/lit/ - Literature

bump

mama mama
papa papa
oh mama papa

ghost dog
and rza

i have 5 pennies
and one can of food
help me please
i will have money soon
but right now
i only have
FIVE PENNIES
ok?

>>14037758
funny little jaunty porate poem

>>14037758
It was kinda hard. Have you spoken it? Some of the words just dont feel like they play well together. I'm terrible at giving critique on poetry, but for me it's shortcomings were in the realm of delivery/packaging rather than the contents. Better than anytime I've tried my hand at poetry. This is just the opinion of a puh-sued who is uninitiated in the art of poetry, so take it for what its worth.

Keep it up, fren.

>>14038370
No need to put yourself down, thanks for feedback. I do think the words work together aloud though, does a recording make it any better? :)

https://clyp.it/blfuecmv

>>14038188
But a penny saved is worth two in the bush
If you desire money, then prepare your tush
Should my advice not appease
Find a rope and find a tree
Or find a bag and find a hose
Grab some helium and end your woes
Drive your car off a cliff
Ammonia and bleach, take a whiff
Your problems are yours and not my own
Never ask for another dog's bone

>>14037758
Take a look at my business shoes?
Your what?
My business shoes.
What about your business shoes?
They are brown, are they not?
They are, yes.
The are compelling, are they not?
Well that, my friend, I cannot say.
My greatest wish is I never spill mustard on them, as I did the day of the big meeting.
On this we can agree.

>>14038548
Yes, it did sound way better listening to that than hearing myself.

>>14038557
Sorry for the Sam-I-Am shitpost, but your peom actually provoked a very uncomfortable emotional reaction from me.

>>14038557
Ouch, that's cruel.

Good rhymes though!

Precipice

See down here?
Yes, here below,
How odd it seems,
The more you know,
From promontory,
You spy the low,
And find amusing,
The dire show,
But from this vale,
Where shadows grow,
I the fallen,
Appearing poe,
Look above and past you,
To sky aglow,
For from down here,
I see God's woe.

>>14038763
NGL famalam, pretty dope. Line 13 felt a little awkward though.

Your phantom wore the moon’s cold mask,
My phantom wore the same;
Forgetful of the feverish task
In hope of which they came.
Each image held the other’s eyes
And watched a grey distraction rise
To cloud the eager flame—

And now warm earth was Arctic sea,
Each breath came dagger-keen;
Two bergs of glinting ice were we,
The broad moon sailed between;
There swam the mermaids, tailed and finned,
And love went by upon the wind
As though it had not been.

These colors boil in me,
Of riverbeds & ferns,
Or zebra styled lightning.
From wild to taciturn
They sing to me in sepals
So golden as they fall
I plan to knit & quilt them
Though I am not skillful.

>>14038978

Honestly this is one of the best poems on lit I’ve seen in awhile, good job

My eyes
like plastic shells
intaking faint descriptions.
Images of moss
submerged in moss, and
the sky thick with cement
as if
prematurely buried.
Let this train accept
my sleepy poem in marriage;
we forget the passengers to
laugh opaquely through the reeds.

>>14038978
Really nice. Good metre, rhythm and rhyme. I'm OP (songwriter mainly) and I could hear a melody in my head towards the end as I read it, tempted to have a wee fart about with it to guitar.

One step into a damp dark
At night, this village of gnash quiets to a park
Past the council leaning into concrete penumbra, you're alone now
Drop your teeth, free your brow
Rare and precious to let loose your head
A sacred time to dance with dead
A week ends with fleeing to hallowed places
And you're still here, walking the sidewalk merely, clueless and placeless

I've posted my stuff a lot, never got critiqued. Might as well try again.

‘Remember that trip we took?’ I do. ‘twas good’. We took several trips but I don’t really care about which one he is thinking off. I agree though. ‘twas good. Good trips, good friends, better times. Matt leans over, whispers. ‘Remember the girls?’
I do remember the girls. He laughs harder than me tops of my drink. I want ice but I don’t have to ask for ice. Hannah goes ‘Dinner is served’ so Dan raises the volume on the record player and heads to the kitchen; the girls finish setting the table.
‘Where’s the bathroom’
Dan yells back from the kitchen ‘By the stairs, first door to the right.’
Nice place. Small, cozy. I find the bathroom, half bathroom, so they must have a full one upstairs. Bet its nice. I wash my hands and dry them on the towels we gave them as a housewarming gift. Do you think she put those out on purpose?
I get out, Maria is waiting. I point at the towels she smiles and nods. I start walking towards the kitchen but she tugs on my sleeve. ‘Did you ask him about-’ ‘No, I will after dinner’ ‘Good’ she says.

***

>>14039338

‘Is she a great cook or what?’
She is not. ‘She is!’
Maria asks Hannah for her casserole recipe but I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while. Maria says ‘Why don’t you boys go refresh your drinks while we clean this up’
‘Pie is almost ready too’ Such a great cook.
The record is over, so Dan puts another one in. Then he opens the bottle I brought and pours two, ice on mine.
‘I tell you, I’ve put on at least five pounds since we moved in.’ ‘I didn’t know how to tell you.’ He chuckles. ‘Nice kitchen you got there. Spacious.’ He gets his cigarettes from the bar and offers me one. ‘She loves it. Spends the day there.’ One won’t hurt.
He lights mine then his, then we talk. He tells me about his job most of which I know. Then he repeats some investing advice I’d given him before. Maybe he’d given them to me in the first place but I can’t place when, so I thank him anyways and tell him I’ll speak to my guy about it.
While we are on the subject of money- ‘Caught the game last night?’ he says. ‘Nope. Got home pretty late got some extra hours’ ‘That’s good.’
We reminisce about moments that neither of us is sure we actually shared, but they all seem familiar, we go back, we probably did right.
This time I top up our drinks.
‘You two going somewhere for the summer?’
Right. ‘No, we are trying to cut back a bit… and Maria is staying home with the baby…’
‘It gets expensive doesn’t it?’
‘Tell me about it.’
It takes him a bit. ‘Listen if you want out I can get you out. You won’t get much, but if you need the money I can get you out. I’ve got you.’
‘Might be for the best’
A half smile later he climbs up the stairs.
He comes back down with his checkbook and makes one for the eight hundred I gave him, plus two hundred, out to cash. He hands over the full thousand.
He won’t let me have it.
‘This is your money, alright? But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t warn you. This is the ground floor. Seed money. Two hundred? That’s chump change.’ ‘How long until real money comes in.’ ‘As soon as we get the permit we’ll pay out’. Now he lets go, but I don’t pull it in.
‘It’s a sure thing.’
‘Sure thing?’
‘Sure thing.’
I look at Maria. She wants a guest bathroom and a nice kitchen too.
‘Sure thing.’
I throw the ripped up check into the fireplace.
Dan slaps my back. ‘That’s my guy!’ I spill some of my whisky. ‘Whoops’. He refreshes my drink.
We have pie, coffee and a night cap, but we should go pick up the baby from Maria’s parents.
We say our goodbyes and agree we should do this more often.
As we drive away Maria stares at me. ‘So, got it back?’
We’ll probably go to bed without saying good night, but I’m doing this for us.

>>14037758
really would like some nitty gritty critique of this draft, posted it before but haven't got much

>>14039338
>>14039347
The story is interesting. I, as the reader, hope his investment pays off, yet I'm worried it won't. Too much telling and not enough showing. Also, who is Matt? The story is in first person so by narrating "Matt leans over" implies he is not the protagonist, but that is all the action he is given. I also know that the narrative is his thoughts, but the brevity and implying most subjects could be confusing.
>He laughs harder than me tops of my drink
This line almost feels like it was written by someone else.

I'm definitely interested in reading more and learning as to why the family is struggling, and why the friend is so suspect. Keep at it, and good work so far.

P.S. the slap on the back and spilled whiskey was a nice touch.

It began with a shriek. In the night's blackness no thing could be seen. To assess the situation, one could only listen. I turned my ear towards the far wall near the door. A quiet, pitiful weeping began. Then, small footsteps broke out like rapid palpitations. A muffled rustle, then a push against the door were heard next. As it creaked open, and as light burst into the room, vision returned, and the situation was elucidated. A shivering silhouette stood at the foot of my bed. It climbed, then crawled towards me, and murmured a frightened sentence.
"I had a bad dream," it said.
I flicked on a light, at which the tiny shape recoiled, and covered its damp eyes. Now in a brighter light I could see the cause of all of this commotion. It was a young girl, huddled by my knees, squinting and blinking her tired, watery, and anxious eyes.
"A bad dream?" I asked. "Don't worry. It's just in your head. It can't hurt you."
She sniffled, and heaved her breath as if not fully satisfied with my comforting words. I asked begrudgingly if she wanted to sleep in my bed for the night. She obliged at once and bolted to my side. I regretted my compassion even more when I felt her frigid body freeze and adhere to mine. "We'll have to shiver together, then," I thought. "Like lost polar expiditioners."
As sleep whinged down my mind, and as the reins slipped out of conscious control, ancient memories snaked by under my lids. Visions of my own childhood nightmares reared their heads once more. Dreams of parents collapsing coldly, the family home crackling and burning, and sandpits that engulf one whole. But beyond all of that a lighter image glowed. A pale and pleasant memory of my father played before me. He was teaching me how to ward off nightmares.
"You press the two fingers of your right hand against your left palm," he whispered. "If you see your fingers pass through your palm then you are not awake. You won't be so afraid when you know it's just a dream."
"I might teach this to the girl in the morning," I thought. Things grew still in my head. I couldn't feel my thoughts anymore. A numbness trickled through my skin, between my cells.
Before I could drift off to sleep, a hypnic jerk - like pure electricity playing a piano run down my spine - jolted me awake. I relaxed as the sensation faded, but became tense once again as I turned to look at the girl. To my surprise she was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and afraid, like a prisoner watching the gallows. Absurdity mounted when I asked her what was upsetting her.

fuck my shit up, senpai.

>>14039426
I don’t really do nitty gritty feedback. What I can say is that I love it, morbid, fascinating and articulate.

I see the pretty young girls
Blossom

They work
Little part time jobs
Their rent taken care of
Their dinners on the beau

There is an envy there
An envy of
Flower prints and long red hair
But I would never regret my perch
To see the flowers of spring year-round

My heart unfolds for them
Like a paper crane
Drowning in water

Slowly I am flattened to yield;
Their will be to God's ears,
May their feet touch clouds

Never will I be,
But always I can love.

>>14039514
Thanks fren. There was no more to the story, I had just read a compilation of Carver’s short stories and felt like giving his style a try.

Really good feedback, I take a lot of issue with how I wrote it out, re reading it months later. Matt is the friend, the one who is trying to get the protagonist into his business.

I started writing about two friendly couples with a lot of tension in between them, tension that has no catalyst to turn into resolution, good or bad then it devolved into this. I wasn’t good enough to imply tension without falling back to money.

abed with a man from siam
as well endowed as priam
she said, "thats a start,
but can you touch my heart?"
said he, "madam, i am"

I'm a leech who posts stuff but never comments. I don't really expect critiques. It just feels good knowing my stuff is out there in some form.

>>14037758
6/10

kinda predictable and silly, and tone and theme are weak, but nice imagery and vocabulary

>>14038154
2/10
>>14038177
1/10
>>14038188
3/10
>>14038557
6.5/10

pretty okay
>>14038562
3.5/10
>>14038763
5/10

decent
>>14038978
trails off at the end. First section on its own would've been an 8.5/10, but as a whole I'd say 7.5/10
>>14039050
6.5/10
>>14039083
5.5/10
>>14039292
5/10
>>14039338
>>14039347
5/10

meh could use better grammar and style is uninspired, though it has its moments
>>14039426
I think it would sound more mystic and mysterious and would suit the poem better if written in the third person ("At his own ancient seat of augury/where he has sat these long years..." etc.)

Theme and vocabulary are strong. I'd work on overall rhyme and meter. Try to have each line have roughly the same number of syllables, even better if you have iambic pentameter or heptameter or something (really hard, I know)

6.5/10

>>14039529
nice! good job.

7.5/10

>>14039562
good work

7/10

>>14039712
cute. work on rhyme and meter

6/10

>>14040188
kek

6/10

>>14040441
pretty good.

6.5/10


Okay, I just need a little help. Which is more correct, grammatically?

They say every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings.
From now on whenever I hear a bell ring
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR

They say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
From now on whenever I hear a bell ring,
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR

They say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
From now on, whenever I hear a bell ring,
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR some other combinations? Basically, where should the commas go, or was it fine the way it was?

>>14040594
bump

come on, 4chan, I need to have this finished by tonight.

>>14038978
This is the best poem I’ve seen on /lit/

I see a girl walking,

Ass wrapped in jeans,

Busy in gloating,

with her head down on screen,

I wish it was tighter,

And it was so,

At the turn where streets turned wider

I see a girl in shorts,

If only it was shorter,

And it was so,

As she cedes to a charmer,


But the best sight,

Was a woman bathing,

Cleansing the plight,

Of light's making,

As She rids herself of dirt,

I wished it was dark,

And it was so,

On every corner of the earth

>>14040594
final bump

Which is more correct, grammatically?

They say every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings.
From now on whenever I hear a bell ring
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR

They say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
From now on whenever I hear a bell ring,
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR

They say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
From now on, whenever I hear a bell ring,
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

OR some other combination? Basically, where should the commas go, or was it fine the way it was?

>>14041163
I wanna say it is the 3rd choice. I also feel like I overuse commas, so...

>>14041196
Damn. Thanks for your input, anyhow.

>>14041253
I know that "From now on," is correct. The saying "Everytime a bell rings an angel gets it's wings" normally isn't written with a comma in the middle, but "They say" is fuckin with me for some reason. You could just drop the comma and slap quotations around it, but I dont normally slap quotes on my idioms like that.

>>14041391
Yeah, I think "From now on, whenever I hear a bell ring, I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind."
is correct.

I think "They say every time a bell rings..." is correct, without the comma in the beginning, because "they say" doesn't have to literally mean people are speaking, that something is being quoted. It's an expression that can equally mean "it is known" or "it goes that".

What's messing me the most is "every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings." if there's a comma or not between 'rings' and 'an'. Whenever written on greeting cards or decoration or quoted on the Internet or something, there's no comma, but I looked up the exact line from the original script and the comma is there, but it might look more poetic, natural, and fitting according to public consciousness to omit the comma. What do you think? I want it to be the most 'correct', whatever that might mean.

>>14041451
Comma. Go with the comma if the original did... unless you're writing a greeting card or embroidering a pillow.

>>14041464
Turns out the Internet lied, again...

I just now pulled up the official PDF script and there ain't no fucking comma.

Final version:

They say every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings.
From now on, whenever I hear a bell ring,
I’ll hear it calling your name out to the wind.

I Wish I Knew How to Quit Her
It’s not fair.

Things were hard enough.

She didn’t have to come along and make things harder.

A taste of something so sweet that all fruits from thereafter seem bitter.

Does Love know no mercy? What is the purpose in my fruitless suffering?
By Jove, I’m no Job. There is no lesson to be learned. Only pain to unfold.
Damn the lies. ‘Tis worse to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

She let go of me. Why can I not repay her the favor?

In trying to let go, I feel as if I’m letting go of the idea of Love itself.
Disillusioned. Broken. Violated. Shattered. Destroyed.
Never to heal from scars no one will ever feel. Forever unable to break from chains
no one can ever see.

Her wonderfulness, now gone, all stained as horror.
The joy we shared now decayed as despair.

The sight of her simper branded hot in my retinas.
The sound of her coy laughter echoes some horrible din in my eardrums.

How I wish I could let her memory wash away in the rain.
Will the holes in my heart ever mend? When does heartache end?
How I long to learn to forget. I wish we never met. I wish I knew how to quit her.

I Wish I Knew How to Quit Her


It’s not fair.

Things were hard enough.

She didn’t have to come along and make things harder.

A taste of something so sweet that all fruits from thereafter seem bitter.

Does Love know no mercy? What is the purpose in my fruitless suffering?
By Jove, I’m no Job. There is no lesson to be learned. Only pain to unfold.
Damn the lies. ‘Tis worse to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

She let go of me. Why can I not repay her the favor?

In trying to let go, I feel as if I’m letting go of the idea of Love itself.
Disillusioned. Broken. Violated. Shattered. Destroyed.
Never to heal from scars no one will ever feel. Forever unable to break from chains
no one can ever see.

Her wonderfulness, now gone, all stained as horror.
The joy we shared now decayed as despair.

The sight of her simper branded hot in my retinas.
The sound of her coy laughter echoes some horrible din in my eardrums.

How I wish I could let her memory wash away in the rain.
Will the holes in my heart ever mend? When does heartache end?
How I long to learn to forget. I wish we never met. I wish I knew how to quit her.

>>14041470
Nice. Glad it worked out, anon

>>14040684
nice concept, but it never reaches its full potential

6/10

>>14040594
>trails off at the end
the end is the whole point

>>14039698
thanks man
>>14040594
thanks for the advice

>>14041701
Thanks for the feedback Anon. Can you also tell me your interpretation of the poem. I was trying to convey that earth is degenerate because of god and it is his ambition which pushed us there. Did you get any such vibes from it?

>>14042617
Not him, but to me it felt as though it was about intentionally walking the wide path

>>14042062
I didn't mean in theme or concept, I meant in writing quality. The second half just doesn't punch and isn't as powerful to me as the first half. It's more redundant and less inventive as the first half. A simple re-write could easily fix this.
>>14042181
np
>>14042617
It comes off a little too silly with the diction to be making any sort of serious statement like that

"ass wrapped in jeans" belongs in a rap, not a serious poem. Try using something more tame, like....maybe..... "bottom strapped by denim"

honestly, sounds sorta Holden Caulfield/incel-core, judging these attractive women around, judging them for being too scantily clad yet being a hypcorite in enjoying the show. Needs work, but the concept is there. Also, God should always be capitalized as "God" unless you're talking gods like Zeus, Thor, etc. (a god, any god) God of the religions of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and in general as the all-powerful omnipotent creator god is always capitalized as God.

Hate to shill, but I wrote this one:
>>14041485


would love some feedback

The woods were a quiet chorus. Silence was a blissful tune. The trees were flutes playing the euphoric melody of nothingness, the animals were singing their operetta of voiceless chords. It was just this way that I remember the night I met Henry.

I was walking through the path to my hut in the woods, and I knew by the silence something was wrong. I’ve lived in the woods all of my life, and not once have I not heard anything. The wind had even stopped blowing, dare they be assaulted by the fear of the lesser animals. The only sound was the muted thumping of my own footfalls, stopping dead at the trees it was supposed to echo off of.

>>14041485
I like it. I thought you were talking about weed at first but it seems like you mean an actual woman. Mysterious stuff

Notes from my walk

Autumn. Most leaves have fallen off. Field; potatoes or possibly some kind of cabbage grow here. No animals as far as the eye can reach, faint twittering sounds. The wind is blowing here and there. Fresh winds. The bird throws itself from a tree and flies quickly towards a place further afield, towards a place I cannot perceive. The birds' tone sounds bright and trilling, but then others of a different kind agree with its uneven symphony. Sometimes almost silent. Only the wind sounds in the absence of birds. I may hear a male bird shout to a female bird that answers. Is it the wind or the cars that sound? I prefer to think its the wind. Dog bark is heard across the field. Darker and darker. Lighting a cigarette. Throws it in the fireplace. Picked up a piece of bark, got sticky soil on my hands. The sun is soon down. Here are rose hip berries and sloeberries, but also another berry that I have never seen before. The berry is dark blue and the bush it sits on is similar to the sloeberry bush. Now it's getting so dark that it's hard to see what I'm writing. I'm heading home.

>>14043871
wow, I never even considered it to stand for anything but an actual woman the narrator used to know, but that's a totally valid interpretation. I love it! I feel like the artist can only state what his work ISN'T vs. what it IS, and that's definitely an acceptable perspective. Thanks for the insight.

As morning purls her webbing
Atop the whir of hummingbirds,
The undulating molten firs
Cascade a plasmic ring.

>>14041485
I like the broken pacing, kinda got a nice beat poem/ street poetry feel going.

>>14043822
feels a little too purple to me. lot of words and a lot of big words that distract a bit. needs to be pared down a bit.

>>14044087
not bad, but it doesn't feel concise/ complete. Could just be that it's not my cup of tea though.

>>14044279
too many elaborate words, it distracts rather than helps. It's really hard to get a clear image of what you're talking about because all the fancy language just piles up.

Hi Nick Land here.

>NeoChina arrives from the future.

Please rate and subscribe.

Things I like about Libby

Your dark eyes, dark hair.
The way you laugh and why.
The stupid sounds you make in your throat,
and the frames that frame the curve of your cheek.

The songs that overflow
like a rain filled river.
Dripping from every stalwart word,
or sweeping away your alto tones.

Or echoing through your ears as you lie awake in bed.

>>14037758
>everything
this, in particular, felt clunky

>Our skin is leather from the dust
this just didn't draw an image for me

I wrote this one at mcdonald's half an hour ago listening to a bunch of old men having dinner together

halleluja

forty years ago his pal was a playboy
they laughed
he made some joke about jail time
some riddle on judges
they answered
he laughed

his pal whistled his way into the
party the conversation they'd started
mate why are you singing
halleluja
he kneeled his cowboy hat
he bowed to his smokey past

am i old?
they all laughed they
all guessed no you're old
yes you're young
it sounded like fun
from their laughs

they already had glowed
through their pasts

I value my time
A precious commodity
So spent on nothing

This is what I managed to squeeze out today. Seems better than yesterday but still not quite there. Appreciate any feedback:

The Eye of Heaven winked.
Spirals of long purple and blood-tinged feathers rained down on the infertile ground and ranks of peasant hunchbacks gathered to gather them.

At a distance, a candle in one hand a rusty dagger in the other; he crouches, slowing down his already almost apathetic and spotted path of continuous pauses: to spray the deodorant to look over his shoulder, to stop under the rare patches of light and sniff the surroundings - to listen .. The shouting, the ecstatic screams come. horizon is dotted with hearths. The gargantuan bulb above his head - their heads - wide open, but devoid of color. Strip still, then light (gray though): time to stop, tends to listen.

Clinking of chainsThe Eye in The Skay blinked.
Spirals of long purple and blood-tinged feathers rained down on the infertile ground and ranks of hunchbacks peasant gathered to collect them.

At a distance, a candle in one hand and a rusty dagger in the other. He crouches, slowing down his already almost apathetic path, spotty with continuous pauses: to spray the deodorant, to look over his shoulder, to stop under the rare patches of light and sniff the surroundings - to listen .. He's reached by the shouting, the ecstatic screams. The horizon is dotted with hearths. The gargantuan bulb above his head - their heads - wide open, but devoid of color. He keeps crawling, then light (albeit gray ): time to stop, he tends to listen.

Clinking of chains
Metallic clang
Buzzing, an insect?
Indistinct murmurs
A wail.
Crackling: someone has lit a(nother) fire.
Wait: a wail ?

As in a work of Rousseau, with feline mastery, a certain nobility and (above all) in the silence and absolute anonymity he sprints towards the origin, the distress beacon. His mouth, watering: it could be a lucky day.

>>14045045
Are these even worth doing as a round eye?

>>14037758
First attempt at poetry in years so be gentle desu.

Today it was silent
our limbs were contorted,
broken, grey.

I went looking for you.
Your face was contorted,
pallid, spent.

No one could ever ask
How it got to be this way
No one could ever ask
No one could ever say

Yet I went looking for him.
He was contorted,
downtrodden, spent.

I asked if it was really true.
If he there was nothing
Left to be done.

"Of course" he said,
"There's much to do,
some to crush
some to make new
but you'll find
that these things too
are all contorted,
just like you."

>>14037758
>mentioning the game
>on 4chan
Fuck you OP you gigantic faggot

>>14045283
Lol took a while for someone to notice. Thought it was better than the standard notepad stock photo.

Plains, Georgia, 1948. Future president Jimmy Carter (real name Joel Cohen – more on this later) speaking with [PARENT/GUARDIAN].
“You’re nothing but a big fuckin putz. How much do they pay you to carry that shit around with ya? I’ll bet you got 2.5LBs of impacted stool jammed up in there taking up real estate, making those weak knocky knees even more weaker and even more knockier. How can you expect to find a girl with two and a half pounds of turd in your colon? Nice Jewish girl won’t tolerate any more than one one and a quarter if you got a clean schmeckle and a college degree. And yet here you are with two and half and a dirty dick. Just doesn’t make sense to me. Like a little baby. You’re pregnant with refuse yet you refuse to do anything. Your cousin David puts onions in his socks when he goes to bed – his wife Sarah says ok sure, whatever, you got a college degree. Imagine that. She lays there awake in their stinky onion sock sweat marital bed for eight hours every night until he gets his shitless ass up to go to work. The onions draw out his bodily toxins, you see, his ASW (avg. shit weight) is around 1.15, 1.2 because of the onions. He’s offsetting the weight and it’s a dirty trick but it’s not my place to tell Sarah. Refuse is refuse and he might as well just be shitting his socks. At least he has a degree and from what his mother says his pud is immaculate. That’s how he keeps a wife. That’s what you need to be doing, but you sit there getting heavier and weaker and your insides are polluted and that pollution has begun to eat away at your soul. If they cut you open like I asked them to I’m sure it would be nothing but toxic rot. Gallons upon gallons of impotent sludge drowning your heart. Please clean your fucking dick Jimmy.”

bump

Thank you to every anon who posted their shit without giving criticism on anyone else's. You're all faggots and should neck yourselves

>>14048312
If I'm asking to be criticized why would I think I could be able to criticize someone else's work?

>>14045045
I really like this. It’s simultaneously melancholic and funny, but I think it’s restricted here by the haiku form which makes you phrase it in a way which is awkward and somewhat ambiguous. You should make the relationship between the preciousness of time and your not spending it on anything a little more clear.

You do seem to have the voice for haiku, so I think if you continued writing things in a similar fashion to this one you could make a really good one, just try to manage ambiguity while retaining laconicity.

>>14048537
Just because your not confident in your own work doesnt mean you cant recognize errors or offer feedback on other people's work when they are asking for it.

>>14049092
I mean, it's not only that I'm not confident in my work, I'm not comfortable in my critique either. I'm not intellectually dishonest enough to steer some poor stranger out of the right path just because it doesn't align to my personal preferences.

I think I'll try anyway since I made that premise and it could be a fun exercise. I'm >>14045100
btw.

>>14045273
Not too much of a fan of the word repetition shtick but, again, that's pretty subjective.

"No one could ever ask
How it got to be this way
No one could ever ask
No one could ever say"
Seems pretty unnecessary as a paragraph.
If he there was nothing <typo? If it's intentional I'm not that into it.
Overall it's cute but not that... impactful?
6/10

>>14045045
Pretty neat for what it is. 7.5/10

>>14044896
It seems like this would actually be better if it were written into prose, inserted maybe in a broader context. As it is the pacing is all over the place and the scenery is fun but could be worked on, enriched.
>he bowed to his smokey past
Not a great line - 5/10

>>14044402
The first paragraph reads like something a child would write and the complete overturn in the second does not seem to be contextualized.
>and the frames that frame the curve of your cheek.
This sounds cringier than you probably think

>Or echoing through your ears as you lie awake in bed.
This actually sounds better than you probably think. 6/10

>>14044279
I agree with >>14044385 - but I think there's something here. Unravel that - make it a bit easier on the reader. 6.5/10

If I see that this is not a complete waste of time and some people actually respond I might do more. Also please, feel free to crit on >>14045100

I flashed my scimitar’s lip
Against a winery of stars
To split their private dream ajar
And lap their hexing drip.
Then bubbles dark & daisy-eyed,
As ringlets strung my hair,
And faced me to that blowfly—
Who flailed me in his glare.

I flashed my scimitar’s lip
Against a winery of stars
To split their private dream ajar
And lap their hexing drip.
Then bubbles dark & daisy-eyed,
As ringlets strung my hair,
And faced me to that blowfly—
Who flailed me with his glare.

I flashed my scimitar’s lip
Against a winery of stars
To split their private dream ajar
And lap their hexing drip.
Then bubbles dark & daisy-eyed,
In ringlets strung my hair,
And faced me to that blowfly—
Who flailed me with his glare.

I flashed my scimitar’s lip
Against a winery of stars
To split their private dream ajar
And lap their hexing drip.
Then bubbles dark & daisy-eyed,
As ringlets, strung my hair,
And faced me to that blowfly—
Who flailed me with his glare.

>>14037758
So, I have an idea for a novella that is the cliché man obsessing over a impossible love. So he ends up stalking her during manic episodes when she goes out to her daily commutes, grocery runs, etc etc. This girl is a mutual friend of his but nothing comes of their relationship. The whole novel is based around this man logging his obsession with obsession and the hazy memories of manic stalking.

Not sure how it ends but I know I have 10-60 pages already done if i can find my drive with all my notes. Thoughts?

>>14038154
For some reason. I find it very interesting.

>>14049433
This doesn't just apply to you but to literally everyone - when writing, the important thing is how you write, not what. You could write about the most mundane, or cliché thing ever and give it such a good spin that it becomes a masterpiece. Or you could have a mindblowing idea and drive it nowhere.
So, yeah, go ahead.

>>14049383
I like this. I think you could improve these verses:
"And faced me to that blowfly"
"And lap their hexing drip."
Overall 7.5/10

Swarthy girls with slovenly bowls surreptitiously give rise to spurious berths dropping down machicolation their oafish burps, those imperious flights through liminal places of caustic celebrations to accost the apologist night and matriculate somewhere's testicularity in
Svelte degrees of soubriquette etiquette to parochial winds brightented to an aplomb and upwards a bomb.

>>14037758

From a play I'm working on It's just a small fragment from a longer monologue. The original is in Portuguese, this is a translation I made myself.

>Yes, there are sorrows in this life, everything that breathes knows it well. The universe is a run-over dog whose yelp we, it’s fleas, try to smother with laughter. But humans are competitive creatures, even to lick wounds, and that's how guffaws try to devour guffaws. Immersed in a jungle of laughter, the solution is to laugh louder than everyone else.