/lit/ - Literature

Looking back; how far I've come.
The road, it stretches out to some
Long forgotten past. Quietly now
I look ahead, but struck dumb
by all I've become.

The night lingers, static, how
Fireflies hang midair, a vow,
to never return to Earth, to ground.
And I, debased, cannot allow
memories to be found.

The road, it stretches out to some
Place I cannot bear. A man
I cannot stand.

>>18817327
Yet

Another line
That's love.
Uncut

Such
A slut

Bubble butt
No or

She a whore

>>18817327
Nice face
Round ass

You, and your parents
Clash

Just a bit
Same old shit

>>18817331
For me the meter doesn't work in the last line of the first stanza. Also the imagery is a bit tired. I quite like the fireflies line.

>>18817327
Yaggadoobibiddidy

Feemooblammaamami

Wubbuhobbanooblidoobibbib

>>18817327
>how do I improve this? it needs more before the ending.
Hello

We meet
We eat

I suggest
We go

Where
She know

We arrive

I kiss
And caress

I cum
YES!!
>>18817331
Looking back
How far I've come.

The past didn't last
That was fast

I look ahead
Struck dumb
By what I've become.

The night lingers
Static

How?

Need the day
Now

>>18817331
Good idea for a poem.
It’s a very abstract poem. We don’t know what the memories are, we also don’t know what made the persona look back to the past, and we don’t even get to see who the character has become.

>>18817335
>>18817341
Sound more like a song.
Maybe add a chorus, and more lines.

>>18817358
The first two seem intentional, like you took some time typing them out to make them sound ok. The last one lacks that.
You should add some meaning to the poem like the Rick n Marty episode where wababdodadubdub or whatever it is means “I’m in pain please help”

Here is my poem:

I’ve seen her true and honest and she is beautiful.
She walks her pain with modest dress,
Wearing a white that fades away,
A white sweater stained with food that has been thrown at her,
The night has shown her ways to fill
The void she made from love not had
But I have seen her make a smile
So bright the place is lit
And I’ve seen her eyes shine on me
And I was not afraid to be.

So many feelings
Pent up in here
Left all alone, I'm with
The one I most fear
I'm sick and I'm tired
Of reasoning
Just want to break out
Shake off this skin

I, I can't
Escape myself

All my problems
Loom larger than life
I can't swallow
Another slice
Seems like my shadow
Mocks every stride
Can I learn to live with
What's trapped inside?

I, I can't
Escape myself

I hate the quiet times
I need some company
I miss the noise of life
The silence deafens me

The seconds split so slow
The minutes I can't kill
I keep an eye on the time
I catch it standing still

In my hour of need
In my hour of need

Try to find my place
Sometimes I get so near
I journey aimless days
But always end up here

In my hour of need
In my hour of need

posted the two poems up
>>18817500
this is pretty good
a little on the sentimental side which I'm not huge on but you did it well in describing this character/person
>>18817331
kinda like it

England once was full of trees,
thick woods from shore to shore.
Nowhere to stand and feel the breeze
from meadow or from moor.

But one by one each ancient bough
felt the axe's savage blow.
For man had need of pyre and prow
and ground on which to sow.

A hundred generations passed.
A billion axeheads fell.
Thus man did make the moorlands vast
and the grassy meadow dell.

On what great shoulders we are borne,
how fleeting is our age.
How tall the book from which is torn,
our single meagre page.

my silly doggerel above
>>18817508
Despite the cliche I feel there is a lot of raw emotion in here.

>>18817508
>I, I can't
Do you stutter son.
The poem is ok.
>>18817518
Less "In my hour need"
Needs more rhyme as well.
Could be a great poem.
>>18817518
>Try to find my place
>Sometimes I get so near
>I journey aimless days
>But always end up here
Best stanza. More of this.
>>18817500
The use of the word white twice so close together bothers me
>>18817335
>>18817341
My masterpieces.
>>18817404
My attempt
It needs work.
Please help

To feed
or seed

Whither we go,
wherever we are

We never go far

Without hearing chuck's name
and his eponymous fame

We know one
We know all

And we know
Who has the balls

It's chuck, because it's HIS suck and fuck

:3

>>18817327
>the coom poetry thread got deleted an hour or two ago. So I will post this here.

Brainless, shameless, what a waste

No lie

She fucks, every guy

Who's got, cash

She's alone, and rash

posting shit I wrote for my creative writing class

In Dreams he has undressed
white foam from wet skin;
thinned the slime between
its drifting folds, and
Fought for its endless industry.

He is about to enter it;
upon the voices of the march he will
in vain, declaim:
- I hear an army! Drumming upon the sand!

He knows that wet attraction,
to double-back tall,
and sink frontwards over.
He has heard the searise-stomp,
and is frightened.

>>18817800
>>18817806
another one

There's a gaping hole in the way we are
With nothing to fill it up anymore
No flesh, no blood, just broken bone
A frame to hang our lives from
We're living like skeletons

Won't someone wake the dead in me?
Won't someone shake the dust off me?
Give me water, give me bread
But don't give me up for dead
We're living like skeletons

I’m looking for a windfall
Or a city bus to hit me

You’re used to skaters
And I can’t ollie
But I can cruise like a motherfucker
Hold in the tears when I bail

We’re outta money
And my bike is out of gas.
I will push us home while you sleep on my shoulder
I am happy to

My grounding force is love
But there has to be more than that
Not asking for a purpose
But a responsibility
Something to uphold
I don’t want to think
I want to be told

Sooner or later, these hairline fractures will reveal my mind
I’ve gone forward too fast
Now I can’t slow down
If I hit the brakes,
Flip over the handlebars
I was warned but figured it would be okay
I’m gonna let you down
I’m gonna go dark

She sets my nose
Dampens a cloth

You heat up the pin
Prick my arm to release the pressure

This is different for me
I actually want to watch the movies you say it’s a crime I’ve never seen

another one as well

Deep in the country
The factories hide
Where they make the missiles
That run our lives

They've got the money
They've got the know-how
It's all above our heads
It's coming down now

Missiles cause damage
And make an eerie sound
Missiles leave carnage
Where there once was a town

Who the hell makes those missiles?
When they know what they can do

>>18817920
halfway to sublime

>>18817926
I had a breakup in May and have been listening to way too much of The Front Bottoms since

don't wish for death,
for there is nothing there
that you couldn't
dream about

but if you do,
have no hurry
and keep
your eyes open
(such as the flowers,
silent and divine)

do not drift,
there is no direction
do not lie at the edge,
there is no time

counterfeit reality
narrow, endless river
keep my weary heart
and unfold it amid
your motion,
even if it bleeds
even it rains

hold me as you must,
lovely bride
take care of my dreams
so they won't come true
play your silent strings
and let me know no more

dog eat dog
Janny eat shit
anon goes /lit/
Kids in the fog

Dicks Dicks Dicks Dicks
Dicks got me lit
On that no homo shit
Dicks Dicks Dicks Dicks

>>18817819
>amateur
>This is how its done. Learn from the master.

If you can read
You can feed
That’s sneed

I’m chuck
Lets fuck

>>18817331
I like the second stanza
>>18817786
I like the last stanza


Cactus Land:
As the snow falls from the roof of my cranium-dome
I wonder, wander through moon-like tunnels
Finding alien faces in this cave of mirrors

In pursuit of rats tail just around the corner
I stumble upon a piece of myself; a navel string
A-faint-breeze-of-recollection-of-connection-passes-by
As I, once again, get lost in the snow-maze

translation

>>18817786
>How tall the book from which is torn,
>our single meagre page.

love that

bump

>>18818959
'All is black' would maybe be a better translation because it keeps the three-syllable punchiness of the orgiinal.

Stiffnes in trunks
No hand may touch
Such was the sin of Onan
Veloptous titty teacher taught
In imagination he could her undress
For this, he be the teachers pet and impress

Fruitful curves
He had eye for her
Righteous religion teacher
Peepee came second to praise
She be enough to inspire imagination
But a good boy would refuse masturbation

Late night waking
Garden bushes rustled
Out late at night he explored
There stood teacher dressed down
Her naked body white robes barely hid
Come, I'll be whom you lose virginity with

Deep under earth
In tunnels with trolls
He entered her unholy home
Seductively she led him astray
He let her chain him to the mountain walls
She cast off her cloth revealing cock and balls

For such folly
Forced to endure
The full wrath of Futa
His boy butt would suffer
The energy of your untouched erection
Has led all my attention in your direction

Chains rattling
Screaming for mercy
Tears ran down his cheeks
As she tore through his cherry
Strong she passionately held him in place
Ramming against his prostate in futadom ways

Without touch
Bursting jizz came
Erections stored in ignorance
Butt clenching her dominating dong
Her hand milking him along for the ride
As her much bigger cock filled cum deep inside

Like a girl
Submissively fucked
Legs held up and moaning
He meekly embraced his futadom fate
He woke up in bed, was it all just a dream?
His dick and ass tingly and boxer full of cream

Sitting in front
Teacher pet ponders
Wet dreams be a succubus
Robbing the rightous of chastity
She pats his back once they're out of sight
Eyes glowing red "I'll be back for more tonight!"

bump

Please, be kind: the original is not in English.

>That from your heart may emerge a wild swan

I

The silence before torture chokes the skies
While the black inquisitor of the storm
Ties the naked heights, opens the case of darkness,
Removes his lightning, sharpens the blond horror
And, whistling low, with slow hands, begins –
And then the air squeaks and kicks, squirms and writhes in a whirlwind,
Drools and urinates downpours, screams in pain so loudly
That the eardrum of the entire earth is set on fire.

II

With fear and relief the macaw sees, from its refuge,
The skinning of the horizon and the unboning of the skies;
He knows that the anthill of the winds that devour
The atmosphere alive doesn’t have nails that can reach him.
There is protection, there is a shield in the dead gold of the cage.
Why did he fight so hard against this gift
When they, who feed him, saved him from the wilderness?
Why did he tried to bite the hand of the protection
That absolved him from this world of eternal hunger and fear?
It doesn’t matter anymore; it’s in the past. That was many years ago.
His feathers no longer scream, hungry for heights,
His wings were finally transformed into sleep.
He has long lived the privilege of ornament.
The shelved skies of the shelter comfort him now.
He already accepts to have the world served him with a dropper.
The pneumonia of pleasure has long since corroded
The boldness in his chest. Like the goo in the mouth
Of the glutton who awakens the day after the orgy
Is the bronchitis of balm: it’s a honey that muddies the mind.
Not even the wings of the soul venture beyond
The perpetual slimy deserts of his days.
Woods, plains, lakes, rivers, rocks, mountains:
Everything is velvet now. He returned to the egg.
Outside the silk of the egg there is death and its thousand faces;
The storm, that disembowels the skies with its frown,
Is just one of those thousand faces.

1/2

>>18822001

III

- “What is that? Is it a ghost" -
No. The macaw soon understands that it is a wild swan
In migration. The storm barred his course
– A gigantic bear, with lead-colored fur,
Foaming thunder – but the swan faces it.
He enters the kennel of the blue-gummed
Winds, he strikes the canines of the rain,
He digs, with the many thumbs of his wings,
The incorporeal Himalayas and the granite of the air.
Forward, forward, always moving forward he opens the jungle,
His strokes are machete blows that amputate
The epileptic hawthorn of the clouds discord.
Between the stabs of the gusts he swims
Like a dolphin piercing through a sea of teeth.
His tiny white spot facing the cumulus
Resembles a first lily of hope that wakes up
In the ashes of a long-depressed mind;
It seems the very spirit of peace hovering
Upon a globe that the chewing empire of hate
Has covered entirely, in the belief that, drop by drop,
His song will, one day, lull fang into smile.
The macaw has never seen such perfect beauty
Like the swan among darkness: it’s life riding death;
It's freedom, feathered with scars,
Suffering new wounds to embrace more worlds;
It's like a droplet of moonlight that dares
To step on the mire of hell and bless it.
From the basement of the earthworms to the tuft of the clouds:
This is his kingdom, and the globe is his only cage.
The macaw has never seen such perfect beauty.

2/3

>>18822014

IV

It's night now. The monster is gone, the rain is calm.
When the torturer felt his volcanic hands
Watering in dementia, his eyes fading,
Baldness draining his electric mane,
He tried to run, limping, towards the west,
However he was chased by his prisoners
– Rainbows from the dungeons of pitch –.
At the gates of dusk the emaciated beast
Was reached at last and justice was done.
What remains now is the drizzle, the weeping after the war.
Sorrow shapes violins with rain
So that the sky may whisper his traumas upon the night.
Everything is silent, but the macaw does not sleep.
He feels his wings castrated, his soul invertebrate.
He feels that the weed and wild brushwood
Have more perfume than the bouquet where they hid him.
Something bothers him, a crumb in his mind,
A flea in the throat, a knot in the stomach,
Something that itches and struggles and churns in his chest:
It's like an embryo within the heart.
– "Yes, that's it." – It's a pearl that insists on obstructing
The throat of the spirit. – “I understand” – Between the ribs,
Between the lungs, a swan's egg now pulsates.
If only a swan woke up inside of him.
Maybe if he dreams of the old horizon,
With its prairies where auroras spring
Like grass, the horizon, this country of dew
Where the inflamed and bloody eye of the sun – gnawed
By the visions of another day contemplating
The unjust globe – sinks to heal its cornea,
Maybe this horizon-dreams will hatch the egg,
And maybe this swan that matures inside his entrails
Will one day dare to spread its wings and tear him apart,
Shattering the colorful mold of his being,
And towards the uncertain glory and blue agony
Of the untrained skies, of the leashless winds,
Take flight, losing itself forever in freedom.

end

profonde est la frontière
la plaie
ouverte ce matin
par des mains trop aimantes

reste midi vainqueur
la nuit
présente dans nos ombres
sourceuse et sans limites

mais au fond des vallées
une eau
coule blanche de neiges
qui fondent en amont

un même mouvement
sculpte
les sommets et leurs noms
séparés par le vide

un même mouvement
sculpte
le vide et la lumière
dans les pentes humides

et si je sais que j’aime
cette eau
dont je parle sans peine
sans même la connaître

c’est que j’ai vu des mains
franchir
en lumière un abîme
où se noyait le mot

>shitty translation

deep is the border
the wound
opened this morning
by too loving hands

noon victorious the night
is left
full of sources and limitless
here in our shadows

but deep in valleys
water
is flowing white from snows
that melt uphill

a same motion
sculpts
the summits and their names
separated by emptiness

a same motion
sculpts
emptiness and light
in damp slopes

and if I know I love
this water
of which I’m talking without effort
without even knowing it

it is because I saw hands
cross
in light an abyss
where drowned the word

>>18822001
what is your original language? some ESL anons often pass in these threads
>>18818959
I like it, particularly your use of parenthesis, the eggshell, the flakes, what I take to be a changing narrator/POV...
>>18818945
I like it too, the "A-faint-breeze" line feels too gimmicky imo. I understand it's about the "connection" but I don't know it kind of throw me off not in a good sense.
>>18817995
I think your intention is nice but your poem is forgettable, I think it's too abstract and use too much concepts where imagery would work better.
>>18817518
feels more like lyrics to a folk song than a stand alone poem, would listen to the song at least once

>>18822168
>what is your original language?

Portuguese. I'm at work now. will search for the original latter.

One of the reason's I have problems offering cticitism is because I don't think I'm competent enough to judge the poems of the anons because of the English. I don't feel I have sensibility enough to judge them fairly.

>>18822194
You can always point out what you like or dislike about a poem.

>>18817508
They have better songs.

bump

help lads
im need to write a poem for some competition in my own lit class
topic is Identity in a time of Covid 19

sounds cringe as fuck but i want the money real bad
what do i do

>>18824626

I’m going to sleep now. Post the rules of the contest and the value of the price and I will talk to you latter.

>>18817327
A bar
I came so far

But
My sobriety, ship
Soon sets sail

As I drink
This fine ale

I drown at sea
Look at me
Sink

I know
I shouldn't

Drink

>>18817806
My rates.
Please show me some love or hate.
Or advice. That would be nice.

Far away across the seas
There lived a man named Ulysses
Having explored the great unknown
It was time for him to sail on home

Do friends like?

>>18824734
no, that's literally it. no other restriction, just a topic. The prize is 50 bucks and any book.

>>18817327
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
The black man is debil

My teeth aren't brushed, My bed isn't made,
My house isn't clean, I'm unbathed;

My license expired in 2018,
The hair on my neck isn't shaved;

I'm getting fat and it's making me tired,
I can't wait to lie in my grave

>>18824626
Who killed grandma? Was it me?
I wore my mask like good boys do.
Practiced social distancing.
Got the jab and made it two.
The mayor made me go to school,
That must have been the vector through
which Covid hitched a ride and got inside
despite that we abide the rules,
And that's how grandma must have died.

She was just walking along on the street,
Got struck by a car, pronounced dead on the scene.
Certificate read, "died of COVID-19"

>>18825045

Ok. And the language is English?

bump

>>18824626
My baby was a few months old,
And through the night, a figure crept,
Sheathed in garments black and old,
Approaching crib where baby slept,
And filled his mouth with poison green
Until my baby met his death.
The figure earlier was me.
The poison delivered was Covid-19.
Why didn't I get the vaccine!!!!!

>>18817904
Does anyone have a clue what this is about?

>>18827786
Seems to be about waves breaking on the beach.

>>18828514
Oh, nice. I thought the first stanza was about God creating the earth and then couldn't figure out the rest.

Foolhardy hoarders depart for the mart,
Holding inside what they think is a fart;
"Har-de-har har," I eject with a start,
As the unshodden shopper releases a shart!

>>18825323
>>18825393
>>18827724
>>18828947
Come on you lazy bastards, I have done 4 in a row, make more poems NOW

Last thread demoralized me but I’ll get over it. Just feeling uninspired

>>18830020

Uninspired
Anon's tired
Looking like a bike

By 'bike' I mean he is two-tired
And getting ridden's what he likes

In fact I'd go so far's to say
That this anon's looking gay

>>18824626
You still there anon?

>>18830128
NO

I killed him
In his loft

He was, soft

Tour de France
--------------------

A gleaming flock
more strident than starlings
more ardent than gulls

A shimmering wave
that soundlessly roars
and salt-flecks the sky

A golden thread
that's stretched atom-thin
stitching dale to fell

A routed army
fear-shod and pain-cloaked
refusing to die

With sweat-wrought legs and torture-glazed eyes
these men must dare to fly

Sometimes I imagine I am a well fed pigeon flying the streets of my town

bump

>>18830555
This is good, I especially like the image of the golden thread stretching across the landscape.
I don't know how I feel about a poem that would be too abstract to interpret except for the title. Is it cheating to use the title to "give away the answer"? Is using the word "bicycle" in the last stanza even more cliché? I think both of those must be true, but I don't know how to fix that without ruining how it is.
A problem is that the last line of the third stanza throws off the meter. You have to read stitching like stit-CHING in order to make it fit. And there's also more opportunity for rhymes in the last lines of each stanza. What do you think of this:

A gleaming flock
more strident than starlings
more ardent than gulls

A shimmering wave
that soundlessly soars
and salt-flecks the sky

A golden thread
that's stretched atom-thin
And sews the hills by

A routed army
fear-shod and pain-cloaked
refusing to die

With sweat-wrought legs and torture-glazed eyes
men daring to fly

>>18826271
yes, its english.
>>18830128
im back now
>>18830185
:/

Poopy
Poopy doopy
I poop through a hoop and loop loop loop

>>18832604
Send us your email, discord, or a burner email so the judges don't search up the poem to check for plagiarism and see this thread archived here. Even if you don't think they will

>>18832392
Thanks for your response.

I also wondered if it was somehow 'cheating'. I considered submitting without a title even in the understanding that it would leave the poem 'unsolvable'. In the end I decided it was OK to start with a set premise and then play with imagery alluding to it. I was a bit inspired by Simon Armitage's Hey Presto [1], where he uses a serious of increasingly absurd images to evoke the motion of a Kingfisher in the manner of an exuberant showman. Do poems need to be riddles? Certainly there is intellectual pleasure in piecing together metaphors, allusions, and arriving at a complete whole. But surely not all poems need be like this.

I agree that the meter is not great on 'stitching'. I think an earlier version of that line read 'and hems dale to fell'. I think I prefer the half rhyme of 'fell' and 'gull' rather than adding another 'sky' rhyme. I like the way it (to me) gives the stanzas a sort of left-right rhythm of their own - it arguably evokes the motion of the racing cyclist. Perhaps this effect would be better if I'd bothered to write more stanzas, though!

I don't particularly like my final line but I was tired and needed to post the poem and go to bed haha. It feels a bit trite. I wanted to capture a sentiment that expressed the nobility of difficult cycling races, and of sporting competition in general, but I don't think I particularly succeeded. No matter!

[1] https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=oLCGDwAAQBAJ&pg=PT93&lpg=PT93&dq=kingfisher+simon+armitage+of+a+kingfisher

>>18824626

>>18833272
or we can just post pictures retard

>>18817327
>You know the rules
And so do IIII

>>18833297
I didn't even realize the back and forth rhyming of every other last stanza line, they were too far apart to carry the echo of the rhyme by the time I got to each next one

>>18833548
That's fair enough. I didn't intend it to come across strongly. Just a faint underlying rhythm,

>>18833374
>>18832604
Speaking of zoom and normie topics, I have an idea you can play with that's really, really gay. I got this one from an HR email from my job.
They say: you should turn off the zoom feature where it shows what you look like (where you see yourself in a little video box next to the others) because "studies show" that looking at yourself every day causes depression and dysphoria. Can you imagine being such a spinster, hamplanet, or malding troon that just looking at yourself causes severe anguish? Can you imagine thinking that the solution to this issue is to just stop looking? It perfectly reflects the spirit of our time.
Anyway, write a poem about how your identity is now inside a zoom box, you are now forced to look at yourself, and this experience is dysphoric. It's bound to blow them away.

>>18833607
>cant bear to look at yourself
absolute kek

bump

>>18833374
Google can convert images with text to just raw text, I'm sure they have a workaround or they can search it up.
Besides, other anons are just posting their attempted poems in the open here; don't make me out to be the retard

>>18834657
There's no way that those plagiarism checkers are also checking every image indexed on Google for the presence of matching text. It's not technically possible yet, it would be a computationally massive undertaking.

>>18817331
i like it, esp the first two stanzas
>>18817508
kinda cringe desu
>>18817786
well written but it doesn’t make me feel much
>>18824821
downvote desu
>>18825323
enjoyed it


Hate women, that i do
Why? Because, much like a 1940’s jew
I am endlessly tortured by you
Forever unblown no matter how i pursue

Mother nature, how cruel a bitch
What evil to birthe me with this unscrachable itch
Her ocean waves tickle my tired legs in invite
Her whispers say let go and fall up towards the light

>>18834798
Based, relatable

Skærm:
En fastgroet grimasse
En udtørret pupil
Et fuldstændigt korroderet sind
Kun i stand til at sanse en vag følelse af at noget ikke er helt som det burde

Nærhed uden nærvær, tæthed uden berøring
Oplevelse uden differens, overlevelse uden selektion


translation


Screen:
An ingrained expression
A dried pupil
A completely corroded mind
Just able to sense a vague feeling that something is not quite as it should

Proximity without presence, density without contact
Experience without novelty, survival without selection

Ugh, bros, I feel like I might be falling for someone and it's gripping my mind increasingly. I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but perhaps I can at least use the mood to learn some poems, so please post your favourite verse about love, happy or otherwise.

>>18836318
these are the two greatest love poems there is:

La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur,
Un rond de danse et de douceur,
Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr,
Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j’ai vécu
C’est que tes yeux ne m’ont pas toujours vu.

Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée,
Roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés,
Ailes couvrant le monde de lumière,
Bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer,
Chasseurs des bruits et sources des couleurs,

Parfums éclos d’une couvée d’aurores
Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres,
Comme le jour dépend de l’innocence
Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs
Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.

_____

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

>>18829654

I once was a moron, out of luck
Farming for "yous" like a futile cuck
Now I'm part of a higher breed
[Spoiler]and all of you know this ends in[/spoiler]

>>18817327

Velveteen washbags, Gulliver cups,
Barbary boners turgid and worthy,
Staring at idols, lurching for rugs
Still spattered with soil, all earthy.
Lie on your back with tears in your ears,
Your collection is crap, subsuming your fears.

Camphor and candles with laces for wicks,
Pressed pairs of biscuits with cream in-betwixt.
Ribboning waste and a bullock’s toss’d head,
Sending old Maud to her flowerbed.

>>18824626
>>18833374
>>18833607
1st try unedited

bump

let loose
find your god in these details
trickling to shoreline leaving paths
to break this landlock. now you’re
free to see the evidence
it’s just your minds devils spinning
tales again, there gloom consumes
vision blurring all essential artifacts
turning soft sunshine to glaring sun!

boomp

don't forget to give feedbacks you niggerfaggots

>>18837202
make
>the box
another line instead

MAN.... i tell ya .. dis shit, it -da BOMB-

yo i Swear , on me MUM , brah .
i swear shits so *swag*, yo

it swag, as Fukk as da

swag assfuckin'

Dr.SWAG!! mon..

Da SWAG, da ass MASTA ..

DA! so goddamm GANGSTA, da ass mop da floor ....

tis the rule of the Game , boy... tis the rule .

I da, da Masta Gangsta ..

swag dat ass, drop da shit
bank dat bill ...

tis the deal, tis the rule
tis the life .

tis the swag, da ...
da Gangsta swag, da

da Masta Gangsta .

Damn I killed the thread. Here's a serious poem:


There is a rock, in the void, which has no name
Between a rock and another, spinning thing
This thing, it is a-drifting, spinning thing
Which has a name, which is Forgotten.

This rock, it is in the void, which has no name
Between the light, and the twilight, it lays
Layers there, on this rock, of dust frozen.
This rock, it is My Heart, it is the ninth...

And it is, Forgotten

>>18838924
any other feedback? things like accessibility of ideas and whatnot?

>>18837202
Unironically great. You will definitely win.

>>18839093
Too repetitive, you should say more about the rock. Dusty, cold, old, looks like it's full of mold, icy, tiny, gravely, lonely, ellipse-chasing, etc

>>18836416
Second poem is good but it has a lot of lines that don't make sense. Are they just throwaway lines or does it all mean something?

>somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
>any experience,your eyes have their silence:
>in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
>or which i cannot touch because they are too near
I get that the girl has some quality that encloses the speaker, but what do the first two lines mean? Is it just saying, your eyes have such a powerful quality, it's beyond human experience? What is meant to be understood by the last line, that the things that enclose are near? It doesn't seem to mean/add anything.
>intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing
Is this meant to be nonsensical, because the speaker doesn't know what about the girl is closing and opening him? Her fragility has a texture, which has countries, which has color? Is it just making a comparison with the power that changes the seasons?
>such small hands
Is this about a baby?

>>18839668
it all means something, nothing in a poem (by a competent poet kek) is a throwaway line:
>Is it just saying, your eyes have such a powerful quality, it's beyond human experience?
powerful isn't really the right word imo even if that's more or less the intention, the poet (EE Cummings) is saying that there something new and unknown that escapes all kind of description: "your eyes have their silence". This metaphor is a bit unclear at first bc it could mean a lot of things but it becomes clear with the rest of the poetry and other metaphors alluding to the microscopic effects she has on the poet or the powerlessness of words (for instance: "deeper than all roses"). The "eyes" can be read in at least two valid sense: the real eyes of which this would be a description, and the vision the loved one has of the poet which he imagines and that has thus an effect on him.
>What is meant to be understood by the last line, that the things that enclose are near?
This poem is mostly about the very small but deep effect love has. The "frail gestures" have an effect so intimate that he cannot either speak of them or he can't control them, touch has both meaning here imo.
>the speaker doesn't know what about the girl is closing and opening him? Her fragility has a texture, which has countries, which has color?
The texture/colour/countries refer to the first line of the stanza. The poet finds something better that is in the word, but because he is a poet he must try to describe it, and to do so he must refer to the real world hence why he call upon some imaginary textures etc. There's also probably the fact that this "intense fragility" is perceived in real and unrelated things in the world which makes a link. Observe the progression of the words too: we start from texture which is a bit abstract but a rather classical theme in love poetry, then go to colour which is even more abstract bc it is not defined and bc a colour is always a colour of something real, finally we pass to countries (or colour of its countries but this relates to the point about colour bc a country doesn't have colour - except on a flag which opens another metaphor) which is even more abstract bc we know these countries does not exist from the first line.
The death and forever line is about a classical subject in love poetry but encapsulated in a very small thing again.
>Is it just making a comparison with the power that changes the seasons?
I don't think so but maybe there's a point to be made.
>Is this about a baby?
I never read it that way but it could work. The small hands conclude the poem by putting the emphasis one last time on the very microscopic effects of love.

Four toppings on my burger, please,
Onions and a slice of cheese,
Ketchup and some mayonnaise,
Fuck anyone who disagrees.

bumping b4 i sleep

>>18824626
>Identity in a time of Covid 19

I sit at home and watch TV
This is all there is for me.
The only time I go outside
Is to buy some more whisky.

It's not that Covid has denied
The pleasures people think abide
In being free to roam around
Because I'm always stuck inside.

And now everyone has found
Their lives, like mine, are stripped and bound
A life like mine they cannot bear
They don't find loneliness profound.

I never thought I'd ever share
The isolation I thought so rare
With all the world. Who am I?
Is my identity despair?

The last two stanzas aren't very good. But I spent ten minutes playing with this so I'm done now. The idea of everyday loneliness and inceldom now being a common experience due to covid was the idea and how that reflects on identity, but i think very little of that actually shows in the poem. I tried to force it in the last stanza.

I don't know why they call them bookstores
When in fact that name's misleading
Several million lines of text
And yet, somehow, almost none worth reading.

>>18840327
Covid poetry is pretty cringe, but I enjoy A,A,B,A rhyme schemes and the idea of losing your identity as the rest of the world joins your already established solitude is pretty cool.

>>18840341
I don't know why they call them bookstores
The name, it just seems so misleading
Several million lines of text
And almost none of it's worth reading.

>>18840397
Wow, thanks for butchering my poem midwit. Unsolicited edits are pretty big gay.

>>18840405
I improved it. Your meter in the last line was totally off and the language in the second line unnatural. Also, anything posted here is up for grabs, and if you are in fact the author then you are a giant faggot for complaining.

>>18817331
Wonderful first two stanzas but it loses power in the last one. Love it regardless

>>18840414
All I heard was the sound of you aggressively gurgling cock. Don't be late for your ESL class mate.

>>18840583
You should take your ear away from your mother's bedroom door before you post.

>>18840606
>>18840414

There once was a faggot from /lit/
Who couldn't read poems for shit
What he thought that he read
Sounded weird in his head
And he made himself look like a tit

>>18840620

There once was a faggot from reddit
Whose poems could have standed an edit
He stumbled to /lit/
On our thread took a shit
And one good anon made him regret it

There's ole Gray with her dove-winged hat
There's ole Green with her sewing machine
Where's the bobbin at?
Totin' old grain in a printed sack
The dust blows forward n' the dust blows back
And the wind blows black through the sky
And the smokestack blows up in the sun's eye
What am I, gonna die?
A white flake riverboat just blew by
Bubbles popped big
And a lipstick Kleenex
Hung on a pointed forked twig
Reminds me of the bobby girls
Never was my hobby girls
Hand full o'worms and a pole fishin'
Cork bobbin' like a hot red bulb
And a bluejay squeaks
His beak open an inch above a creek
Gone fishin' for a week
Well, I put down my bush
And I took off my pants and felt free
The breeze blowin' up me and up the canyon
As far as I could see
It's night now
And the moon looks like a dandelion
It's black now
And the blackbird's feedin' on rice
And his red wings look like diamonds and lice
I could hear the mice toes scamperin'
Gophers rumblin'
In pile crater rock holes
One red bean stuck in the bottom of a tin bowl
Hot coffee from a crimped-up can
Me and my girl named Bimbo
Limbo
Spam

bump

My veins were filled with venom
when the void called out to me.
Wouldst thou forsake what could be won?
We'll have to wait and see

sa ve

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fO4vQqpWwSc

Who has dressed you in strange clothes of sand?
Who has taken you far from my land?
Who will say that my sayings were wrong?
And who will say that I stayed much too long

Clothes of sand have covered your face
Given you leaning but taken my place
So make your way on down to the sea
Something has taken you so far from me

Does it now seem worth all the colours of skies
To see the earth through painted eyes
To look through panes of shaded glass
See the stains of winter's grass

Can you now return to from where you came
Try to burn your changing name
Or with silver spoons and coloured light
Will you worship moons in winter's night?

don't forget to rate fags

>>18845864
I'm not a fan of free verse in general, and the length makes it feel rushed. You could put more effort into this, especially the ending.
I do like the alliteration you create with "forget" and "fags." It creates vivid imagery, a fag sitting in his room, browsing the poems, he's looking quite gay. And he's forgetting to rate. I would attempt to flesh this out more, what does he have in his ass? etc
Overall 5/10

>>18845316
>Who has taken you far from my land?
>To see the earth through painted eyes

these lines feel too short and disrupt the flow

the repetition of clothes of sand in the second stanza robs that phrase of any interest or power

>Can you now return to from where you came

this is poorly worded and feels very awkward

>>18817327
adaptation of the song of Groa in OE alliterative verse
anyone happen to be familiar with the rules of this style? I wanna make sure I don't have any metrical errors. Also gib suggestions, etc.

Then I sing first | that spell oft-tried,
which Rani taught Rind: | Reave from your head,
all irksome thoughts! | Idle your woes,
leave low your sins, | let self move self.

Then next I sing | a nether-spell:
When must you wander | a mirthless way,
the words of Wyrd | your wards shall be,
whichever the road | wills you go forth.

Then third I sing | a turning-spell:
That if swift streams | should threaten death,
bend then to Hell | both Horn and Ruth,
and where you walk | the waters fail.

Then fourth I sing | the fighter’s spell:
If greet you foes | on gallow-roads,
your winsome heart | their will shall break,
their reckons run | to restfulness.

Then fifth I sing | a fasten-spell:
If locked and lame | your limbs are made,
the binds shall burst | and beat your hands,
and fly the fetters | your feet have stood.

Then sixth I sing | a spell of ward:
If seabreak storms | show might unknown,
not wind nor wave | will do you harm,
safe ways your boat | shall always find.

Then seventh I sing | a spell of Wey:
If frost should seek | to fell you loft,
may biting cold | break not your flesh,
whole and wistful | your wight shall be.

Then eighth I sing | that elven-spell:
If nightfall comes | on nifolroads,
the ruthful curse | of a Rood-woman,
in Hell should keep | and harm you not.

Then ninth I sing | that naming-spell:
If words you spar | with ettin-folk,
Your heart should stock | high stores of wit,
and your mouth hight | mims for the wise.

Bear hence, my friend | what I have said,
and let it live | long in your breast;
At your beck be | the best of luck,
long as my lark | lasts in you still.

>>18817786

On what great shoulders we are borne,
how fleeting is our age.
How tall the book from which is torn,
our single meagre page.


Choice.