/lit/ - Literature

You’d probably like romanticism

>>16305608
I really like the first one. The 2nd one, the lines felt too short. The 3rd and 4th read like normal prose chopped up. Not anything more sophisticated I can say. I'm not a poet or read much poetry at all, but I like your work especially the 1st one.

Here's a dystopian short story I wrote. I think it's 1,500 words or so.

https://woland.substack.com/p/01

September 18th, she was at an orgy up on Vester Allé. Sometime between the 4th and 7th fuck she realised that she no longer remembered her own face.
She spent the next twenty or so minutes crawling over exhausted bodies in a desperate attempt to locate a mirror. Somebody had locked themselves inside the bathroom, which was otherwise unheard of.
She gave up on her search and decided to make due with the bottom of a dirty glass. She stared down the full length of the it. Behind sticky remnants of liquor and bodily fluids she could just barely see herself.

The root of life is misery in vain!
No salvation, nothing to gain!
We must undress the essence of pain
under the caress of summer-end rain…
A birch decays as ominous skies spark up a storm—
against the winds we shan’t make it to dawn,
but through clouds of innocence return home…
Carried by a cup-shaped tulip bed—petals bloom in red—
the raindrops inside form many a small sea
and wash away the dread sown by thee.
With our tender bodies now at rest
(glimmering irises in quiescent bless),
we sour the galactic space at last,
and embrace ’till eternity’s death.

>>16305608
i think it would be nice if you had more rhymes, and a more decided rhythm. For example, for each logical section (like the first 4 lines), you'd have a rhyme scheme of "abab", and the "a" lines would have 10 syllables, while the "b" lines had 8, for example.

>>16307954

The rhymes in term of syllable length would be better if they were tighter/more uniform.

>Undress the essence of pain

doesn’t really Do anything for me on an aesthetic level. In general it came off kinda boring, not that it was particularly dark or oppressive but

>vain
>gain

And so forth, just kinda feels like a repeat and tossed together from pieces to give the same tired out expression of a man loving a woman for eternity.

A journey to my Christ who was ever Allah.

“Desert Sun and Desert Sky
For honey I cross this place
My will even if I die


Dry Heat and sand harm my face
I walk across endless sand
All will I endure for Grace

In Du’a I took your brand
Du'a al-'ibadah
Yet I seek a place more grand

I seek for thy darshana
Past Ancient and thirsty bones
to the City of faana

many idols of carved stones
Their glory shall not tempt me
I shall enter the mauve Zones

The search of a honeybee
The desert did turn crimson
And I did hear the banshee

The foul woman with her Son
Screaming and covered in blood
She wailed for what she had done

And from her tears a flood
And from the flood, a river
And from it, a flower bud

And the flower did shiver
“A secret I give to thee,
If thou me, didst deliver”

So I sought what it could be
“True Faana is death of death”
Thus did the flower go free

And then followed him my breath
To the secret mauve Desert
Sidraṫ al-Munṫahā met

I knew I would be unhurt
As I entered endless time
And I entered the unbirth

Then the bornless bell chime
And the white candle‘s First light
Unveiled the book Sublime

Annihilated was blight
Annihilated was thirst
Annihilated was height

Thus did I become the first
And by my Will I knew He
And the fetters of time burst

Thus do I have freedom and am no longer bound, glory to he who is the mirror of my soul who’s presence is liberation, who’s name is “I” who’s soul is this my own heart. In my annihilation my annihilation perished
And in my annihilation I found you
In the effacement of my name and the outline of my form, I asked about me so I said: You. My inmost secret pointed to you Until I was annihilated to myself, and you remained, you are my life and my heart’s secret, Wherever I may be, you are. You encompass everything with knowledge, All that I see is you, there is nothing I wish for other than you Lord of my heart.”

The Child who bears the hexecontalithos and the sigillum de septem

“There once was a small child, Who by a stone was beguiled
The child saw its dark face, “come little one, look at my face”
Thus his soul was defiled, “I place in you Words of Wild”

then The child left that place, his mother took him and embraced
“missed you Not very little, where did you go my dear son?
I thought you become displaced, my heart could not bear such disgrace”

“I was walking with the Sun, a stone I found bright like the One
By words of wild set Free, I am no child I am Free”
He told her what had been done, she assumed it just child’s fun

He then went and sought a tree, he found and shaped wax of Bee
In a queer shape formed it, he made Sigilium De Ameth
“With this I shall truly see, for by this no more I and thee”

Thus he took the stone of death, it and by the sigil he met
The Great Lord of the spirits, he looked upon him and smiled
“Look upon me without fret, am I not the god of thy Breath?”

“You shall never be exiled, for you are truly my child”
He praised him with words of stone, for he did behold his bright throne
Thus he was reconciled, mixing holy and defiled

He returned to the black stone, he bound it to the ancient Bone
With it he conjured Fire, naught and all burned in the Fire
“lord Only remains thy throne, and into you I have now grown”

Posting a short story

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>>16309350

What does your average day look like?

>>16309451

Eh I’m a business owner and I have a wife and kids, so ya know, whenever I’m not attending to family or business I’m reading esotericism, mythology, religious-theological stuff, different Kinds of poetry and so on and so forth. The story about the child with the stone I wrote rather quickly because I saw a woman shouting at her son not to bring a stone home because at night stones get “spooky” faces and will come alive and eat him, ya know, as a means to horrify the child so he doesn’t take the rock home.

Why do ya ask? Is the speech too unrealistic or what exactly do you think?

Eh a final poem even though I’ve posted it before.

Dream of another genesis

“A question from my rest, Who did dream the first dream?
My heart in rest Longs Lord, Was it Adam or Thee?
You are the first in all, Are thou not supreme?

All be your fantasy, you are all that I see
Your mysterious Eyes, closed to unveil the Light
This is the beginning, how the world came from He

when the ancient one spoke, and all was shining bright
did formulate the book, the book of life and death
All to be accomplished, whether in depth or height

Dwell recorded therein, all things touched by thy breath
All but one doth it hold, thou before-endless time
Thou the ever Bornless-one, by whom the worlds were Set

You clapped and cleaved your hands, giving form to the Slime
Pulling past from present, and the future from past
Thus did slime become sand, some specks coarse others fine

In sand was formed small gods, Pillars iron and brass
Then you did rest in dream, you called it the sabbath
The little gods went forth, words and spell did they cast

O wondrous miracle, the birth of great abboth
For the lord did dream again, dream within dream did form
The image of first man, he did you inhabit

Abboth the sleeping King, awoken by the Storm
Rose saying “ I behold, oh thou lord of the Gods
I am thy reflection, the dreamer did transform”

Thus abboth performed dream, Imma the first unrest
He took her for a wife, queen Imma caused the strife
Then did they know each other, the birth of restless men

Then came forth holy Leba, with his mother at odds
He did proclaim the Oath “Abide in dreamless sleep”
Thus he knew mystery, The secret of the Rods

He did behold the spell, their secret hidden deep
Naught but pillars and rods, the small gods of nature
Abboth did they enchant, “dream of imma and weep”

Thus did Leba leave men, he went where dwell no creature
He walked beyond the pillars, piercing hell and heaven
Their image beguile not, he sought entablature

Thus did he find great rest, rest beyond the seven
He did form a priesthood, “we know not, so we rest”
Be their oath of silence, he called forth eleven

Twelve and one fathers sleep, Leba, Nerba, yesten
Var, quzi, tzan, os, Pom, seir, zot, chra, Great Tun
And in the center He, the nameless God of rest

Endless boundless great void, brighter than even the Sun
Find our temple of rest, sleep and rest like the One
Come therefore and follow, rest and become his son “

>>16305608
no offence it is very bland. i feel like im just reading a bland description of prose.

Oh God—hurry, please, and grab me from this nightmarish hellscape,
place me into Hell if you need to,
whatever it takes, to leave this hellish hellscape—
the monotony, the robotony, the wearied wife
(and the strife she alone brings, what misery wed!)
A greater suffering simplified teases, oh does it!
Even the realm of the Cenobytes titillates my tongue,
for the monstrosity of greyscaled humdrum dwells there not—
any hell but this hell brings me a salvational bell
rung out by the heavens, here in my meatlined cell.
I can't stress this enough: please, God, pick up the pace
and pluck me from this hell belittling place!

>>16309475

Because I see you in nearly all of these threads with similar content so I was curious.

>>16305608
Poetry is gay lmao

>>16305608
The midwest
Quilted land of corn and grass
With cities all of gray
And towns of men by which I pass
Along my outward way
A hollowed land with heartbeat gone
Still grasping what it may
A people destitute at dawn
No future in the day
And still no place I'd rather be
My home, my love, my stay

i like your work; you're pretty good. reminds me of vikram seth

>>16307202
It's not poorly written but it's incredibly heavy-handed. There's absolutely zero nuance to it, and there's no layer of "art" between the reader and your political beliefs. I'm not trying to argue politics here, I'm trying to say that there's no depth to it. The wife exists to caricature a certain kind of person. She does it baldly. The son exists to provide an example of a thing the author doesn't like. He does nothing else except spout the correct lines. The protagonist, of course, exists as the avatar of the author. These are accurate and entirely holistic assessments. The way I read it was something like this:
>author doesn't like this thing
>author doesn't like this other thing
>this is what author thinks should happen in regards to this political issue
>God is great
There's just so little artistry in it. It's like a politically unconventional version of an airport book in short story form.

RALPH: so then I says to this broad... honey, if you like hegel, why don’t you and ya friend ova there come back to my place so we can have a little three-way of our own...
TONY: [stares at Ralph, takes a sip from his drink] fuck you talking about ralphie, hegel, three-way... this some kinda gladiator bullshit or summit?
RALPH: you know, Tone... hegel... the dialectic... thesis, antithesis, synthesis... German shit, real fancy
PAULIE: youuu fuckin’ mook, everyone knows hegel never said any of that shit! the tripartite dialectic finds its origin in Fichte’s Grundriss des Eigentümlichen der Wissenschaftslehre, in Rücksicht auf das theoretische Vermögen... what... I guess you was too busy jerking off when dey taught us that in 1st grade...

>>16310957
I like it it rhymes and has a feeling to it.

>>16312855
Here my only poem written in English. Hope I get a reply on it this time at least a negative one.

I wake up - it seems to soon,
even though it’s afternoon.
Drag myself up - felling sore,
wobbling down the wooden floor.
Aiming for the kitchen door,
I trip over some household chore,
I left for good the night before.
Barely able to hold balance,
still somehow proceed to manage,
in an angle beyond grasp,
to keep my knees under my chest.
But there’s no such place in time,
no dimension outside mine,
no dream that could come to my mind,
not underground not out of space
just not one in a thousand ways,
in which I would find my toe,
not hitting with the sound of crackling thunder,
against the sharp edge of the kitchen counter.
JESUS CHRIST SON OF BITCH!
I scream out loud in a manner which,
carries the pain into the distance,
reminding my neighbors of my existence.
What a way to start the day!
Somewhere between blasphemy and agony,
a throbbing foot inside both hands,
initiates a one legged dance.
I won’t farther elaborate,
to comically exaggerate,
the story about how so,
I tragically bumped my toe.
What I’m trying to explain,
life will force one to obtain,
whatever the source may be,
pain in all of it’s diversity.
Some of which might start physically,
slowly chipping off your sanity,
persistent longing for relief,
seemingly no redemption to achieve,
such a state of misery,
can be draining mentally.
However we should bother,
to understand there can be
the one without the over.
But intrinsically pain takes it’s toll,
as it’s nagging at your soul.
A pill may numb an ache or sorrow,
hopefully it won’t come back tomorrow.
But not a thing to buy or borrow,
to redeem the detrimental horror,
a person’s health is dealing with,
approaches it’s spirit the abyss.
There’s no way to negotiate,
no matter how hard you contemplate,
the realm of salvation has only one gate.
It can’t be taken from a shelf,
The path to reach it is held,
in the journey to the higher self.
The truth is that,
life is a struggle,
trauma might
tangle your brain
inflict your body.
But hardship -
always will be,
endured more easily,
if you’re balanced spiritually.
Now take the time to contemplate,
the actions you can undertake,
to feel a whole as you awake:
Train your body,
challenge your brain
and in the name
of mother Mary,
for god’s sake,
take the time to meditate.

>>16305608
Good parts of the poem. Liked them. Original. Interesting imagery:
>Each night she took my hands in pilgrimage
and carried my dreams into the sea

>dissolving in the gaps between her fingers

>where my earliest memories of sunlight or dreams of spring could not bridge the gap between us

While not a damning indictment the other parts are weak.

These parts are particularly weak and where I would level most of my criticism:

>to drown them there amongst the others (too obvious. Leave the reader to decide what happens to dreams led into the sea by a lover you've lost lol. It doesn't really need to be further expanded upon)

>pulling me beyond her dim (it just doesn't actually make sense)

>to find the lover I lost in the dark (very cliched)

Thanks for the poem

>>16310957
>Quilted land of corn and grass
this was the only noteworthy part for me. The rest read like a hundred other poems. I'd steer away from rhyming too.

>>16312559
read a bit of it and agree

>>16305608

More poets similar to this style, I don't know. But what I would say might be your next step is better integrating the abstract into the concrete, allowing the abstract ideas to flow from what is at hand. This is obviously coming from my own ideas about poetry which you do not have to agree with, but I think the integration of the five senses beyond only imagery into your poetry would be incredibly worthwhile.

I myself am no master of this. John Keats is my teacher for this.

>>16313707
I forgot to say that, unlike most poetry I read on 4chan, I did enjoy yours; not necessarily for it's own sake but because it shows promise.

I'll be 20 soon, lads...


my twenties are the sea and I'm
still thirsty scared of salt

and life's my jury and life's my
crimes and life won't recognise
if I'll be freed or sympathize
with what i've done or try
to tell me what I've not

it's time to change my clothes
it's time to hold my gun to
touch the sea and learn to float
it's time to have some fun
to yell to think I'm free but know

I'm not. and time is plenty and
it's my sea and it's my twenties

and time will tell me it's all i've got

>>16305608
let me know what you think of my poem senpai o'mai

I really liked your poems, OP. Do you have a book, or plan to publish one?

>>16305608

>>16314317
Certainly like the vibe but you need to learn where to break into a new line.

>>16312872
Too long for me to read but the parts I read I would say you really need to do something more interesting with the language. It reads more like prose than poetry.

>>16311060
Grabs your attention but doesn't really go anywhere.

Sonnet tiem:

She whispered, open your mouth and let loose
the groan of old cabinet wood, and then
unfurl your soul, drape it over your lamp,
so that its glare, now softened, may not light
the martyr-beaten path to perdition.
For these men they have grown tired of seers,
have strewn strange wails at the gallows,
and believe in Progress as a violence
of instants. Blind your eyes to the old curves.
For in this world of nought there are no spheres,
no smoothed forms, no edges that do not
slice and tarnish the flesh anew. Chaos,
that teaming static of broken glass,
will reveal nothing in the sunlight.

I am not safe, although rain yields at the door
and not my flesh, something else gropes me at night.

It dislodges my compass, blackens every sign,
cloaks my path in static, and then knifes at me to walk.

Desperate, I search for a crowd to fall into,
hoping to be swallowed as prawn by a careless whale.

But I am poisonous, so they spew me back onto the path,
enveloped in drool and staring down the opaque yards.

I am not safe, although rain yields at the door
and not my flesh, something else gropes me at night.

It dislodges my compass, blackens every sign,
cloaks my path in static, and then knifes at me to walk.

Desperate, I search for a crowd to fall into,
hoping to be swallowed as prawn by a careless whale.

But I am poisonous, so they spew me back onto my path,
enveloped in drool and staring down the opaque yards.