jarring moment to it. Make me invested in the tallies so I'm sad when they're abandoned.
>>13319705
I smiled
>>13322766
Just start, get shit on until you get better and develop a thick skin. And for the love of Odin, don't plagiarize.

>>13322800
My bullshit entry

I.
I wear my coat like a funeral.

There's heft in the heart pocket,
and though it's wrecked my posture
I shamble it to the dinner table
where it keeps the conversations quiet.
The maid would return periodically,
to fill my cup and watch me
push my food around my plate.

II.
I've seen the train engineer.

I've seen his models and dioramas;
the ones where the roads and tracks
never get connected. He lets the
paint dry on the brushes. They get
stiff like the snot on his sleeves.
The other night he stuck my car on the tracks.

He could stop the engine with plenty time
but he has a cruel empathy about him.
The floodlight filled my window and
I raised a hand in thanks,
the gesture returned sluggishly.

>>13319584
how old are you?

All along the canyon walls were the shadows of our winter climb. The air wore snow with drifting, twirling strands of distant street lights, and I — a closet. An arctic devil rode my shoulders and slapped my teeth together, but she had nothing of the sort. She danced up the fallen logs, weaving through the bramble her long dark hair that never tangled. I trailed along as a wide eyed vagabond, a hunched dog. She would beckon me onward and sing me words of encouragment. “Let’s go old man!” “So slow! So slow! So slow this winter dope!” The fire of the moon lit her grin up like an albino skinny dipper sneaking out into his neighbor’s pool at dark. “Idiot! Id-dot-tee!” As the night got on, a knot came undone right below the baby soft spot; I could feel it unravel and roll out of my ear.

>>13322813
The first one is not that good imo, remember that less is more and you ideally shouldn't use more complex words/phrases (see "shamble," "heft," "coat like a funeral (????)") unless you MUST. Unless those words bring something to the work which cannot be provided by a simpler, cleaner word, I'd cut them out. I like the second one, but the sentence structure irks me a little bit. There are many sentences which are split awkwardly in the second stanza, and it threw off my rhythm. The third stanza is very nice though; it's clean, it's expressive, it creates a good image.

My contribution:
If ye think that the leaves of brown and green,
Will so quickly submit unto man's ways,
Ready your guard against the god unseen,
For Pan shall grow stronger as the red slayer slays

>>13323258
Not that anon, but I agree. It's perfectly fine to use big words and even many big words, but everything has to be done for a purpose, with an effect. You shouldn't use big words just to make your writing flowery because it starts to subtract from the writing's quality (too much of a good thing)

>>13322766
write for a person in a way you think they'd like: yourself, a friend, anon. then, like the other guy said, get shit on. then try again.
>>13321060
cute i like it
>>13322813
i love them. the second one beats along so nicely, and the little pauses i get between the 4th to 5th to 6th lines work really well. the imagery is all sticky and clear

>>13323258
It's dense and awkward purposely, as to portray the characters.

I don't think I've ever been told "heft" was a complex word before.

>>13323285
>big words

I think you guys may be kinda stupid to be honest.

>>13323365
It's not complex in and of itself, but it's more complex than is necessary here. And I assumed you did the sentence thing on purpose, but I'm personally not a fan of it at all.

Not to mention it's a bit hypocritical to chastise people for not grasping context, then mock them for using the phrase "big words" when the context of that usage is crystal clear.

>>13323365
It would be in your best interests to avoid being excessively verbose when doing so would diminish the quality of your writing and obscure the message or meaning you are trying to impart upon the reader. Better?

>>13323405
>>13323413
>dont be verbose
Said the "if ye think" guy about fucking poetry

Simple poetry is for simple people

>>13323420
yeah i mean i dont think your problem is your alleged verbosity i think its just that the rhythm its awkward which i guess you admitted was done consciously but its still irks me when i read it

>>13323420
Stop clogging up this critique thread with getting your panties in a bunch ffs. I said don't be verbose without a clear contribution, not don't be verbose period. "If ye think" had an intended purpose of evoking a more archaic mindset. "You" can't achieve that. If you can tell me how fucking "shambles" somehow makes your poem more intelligible and meaningful, then I'm all ears.

>>13323420
What do you mean about "if ye think?" Additionally, your poem (assuming that you wrote the train conductor poem) did not suffer from verbosity, it was quite good in my opinion. Just in general (not directed toward you), it is good to pick where to use big words and to not use them willy-nilly

>>13323447
Pick a word other than shamble that is "less verbose" but still fits the tone.
>>13323450
Samefag

>>13323424
verbosity REEEEEEEEEEEE

red red red I saw you face
light head fainting short of breath
by the milk eyes turn inwards I see your face
that cool air conditioned aisle after fall
slick grease pick back slime on fingers
see your rot in seeing in light
in shared look quiet the other
fast fast I see your eyes the blue
the painful dull vein of thought of
never mind I saw your smile once
blue blue blue I felt your pulse
race

hey anons. i'm titling my manuscript after a line from an obscure poem. the title is only 4 words long. there's only 2 ratings for the poetry collection on goodreads. the poet died in 2000. can i do this or does it violate copyright or something? i also have an excerpt of the poem in the story (character is reading poetry with a friend.) as gay as that probably sounds.

y/n? /write/ has vanished.

>>13323508
Do it, it's fine

>>13323470
Shuffle, lumber, walk? Simpler words don't have such strong associations with tone, which is one of many reasons better writers than you and I advise against being so verbose.

>inb4 you must be using a VPN because there's no way TWO people would criticize my work

>>13323517
Please make a case for how shamble is a more complex word than shuffle or lumber.

I recently took a big trip to the big cinema to see Crazy Rich Asians and it brought to my attention a fundamental problem we all have surrounding the culture of dating: background, alignment, ethnicity, etc.
PRELUDE: ATTENTION ALL PEOPLE OF ASIAN DECENT! ANYONE WHO IS NOT ASIAN SHOULD SCROLL DOWN TO THE CONCLUSION SECTION. FOR ASIAN EYES ONLY. (Since I know you're Asian now I will make the text smaller so it's better suited towards your capabilities.)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Where do I even begin. First off, I should say that I'm a full-blown Wasian(I'm full-blooded Anglo but I' have the Chi of an Asian business-man). Well, then 'whats the probrem' you may be asking yourself. You may be saying 'Where the hell is this guy's cute Asian wife? Did she hide herself away in a small shoe-box somewhere because she isn't comfortable with large american bedding and housing and she's naturally drawn to living in a pod like a termite or some other hive-mind type insect?' Sorry guys, that isn't the story. Let me start off by talking a bit about my previous relationship. About six months ago I broke up with my half-Japanese half-Asain girlfriend who I met at University. Let's just say that my ex and I were total nerd alerts together. We liked the same animes. We collected meeples together. Tons in common. She kind of got my nerd culture, like she was a gamer geek. We had a matching couple tamagotchi. xD xD. We made a really rewarding investment from most of our pooled income by collecting rare Japanese candies. Sometimes we sold them on eBay to losers. Her dad called me a gay germ once. Nobody could ever come between our love, that was until we broke up due to arguments about finance and money(Seriously, what the F). We were like so weird together. I can't believe I lost her, lol. I swear if I ever see her again, walking down a lonely street by herself, I'm going to do swift Tsujigiri, one strike.

(1/2)

>>13323514
thank you.

>>13323470
>>13323517
No idea what all this "samefagging" business is about but I'll post a little poem I just made, judge it if you will. To avoid 4chan fucking up the format I made it an image

>>13323551
>"alas, tis"
>"gullet"
>"saccharine taste"
that verbosity

>>13323577
Somethings sound great when read aloud

>>13323551
nigger you just said that other guy was verbose jfc

>>13323579
I've clearly been speaking with an idiot. I regret my time.

>>13323592
I've only just then joined the discussion! Friend, there are performers with gifts for pacing and enunciation, intonation, who make sport of the verbose and it can be quite enjoyable to hear performed, I think. People can be quite verbose in their most private speech.

>>13323534
(2/2)

https://pastebin.com/USjZGUDt

>>13323583
>>13323577
No I didn't:
I talked about verbose shit in >>13323285,
I never accused him of verbosity.

>>13323603
You have to go back

>>13323258
Can someone please just critique my poem and ignore the stream of bullshit that followed from the first part of my post?

>>13323656
Very well.
It flowed well and seems to have a deeper meaning. I have an idea of who this "red slayer" might be but I'd like for you to tell me. My only criticism is that you should add some more to the poem.

I also have the following poem:
>>13323551

>>13323675
It's a reference to a segment of Emerson's "Brahma":
If the red slayer think he slays
Or the slain think he is slain
They know not well the subtle ways
For I keep, and pass, and turn again.

So the red slayer is a warrior known for killing. While Brahma (in Emerson) derives his authority from his hold on the souls slain men, Pan (in mine) gains his strength from absorbing their material bodies into nature. I realize this is a lot to unpack from such a small poem, I hoped the "red slayer slays" part might clue someone in though I realize it's a stretch. I was thinking of calling it something like "Brahma II" as a more explicit callback to Emerson but that title is needlessly cringey.

For your poem, the second stanza, especially the latter part of it, is particularly strong in my opinion. This is in part due to the rhyme, which you try for throughout the poem but feels a bit off elsewhere, e.g. me/willingly. There are also some places with word choice that I don't agree with, for example the yawning gullet of the beast, or saying the aforementioned when it's not clear what the antecedent is (the sinner you already identified yourself with, or the whore you never explicitly condemned). My last criticism would be the second half of the third stanza. It's clearly going for profundity but the rhyme and meter fizzle out before I got to the last line, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth as a result. Other than that I'm a fan though, it conveys a good message (obviously not original, but I assume that's not the goal here), and has a nice rhythm to it when small things don't get in the way.

>>13314807
i grinned. is this part of a larger work? got any more? i really like this wodehousesque style

>>13316090
This is awesome, anon. I'd read whole chapters of this stuff. There's only a few tiny things you might change diction-wise to clean it up a bit:
>Honey Nut Cheerios instead of "Honey Bunches of Oats," if you can bear to change it - this chunk will flow a tiny bit better without the repetition of the word "of" in the sentence
>Having smelled his breath, I declined.
>And here he took a pair of whole milk gallons from the floor - one in each hand - and lifted them above his head.
>at the conclusion of my lunch, which you have quite rudely interrupted
>Buuuuuurp, [put a short, funny two word phrase here], be gone!
>At this I left him to enjoy his cereal and later resolved the issue I wished to discuss alone.

You and Pynchon are basically contemporaries. Very good writing. (and actually entertaining!)

>>13323934
>>13316090
sorry about that. i meant to link >>13314807, but am retarded

(no llegaban)
7 horas en el desierto esperandolos
3 horas de viaje
ya va a caer el sol
ya se va el calor
se mueven las arenas
nada se mueve
nada aparece

>>13323965
seguimos esperando
no van a llegar
nunca llegan por este camino

only one i have in all my notes

"Entropy"

Alone, abandoned I stand, stagnant
In this churning sea of chaos and change,
Chaos and rage, chaos of change,
Solitarily trekking through this
World exploding, rocking with discord,
Nothing remaining, everything moving,
So beautifully and tumultuously
Filled with this energy, this entropy,
Voracious, insatiable,
Erupting, overflowing
So elegantly and wildly
Bursting at the seams, unsteadily swelling,
Violent vibrations, steam
Pouring out from under the rumbling lid
Struggling to contain the
Perpetually-tightening, -seizing, -expanding, -oscillating
Body, this untamed, raging beast furiously emerging
From its cage, voraciously warping the very fabrics
Of time and space, and reality itself,
Surpassing all dimensional and metaphysical
Limitations and bounds,
All while I sit here and watch;
I watch wistfully and helplessly,
Knowing that despite the raw awesomeness,
The beauty, the power of the vision, of the sight of such things,
The curse of such knowledge will always be
Loneliness.

The loneliness of aging
The loneliness of watching the sun rise, peak, and set
The loneliness of the mundane, insipid nature of the lives we have no choice but to choose to live
The loneliness of watching the world change
Of watching her change
Of watching her walk away, innocently and unwittingly,
Losing me everything and breaking me
Of watching her buy into it, fit into it, succumb to it—

But this is my destiny,
For I am a traveler,
A traveler who transcends existence
Who can see all and comprehend all,
With such hollow absence of a way to feel any of it.

A little girl found a switchblade in a field
While her father was standing beside her
"It's only a harmonica" lied the man
And her smile grew wider and wider.

>>13324007
Pretty.

This is a poem a wrote when I got home from my high school graduation ceremony.

>>13314807
Made me kek.

>>13316036
Interesting. Maybe add a bit more to it?

>>13319093
Yes, it's quite decent, and with a bit of editing and refining and some more time put into it it has the potential to be very good.

>>13324044
teenager / 10
don't worry, you'll get better in a few years

>>13324022
gross

There is beauty in the beetle crawling across the amphitheater floor
While we sing and shout
While we nearly scream
Bathed in artificial light
Our midsummer's night dream devolves into nightmare
Who are we?
God has ordained us the keepers of His Garden
But nevertheless cast us out
Groundskeepers of a fantasy
For all our uproar we only manage to rattle the cage a bit
Once the evening draws to a close, where will we go?
What stranger awaits us with open arms after this: our night of revelry?
Loose gravel ground beneath the weight of song and dance and drunken stupor
The weight of man is too much
The burden of the human is to be tied down to his Garden
We creatures, we groundskeepers
There is terror in the beetle crawling across the amphitheater floor

>>13314574
uh
uh uh
yo

fucking bitches with my dick
all deese whores B cummin quick
i pay her 4 anutha trick
weaker niggas gettin sick

BITCH

>>13324044
>highschool is the very peak of my life

That's a self fulfilling prophecy, you know.

>>13322959
Why do you ask?

will crit others after i finish folding laundry

mine:>>13324726


>>13324162
i like the symmetry and the image of groundskeepers and the beetle crawl, but God, the Garden and “midsummer night’s dream” come off as cliché imagery unless you do something more interesting with it

i was bored reading this. i think you’re trying to evoke the loneliness and futility of human existence and while that is a heavy and worthwhile topic, this poem could use more creative imagery

>>13324007
pretty and sad, i heavily relate to the theme of entropy and the chaotic and incessant tumult of the world. but there’s a lot of show-not-tell here. the philosophical and abstract ideas of metaphysics, beauty, etc. could be more interesting if grounded out of abstraction. >>13323551
interesting moralist themes but it sounds like you’re trying to write in the 18th century (emphasis on trying) with cliché Christian imagery of teetotallers. maybe try to personify and explicate more fully the temptations of your desire, rather than writing vague tautologies about sin.

>>13323495
serial killer shit. but visceral and contemporary. i hope you actually didn’t kill anyone
>>13322813
cute and good. well done

>>13319705
lol

>>13318655
would love to see some shoplifting poetry and this has some cool ideas in it. i’m not a fan of the repetition because it almost reads like corny song lyrics, but the same line repeated if spaced out works

otherwise i love the repetition of hand it over (but not unite and take over)

read Marx by the way
>>13318030
bad, but sweet. read and write more, baby

>>13316174
this is terrible for reasons post ending with 009 pointed out

>>13314577
Harlequin Romance tier

>>13314807
whimsical and breathing

>>13322800
>>13319546
Thank you both for reading my story opening. This is me:
>>13319341
>>13319346
I'm going to take the my time and critique some things on here, and when it feels like I have properly contributed I'm going to post the remainder of the opening to my story.

>>13322813
Somebody else already said that they preferred the second and third stanzas to the first, and I agree with them. This is my understanding of it:
That which is worn by the narrator is cumbersome due to the burden of things pertaining to the heart; cumbersome enough to effect him physically. However, those things he does not change out of, due to him being treated with distance, and silence.

The second and third stanza as I said are much more interesting to me.

>I've seen the train engineer.

>I've seen his models and dioramas;
>the ones where the roads and tracks
>never get connected. He lets the
>paint dry on the brushes. They get
>stiff like the snot on his sleeves.
>The other night he stuck my car on the tracks.

>He could stop the engine with plenty time
>but he has a cruel empathy about him.
>The floodlight filled my window and
>I raised a hand in thanks,
>the gesture returned sluggishly.

I do enjoy all that greentext, but I cannot understand the link between these stanzas and the first. Really I would be a little bit nervous to try analyse these stanzas, because I am not confident in my ability to unpack them, and yet, I am more struck by the 'tone' and feeling of them.

>>13324586
>hasnt read the pale king
>uses same gmail account from high school
>into GuP in high school
>literally admitted you have nothing to say
gee I wonder

>>13324726
I am fascinated by this. However, my immersion was broken at the following points:
>Your fleshy sides I so ecstatically cradled...
I believe it may be stronger as:
>Your sides I cradled
Also:
>Hot tears eroded your freckled cheeks
Could possibly be changed to:
>Hot tears pass your cheeks
Or some such thing. It would be my advice to drop either 'hot' or 'freckled', and the verb 'eroded' seems off here. Unless, perhaps, you changed it to:
>Hot tears eroded your freckles but you...
In fact, I think that would be the best change to make.
Those are the only two points I would change. Your poem made me feel very strongly indeed. I would say this is excellent. When did you write this?

>>13324022
Oh fuck. Well done man. This is clever.

Someone told me to post this short story here. Feedback welcome thanks!

Two Witty Uncles Chatting to the Beat

Joshua Olsson was thinking about Lauren Malkovich again. Lauren was an intelligent sunshine ray with fair hair and skinny hands.

Joshua walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always hated rainy Chicago with its average, annoying arches crossing the sky. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel nostalgic.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Lauren Malkovich.

Joshua gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a courageous, virtuous, beer drinker with dark hair and bulky hands. His friends saw him as an average, annoying artifact of another time. Once, he had even rescued a fast dog from a burning building.

But not even a courageous person who had once rescued a fast dog from a burning building, was prepared for what Lauren had in store today.

The rain hammered like drooling dog, making Joshua sad. Joshua grabbed a gray umbrella that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Joshua stepped outside and Lauren came closer, he could see the hilarious glint in her eye.

Lauren glared with all the wrath of a thoughtful grim giraffe. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want love."

Joshua looked back, even more sad and still fingering the gray umbrella. "Lauren, you don't know what you want," he replied.

They looked at each other with longing feelings, like two cool, curious cats talking at a wedding, which had piano music playing in the background and two witty uncles chatting to the beat.

Joshua regarded Lauren's fair hair and skinny hands. "I feel the same way!" revealed Joshua with a delighted grin.

Lauren looked wistful, her emotions showing like a bad, blushing book.

Then Lauren came inside for a nice drink of beer.

>>13314574
Unfinished poem about a nightmare I once had

[DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING CLUELESS THAT IS]
she must've said it twelve hours earlier but the words dopplered back into my head when eyes welcomed me back awake with red glare
drowning in padlocks, millions each jammed into each other's orifices to collaborate rusted chain quicksand.
i can breathe above the metallic burden, arms otherwise but i only need two minutes to give them freedom.
[YOU ARE A FREAK YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT]
these are things i've been told before, this nightmare is recursive.
i can't give pause to that or my arms will lose will to wade to the surface, almost out from underneath locks.
a flutter pans from left to right ear, a whirring whirring, and clang what happened now neck is cold gripped i can't breathe.
[WHY AM I STUCK WITH SOMEONE LIKE YOU]
body not brain tilts head to release breath.
eyes leaning to side i see captor.
mockingbird mucked with oil grime.
[YOU HAD TO TRY DIDN'T YOU]
does not know better than its fear of the screaming aimed at me.
does not know of the engine following it on the crude grid of gears patterning the room.
the engine the wheezing cube with infrared eye following the bird's terrified movement with chain leading around my neck.
[YOU SHOULD BE SCARED YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO]
voice screams, bird flutters scared, redeyed sentry follows and crashes into coordinate designated for my pain, can't breathe again.
like clockwork, simple solution to tilt head.
not simple for arms, nearly free until.

>>13324007
There is a great tradition of metaphysical poetry that I am afraid your poem does not add to. To write 'loosely' on metaphysical matters, for me, is not personally appetizing. The difficulty of writing poetry that does not feel contrived and is constrained by form is a more fitting tribute to thing that you are trying to express, however chaotic that thing happens to be. Laying out your impression of the workings of things so overtly, and stating them so factually feels almost obscene. You mention the Loneliness of the human experience in this tumult of explosion and fading, but it is not suggested to me.
However, the way you see things is true, and beautiful, and that is worth something. Our view of things is among the most treasured things that can be possessed by an artist, and having thought about (or seen) the nature of things, and attempted to set it down separates you from poets that are not preoccupied at all with the truth of material existence, but the sensation of being consumed by it. I do not read enough modern metaphysical poetry, so whatever my criticism of your poem may be, I am pleased you have attempted to write about this subject, and I would encourage you to continue.

>>13323841
no. i just really like honey bunches of oats with whole milk. ty for the compliment tho
>>13323943
ty! will bear the advice in mind

>>13325882
Excellent. Makes my temples hot.
>millions each jammed into each other's orifices to collaborate rusted chain quicksand.
Fabulous imagery.
There is a sense of "do or die" in this telling because of the objectivity of your analytical voice. When we are close to losing ourselves to panic, we do not have the time to realise it - to sit back and say "I am panicking!" (well, useful people don't at least...) - we are too immersed in our surroundings, and we are driven by it to find the way out as level-headedly as we are able. To transpose dreams into poetry is an interesting thing to do, because we are provided with meaningful imagery we don't need to use our imagination for. If we stick to the facts, and convey the raw truth of the imagery as best we can, and let the reader experience it as purely as possible, they will try to put the pieces together themselves. You have done a good job by avoiding fitting in an interpretation of what this nightmare could possibly mean.
When the imagery of your nightmare becomes abstract and more difficult to understand, the analysis and grammar breaks down.
I would say this poem is finished, but I don't know what more needs to be added to it.

>>13325735
Why the fuck does that matter?
either contribute or fuck off.

This is my work:
>>13319341
>>13319346

This is criticism I have given
>>13325662
>>13325776
>>13325865
>>13325965
>>13326077

This is the last part of the opening to my story:
3/4
...
"So what?"
My point was exquisite. But, he did not relent, and now did a bold thing, he told me:
"We need to move to Sydney."

My Friend and I are the primary features of this recount, and I have always been a fair friend. I will confide something with you so that he is not laid bare alone here. I suffered something different to My Friend, which had the quality of being a subliminal delusion; a veil, not draped upon the landscape, but hanged, indwelling, screening all my landscapes. A veil I was blind to, that I didn't put there, materialised and made necessary by the suppressed matter of a truth I mustn't see once more. I was in no other position to believe that the Central Coast was as much a mandate of God as well as a pleasant spot for my parents to settle down. That Destiny had picked out my home, and my friends, and provided all the necessary fertility for me to produce myself as inexorably as any clay God has a vested interest in. That I need only stand patiently as my Greatness was tailored to me; then, to set about once it was done. I hadn't developed any of this, yet it was a core belief of mine. I had already outright denied the inversion. I could not stand to think there was a blessed ground that had missed out on me. That there was a secret community of truer friends that couldn't even know they would spend their lives without me. I couldn't stand to dream about what they would be like, for it made me experience physical pain. So, I was all for the Central Coast. I had it in my mind to die old there.

4/4
I must now move on to the coming into issue of my Kingdom and the abdication of my Throne. There is only one period I know for sure during my time in Sydney where I kept a tally, and it is not that I happened upon it recently that inspired me to set these words down. It is not that I rediscovered any tally at all, in fact. I noticed I was about to start a new one.

>>13326077
Wow Anon, thank you. I called it unfinished since there is more to that dream that I recall. However, from what you pointed out, I may leave it be cause it does look pretty tough to add onto without taking its teeth.

It's not very good


Everyday I fail the marshmallow test miserably
Stuck sedentary on the hedonic treadmill
A non-Newtonian sludge of slime-mold
Melting over, losing shape, bones liquefying
Reduced to fractions of putrefaction.
A unique flavor of suffering, the poor flanêur,
Bound to the principle of creative self-destruction.
Nothing is too obvious, on the growing nose—
A sense of truth lost to the wrecking ball of abandonment.
The quagmire of carnal delights erupts beneath the surface
And bubbles cystically, begging for excoriation,
A sentimental nihilistic annihilation.
The bottom falls out, and the present moment buckles under pressure,
The summer atmosphere corrodes the iron gates outside my Sicilian villa.
The chambermaid tries to poison me,
But I died before giving her the opportunity—
A very lucky series of events.
“I’m a whiny little bitch,” he says.
“You’re a whiny little bitch,” I say.
My eschatological dreams sadly remain fantasy,
Their sweet, savory release a tease.
The bleeding edge coagulates into a tectonic riff—
And an untapped reservoir of black gold spews forth its discontents.
How can we embalm the rest?
Those appendages sworn to protect rigor mortis,
A silent oath to the bringer of fluorescent light,
A preternatural force whose middle name spells shame.
The statistics are rising with the tide’s jetsam, ebbing with the ripple’s flotsam—
Such recidivism is criminal, designer like the executioners hoodie.
A life left under a microscope unexamined—
Hold that thought. My food has arrived.

>>13326542
what are you really trying to say

>>13326557
is it not clear? this poem is an acute exercise in self-loathing, highlighting fatal flaws, the desire to die, etc. Pathetically, it's an honest attempt at self-expression

>>13326674
i got the themes but i think you're beating around the bush a bit too much and risking losing your message in the process

>>13325776
i’m in a writing workshop— we wrote poems to our first lovers. the first two verses were written by me, the next two by two different people. i lightly edited their writing and wrote the final verse myself two days ago.

i appreciate your critique!

Scattered thoughts and empty minds
Youll forget me in due time
I will never be with you
After all you put me through
Sometimes I think I am wrong
Like every time I write song
I keep checking my mistakes
My heart was yours to tay ee ake
But you left me all alone
And wont pick up your phone

Solemn vigils fall away
Memoirs of time lost yesterday
We steal away it’s lonely seconds
And in it covet things like books and lessons
But its always the last to laugh
When our prize is cut in half
The man who sold it takes it back
Every thought and every fact
Fades away to nothing more
Than dust to clean up on the floor

An autumn leaf falls
In a forest orange and yellow
The leaves they shake and fuss
Like the calming sounds of the shore
She would soothe them with her voice
And tales of splendor and delight
Warm tea in our bellies greet the tinge of a cold fall breeze on our noses
She talks to me as she watches them fall
Her words are lost in the sounds of leaves rustling
Her eyes look up at the sky with wonder
And she smiles the most perfect smile as she speaks
A leaf falls on her toque
I reach over to grab it and my hand meets hers when I do
I apologize
She didnt notice I was blushing
Or didnt say anything if she did
“They just get like that when its cold”
I wouldve said

>>13328622
>>13328600
Nice dubs!

The poem flows well, like a song, but there are some grammatical errors, such as

>Like every time I write song (a song)
>We steal away it's lonely seconds (its lonely seconds)
>But its always the last to laugh (it's always)

>>13328674
Thanks man, they still feel really juvenile but I guess that will go away in time

A passing glance at the worlds eye
Leaves lonely hearts and broken promises
Of plans we meant to keep and those we didnt

Please point out lines that work/don't work (no need to give reasons, just want your intuition): https://pastebin.com/YssGmtDC

>>13325868
Good:
>fair hair and skinny hands.
>dark hair and bulky hands
>annoying artifact of another time
>rescued a fast dog from a burning building.

Bad:
>intelligent sunshine ray
>He was a courageous, virtuous
>making Joshua sad
>They looked at each other with longing feelings
>revealed Joshua with a delighted grin.
>thoughtful grim giraffe
>two cool, curious cats talking at a wedding
>bad, blushing book

Some of your conceits don't any make sense. Either elaborate on the supposed connection or change them.

His massive bullet train entered her tiny station.

“Watch our for this Trojan horse” he yelled as he busted a nut all up in her guts.

She felt full, like a woman who had eaten 12 quarter pounders.

I step outside to sirens and screams
And why,
There are angels lifting persons up
And taking them
To heaven!

So what
If they have scaley wings
And are green
With tentacles
And talons
And eyes all 'round their heads?
They're from heaven,
Angels,
Creatures of God!

I reach my arms up high
Beckoning one to hold me.
Why are the people screaming?
We should be thankful that God
Is raising us from this
Rocky sodom!

I feel one take me
Warmly cradling.
I am shot skyward
And heaven's gates suck the breath
From my lungs.

The stars are more beautiful up close
And so are the heavenly ones.

Two protuberant lips, like those of a baboon
Envelop a burger- a specimen at its prime
The fat man gives out a pleased croon
As yellowed teeth glazed with grime
Sink into the virgin softness
Of sesame-speckled bread
Engulfs it in his mouth's darkness
As his eyes roll up in his head

A curious lick, almost exploratory
He delivers upon the grilled patty
As his quivering tongue touches ketchup sauce
Upon his chest he makes the sign of the cross

Having finished the bite with much gusto
He allows it to move down his throat
Carbonized cow-meat and baked dough
Suspended in saliva down the passage float

He burps contentedly, thanks god for his meal
And begins the journey to his automobile
He claps once, then twice
Then scoffs, indignant
He seizes a waiter, like a cat seizes mice
Then issues a curt order, his eyes malignant

The poor fellow brings the mobility machine,
And hoists the corpulent man atop it
As the duo exits the house of American cuisine
A sign can be seen-
"Church of Ronald McDonald, welcome to 2019"

>>13328845

Thanks - what's wrong with those lines?

Christ, be present in my heart
guard me as I sleep
lest my soul be ripped apart
be my knight in shining armor
be a loyal friend
protect me from evil men
keep me centered, Zen
keep the demons away
this I pray
I need your spirit now
I want to live to serve you
but I don't know how
grant me understanding
bless my intellect
keep me standing
let the sands of time flow peacefully
let me rest in you
let me put myself into another person's shoes
Christ be with me in mind, body, and soul
make me whole
be my watering hole
bring light to the darkened places
wash the tears from our faces
let us be with you in paradise
let us behold your glory
let every human being know your story

>>13329140

>>13329122
Either the conceit doesn't make sense, or it can be omitted without any change in meaning or it can be made more concrete.

>>13329231

Okay I hear you

But art doesn't have to be concrete

The poor nigger on the wall. Look at him.
Look at the poor nigger. Look at the poor nigger on the wall.
Fuck him. Fuck the nigger on the wall.
Black man is de debil.

idk how to write plot, i just like making words sound nice (prose), it is nice, right?....right?
1, 2, 3, 4…
He leaned against the bar nodding to the thump of the bass in an alcohol induced fervor. He was not a religious man, but like a personal beacon in his night a calling came upon him. A pull seized him in the direction of the dancefloor. A silver girl, skirt a sleek shimmer and hair a metallic luster in the surrounding darkness. He felt a pulsing within, a deep and physical hunger. She is no Maria, that’s for sure, but her sway, a certain grace in the pattern of her movements had cast a spell, and mesmerized, struck him in a spiritual way. A vision? In the reflection of Tommy’s drunken wet gaze there appeared a flickering light, a sacred image. 12, 13, 14…

49, 50, 51…
Highway Motel 78 possesses a certain romantic charm which is almost exclusive to its kind. This motel, as most motels, served as a romantic getaway. Moonlight trysts on the regular for lovers of all sorts: the unfaithful, the faithful, wanderers and perverts, lustful youths, used car salesmen, racist homosexuals, anarcho-communists, assistant professors and their grad students, alas, even desperate couples hoping to reconnect. All seeking, within these discount confines in the rooms perfumed with cheap cigarettes and in between the roar of the portable A/C (missed consonants, implied meanings) beneath the 300-ply bedsheets of a questionable cleanliness, purity in the shared yearnings represented in the forms and figures of tangled limbs and failed connections, their hopelessness in ever understanding. The new couple of the faith and still resolute, though quite desperately, for a moment of romance. 67, 68, 69, 70…


79, 80, 81…
This is their fate signaled in the distant glow seen in the night sky. MOTEL 176 flickers on the side of the freeway. He speculates as to the reason for the constant malfunction of motel signs, but quickly forgets as she leans her body into him. Their palms clasps, she rubs her head into shoulder, eyes closed, moaning. He feels intoxicated, not because he is currently sipping on his 11th drink of the night, but because of the scent of shampoo in her silver hair and the warmth of the girl. She passes a cigarette to his lips and he sucks all of it in a moment of dizziness. The motel draws closer, it is both a sign and a cross, a beacon in the night calling its followers. Perhaps spend the night, make a memory. 89, 90, 91, 92…


171, 172, 173…
There is the chance of an occurrence. A real possibility in the eyes of the faithful. This is the capture of time, stolen during some glitch in the wicked hours and kept somewhere intimate, unreachable…held within the remembrance of a clumsy, desperate embrace—it is but a mere moment during a night long forgotten by sunrise. 174, 175...

>>13329261
Is this heavily influenced by Joyce?

>>13314574
i need to find a new loam
to ride my dragon a lone
to grasp its flaming veins
up and down, to break his chains
hug its head, to akeep his flames

For i was riding at home
believing to be alone
up and down, hard as a bone
piercing the sky
with heaven nigh

As I rode the beast,
I heard her creep

But lo, I was too high
I heard the door pry
Woe, my fate was tied

The door swung open
the flood gates opened
the tears of the spring snow
flew as a firework show

my maid screamed
she saw me cream
Oh the shame
Oh my name
Never again, the dragon i must tame

So, I must find a new place
where strange is my face
for my dragon to race
without such disgrace

>>13329769
It's really good overall, you could've played w analogies more

Not really relevant but was a little disappointed with the play on >a lone
Idk if udidthat on purpose but were u making that to emphasize your singularity?
Either way then seeing >akeep
Without the similar play on words was a little disappointing because a lone just sticks out so much and it makes akeep stick out

Idk if it's a typo but if it wasn't that split was my favorite part grammatically

>>13329796
That and castles have keeps

>>13314859
Start with my body
Or an ache ate along my body; did it know...
last nights memories: A squat.... Next sequence seems to be a memory that switches into active.
Me, a native Irish, with a long sullen face...

Your description of anon is right on. Compelling, for some reason, which is a good kind to be.

>>13316174
show this.

>>13314859
>oh right I was at a funeral
>Irish punchlines

>>13318243
This is good. It speaks of the modern age to itself. Or perhaps I just feel it.

>>13319093
Ekphrasis!

>>13329769
>>13329796

This happened today so maybe I can work it to be more metaphorical.

>>13329867
It's well written I liked the Chinese reference of dragon w spring snow and fireworks

think i'm a bit delirious and sleep deprived, a night of er...

onetwothreefourfivesixsevennineten

1
He leaned against the bar. Nodding to the thump, the bass. A fervor, an alcoholic fervor. Not a religious man, yet, a personal beacon in his night, a calling came upon him. A seizure sent by
DESIRE
Direction—>Dancefloor.
SILVER GIRL
skirt a sleek shimmer, her hair metallic lustrous
strobing lights in the dark, the pulsing within
she is a deep, physical, hunger
he feels naked running dying

2
She’s no St. Maria, for sure, but her sway…
a certain grace in the pattern of her movement begin to cast a spell demonic and magnetic
MESMERIZED
she struck him undeniably spiritual; a vision
pure
silver
Mirrored in the reflection of Tommy’s drunken wet gaze there appeared the flickering light of a sacred image.

3
Highway Motel 78
possesses a certain romantic charm which is almost exclusive to its kind. This motel, as most motels, served as a romantic getaway. Moonlight trysts on the regular for lovers:
the unfaithful and the faithful
wanderers, perverts
lustful youths and used car salesmen
racist homosexuals and communists
assistant professors and TA’s,
alas, even desperate couples hoping to reconnect.

4
All were seeking
(within these discount confines were rooms perfumed in cheap cigarettes trafficked in luxurious fantasies)
Messages
(caught in between the roar of the portable A/C were missed consonants, implied meanings)
Yearnings
(surfacing in the forms and figures represented by the abstract movements of tangled limbs beneath 300-ply bedsheets)
Dumping grounds for failed connections a hopelessness in ever understanding but all still desperately resolute in their searches for the delirious moment

5
She rubs her head into his shoulder, eyes closed, muttering, praying.

6
He feels intoxicated not because he is currently sipping on his 11th drink of the night but because of her scent and her warmth and so he brings a cigarette to his lips and sucks every last bit of it in and for a while there is an intense dizziness or religious feeling.

7
The flickering MOTEL 78 is both a sign and a cross, a beacon in the night calling for the devout, ye faithful—
LISTEN
“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror;then we shall see face to face.Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” And perhaps spend the night, even make a memory, romance.

—
XXXXXXX

9
There is the chance of an occurrence. A real possibility for the privileged few, ye faithful. This is the capture of time, stolen during a chance lapse in the wicked hours and kept somewhere intimate, unreachable…held within the remembrance of a clumsy, desperate embrace—it is but a mere moment during a night long forgotten by sunrise, yet it remains eternal in the mirror of his eyes, her heart, locks of silver hair held lovingly between broken fingers.

10

I know it's not good and I'm not happy with it myself (still revising), but it's my first poem. Reviewing in next post.
------------------
I love and miss my grandmother
And though I can still visit her,
I do not.

Though she is gone in mind
She still remains in form
And twice as hard it is to find
it in myself to mourn
her passing when I see her.

Hope is cruel and hot.
And I am certain it is not
human to keep her alive anymore.

She made us promise from time to time
That we would not grow old,
Now I wonder why we were so blind
To not have been so bold
As to make her do the same.
As much as anyone, I deserve the blame.

My memories are clouds and blurs
turned to rage and bound like burrs
to my bloody core. They flow-rend through me with a roar.

How nice it would be if her beliefs are true
And we are only radios capturing from blue
The signals of our souls.
To see her once again whole.

I love and miss my grandmother
And though I am certain,
I know that I must visit her
To hold her hand and open the curtain.
Hope is cruel and hot.

>>13330112
It's sweet
You shoulda did something with hope is cruel and hot and how that relates to either life, a human or a corpse

4th is confusing

>My memories are clouds and blurs
>turned to rage and bound like burrs
I liked this a lot
>flow-rend
Don't get this

>capturing from blue
Was blue just for the rhyme, idg

The last should've tied in ur promise about not growing old and last line is great if u made a bigger play in 3rd of the metaphor
You could possibly make cruel and hot references three times metaphorizing three different things you love about your grandmother or is significant about her

>>13330112 <--- me
I should probably only be reviewing prose but I'll take a plebeian stab at anything.

>>13329947
Very interesting and easy to read. I really like the religious-ish intonation/voice throughout though. Feels like it could easily be the work of some sort of genius, or a schizo.

Some lines feel comparatively heavy to me, like the end of 6 (or religious feeling) and 7 (And...) and perhaps the beginning of 3. And personally I don't care too much for the large breaks "DESIRE\ Direction...\SILVER GIRL" and "MESMERIZED\...pure\silver\", but it could just be me.

>>13329140
I like it but some lines come off a little corny ("...knight in shining armor", "keep me centered, Zen", "keep the demons away\this I pray", the end). Sort of feels a lot like song lyrics.

>>13325868
It was interesting and I read it to the end but the style seems a little too forceful and heavy handed fairly often. It might become grating to read a work written like this that is any longer than this. A lot of phrases don't seem to jive properly ("hammered like a drooling dog", "average, annoying arches crossing the sky", "Once, he had even rescued a fast dog from a burning building." and the next line, "hilarious glint", "wrath of a thoughtful grim giraffe"). I see what you were going for but personally it strikes me as a little cheap or overly stylistic to a fault.

>>13329732

Yea

Im gonna shit on a tarp
Im gonna
kill a baby
I'm gonna eat some bacon
Ah shit
Ugh fucking kill me
I'm gonna shit on a tarp
I'm gonna eat a baby
Fuck
Someone fucking kill me, please
Shove bacon in my ass
Shit on a tarp
I'm gonna shit on a baby
Eat some bacon on a tarp
Fuck it I need a smoke

>>13314574
I want to Mr. Lin to encourage me to thoroughly chew my food too, because my digestion has been off for as long as I remember and I'm sure it's because of my technique, but also it could be because I haven't engaged the right muscles as he showing us in this picture. If I were able to masacate stuff better, I believe I would not spend so much time with difficult bowels and because of this, so many grimuses' (sp?) and general snapiness.

A slimy, mulberry-purple substance was seen on the sidewalk close to the Southfields Laundromat downtown. I could not quite work out what it was, apart from its chewing gum-like appearance, its dim glow was the only thing that caught my attention. At first I assumed it was just some new fad-aimed at kids - glow in the dark chewing gum - but something about it felt unsettling.
I continued my walk home, the early evening sky was engulfed with dark, dense clouds that merged into one formidable entity, we hadn't had rain for weeks, how could something so grey, and dull feel so comforting. A shrill honking sound snapped me out of my daydreaming, and a yellow cab riddled with fresh raindrops sped past. It was in that moment when I saw it. An unassuming manila envelope.
I took a deep breath, bent down, and reached out my hand. As I made contact an unsettling feeling washed over me, like the feeling you get when you are in a well-lit building in the dead of night, with glass walled-windows, and nothing to block you from the gaze of what is residing in the night.

Can someone crit my short story please: >>13328845
https://pastebin.com/YssGmtDC

>>13330625
the lines that didn't work for me
>Flat colors—black against deep beige and against blue without moisture—made it feel as though they were running through the pipework of some colossal goddess.
>the crack of light on the bottom.
>which stank hotly of his mother’s shampoo
>And, through the rearview mirror, Dillan thought he saw a passing sadness.

>>13330625
There are some unnecessary words and funky sentence structures that are jarring and make your prose feel contrived. Some other odd word choices ie "from" instead of "of" in the first paragraph, that just don't work. I like your style, but it needs to be trimmed and smoothed out to flow better. Polish it up and it'll be good

>>13330357
Can't tell if it's a poem or just mental shit on the keyboard

My phone’s clattering vibrato alarmed me out of REM to thumbing through notifications, assuming there must be a wildfire or a mass shooting somewhere at this unholy hour, and I was more than thankful to learn it was an update to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Wikifeet page, the latest screenshots delivered from a few hours-old Instagram story where she had characteristically upset some fuss-prone group of people. Her image consultants have made her glow in the way you expect on social media platforms. Her spectacles are so round but perfectly proportional, a melding of scholarly suffering and a fashionista’s aloofness from normalcy and expectation. Assembling Ikea furniture once again, the flatpack is out of view. We see only a sheet of wordless instructions opened before Alexandria whose short shirt sleeves have been rolled up to and just over the first crest of her shoulders, elongating her slender arms and making even fumbling gestures seem radiant evocation, an oracle writhing in the message. There’s an almost epaulette effect to the rolled fabric looming atop her shoulders, always more than a mere wink and nod to style, Alexandria is most likely subtly messaging donors that she is, despite her efficacious rhetoric, endorsing all Western-administered global projects by re-appropriating to her svelte and toned shoulders such figuratively Roman or French military accessories. Her handlers and donors and patrons likely thought this Brusalmn assembly-side chat would not proceed much as if Alexandria had begun an Eka Pada Sirsasana but instead of pulling her foot fully behind her head and her hands to a restful palm-to-palm serenity she had opened her Ms. Pac Man Muppet mouth only to engulf fully the entirety of her foot’s glossy but unpainted toes, shoving her foot to the back of her throat as if she was trying to devour in whole her metatarsals, ceasing not her slobbery quest even amidst mucosal gags and viscous expirations, and doing all this before her 3.6 million followers, some of whom are likely real registered voters. Still, her audience was quite provoked by Alexandria, a woman rescued from the brutal beauty-harvesting upon which our economics so cravenly feast, young woman spun up and spellbound right into the breach of it, rewarded for diving past the teeth and going right into the gut of the machine where they can be melted and metabolized. This was much her trajectory, long a student who found only the service industry, a completely unremarkable situation, much the same anywhere on the planet, only much more expensive and dire in the United States. Alexandria’s early Wikifeet entries lay bare the ravages of that modern violence done to a woman’s beauty, specifically the elemental beauties of a women in her youth, feminine prime.

>>13331575
Hours of standing, bruising and debilitating paces to everything work and life, one can observe Alexandria’s arches droop, purged of tautness, spring and suppleness, economics requiring her more as a bartender or a physiologically inert sitter or queued shuffler than as a beautiful woman. She can be recreationally beautiful if she has the time but that is all that is permitted. Otherwise she must endure and be inured by it all. But Alexandria got to escape from this pitiless pit, figuratively hauling herself up by her election’s scant rope in a Spanish style wrap-and-lock, propelling herself by those New Yorkers so faithfully snaked atop her ascendant and slightly up-turned purple Asics, placing upon the foot-formed crook her next ascendant step up the establishment rope, slinking, stepping, pulling, emitting the barest of female exertional noises along with her emitted sheets of gracefully perspired lucite beads that Alexandria notably enjoyed feeling tumble down from her unfurrowed brow and cool her eyelids and orbital skin, neck, clavicle, solar plexus and navel. In the earliest documentation of her feet, Alexandria seems freshly unshod after just such physical toil, her skin mottled and stamped by the clench of her modest shoes and a lifestyle given over to the system’s constant maintenance and upgrading, even if she was trying only to survive and never endorse. The pictures of her feet appear forelorn, a woman too wise and savvy for her youth, realizing what she must put on the line, what must go, what might well not make it, and that her size seven and a half shoe, in United State’s women’s measurements, a 38 in EU women’s shoes or five and a half in United Kingdom measurements, might have already been sacrificed by her ambition and the consequent neglect of her physique and any spiritual hygiene and self-maintenance. Alexandria’s early feet have this pall cast upon them, but we now can appreciate too a ruthlessness. Anatomically, Alexandria’s feet share the same size as Emma Stone although with her Morton’s toe, she is closer to, for instance the iconic if comparatively pallid Tawnee Stone who also sports a regal seven and a half with much of the same spindly, statuesque toes as Alexandria, especially their subtle second metatarsals, each lingering like high notes. But these comparisons were mere starting points for the ambitious AOC.

>>13331582
One can only speculate upon the intensity and sacrifice required by her rehabilitative programming, but Alexandria has taken to no small amount of rigorous myofascial mobility exercises, pressing, pointing, flexing, band-stretching, practicing her Demi Pointe immediately upon waking, after morning eliminations at her Congressional office, and several times throughout her evenings questing through her spare apartment’s designs and features, marveling at the ornamental countertop, the backsplash, the immaculate stainless appliances, even the colorful computerized and highly communicative, even emotive, Japanese toilet, but doing all this on her tip toes. Behold now the feet won by these new regimens and you see an entirely different creature than the harried bolus destined for systematic digestion. Alexandria, or colloquially, ominously, “AOC,” has earned arches that crest ripply basins deeper than the Chiapas Madres or Chicxulub. They are toned and pliant wedges, familiar to shape, sequenced strength and dexterous gesture. Before proceeding into a lengthy explanation or story, Alexandria lifts her first metatarsal as if searching for weather or wind, a curious reflex and perhaps one scripted to titillate her adulating audience, but with her new feet Alexandria could now readily command an entire room with such an elemental thing as a crevice of toe cleavage peaking up from her cozy designer leather shoes or, as she did throughout her Instagram story, simply bare the lateral side of her soles and so hypnotize with the undulating dunes breezing across the bottoms of her roast turkey breast-colored feet.

>>13331585
Are you the anon that regularly scatters his foot poetry throughout this board? I mean, aside from the subject matter, your style is distinct. You posted something a while back now on a thread about a /lit/ meet-up in Boston that stuck in my mind. Honestly man... it's all fucking brilliant. It's incredibly funny.

In the bathroom of our old house I found
A note from my mum, it said something about
Her needing a few drinks to sleep and me
Knowing. I met her at dinner in a
Restaurant (Wetherspoons, maybe) and she
Was upset, asking me not to leave
Again, saying it takes me years to find her
Again.

>>13331999
beautiful

>>13314574

>>13332089
>the mcdonalds

NEXT, describe it in a more poetic way and then reveal it's macdonalds, that jumps out too much.

>i gave a quick look.. i took a look

repitition, bad.

>monotoned
bad, very bad cut out the last 4 words of that sentence.

>I'll pay in cash
unrealistic dialogue


>frustation and anger
superflous, both are the same, choose one.

also, new line for dialogue and you could edit it a bit, overall feels like you are trying too hard to be epic and post modern, I don't like first person in general.

Too much "i remember this i remember that", pointless unless this is part of a longer story and in that case it's still clumsy. Seems dishonest, but it's above average and you clearly have some talent

>>13332011
>>13331999
samefag kys

>>13332251
I'm the one that said "beautiful" and I didn't write the poem, but I meant what I said. If you think what you do because of the time between posts I've been hitting refresh in the catalogue for a long time.

>>13331999
>>13332280
It's not even a good poem, any hack can write a decent free verse poem. Try writing in a real form or at least read some whitman

>>13332319
you mean blank verse...? the poems not in free verse

>>13332330
are you retarded?

do you know what blank verse is? Clearly not, or you woudn't have said something so stupid


>Blank verse is poetry written with regular metrical but unrhymed lines, almost always in iambic pentameter.

>>13332319
Again, I'm not the poet, so what I'm saying here I'm saying in his defense. I understand that it is easier to write a free verse poem than one written in form, which is why I simply said "beautiful", and nothing more. What more is there to say? As well as that, I particularly don't care for Whitman.

>>13332339
ye that poems in unrhymed iambic pentameter (except for the "was upset" line which is missing a syllable for some reason)

>>13332349
no it isn't

>>13332366
wanna bet

>>13332349
>Again, saying it takes me years to find her
>Again.

>>13332376
first line has five iambs plus a feminine ending
the second is an exception im not really counting that one

>>13332373
Not him, it's not iambic, nor are many lines pentameter, and few lines are the traditional ten syllables

>>13332390
i just counted most of the lines either have ten syllables or ten syllables with a feminine ending i would consider that iambic pentameter

"I hear you ask, my dear friend,
I hear you asking to no end,
An answer is all that you desire
For without one, your mind's on fire.
Your soul has rot with pain and strife,
For the riddle has claimed your entire life.
Our paths may have never crossed,
Were it not for the things you lost.
Your love, your home, even your money.
If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.
Closure is all you seek,
Some truth, maybe, just a peek.
Well, my friend, I say fear not!
For I've the answer that you sought
So go ahead, ask away,
The thing that led your heart astray,
The greatest question of our day."
"Why do people eat Special K?"
"It's because their delicious 3-grain flakes combine whole wheat, barley and rice to deliver a crunchy and nourishing breakfast enriched with a blend of 9 essential vitamins and minerals including; vitamin D, vitamin B, vitamin C, zinc and iron.
Special K has many of the nutrients you need to help you feel strong."

>>13332416
I'm too afraid to say anything.

>>13332416
Based

>>13331575
>>13331582
>>13331585
Advice, get off the thesaurus and use whatever words you know by your heart. You lost your audience with all this technical jargon. Either skip the details or re-write.

Also remove any unnecessary adjectives. A noun should have a minimum of one to no adjectives (preferably none).

>>13333080
I don't know dude, it's kind of musical... can't you feel the rhythm to it?

>>13314574
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP
sniff,sniff.
Oh dear
Trumpets of
Heaven.

Just a snippet from my crime novella:

Pants removed, I bent down like a sprinter. I could feel in my lower stomache the engine was kicking in full gear. Finally when it was time to start, I blasted diahrea onto the lifted toilet seat.
When the coast was clear, I snuck out, leaving a mess for a helpless wageslave.

>>13314574
Almost heaven, L'Europe, White-grey buildings, new build mosques.
Life is almost as old as in Africa there, younger than the popes, smelling like kebab.
Windy shores, take me home to the place I want, now.
Los Europeos, social momma, take me home, windy shores.

All my brethren gather round her, taketh her now, strangers won't help her.
Clean but rusty, tower on the sky, all will drop soon, teardrop in my eye.
Windy shores, take me home to the place I want, now.
'Uwrubba, social momma, take me home, windy shores.

>>13314574
The wide, round rump straining against the purple Lycra pants of the white woman in front of him in line at the corner shop stirred in D'Quan dim, dreamlike memories of the Serengeti buried in his blood, setting his heart pounding like a jungle drum and his long coal-black pestle nudging the fabric of his basketball shorts.
“Muh dick,” he mumbled wonderingly to himself. “Muh dick...muhfugga.”

>>13333789
loved this, like i was there

>>13333333

Fries are free,
Toast is free,
Kisses are free too.
Your grandad killed a lot of niggers
To buy those free things for you.
Now a bunch of pakis wants to
Take them away from you.
What colour face deserves what?
Depends upon your point of view.
Personally, I think (and this is jsut my point of view)
ALL HUMAN LIFE MUST BE DESTROYED.

>>13314574
Perhaps I am the foul,
Perhaps the idiocy that threatens or way of life is inevetible.
Perhaps it is irrelevant to the greater scheme of things.
Perhaps I can‘t predict anything at all.
Perhaps I am just a flower in the wind.
Perhaps I can‘t even go,
And it carries me wherever it will,
Softly leading me,
Making me think I am in control.
But I am not sure,
Am I a Foul?

>>13331537
No offense but this kind of vague advice is completely unusable. That's why I specifically asked to just list the line numbers of the parts that didn't work--as this poster was kind enough to do: >>13331000.

I understand that it takes more work (and I already anticipate a cutting reply for daring to critique your critique), but it's also much more useful than telling me I need to "polish it up" and that my "prose feels contrived". You might as well not have said anything at all.

>>13318655
Nigga, you touched my soul.

>>13330608
Can someone crit me please.

>>13330608
>fad-aimed
no -
Also you should just restate the glow in the dark gum in the sentence without it looking so messy

The next sentence is a run on use periods

No comma in the next before and

The next two sentences should be joined

It's decent good descriptions and it follows each other and is readable.

You only need to work on punctuation, and doesn't mean a comma precedes it, it's only if it's separate clauses.
For instance,
As I made contact an unsettling feeling washed over me like the feeling you get when you are in a well-lit building with glass-walled windows in the dead of night and nothing to block you from the gaze of what is residing in the night.

You can add commas to emphasize speech patterns like you can add a comma after As I made contact, but it's one thought or one clause so commas aren't needed and chop up one clause into a confetti mess that's harder to follow.

https://www.businessinsider.com/a-guide-to-proper-comma-use-2013-9

>>13335400
Also don't use night twice in that example. Use outside or something. Figure out what else u want to emphasize >>13335349

>>13328704
<3

>>13328600
>>13328622
>>13328673
<3<3<3

>>13334950
It wasn't my critique you are critiquing, but may I say, a response like this is unseemly. You are to take the critique you get and be grateful, whether it be a steaming roast dinner or gutter slop.

>>13335400
>>13335402
Thank you anon, I appreciate it. I've only really started writing as a hobby recently, and it's something I want to improve at.

What's a better perspective? First-person or Third-Person limited? I'm writing a cyberpunk and I'm on an impasse.

>>13335910
You can imagine being charmed by both perspectives.

It is a ruinous task we have been given.To pursue ‘progress’.

In the days of first civilization, when men battled with nature and raised twisted effigies to the sky in supplication, it was the burning desire to continue which pushed them ever forward.
But what of the ancient kings, who, out of the earth's very flesh carved monuments to rival the constructs of God himself? Mere continuation no longer, it was progress which they desired. To conquer the largest empire, to construct the greatest temple, to push the natural limits of dominion is not the yearning of a man, but of Man.
But at what point will our thirst be sated? When we finally wrest the last vestiges of control from nature and tread upon its remaining bastions? When we spread our pestilent ‘progress’ across the very stars to which we once gazed ponderously towards and saw Gods? I think not.

How tragic it is, that we are commanded by an edict of our own ambition, to pursue this ‘progress’ at all cost, to pursue ruin itself. And for what? No matter the scale and scope of our dominion, with only ourselves, lowly insects, to gaze upon our own magnificence, the achievements of man will never reach the divine.

>>13335349
It seems scattered in terms of what you are trying to convey or achieve within it.

In the first two lines you talk about some chewing-gum which you find to be unsettling.
What is it's significance if you simply move on to the envelope? It feels as though you are writing a series of sentences which have very little connection. This also comes through in how your sentences flow (or don't).
"I continued my walk home"
You were just describing the gum as if you were investigating it at that very moment. You never said you were walking, and because the gum has nothing to do with the walk at all, it feels jarring, if not redundant almost as if the first bit was a false start.

>>13335483
You're on to something bro

>>13335910
>cyberpunk
>not 4th or 2nd person

>>13336026
>fifth dimensional omniscient is my preferred narrator

Erect nipples
and frosty fingertips.
As I lay here in the darkness,
my legs are brought up to my hips.

Anger accumulates
deep inside my chest.
I punch the air with my mind,
a position of perpetual unrest.

Exhaustion restrains my body,
it makes my heart stagnate.
The doomly downcast season
corresponds a constant sleep deprived state.

>>13316235
>>13324022
love these!

>>13335910
first person is nearly always trash

>>13335964
Try to write down the way you talk and then edit that rather than start out with fluffy prose

Hey I wrote some more, guess which other guy I am.

Friends, lovers, opportunities, I must tell you about a habit of mine. I would go for walks. The stillness of greenery, the thirstiness of it all, the paleness of the eucalyptus and the birds that are in them. In the valley of these my walks were had. A strong vein of traffic cut through this valley and was called The Pacific Highway, and down the walls of it choking like fat was shops and houses, sometimes pavements. This vein met an artery that lead to Sydney called The Freeway, inaccessible by foot. Down my Highway, at least in my area, the trees that grew along it were not culled, but trimmed, and squares were cut out their canopies to accommodate the power-lines; we were more precious about our trees for being ensconced by them.

But my friends, I was a feature, I was a figure. I was always going on my walks. My friends - my local friends - did not see me on them, for without me they were at home awaiting the next day of me, or out being busy, and missing me. But I was always going on my walks. They didn't know this about me, or if they did, or if they suspected, then they didn't know enough. They didn't appreciate the scale of my fame. For my gait, slouch - it was never a proud walk - would be noticed by a passing driver that had seen me just one month before, the rare pedestrian along the sometimes bushy tract, and then our relationship would begin. Multiply this by every motorist. How sad it has ended! They haven't seen me in years. That stretch has lost its soul, those eyes to the ground, those boots, its mascot, emblem - it has lost me. With a notebook and pen I'd go on one of my walks and often take five hours the whole time writing little of nothing or shit.

But it comes to me now to describe the post-school wastes now that I have told you my habit and accentuated my Mythos, walk as I did indeed, subtle in the being of it. A peripheral friend once said: "I always see you when I'm out driving man!" There peripheral friends are the greatest feature of this waste, and I'm unhappy to see so many of them start lives.

You say be "be still, be still,"
To your booming inner voice,
Lest your brain should fill
To bursting point with noise.
And you won't be able to hear
The innocent screams of the boys
Picked up by the sharks
As they cling hopelessly to buoys.

You crashed, you crashed the ship
Into another ship.
Fire, crew and petrol
Mingle in the drink.
A vision such as this
Makes a fellow think.
Our wretched drowning crew;
So young, and weak.

You set sail, set sail
In eighteen-ninety-two.
You gather fifty orphan boys
To make your merry crew.
It's eighteen-ninety four,
You're not sailing anymore.
Watching all those drowning boys
You wonder what to do.

In a dream, in a dream,
A vision came to you.
Fifty virgins drinking milk
With nothing else to do.
Reclining on an island beach,
Pointing out to sea,
Where smoke is rising from a ship
And the rest is hard to see.

how do i git gud? i want to try writing something but i have no idea where to start

>>13337217
you just did write something

>>13337276
sure, but i meant something more like a novel or a short story

Everything is certain for you English.
You're certainly a bunch of certain pricks.
Certain that your house will never fall down,
Because it is made of bricks.
Certain that you will win Euro 96.
Certain that James Anderson will take a lot of wickets.

Victimise the weak, blame deviation on the strange,
Give guns to the police and drive the blacks insane.
You're quick on your wits
But you're thick and full of shit.
You're English.

"In England we are driven
Against our good desires..."
Driven to become
A race of fucking liars;
"I left my purse indoors"
"I didn't know it had expired"
"I found it on the floor"
"Are you calling me a liar?"

Insecurity and wealth,
Greediness and fear
"No, I cannot share"
"I don't have any more"
The posture of your sports teams
Exemplifies your tendency
To cover up your weakness
With hysterical defence strategies.

You're very sharp with the wise remarks laughing at my specs
But I worry for your horrible wife when you have sex.

Stop feeling guilty,
Stop feeling insecure,
Be fragile, warm and gentle;
Roses like manure.

Lady Willpower,
it's now or never.
Send your love to me and
i'll shower your love
with tenderness endlessly.

>>13337301
Write whatever shit comes to mind, then edit it until it becomes something decent. Better to start from trash than to nothing;

Here goes:

“For Thine Nature Be, Infinity Forgotten
Being Seldom Fathomed, Ill Begotten
Hidden Corpor Undone, Tomes Rotten”
[An excerpt about a god in my worldbuilding project]

What do ya think?

what do you think?

Translated a short poem I wrote several years ago in my native language.

Only the flow of an electric current
is audible through wires.
All my reserves deplete.
And everything dissolves. But aren't
gulps from both veins and wires
remain even as the silent void their power eats.
Between the solid walls is crushed down
the cage of ribs in anguish's claws.
The life with mild drone was
dissipating all around;
and pulse beats like a lash.
This bonfire where all passions blend
around the entanglement of chains and ash
shall make up an electric chair of mine, my friend.

>>13318185
i <3 megan boyle

i watch her youtube and read many parts of liveblog

>>13339813
you work on a scottish oil rig or something? and all the proles fuck your collegeboy boypussy?

this is not good prose

>>13319117
this is fucking pilled bro

>>13318655
This entire thread and nobody who replied to this recognized it as The Smiths, and most people even missed the one from Ulysses too. I knew this place was full of pseuds but Jesus this is bad.

>>13339813
dishonest, people don't talk like that

>>13340317
shut up fag, you aren't smart because you've read a paticular book

>>13340442
No, it doesn't make me smart, but it makes me better read

>>13340442
pretty shocking people didn’t pick up it was a song though. what’s worse is everyone thought it was good

>Can't start the Novel with the MC waking up.
Why though?

>>13340195
And another relatively recent one, also a translation.

No starlight rays
Will set silence ablaze
Or bring open eyes to life.

Won't pull out the page,
Nor a wish out of cage,
Only decay that runs rife.

Step ahead bold and free?
It leads nowhere. To be?
I won't ever be anymore.

The charm of old days
Silent voices of fays
Couldn't revive from this gore.

Last stand or a flight —
Either's tormenting fight
Between empty and dug out grave.

To fly or to crawl —
You'll find nothing at all,
Losing last bits of strength you could save.

This can not be a dream —
None twist to such extreme,
This is just a creator's misstep.

Anyway, he's a fool.
A prosaical rule:
Even egg was an erronous step.

That streetlight didn't go out,
Simply something about
The us two it knew in advance.

Yes, life was full of bloom,
But the void of cold tomb
Won't return even palest glance.

>>13340795
one guy did, and it was pretty good apart from the songiness

>>13340809
It's a good way to introduce us to the character and how they live, but not ideal since it sees contrived
>>13340830
wow you are depressed, cool. Nobody cares, poems about depression are overdone

>>13340969
>wow you are depressed, cool. Nobody cares, poems about depression are overdone
Oh no, when did that ever happen? I should immediately educate myself about the latest advancements in hip-hop Eurovision text writing, clearly my installments to these are awkwardly obsolete.

>>13340969
>it was pretty good apart from the songiness
christ

>>13341015
you asked for feedback, deal with it

>>13341991
A useful feedback can range from liking or disliking a thing to constructive criticism. Making flat jokes trying to act smart and edgy is shitposting.
What I write in English I post here for the sake of having a chance to polish my grammar and lexicon, since I'm adult enough to comprehend my personal expressions not being something well accessible for strangers.

>>13329805
the narrator isnt the native irish