/lit/ - Literature

One beautiful day
The antichrist came back
He saw my face
And his jaw ran slack

'How did this man take my place?'
He thought, as he felt his sack
Shiver up and retract
No room for two devils in this town

So we fought, from dusk till dawn
Til the antichrist knew at last
That earth was not his future, only his past
He ran, his tail between his legs

And so, I rule this world alone
The sole demon seated upon the throne
Call me MAN, the pharmakon to Christ
The sacrifice was worth it, for through his flesh I was made right

And God's image now exists, only to prove his eternal plight
Man turned His paradise to hell
For a foolish God, his fate locked, the key thrown into the mortal well

Innocence is my weapon, and God inside it dwells
If the one eyed will rule the blind, then in my guilt I shall excell
It is thus that sin crowned me; King of Hell

>>19695229
Kinda hot, ngl.

i tried imitating the haikus Octavio Paz translates in one of his essays. what are some ways of making mine less on the nose?

in the grey streets
the rain falls hard: remorse
of not kissing you

>>19695342
good idea, but could use some work. i'd start by cutting strophes and lines (e.g. "He saw my face/And his jaw ran slack") and finding less obvious ways of conveying the same ideas. i wish you the best of luck in improving upon it!

Ice Skating

Today,
I decided,
I spend too much time
Sitting alone
(By myself),
In my dreary home.
And so,
I decided,
I should take a walk
Maybe I'll find someone to talk
(But I doubt).

Then,
While walking,
I stopped and I stood
Near the ice skating rink,
By the fence,
Observing the passersby,
Looking them in the eyes
As they pass me by,
Skating away.

Some fall
And they laugh
And the sun's setting down
And I'm standing
Alone
(By myself),
Near the fence,
Eating the cheapest piece of bread I could find
(You see,
I don't have lots of money right now
Should've listened to my friend Erasmus,
Nothing good ever comes out of books,
"being perishable makes a
man
strange"-
An advice that I never took
By another one of my friends
that has long been dead).

It's also a shame
I can barely see
If I look down,
My sight stops somewhere between
My hands
And my knees
But I have only myself to blame,
For those sleepless nights,
And of screen too much time
Makes those ice skaters all look the same.

It is also a shame,
That I
Drove away all the people I knew
Those who I called actual
"friends"
And now no sight of a person
From behind the fence
Can allay my distress
Yet I still
Enjoy watching
Those people
Ice skating away.

The bread is shit by the way.

>>19695451
I'd say haiku is relic of the past, and looks pretensions in any form nowadays
But to answer your question, I'd say it's the abrupt shift of subject(not sure if that's the right word).
Like
After reading the first line about the grey streets I kinda expect it to rain, so that comes across as natural. But then the shift from 2nd line to the 3rd brings up the subject that has been grinded to trite(and maybe that's the reason)
Maybe an allegory or a metaphor for a kiss would make it less "nosy"

>>19695588
I liked this a lot. I don't actually like most poetry much, but I liked this.
I think funny endings like yours usually serve to kind of undercut the sincerity that came before, sort of like the literary version of pulling a punch or smacking down the beautiful house of cards that one just built,
But with yours it flowed in naturally and sounded like something that someone shitposting on 4chan about poetry would say.

Seems though like the kind of thing you can only do once, right? Like, you can't employ that kind of rhythmic trick more than once because it becomes predictable and trite too easily.

>>19695451
"In the grey streets" is a bit cliche.
Instead of reading like the phenomenon that it is, it feels like the phenomenon as it's known. Does that make sense?
"In grey streets" - the streets that only you really know
"In the grey streets" - it's making me think of all the grey streets I've ever heard of to match the familiarity that I'm meant to have because of "the"

When I've read Basho, not that I've read him deeply or anything, but the translations often use "the" quite effectively. Like "The green frog" or something. But it works well because his writing kind of expertly evokes a familiarity with the frog in particular, rather than just every frog I've ever seen or heard of.

Aside from that, "Grey streets" are already a bit cliche in and of themselves.

I liked the rain being a metaphor for remorse, even if it's on the nose as another anon said.

Just left some feedback so I'll do a little spoken word thing I cooked up yesterday for the first time in ages.
It's meant to be spoken aloud, and I'm aware it stops rhyming at one point, it was intentional.

Listening to a track that makes me feel like a teen and
Trying to watch porn with the same high I had as a teen and
I know there's no second track with this feeling in the pipeline
I know another wank that makes me feel shit is in the pipeline
Feel like a slave to self lubricating this pipe like it's filled with crack
Room here for a corny line about cracks showing.
Maybe if I had teen dreams about raps flowing
I'd run that in too, but I don't so this rap shit is stopping, look.
I look in this mirror and talk with myself and it makes me feel like myself.
It's great to have it next to my desk, I can sit here and see my beard and eyes and eyebrows and,
I even see my dick and think "Damn,"
and that's hard! When you're addicted to hard that's way bigger and thicker.
I don't just wanna have this wishy washy "all dicks are beautiful" sticker,
I wanna feel attracted to myself like others have been and shit,
I feel like I'm getting there. I can't speak for you, or tell you what to do.
You should probably do the opposite. For you the mirror's probably that crack hit.
And if you're watching porn you should stop it being such a habit but I won't anytime soon, or maybe I will, I dunno,
I just know it's been a mo' since I looked at myself in these highs and lows and physically saw me just be and damn, damn, for a moment I felt like I really could be a man. THE man. It'll pass. It'll pass. I haven't found a solution, or another track. The shit feelings'll come back. I think they're all ready here. The good one's passed.

>>19695229
>Title and thoughts. Improvements?

The yin and yang
Of the LA lights

From the air
They Fuel despair

Cause they stay
As I go

All with nothing
To show

>>19695229
>>Raven hair, pale complexion
>>Eye liner and lipstick both violet
>>With a violence I want to rip back her black veil
>>And whisper that goth pussy could turn me heterosexual.
Good concept, absolute shit execution.
>>19695451
It's alright. Good imagery, I guess. Would like it more if it rhymed.
>>19695834
spoken word tier.

>>19695791
> I think funny endings like yours usually serve to kind of undercut the sincerity that came before
Yeah, that was my intention.
Maybe it's just me, but after writing piles of poems in the "Romantic" style (like those of Blake, Shelley, Wordsworth, you've know the kind), it occurred to me that all of them sound out of place when you take a look out of the window. Like, "Am I really going to write about the playful spirits dancing around the fire on a summer night? Is it really a poem that a guy living would write in the 21st century?
No. That poem is just pretentious, it an artificial imitation of reality that is simply not there.
What isn't?
A poem that is natural to the time of the poet.
What is natural to our time?
A post-modern ironic depiction of sincerity. 'Cause everyone is(yes, probably unfortunately) sick, of all the poems about the birds and the trees, and the warmth of the shit)."

>Like, you can't employ that kind of rhythmic trick more than once because it becomes predictable and trite too easily.
I'd say if it works, put it in there. I think, (oh yes, most humbly), that it worked in my poem because of the "gotcha" effect. So, I'd say, as long as you surprise the reader you can write anything. Just gotta place these lines in the right places.


>>19695942
> From the air
I'd remove the "the". It breaks the flow, in my opinion. Also not sure why "Fuel" on the next line is capitalized, reminded me of a real nice game.
> All with nothing
> To show
I'd remove the "All". Feel like without it the lines have more impact as well as a better flow.

Join In The Fun

Sometimes we ponder what is right:
Be of most virtue or of the utmost might,
To do what's good for all or be yourself alright
And by which word of God should we our life choose to abide?
I tire myself with all this trite, hear this:
One day there will be no more light,
No precious touch to bring delight,
No more warm heart, where one could hide,
No beauty for a jaded sight,
Forced to observe the unforgiving darkest
Of an unending night it sees inside,
Once, behind the veils, our gaze we hide
To see no more of just as endless,
Devoid of meaning strife,
That is on-going outside our mind,
The one we're destined to forever fight,
And to wake up to new daylight,
Just to partake in a much praised
Suicidal genocide.
So please, come; join in the fun,
Before our earthly time in done,
Before our life is soon forgotten,
Before the summer leaves face autumn.
Before we all shall turn to dust
Come, join in the fun,
At last.

And for the leaves of grass,
for I could not bend low, brushed my ankles as the violinist sails their bow gently across the strings.
Can I answer how these compare to the storm of this night hence?
I only hope the dawn will answer with brilliance matched.

Brilliance lays on the sea floor.
Oh dignified coral reef.
Perform an oration with your vivid hues.
Declare the ingenuity of the Octopus.
The darting eels and stationary sponges.
Of all the defiantly curious crustaceans.
Dazzling with swift cut appendages!

Clams cultivate your kingdom.
Repetitious arrays of seaweed sway.
With elegance no salt could preserve.
Rocks rest like contents of opulent Gallions.
All strewn across the ocean floor.
Resting untouched.
Yet tarnished and corroded.

Your diaphragm awakens a vibrant cacophony.
Graciously dancing in great swills of current.
Precious jewels of the ocean.
Plucked like sun ripened fruit.
Let sink slowly into the bleakness.
Where no hands will disturb.
All desolate, all sublime.

>>19696178
I like this a lot.
Especially the part about rocks and the one describing depth in the last stanza. Paints a very vivid picture in my mind.

>>19696193
Thankyou, I'm happy I managed to convey these concepts successfully

>>19696023
>> From the air
>I'd remove the "the". It breaks the flow, in my opinion. Also not sure why "Fuel" on the next line is capitalized, reminded me of a real nice game.
>> All with nothing
>> To show
>I'd remove the "All". Feel like without it the lines have more impact as well as a better flow.
I did everything you said and yea its better.
And fuel was capitalized by mistake.

I should go to sleep,
I'm tired,
Possibly dying,
Like all of us
do,
Everyday
Like a rusting needle
In a damp stack of hay,
Oxidised by routine
Decaying away
But sometimes,
The time stops
And dares not to move
For a day,
Rarely two,
Never three,
For the people
Who parted their way
With mundane,
Lucky few.
I hope,
That one day,
I will also
Fall into the sky,
And finally get
Some good fucking sleep