/lit/ - Literature

bumpin

Equine face, like the jejune jesuit,
Enunciating rapidly, 'Bettyboughtabitta...
Bettybou..' Breathe. Count to twenty-one.
Warm up the face now, keep it smiling.
You are what you act, and tonight Stanny boy,
You're in love.
In love with the stage.
Shoulder-widthspread feet in
Neutral position. You're ready,
to act. You're ready to cry.
'Bettyboughtabet...Fuck.'

>>2027968
I like it. I get that it's about someone getting ready to perform in their first play or something? They're trying to get over the nerves but it's a lot for them (the you're ready to cry bit is where I got this)

>>2027968

Who liked Ulysses? You did! O yes you did!

bamp. I wanna see what /lit/s got.

bump

They cross the street
when they see me
cumin[I drop
some eyes at drive
by skyline]. Clear
alley and no
longer am I
dying[at the
light he’s idling].
(simply stepping
dow
n)

>>2027924
Cute picture of the feelings of most in the current economy.
>>2027968
Never attempt to have anything to do with a staged Ulysses. Otherwise, I liked it.

The first line is only a slight reference to Ulysses to play off the 'why the long face joke.'
I like 'jejune jesuit' though.

If that detracts from the poem though, disregard it.

>>2028123
It doesn't detract, nice reference for those who get it.

>>2027968
The Poem is called 'An Actor Prepares,' for those who care.

Words fail me once again. I'm still speechless.
I try to say what I feel, but I can't.
Language runs on a treadmill in my mind
desperately grasping for the right words.
Words to express the fire that's burning.
Words to capture this emotion for you.
To help you understand what i'm feeling.
But words fail me.
Words fail me.
But love doesn't. Love stands tall. Love remains.
My love for you is stronger than I am.
Love would find the words.
If love could speak, what would it say?
Let me show you.

>>2027924
I like this one. it doesn't strike me down to my soul or anything but it's enjoyable.

>>2028096
sup E. E.

"Mother"

Mother tucks me
cold and wet
into my baby bed;

her fingers feed me
fat and full
and then she eats my head.

---

"Mud"

Puckering her wet
lips
the chocolate earth
sucks
at the souls
of my feet, the heat
of the sun drips down my shirt.
Warm day.

in sip id

Glass strikes the countertop and sings,
fluid slops over and onto my sleeve,
frothy bubbles sticking and staining
my sentiments of lovelust.
I’m lacking in luster, gusto or...
what festers in my belly is
nights spent with locked lips:
the luck lost in laconic limps.
She's beautiful.
So was the last one,
and the next one too.
Flingfall in lovelust
after two shots slung over one lip,
and half as many sentences spatspoken
over the jukeboxmelodymash.
I’m lacking in luster, gusto or...
what pesters out my brain is
tidbits of babble brimming
over the rim of a glassful teetering.

>>2028249
i like it. great first line

I see a fat man with a big hat
Curved at the sides and a sheer drop back
Nature bold, it does not want
Plastered on the front in sixty-four point font:
Fuck

It's called 'A lovely little Poem'

I hate niggers, I really, really do.
Don’t worry, I’m not racist-I hate crackers too.
The Spics and the Jews,
Those damn Hindus.
Pretty much anyone I’m introduced to.
Oh, and the Japs, can’t forget them.
I’m not sexist-I hate both women and men.
When contemplating this list the chinks come to mind,

and every nationality that I can find.
Voters who take it right in the ass,
Christians bending over on Sunday mass.
Fat fucks filling their guts with KFC,
While watching the poor starve on TV.
White supremacists with blond hair and blue eyes.
People who force kids to circumcise.
Pseudo-science spewing out lies,
and those believe it-as ignorant as flies.
Who else is there? I’m sure a few,
So many to get through, so much to do.
Faggots too scared to be who they are.
GO SUCK A DICK! I know a lovely gay-bar.
The men who beat their wives every night.
The women who cry ‘Don’t worry officer, it’s al-right!’
The shaking drug addict who asks for a light.
The beaten up minorities-boy, what a sight!
The military man who doesn’t question a thing.
Singers who aren’t judged for their ability to sing.
But you know who I like? Serial killers. At least they get things done.
And paedophiles who teach kids the meaning of fun.

War entertains me, so I guess I should thank them
I love you corrupt bastards; the old, rich and white men.
Don’t think I discriminate, it’s really far from it.

I hate you all equally, why I wrote this-extended-sonnet.
The world is eroding, the fire is lit.
It’s really quite beautiful, you have to admit.
So sit back, relax, and enjoy the view,
because I know deep down, you hate us all too.

You want money
But fuck money
Butt fuck money
Money fucks you

>>2028277
fuck should be in all caps IMO

>>2028312

The ending is really solid.

>>2028249
Glass strikes the countertop and sings,
fluid slops over and on my sleeve,
frothy bubbles stick and stain;
my sentimental outpour.
>(not sure of that line)

I’m lacking in lustre, gusto or...
what festers in my belly is
nights spent with locked lips.

She's beautiful.
So was the last one
and the next one too.

I’m lacking in luster, gusto or...
what pesters my brain is
those elusive words, unspoken;
my glassful teetering.

It's like an invisible wall between
The two of us seperated only
By will.

Nothing else stands in our way but ourselves.
We do this why? For what? We know the other
Hates this.

We sit fully aware of the other.
Sitting. Thinking about ourself. Selfless.
But not.

This wall, simple in its practice but so
complicated in its short creation
holds firm.

When will we break through it? Who will be first?
Who will destroy what is so complexly built?
I will.

>>2028249
I remember this poem. The first line used to be "This strikes the countertop and rings". You've made a definite improvement, I think.

Peat

The teacher claps the bricks,
far and silent as a lighthouse,
in his distant outstretched arms.
A short pause

before the sounds recur and stutter,
from the windows, walls and gutters,
of the school's demolished grounds.
Silence does not stop the swell:

it lingers in our heavy heads,
which bind in the bandage gauze of thought
and bury deep in peatbog holes,
to stir undisinterred.

>>2028589

Peat? Who are you, Seamus Heaney?

Anyway, I like the structure of the poem. And the rhythm in the second stanza is nice.

>>2028598
I hadn't read The Tollund Man before. I found it just now by Googling 'seamus heaney peat'. I feel much less original, but it seems like an interesting poem that I'll come back to. Thanks for your thoughts.

This is the first or second poem I wrote, when I was obsessing over Yeats and just starting to write. I despise its pointless wistfulness and pseudo-old-fashioned tone, but thought I'd share it for the lulz.

She was graceful, a silver birch,
when my love was leaves in trees,
when autumn came I blew away,
as a leaf upon the breeze.

I left her with her opals,
in the land where winter dies,
for the frozen shores of Greenland,
where the humpback whale lies.

I found a scrap of whalebone,
by a rockpool in the spring.
I bored it with a chisel through
and made a boney ring.

But no amount of bone or wind,
which enters by the docks,
could bridge the rift between us,
now my love is as the rocks.

Too many times I find my feelings buried in my hand
I find my mind on the treadmill
And my head in the sand
Too many times I realize my heart is on the wrong side of my chest
I realize my knees are buckled
And my fingers are stressed.
Too many times I don’t see what she means
I don’t see where my brain is going
Or where my feet have been
Too many times I’ve relearned how to stop thinking about her
I’ve relearned how to give a damn
And leave things as they were
Too many times I’ve relived my wrongs in my head
I’ve relived the times that I’ve spent
And the words that she said

>>2028699
and two more, why not?

In question and doubt
Heavy thoughts bring about
An unbearable burden to weigh
Break on my holder
My head to my shoulder
Inscrutable scoundrel, why stay?
Only the trouble,
My shoulder’s rubble,
Could bring my intent to dismay
Reckless infatuate
Deceiver’s best graduate,
You’ve got me feeling this way.


Once I was a straggled stranger
I have changed from that time since
I entwined myself with carefulness
And twisted through impending danger
And with innocence myself did rinse
But it has made me all the less
I was humble as a granger
My faults the rinsing did evince
And all the better to confess

Another Birthday


Under her, aisles down and down each with molten squares,
"sh-tsssssh-sh," told the cart.

No, we weren't aimless; children were there being aimless,
nagging on with colouring book cheeks.

"She said she couldn't find any – she found a one and
then said to pretend the other one," to her.

The shrinking cake from this familiar avalanche,
where she who invited, suffocated.

"I don't want to pretend anymore –
pretend to be a baby, or ten, or nothing," to all.

Out candle, then pretend until next time.
___________________________________________

The theme of this poem was originally "11," so I used 11 lines and talked about the age 11.

Good stuff so far guys!

I’m brutally empty,
beyond all hope;
everything is a lost cause,
there are no laws
that could make me feel
safe again.

I just want to believe in something
without half-a-heart
or hesitation.
Let me know, at my most
pathetic, that everything
will be okay,
because we’re invincible,
or at least, tough enough
to bear the strain,
rain on my parade no longer
with you, my umbrella.

My shelter.

A place to hang my head
no more.

As your oilslick sickle cells soak up the kitchen tile
under a Monday halogen noontide,
you cry out
with a voice that shatters concrete into intravenous snowdust
until you’ve woken up all the dogs in the neighborhood.

and I say nonsense
I say,
picking up the pieces of the plates you broke
and gluing them onto ships in bottles,
giving names to the captains of your blood vessels
before our mutiny sinks them.

The fish patterned out by the linoleum rush to your aid
in a spaceout lunatic frenzy
that shakes the cockroaches from the kitchen seafloor.
The windowbird watches with slight interest
From his breezy courthouse branch.

and I say oh god
oh lord
I say,
managing our private riots
with a seafoam artifact mop sprawling with sheepswool tentacles

and you say
Quit bitching and get me a band-aid.

If words could kill,
I would not be surprised to find,
that I've killed,
three, four, or five.
In anger, sadness, and shame,
during or in absence of rain.
They would hit be a train,
or car or plane,
shaped in words,
that would put a sailor to shame.
I would have been raised an orphan
at the age of five, or six,
made an only child,
and lose some friends in the mix.
And I would have to hide myself from,
word assassins, and word spies,
with that came from them!
Oh, the ways I would die!
Yes, if words could kill,
I'd be alone, and sad,
but if they stood back up still,
oh, the fun to be had!

If words could kill,
I would not be surprised to find,
that I've killed,
three, four, or five.
In anger, sadness, and shame,
during or in absence of rain.
They would hit be a train,
or car or plane,
shaped in words,
that would put a sailor to shame.
I would have been raised an orphan
at the age of five, or six,
made an only child,
and lose some friends in the mix.
And I would have to hide myself from,
word assassins, and word spies,
with the words that came from them!
Oh, the ways I would die!
Yes, if words could kill,
I'd be alone, and sad,
but if they stood back up still,
oh, the fun to be had!

My frozen world sits pinned against the wall
We stare ahead, but see nothing real
Change isn’t possible, we cannot move, at least, not on our own
A straight pin sits in our thoughts
Crooked needles branch out to our limbs
Freedom is a scene for us
Our lives are slave to the pin.
We jab and eat and release
Look through the world were we don’t belong
We hate the pin, and embrace the pin
The work required cannot be mustered alone
White light blinds and burns, but frees us of that cold dark pin
Which is better? The pin, or the Other?

Pic related

Kitten face is curious
her curiosity killed me.
Nine lives of sexual hunger
wrapped inside a veil.

Eager questions about matters of love.
Feline terror from god above.
All heaven's wonder sacrificed
for a kiss in the back of a bus
is a choice
not unheard of.

A kiss?
A kiss is cutting out the middleman.
Why involve ears and air
when tongues and lips are already there?
A picture is worth a thousand words;
a kiss delivers them with flair.

I watch her melt.
What about the hug? she said.
A hug is embracing a final puzzle piece
of a you-shaped me.
Just hold me and forget
a perpetual inferno residency.

Kitten face is furious
about her god-owned collar.
She rips it apart
and looks at the world,
her eyes finally see color.

The bitter steam that rises
from the sewers on 31st street
makes strange shapes
against the fulgent walls of
screens and holograms.
Some man with eyes like electrical fires
approaches me, talking with a hollow voice
that asks me for the time
in a way
that
tells me he’s been dreaming for weeks.
I tell the junkie to
fuck off
and in his swimming oblivion
he still smiles and thanks me
with the wave of a hand fixed up with slender gears.

My eyes roll wildly, tired
for the sun-soaked hills
I’ve seen in the old photographs.
I wonder
is there any surface left unlit
by the chrome-colored fires
of the digital canopy?
I’ve tried in soft desperation
to imagine untamed horizons
but each attempt
returns
only
snarling
zeroes
and
ones.

Passing the old bar
that still serves real drinks,
I make my feet into hooves
and chase the plastic goddess walking by
hoping to
feel-

>>2028915
>>2028703
Best so far?

>>2028934
I'll agree with you.

It has excellent rhyming and beat. In terms of technical skill it's the best by far.

The Past

I remember crystallized window pane;
A broken pattern spiderwebbing across the glass,
You were spelling your name in the fog,
Dragging your finger delicately back and forth,
Winter snow visible through the clear spots your fingers had left;
The snow slid silently down just beyond reach,
And I turned away.

I still remember you broken, huddled, drunk and alone,
Crying and sputtering about your dad or something;
And I could only think how beautiful you looked,
Even with tears. The moonlight fell on your face,
Pale cheeks highlighted by dark wisps of hair,
Ones that had escaped the band you used to secure the pony tail.

But then, after a while, after you were done crying
You’d smile.
And I’ll never forget those.

>>2028945
not OP, but which one?

>>2028963
two part post of one poem, so both of them haha.

I am a stray dog,
filthy and noble.
Scurrying in nebular fog,
anonymous, unknowable.
My howls echo through glistening galaxies,
inaudible.

I am a baby.
A pre-historic infant
rummaging through the stars for a mother.
She found me,
weaned me war,
circumcised my soul,
and in her divinity I'm smothered.

I am Human.
Muscles pulling a cart
of falling teeth and an aching heart.
Parts of me fall over
every time I hit a bump.
Pour booze in me and I'll crawl for a day;
fill me with false hope and I'll go all the way.
I am Human!
Master of the universe,
or that's what I like to say.

>>2028966
Herp derp, i are troll

I'm willing to give out detailed concrit. Does anyone have anything they'd like to have looked over?

>>2027924
These sound like Mike Skinner/The Streets lyrics, but maybe only because you posted a British actor next to them.

I was a bit high in beer sitting on a bench @ campus. Never tried to improve this one, as it is shit. But hell, it's the only one that I feel I managed to finish.

'Everything's a lie' I heard her say
Even you are one. That box is from a striker's
What the hell am I doing here playing to be a writer
I though. Things can happen in a cold winter's day.

Creepy shit young vocals coming outta the radio
I need a drink; more smokes, a cat and a day of
luck. It's been ages since I had one
Nothing's going right. Maybe is much that I want.

From now on, I'll keep smoking and drinking
Keep my feet going, every rock beating
I don't know which will explode first, if my liver or my brains
but I'm kinda certain that on that, I don't depend.

Comes muses,
I invite thy with a warm embrace
Knowing nothing more than a simple understanding
Of the moronic and marvelous world of man
Come Come and whisper me the frailties on your lips
Let the simple sounds from the sea crash into me
Let the wonders of the wind sing me a song
Let me lend you a barbaric language
A Small gift, for us, in a few graceful words
Speak to me the beauty of such subtleties
I, as your vassal.

>>2028985

I got one for you:

Fuck,
You suck

>>2028992
Comes muses,
>You mean, "Come," right?
I invite thy with a warm embrace
>"thee." Put a comma at the end of this line, unless you left it off intentionally.
Knowing nothing more than a simple understanding
>This sounds off to me. Did you mean, "Having nothing more than a simple understanding?"
Of the moronic and marvelous world of man
>Comma at the end of this line.
Come Come and whisper me the frailties on your lips
>Come, come; and whisper me the frailties on your lips.
>I don't like your choice of the word "frailties" here. See f you can come up with something better.
Let the simple sounds from the sea crash into me
Let the wonders of the wind sing me a song
Let me lend you a barbaric language
>Those three lines above would benefit from some punctuation.
A Small gift, for us, in a few graceful words
Speak to me the beauty of such subtleties
I, as your vassal.
>I don't like these last lines very much.

Your whole poem lacks punctuation. In some poetry that's fine, but yours really needs it to be clear.
You're trying to sound fancy and literary, and failing. If you can't handle the complexity of Middle English, don't use it. No-one's going to string you up for writing a poem to the muses in modern English.
The basic idea of your poem is boring and has been done many, many times. See if you can somehow put a spin on it. I doubt you'll be able to, though.
I don't think this poem is worth fixing, honestly. Sorry, mate.

>>2028980
Could you do
>>2028168
?

>>2029017
No problem, I'll do it straight away.

i would appreciate if you would look at mine, its entitled the past and a couple posts above your initial.

>>2029018
this please :D
>>2028915

>>2027924
OP I like your poem, I have no proffessional credentials at all

>>2029033
Thank you, and that's okay neither do I.

>>2029017
>>2028168
Words fail me once again. I'm still speechless.
I try to say what I feel, but I can't.
>So far, this is ok. Not spectacular, but not awful.
Language runs on a treadmill in my mind
desperately grasping for the right words.
>Good metaphor to begin with, but that second line should really relate to that metaphor. Try something like, "stuck in one place,/desperately chasing the right words." Basically, try to convey exactly how language is like a runner on a treadmill.
>Also, comma after "mind."
Words to express the fire that's burning.
Words to capture this emotion for you.
To help you understand what i'm feeling.
>These three lines would be more effective if you linked them together by ending the first two with commas. Consider removing the second "Words."
>To me, they sound repetitive and boring, but if you like them, keep them.
>Also, "I'm" rather than "i'm."
But words fail me.
>I'd cut out this line.
Words fail me.
>End this line in a comma to connect it to the other line. It sounds and looks better that way.
But love doesn't. Love stands tall. Love remains.
>I like, "But love doesn't." The other stuff seems to be just fillers. Try cutting them out, and see if you like it better that way.
My love for you is stronger than I am.
Love would find the words.
If love could speak, what would it say?
Let me show you.
>Surprisingly, I like the ending. Hmm.

I think this could turn out to be a nice little piece if you revised it. It's not very special or unique, but it's cute. It slips into cliche frequently, but it's hard not to do that when you're writing this type of poem.

>>2029023
Ok, I'm on it!

4chan internet wasteland
A great land to itself
Superpower of Interwebsland
A meme of memedom itself.

>>2028980
>>2028980

If you did something for this, I'd return the favor much so.

>>2028735
>>2028735

>>2028915
>>2029023
Kitten face is curious
>Personally, I'd hyphenate Kitten-face to make it clear that, as far as the poem goes, she's a character and that's her name. See if you like it like that.
her curiosity killed me.
Nine lives of sexual hunger
wrapped inside a veil.
>"A veil" sounds a bit unfinished to me. I was expecting something like "a veil of fur and whiskers." It's not bad the way it is, though.
>All in all, I really like this stanza.

Eager questions about matters of love.
Feline terror from god above.
All heaven's wonder sacrificed
for a kiss in the back of a bus
is a choice
not unheard of.
>This verse is a little shakier. I'm not sure how much I like the division of the last two lines. Still, I can't really see how I'd like to change it.

Contd...

>>2028980
I know you will be swamped with requests, but please take a look at this, my very first poem. Should I stick with it?
>>2028967

>>2029066
Continuation...

A kiss?
A kiss is cutting out the middleman.
Why involve ears and air
when tongues and lips are already there?
A picture is worth a thousand words;
a kiss delivers them with flair.
>This is good.

I watch her melt.
What about the hug? she said.
A hug is embracing a final puzzle piece
of a you-shaped me.
Just hold me and forget
a perpetual inferno residency.
>I'm not sure what you're driving at in that last line. I love, "A hug is embracing a final puzzle piece/of a you-shaped me," but maybe you should make it "the final puzzle piece."

Kitten face is furious
about her god-owned collar.
She rips it apart
and looks at the world,
her eyes finally see color.
>I love how this verse sounds, but it seems like you've lost the plot of the poem a little. So, the curious girl kissed you in the bus. Then what? Did she ask you for a hug, and you said no, so she ditched you, or what? Try to make that a little clearer.
>Who owns Kitten-face? I heard no reference to her being anyone's before. To me, she seemed distinctly feral, so that line about her tearing off her collar came as a bit of a shock to me.
>All that being said, your final stanza sounds very good. I love the line, "her eyes finally see color," it makes for a very strong ending.

Overall, I really like your poem. You have a very good way with words, and you're very good at forming solid, sensual images while keeping to your poetic structure. I just wish the plot was a bit clearer at times. You probably got caught up in the language before you had a set idea of what was going to happen in the poem. Revise it, and you'll have a really nice poem on your hands.

>>2029020
Oops, I didn't see you... You go next. :-)

The Stowaway

I have been drifting away
from the savage, tamed land
of life-made-livable, miserable, safe
in high hopes on this floating enterprise,
for I have lost my faith.

I'll live different;
the gravel within the grain;
the world will spit me out against the grave
a castaway.

G O L D B L U M


Three-piece skin-suit a coat-hanger crucifixion.
Goldblum, he gutter-speak with gin gimlet,
that inner-city train track:
killing it, definition of disaster flick.
All hair-sheen, all sauvignon.
Silk-scarf strangler, throat-wear theologian.
The world et cetera a droplet plucked
from impact tremor plastic cup.
Rain drop’s doppelganger
Doppler Radar chaos theory.
Menswear martyr must go faster,
eat food and fondle the earth’s ending.


O U T S I D E , T H E S T R E E T C O R N E R

Outside, the street corner
snowman in the newspaper

Reeboks saying

“Lac du flambeau! Lac du flambeau!”

Which, I have come
to accept as

one possible name
of my firstborn
caesarian brainchild.

Athena
out my eyelid.

Other possibilities:

contemporary / color-blindness / context.

>>2029076
L O N G D I V I S I O N


I dreamt once of disassembling
guns, guarding rounds from the heat
of her fingers. Grip, pin,
hammer. And I haven't had a handle
on who I am since this summer,
putting plastic bags
of spaghetti into borrowed refrigerators.
She happening hot and quick like a street
crime, hair the color and consistency of
plane crashes. Me in the kitchen thinking
rice cooker sounds
like a slur as I hara-kiri my navel
with an ice cream scoop,
myselfing myself into bowls
of strawberries terribly.

>>2028967

This part:

"I am Human.
Muscles pulling a cart
of falling teeth and an aching heart."

Was just awesome. A few other bits were good, too, but the overall impact wasn't there. It needs shortening and refinement imo. But yeah, that part is amazing. trim the rest of it down as close to that as you can.

>>2029066
>>2029071
Thank you very much.
Basically, i live in a muslim country, so i am actually talking about a girl that wears a veil, who is religious, and I am her first. The owner is "god", as in religion or whatever she is afraid of.

English is my second language, so maybe my words are not clear. Thank you very much for your help :D

Some parts arent quite right and it could be longer, but I dont think it turned out bad for a first draft

within legions of minds
is space and time
and day and night
and black and white
but we will fight for less and not more
...make peace with war
descend to ascend
But I dont want to make pretend
Or bury dead men
I want an explosion
and perpetual motion

>>2029020
The Past

I remember crystallized window pane;
>"the crystallized window pane?" "a crystallized window pane?"
A broken pattern spiderwebbing across the glass,
You were spelling your name in the fog,
>If you could end this line with a period, its impact would be greater.
Dragging your finger delicately back and forth,
Winter snow visible through the clear spots your fingers had left;
>Winter snow "was" visible.
The snow slid silently down just beyond reach,
>Just beyond "your" reach? Try ending this sentence here.
And I turned away.
>Try removing the "And."

I still remember you broken, huddled, drunk and alone,
Crying and sputtering about your dad or something;
>This line makes it sound like you didn't really care about her. Even if you didn't that's not a good thing to convey. Also, "something" makes you sound flakey. Try a line like, "Crying and sputtering with your arms round your knees." Basically, try for a more visual line.
And I could only think how beautiful you looked,
Even with tears. The moonlight fell on your face,
>Try, "Despite your tears."
Pale cheeks highlighted by dark wisps of hair,
Ones that had escaped the band you used to secure the pony tail.
>secure "your" ponytail

But then, after a while, after you were done crying
You’d smile.
And I’ll never forget those.
>Forget those whats?
>I don't like this ending. It feels incomplete. try making it a similar length to your other stanzas. what did she do or say when she was done crying? Did she lie down on the floor and gaze up into your eyes, and then did you pull her up and to bed? Did she silently hug you, and did you breathe in the sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with the salty scent of her tears? Pad this out a little. Give it a good conclusion.

Overall, this poem has promise, but it is in serious need of revision. It's worth revising, though; it does have some potential.

>>2029062
>>2029070
You two are next on my list.

>>2029080
Wow, considering that English is your second language, you're doing wonderfully! Your poem is one of the best I've read on here today. Work on making it clearer, certainly.
And, it's my pleasure. :-)

Another Birthday


Under her, aisles down and down each with molten squares,
"sh-tsssssh-sh," told the cart.
>You're in a supermarket?
>"sh-tsssssh-sh," said the cart.

No, we weren't aimless; children were there being aimless,
>I don't like this line. The repetition of "aimless" sounds bad. See if you can make it sound less awkward.
nagging on with colouring book cheeks.
>Colouring book cheeks? Aww, it's cute. I like it.

"She said she couldn't find any – she found a one and
then said to pretend the other one," to her.
>Sorry, I don't get what's happening here. As far as I can tell, you were looking for two 1-candles for her cake, but you only found one. Who are telling about it? Her mother? Are you telling the little girl herself that she'll have to pretend that the other candle is there? Clarify this, please.

The shrinking cake from this familiar avalanche,
where she who invited, suffocated.
>Suffocated? Do you mean that she "felt suffocated?"

"I don't want to pretend anymore –
pretend to be a baby, or ten, or nothing," to all.
>Do you mean, "she said to all?" Your speaker tags are extremely confusing, and they mess up the narrative of your poem.

Out candle, then pretend until next time.
>Do you mean, "Blow out the candle, then pretend until next time?"

I don't know what you were thinking while you were writing this poem. At no moment, is it clear who is talking and who is doing what. Revise it heavily. I think the rules you've set yourself aren't helping, even though they do add an extra dimension to the poem.
That being said, I like the idea a lot. I mean, I really like the story of your poem. Don't scrap it; I'd like to see it done properly. If you can pull it off, it has the potential to be really good.

Esposa do me!

>>2029074

>>2028703
lol i dropped this off and went for a bit.
and you guys think its the best so far?
i'm 16. holy fuck.

know Marx shall never be defeated
we'll liberate the working class
with labour camps and zyklon gas;
kalashnikovs and trousers pleated

will march through home and bunker led
by comrade Mao's eternal thought
'gainst evil corporations bought
by sweat that workers long have bled.

Soon red-washed rivers labour spilled
will rush on Wall-street's avenues
while workers armed in ranks of two
spill blue blood thick from cappies killed

in struggle long for socialism,
a road that's paved with tears and bread,
and proletariat here led
in deathless march to communism!

>>2028967
>>2029070
>Surprisingly, I haven't had too many requests tonight! The time I posted in one of these before, I had more.
>Anyway, time for business...

I am a stray dog,
filthy and noble.
Scurrying in nebular fog,
anonymous, unknowable.
My howls echo through glistening galaxies,
inaudible.
>I really like this image. I'm sad you just left it here, I think it could be taken farther.

I am a baby.
>This first line sounds silly.
A pre-historic infant
rummaging through the stars for a mother.
She found me,
weaned me war,
circumcised my soul,
and in her divinity I'm smothered.
>I don't like this image nearly as much. Somehow, it's not as moving as the other one. Try cutting it, and see how it looks.

I am Human.
Muscles pulling a cart
of falling teeth and an aching heart.
>These lines are good. Very good, in fact.
Parts of me fall over
every time I hit a bump.
>If the end of this line rhymed with "heart" up above, I think it would sound better. Otherwise, I think these two lines are a bit of a comedown after the first three.
Pour booze in me and I'll crawl for a day;
fill me with false hope and I'll go all the way.
I am Human!
Master of the universe,
or that's what I like to say.
>Love the ending.

I really like the first image of the dog. I think you could extend that. I like the image of the human, too.
If it were up to me, I'd use the image of the dog and the image of the human to write two separate, but linked poems. The Dog could be Part 1, and The Human could be Part 2. If you like the sound of that idea play around with it a little.
I don't like the part about the baby much at all. I think you could easily cut that.

>>2029131
Don't get ahead of yourself, kiddo. Only two anons said you and the poem about Kitten-face were the best. The rest of them said nothing at all. Personally, I'm wasn't too impressed with your poetry. Not the worst in the thread, but definitely not the best.

When I was young and in my youth,
there was a boy I used to know,
who with me would our youth uncouth-
____and scare our parents dead;
We'd laugh and run and play
From morning bright to dark in bed.

I had not seen him recently,
and meeting him was not my plan;
Since first we parted, drifting steam,
____we went in different ways.
Never stopping, carried swift
____By heaven's destined breeze.

It was a cold day in November:
I saw reflections in his eye
of flaming cigarette ember.
____His face had sagged with life-
but eyes can forget finite time,
and cut through decades like a knife.

The smoke was thick and smelled as sweet
as bakery ovens, sweet red wine,
and called to days when in the heat
____we'd smell of turpentine,
And play as children over fields,
When I was yours and you were mine.

>>2029126
>>2029126

It's a style thing - I do a really abstract thing with poetry, so I can leave really open interpretation to the reader.

Thanks - if you've got any poems for me to look over, I'll do that no problem, or if you'd like to see my other different stuff.

>>2029129
>>2029074
>Here's yours, mate!

The Stowaway

I have been drifting away
from the savage, tamed land
of life-made-livable, miserable, safe
in high hopes on this floating enterprise,
for I have lost my faith.
>Hmm... This is ok so far. But, what have you lost your faith in, and what are you hoping to achieve instead?

I'll live different;
>differently, you mean?
the gravel within the grain;
the world will spit me out against the grave
a castaway.
>So, are you leaving society, or is society rejecting you?

This feels incomplete.
There is a glaring flaw in your poem: your title and your poem are incongruous. Think of it like this: a stowaway gets on someone else's boat and tags along illegally, whereas a castaway is thrown off a boat and left to his own devices. One is conformist, the other is thrown out by others; your narrator is neither, as he leaves society of his own accord. He is more of a renegade than any of the things you have mentioned.
Work on it a bit more, and then post it again for further advice.

>>2029143
Thank you so much, again I think my language is not sufficiently clear, the title of the poem is "Human," and all of the images are supposed to describe the human condition, maybe this is why the baby image might seem less silly, but I do agree that it needs trimming.
Again, thank you so much for the encouraging words about my poems, I was about to give up on poetry to focus on prose.

>>2029163
Hmm, I'm not sure how well that's working in this poem. It just seems confusing right now. Nevertheless, if you're happy with it, that's what matters most.

And, you're welcome! I like helping out. If you want me to look over anything else, post it here or drop em an e-mail at alias1909@hotmail.com
(Anyone who's too shy to post in this thread but still wants help may e-mail me as well.)

I apologize, both for the lack of master and because I haven't properly done formal latin in a long time and that doesn't say what I think it says, I think

In part we are made from the flesh of our fathers
And part from our mothers, but we are not either
When we live, struggle, sleep, when we die, it’s a theatre
We are named, and we keep it, despite what we’d rather

Since scraping our bellies away from the water
That somewhere the first of our fathers was spawned
We’ve gradually shifted, superior slaughter
Looks just like compassion, a doctor, or daughter

The petal is stained by the water it drinks
The child by the hand on the cradle that rocks
And the brain of the man by the thought that he thinks
And his thoughts of the world with herd that he flocks

A family is a canny sort of structure
So wracked by dearth, mistrust and civil war
A microcosmic city-state of nature
With tyrants, drudges, rebels and the law

One night, rage controlled me, I sent my entreaty
In signatures backwards, in sulfur and blood
Virum lacerabo, me laceravi
And let thoughts of vengeance wash in like a flood

And sure as the each nightfall a being comes to me
I care not his aims or his name - this he knows
“Your vice is a crucible forging your pity
But now with the moon it waxes and grows”

It’s hard to say when I transformed first
My hands will be stained - but stains can be washed
I might swallow blood - but it won’t turn to thirst
So long as bequested blight is quashed

>>2029174
For weeks I was tranquil, for once I could smile
With freedom through tunnels of fugue in the wild
by moments; good things last such a short while
Now follow the beast, born of man, grown from child

The conflict I guess, in some ways is clever
To make life poor, nasty, brutish and long
When was it I altered, or was it not ever?
Complied with the leisure, alive, all along?

The flesh of my father, it tastes all the sweeter
Knowing between us one monster is dead
And now that it’s over, I swear I shall prosper
And cast all this ancestry out of my head

Funny old sayings insist on intruding
‘Like father like son’ - ‘you are what you eat’
I recall though, we change for the sake of surviving
We conquer our hunters or wait for defeat

I have a suspicion Sonneillon is plotting
To feed from my actions, or Vetis at least
I end the night laughing, scraping the rotting
Flesh of my father from gaps in my teeth

>>2029160

The first stanza seems iffy

>>2029169
>>2029093
where are you from anon?

This has received praise before, but I wish I could do more than write in cross/envelope rhyming quatrains

Dancing down on a mane of reddened star
The onyx depths brandish their cold scimitar
Time it just right, let the apex unfurl
Crests allow sight of the secrets they sell

Just skeletons here, no lies to the fold
Of sifting from wisping crushed drowned marigold
Clinging on bone it’s diffusing, cracked skin
Awash with empowering knowledge it’s in

With homogenous harrow replete
A medium for voices from under my feet
Floating it gallops on helical steeds
Diffusing turgid aural seeds

Dripping I’m played by the wind as a death
Fished from the blood and into the breath
Upon me as lances and bursting with splint
The fugue takes it’s hold as dull blasting print

Two evils and violence of void I desire
Consumed phantasmagoric pyre
Abandon the breeze and the lance and the breath
And into the blood and the void and the death

A land breathes in non-stop one-way exhalation
And slithering from megalithic oblation
The burning of static in mind’s respiration’s
Respite from the rasps of the days desperation

Deadening down to the hell-marine hymns
Replacing disgraced atrophying limbs
Last utterance lost as bubbles will rise

>>2028249
I am a sucker for alliteration

I want to be a lawn mower and cut grass
like, crew cut cadets.

I want to line up each blade
spinning circles to bring everything down to the same height.

I want to know what to do
always mowing from the outside in,
every day the same thing
but different weather can prickle my skin with ice and fire.

I want to be a professional lawn mower.
I want a uniform and my own buisness and someone elses face on the side of my car.

I would run over everything with the same indifferance,
pegs, shirts, shit, stones will all be cut in half and sent to the fence.

>>2029172
>>2029172

Well, look, for example - this is another poem where I do similar, though it has garnered a better response from most readers than the previous:

North
First
down, the rain,
off-beat the cobbles near a still;
rushing or man-made pools.

Swells typhoon quietly;
dark swallows engulf the sky.

Drown us in these umbrella towns.

"These people fish outside mountains,"
on our disfiguring end with
rock-side fester marks in mist.

Inside, eroding faces above,
the sky fell down on us before haven,
and, Outside, rejoiced.


Do you find this poem unclear? Am I still working a rigid and awkward format?

>>2029196
>>2029196

The title is "North."

The formatting got all fucked up, sorry.

>>2029179
I am from Egypt :D

>>2029196
I would say yes. I found this very hard to follow.

Gnashing teeth are what they promise,
lakes of fire, and fields of woe;
tortured voices howl distress
which no one dares to think or know.
But I know better -- and I see
plain as day that you are walking,
sleeping, in an endless sea
of blooming, ruffling buds of poppies.

Do you hear me now? Unseen,
yet seen by hearts aligned and near,
I hear your voice which calls unclean
to follow you through night unclear.
While holy church-bells nightly crash
I scream to you to hear me now,
but onward marches midnight fast--
I hope that you can hear my vow:

"You ate the seeds from Hade's hand,
and now by styx you walk alone,
and decorate the scarlet sand
with dust and bleach`ed maiden bone.
I'll come meet thee upon the shore
of timeless man and time-ed gods
who met their end in Charon's moor,
and now do naught but restful yawn."

Silent, somber, reach me never;
Never will we touch or hold
ourselves against the whitest winter,
nor summer shade we'll share for cold.
Nor moonlight shared on walks at night,
or sunlit paths to follow on--
til dusk at last wins over light,
and last I give a final yawn.

>>2029209
I think you use what is essentially worn imagery quite well. Your rythm/metre, in particular, feels very good. That's my cursory glance.

>>2029208
>>2029208

Okay - see, I had dipped into a more narrative, flat style of poetry with these pieces for example, generally avoiding things like alliteration or rhyme that I had done before.

I guess you could say I'm being experimental, and I still think these poems I have written can be good - I just need to bridge together the gaps.

The only problem then is that it sounds oddly like prose in a poem form.

>>2029196
Wow - I'm not surprised you got a good reception. Your writing feels much more free and open here, as if you really enjoyed writing it. I can't find any problems here. In fact, I'd probably buy that poem, I like it so much. Great job!

>>2029223
>>2029223

Thanks!

There wasn't a theme behind that one, so I just really wrote it with a scene in my head.

I had recently visited Norway and the fjords really are quite a piece of work.

OP thou is in possession
of thy most lovely
portrait of pegg


haters gunna hate

is it me or is poetry really dull and repetitive, you read a couple of good ones and 1000 shitty ones...yuck

>>2029196
The rigidness and awkwardness are gone! That's a definite plus.
While it's still unclear, your abstract style actually works here, since it doesn't seem like you're trying to evoke one particular event, but rather presenting a series of images for the reader to interpret as they wish.
I like this poem much more than the other one.

>>2029215

I'll admit that I read far too much Romantic poetry. Too much Byron for my own good.

>>2029232
Pretty much, but the good ones are worth reading all the crap to get to them.

>>2029236
>>2029236

Good to hear - as I've stated, writing this felt much more smooth for me because I captured each sight in an open phrase - confusing maybe, but working out.

Thanks again!

I wish I could return the favor.

>>2029216
I know. It is obvious that you are trying to fashion a stained-glass window onto the world, experimentally.

It is just too disjointed.

I did like the line

>Drown us in these umbrella towns.

The whole last stanza I just didn't comprehend. I got something aboutt he distinction between outside and in. But why the religious reference? Are he people inside condemmed?

Don't know what else.

It is a frame and can be expanded alot further.

like mine?
>>2029191

>>2029248
>>2029248

I guess haven isn't the best word to use - I'm using the term like reaching hospice or returning to shelter, sort of like they're trapped in the rain and mist(sky fell down upon us.) There was no INTENTIONAL religious thing, but Haven and home could be related to Heaven however you look at it.

>>2029191
>>2029191

I want to be a lawn mower and cut grass
like, crew cut cadets.

> The alliteration is nice - I'm not really sure what you're telling me by saying you want to be a cadet by cutting grass, but sure, it's an intro. It works.

I want to line up each blade
spinning circles to bring everything down to the same height.

> I know this is a personal thing, but I think there should be some punctuation after blade - a ; maybe? I know in poetry it's weird with grammar but...eh, just nevermind that. The second line I feel would work better as "to bring down everything."

I want to know what to do
always mowing from the outside in,
every day the same thing
but different weather can prickle my skin with ice and fire.

> The first two lines are fine - though I don't like the the whole "prickle my skin with ice and fire." It seems out of place? Awkward to say aloud? The should be shortened or end on a better phrase than "ice and fire." Try to not make it "fire and ice" though.

I want to be a professional lawn mower.
I want a uniform and my own buisness and someone elses face on the side of my car.

> This is fine.

I would run over everything with the same indifference,
pegs, shirts, shit, stones will all be cut in half and sent to the fence.

> You had indifference spelled wrong, but minor problem. Just thought I'd mention. I don't think you need "will all be" in the second line; the straight play into cut from the listing makes it flow better.

never wrote anything i'm not to good with grammar and i don't frequently visit this board, need feedback.
the glory of the heavens
once the dream of all mankind
these days no one seems to care
they ignore the greatest gift
ever given to the world
its there just reach out to it
but no one seems to want it

I forgot /lit/ judges poetic merit based on high school English classes.

>>2029264
>>2029264
Thanks for the feed back and critisism.

I pointed out the last stanza of your because I read over it half a dozen times, trying to put it together. But it kept eluding me...

I think your poem would be very sucessful read aloud, the poem has an extensive range of phonic sounds that sound nice read out.

>>2029274
What makes you say that? And more importantly, why aren't you contributing in order to make the situation you dislike better?

>Something tells me you got a bit of crit you didn't like here.
>U mad, bro?

bump

As one sumo bumps
Another, this thread deserves
To be bumped ahead.

Astronomers

We are no fools, we watchers of the sky
Alone. The red and yellow, pale and black
Pellucid--lucid thoughts derived arcane
From empty space. That, out of nothing, light.

We are no fools, we men who gaze at night,
Who, by the quavering of stars, descry
What lonely planets wander, wobble-kneed,
With badlands burning dry beneath the Sun.
We are no fools, but we do not believe.

>>2029308
love it reminds me why i'm in love with science

>>2029362
Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Most of it was written in one go since it was so short but I had a difficult time with the last few lines (though not the last line itself). Also, bump.

solid sophia
stood planted
between the quick soon heat
of angry young men

Sometimes,
I feel like I'm struggling to walk uphill
Through a stream of bullshit
While people on the sidelines
Look me in the eye
With an,
"Eh, what can you do?"
Look
And I keep thinking,
"Any second now
I'll just give up
And go stand next to everyone else
And we can all talk about how at least we tried."
But somehow,
That last bit of energy in me
Seems to keep stretching just enough
To keep me moving upstream.

>>2029419
quick soon heat?

The pain of being a mortal man
I'm never to see beyond my life
Never to leave this pale blue trap
Nor to know how it all had begun
Nor to know how it will come to end
but what can a single mortal do
To ensure that man can one day say
"that pale blue in the sky is earth"
"this is how the universe began"
"that is how the universe will end"

Oh frabjous day, another poem about death and dying.

I wish that I could join you all, alas I’m dead
My day is here and a pall of peace weighs upon my head
I know, with steady tread, back on the altar of your bed
I have foreshadowed you, but you yet live, so spare a thought
About the fate we with numb hands we had wrought
The things we seek, or sought, the life we led

If I could buy a wish, I’d make this coffin go unfed
An empty coffin’s worth about a slightly fuller head
And in the open head, gray trenches mark the conflicts fought
Thought that’s if wishes could be bought, and as I’ve said
Alas, I’m dead

“There’s none immortal” so it’s said
And so we scrawl our names on stones instead
The deeper carved, the longer lasts, as we are taught
If wishes were a thing that could be bought
I would pose myself a danger more than that from which I fled
Alas I’m dead

>>2029442
one thing I will say about it is that the enjabment seems arbitrary

>>2029472
Actually, it's violently deliberate.

>>2029477
perhaps, but as I said, it seems arbitrary
just an observation

>>2029479
For reals though, that's probably because it is. I'm a prose guy and I wrote something that I thought might work as poetry, so I gave it a shot not knowing much about how to arrange it for the best. Any suggestions?

>>2029485
I was thinking it would feel better as prose. Or you could try one of the those visual poem things.
But as for enjabment in poems, the way you've structure it, sometimes at commas and sometimes not makes it sound like linebreaks are a full ceasura and it just stop starts without cadence.
Try removing all punctuation, writing it out imagining linebreaks to be a kind of half-pause, then put all the punctuation back in.

>>2029488
See, I was wondering about punctuation. I have a hard time ignoring those rules.

I really don't ever write poetry, so sorry if this is complete shit. just felt like writing one day. criticism is welcome. also yes, i posted this in the wrong thread if anyone saw that:

‘I am scared for my grades!’ the little girl wailed
For she had written a test she knew she had failed
‘I am scared for myself!’ the middle-aged woman cried
For she thought only of death; to death she was tied
‘I am scared for my generation!’ the old man thought to himself
For now he was old and felt like a dusty book on a shelf
‘I am scared of nothing’ the wise God said
For life is too short to allow such worries strike my head

>>2029494
Its pretty decent, but if I where you I'd say wise man not god for to reasons wouldn't a god have an infinitely long life and it makes you sound like a priest

>>2029501
yeah I was a bit hesitant on using 'God', but I also didn't want to repeat the type of person ("man" was already used once). and I also intentionally went up in scale of 'intellect' of how it's written. first, it's a little girl with little problems, then a middle-aged woman with middle-aged problems, and an old man with elderly problems. thus, the only thing left would be a 'god', someone above all lifeforms, and thus understand that these problems shouldn't be too worried about. I'm not religious, but it was to try and convey how a wiser person would overcome these issues.

Bumping this thread!

I saved it as an image, because I'm thinking of entering a competition. Any constructive crit? Any competitions you'd recommend?

White for what was always ours
Green for what we never had
Red for what we had but lost
Gold for what we have to gain

I'm not quite finished with this one, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Cot Death

Standing still beside the bed,
beside each other,
beside themselves,
as the slow first light of summer
spills across the windowsill,

his black tie loose around his neck,
arms hanging - tensing by his sides,
hers resting on the rail while
her breath bequeaths a sigh which
gathers up the dusts of spring
(the settlers in the new-born spaces
left by absent minds and hearts)

It balances each upon its feet,
twirls them some nonsense dance
then tucks them in the warmth of cotton
sheets as now untouched.

>>2030643
>>2030643
I liked it, good imagery and sense of diction.

>>2030667

Bumping for comments :)

Hmm, I'm not even sure if this is considered poetry, but it's my attempt anyway.

Tonight we run away
Don’t chase us
We’re far too gone now
Not even all their love can hold us down
Take your deepest breath
Oxygen incinerates in the smoldering air
Our skin melts away under the darkest blanket


We run from the man with the gun in his hand
We run from the girl who’s killing our plans
We run from their hope and our demise
We run from God and his judging skies


But we won’t escape
No
We can’t
They’re here
They’re where we want to go
And they aren’t leaving
Not for us
Not for me
Not for you
So why run?
Because it’s our only chance


And hopefully our footsteps will break the ground
And scare the children
And anger the parents
And make our grandparents turn in their graves
And they’ll tell me
“You’re a bad influence”
And they’ll tell you
“I had such high hopes for you”
And I won’t care
But will you?


Maybe you will
But it’ll be too late
Because we’ll run too fast to stop
And our soles will catch fire
But we won’t notice
Because in these moments
We’ll be happy
We’ll be happy as we immolate
Because we’ll burn in each other’s arms

Katherine, Katherine, where did you go?
No light, no song, no footprints in snow
to lead me to you, oh where did you go?
I see no hair, nor breath, nor dress
I see not the shine of your ivory flesh
in blanketed streets in urban landscapes
Nor do I see any path of escape!

Katherine, Katherine, why did you leave?
Running is only a short-lived reprieve
from living forever at my fireplace,
a painting that never will wrinkle its face,
nor age, nor doubt, but always through time
at fair eyes I'll look at as they look at mine!

Katherine, Katherine, lay at my side;
we'll lay on the beach and wait for the tide
to wash out your body, still and so clean,
cleaned of the sin, my Katherine,
forever you're pure, and always my hands
will guard your fair beauty from time's curs'ed sands!

Katherine, Katherine, kiss me again;
taste of my wine, 'tis tonic I lend
to freeze you in youth, to open your eyes
to why I must never, ever let die
the air of your grace, the glow of your face,
sleep now eternal in hand-knitted lace!

Sleep in my garden, under my tree,
I'll sleep there tonight, and whisper to thee:
"Now you are perfect, always as now,
perfect I'll keep you, that is my vow,
I'll paint you a portrait, eternal nineteen,
Never you'll age, my Katherine."

>>2030724

That reads like if Thomas Holley Chivers re-wrote Julia A. Moore's elegy for Mr P.P. Bliss and Wife.

Or like Poe in a faux-naïf mood.

>>2030727
>Or like Poe in a faux-naïf mood.
That is basically what I was going for

>>2030805

Well, if you are a fan of Poe, it would behoove you to check out the immortal Dr Thomas Holley Chivers.

He was capable of writing poetry that was so bad, Graham Greene gave the name of "Holley" to the hack writer in "The Third Man".

At the same time, it would seem that he was really Poe's inspiration----the hidden secret behind how Poe learned to write.

There's an out-of-print study by S. Foster Damon called "Thomas Holley Chivers, Friend of Poe" which goes into the whole plagiarism / borrowing issue. But the hilarious thing is that Poe is accused of getting "Annabel Lee" out of a Chivers poem entitled "Rosalie Lee"---which, of course, sounds as clunkily unmusical as "Annabel Lee" is Byronically evocative.

>>2030820

I just read a couple of Chivers' poems, and he sounds like he wants to be Swinburne, but is just sort of -- off.

I'm going to post here again to get feedback on a poem I'm entering in a "Response Poetry" contest.

It's a rewrite of John Donne's "Holy Sonnet X" from the perspective of somebody who sees death as a good thing basically.


Unholy Sonnet X


Fear superior ends by pride,
The might of your man, an ultimate curse.
As holy as He, yet no mercy;
To allow rest is sanctuary,
For heaves that follow, in deep tombs etched,
Sin rots, along with the body.
Willing souls burn in Hell's cauterized flames,
Slaves to fate, chance, kings, and wretched despair,
Lone suffer of earthly poison, men of war, rampant plague.
Lease of my cold grip; lands, beyond Eden, with charms so lush,
To make everlasting in proud rest, tainted within chains that bind,
Am I so proud an abomination, man?
Graceful fake redemption as unclean souls lock away.
And say death truly undying; Death, thou shalt be immortal.


Just to add, it's not really in sonnet format or anything. It's just a poem made to respond, though it does follow closely. If you feel it would write better as an actual sonnet, just mention it.