/lit/ - Literature

my favourite poem? To An Athlete Dying Young. thank you for asking

phone posting my poem out the wazoo

Here's a little spitball shitpost I came up with the other morning. No idea what this categorizes as but whatever
>>23143080
Really a pleasant poem anon.

Colin collie Comes Home Againe


dramatis personae:

Collin: a border collie whose body is all-colly black, but with a belly and heart all covered in pure-white.
Levriero: a Grey-hound of Italian birth, ever zany and full of skillful tricks, a veritable harlequin, standing up-right upon the hind-legs, with velvet grey-blue cape and hood upon him to mark intelligence and craft.
Maltais: a scion of melita who despite the care of a punctilious sybarite, demonstrates the constant affection and loyalty befit of Maltese renown, eyes curiously marked by brown tear-stain.
The Beastmaster: a man of swollen size, body flinchless, voice tone harsh and stern, the eyes are still, unmoving, the hands massive with a strength more proportionate to a man thrice the size, and holds an iron Rod heavy to grip, and has a belly to which the determining of fat against muscle is impossible.

The Invocation:

Now at attention dogs, I hold the leash,
And stir ye wild by a pipe of oaten reed,
Once Rise then fall, new dawn with Golden beam,
Until the final blood-ray coats its sheen.

Make woods to wail and wolves to whine,
The brooks to swell full-moon to shine,
The fruitful vale all-pruned deprived,
The tomb to fill by human knife.

By the Club were the forests made crushed to their pulp for a page,
By a touch were the orchids made mush from theirs bulbs for a stain,
By the clutch like to horses the pups who will hulk by the reins,
By the blood from their corses full-flushed by the bulk through the veins;

I will regain breath after the days-length,
Tinged by the pained-sense making the brain-reft,
I’ll be sustained yet, everything’s made-deaf,
Whether you face death, I shall retain strength.
Scene: a forest fringe all freak’d via refulgent light shining upon sweet-flavored dews, which seem like sugar to lap, full of Gold beam, and pleasant with the multi-variegance of flow’r, from the delicate snapdragon well-known to seem like human skull upon decay, to the world-famous rose alongside the merry gold marigolds and faintful asters, there do the three dogs run, mouth in open toothy smile and tongue all-lolled, though for some moments Colin’s eyes do dart side to side, and if seen well, maltais does give little weepings, and Levriero, with eyes white-circled all whale-like begins to stand upon his hindlegs as he’s custom to whilst balancing a red ball, he begins to speak

Cont

>>23143334
Levr: Well-mannered with a learn’d etiquette’s grace,
And trained to leap just like the leveret,
At once a ball upon my nose,
And then I’m up upon the toes,
My dainty claws to locking and unlocking bolts,
Throw me a treat I shall not eat until released by some common agreed figure,
Master, my master, snap your finger,
Pat to my head, inspect my gums,
Throw strewn the flesh, I wag my tongue,
I wag my tail, look how I’ve grown frail,
My stiffles are so stiff I’m stifled quick,
I sniffle as I sit and sniff you through a bit.
The world goes gray, sad-happy day!
And yes the same, thou shalt obey,
See how well yes, there is much play in this.

Maltais:
stop the evil words, I’ll hear no complained bitterness,
Why add sad-grief to what’s good,
no, best?
Friend and father, a refuge within the high hand against the rain above and sharp stone below,
Which lifts us up so we do not pierce the delicate pad,
And loosens the poor-paw from thorny briar all-wrapped about.
I cry, tear-stains have made a rustic shade cover me,
Russet fields of grain prepared for a humans hand,
Which survive the harsh cleansing cold of winter-snow.

Levr: I speak no foul,
I simply bow,

He does a little curtsy, the spine curving so that his rear to head seems some twin mountains, the tail perfectly upright in stillness as some highest peak, some meat-Everest, and eyes all low

levr: I give due honor, look, strength has been given me,
Consider the wildflowers, none so dressed as well as I,
For breeze does come and shoot far off the petal,
And scorching suns above may burn and bruise their little stems as well,
And unknown men (much worse than known) may step and lo,
They are all rendered bereft, nude and ugly with unprimness.
forgive my shameful doggerel,
I know it beat and mockable,
But summer makes,
Not such a paint,
Bright as the face he makes when I do the impossible!
With timid shyness dread of tumid highness, Colin comes a-quivering.

Cont

What's a good place for a complete beginner to start learning how to write poetry?

>>23143339
Colin: but how’re ya doing the impossible?
And what if you fail and something hurts you,
Or by accident lash out and bite the hand which feeds us,
And feel lashes and tightening leashes and are placed tied up upon a roving street,
Where rat and cat and garden snake have freedom,
And what if I am starved again,
And what if a blade is taken to my groin?
And what if a hand does hold my muzzle so I cannot breathe or lick or lap ever again?
Levriero and Maltais both Bark with fury

Maltais: evil, evil, you speak evil, daily we’re given reign to run, these fields all resplendent with the dews and falling of fragrant blood are ours, I am from birth a thing of petty need, but Colin look upon your limbs and jab your tongue against the fang, more than the wild wolf you are blessed with intelligence, like the hyena you may in pack trap the massive creatures of the fields and tear off the testicle for a treat, like Doberman to bite and never cease, like shepherds to strangle until they do not breathe. Who has given you this weld of power and intelligence if not our common master? Why then will he stretch out his hand reasonless and strike you?


Colin: because he has.
It is true I have all things I have, a bed at times, food at times, but pain and quaking is forever here, I shake to see the gaze, I shake to think his face, I shake like dying chill or burning heat, my tongue wags but it is no pleasure I have, it is a beg and a bow, “I pray release me from the cage” but the tree-lights burnt by the touch of his hand are as soon put out by a strange movement and a clicking noise very like those high bugs.

Levr: cicada,
Which for a childhood do live in darkness,
But are then given to fill air and earth with echoing of song,
To climb an O’dris tree to height and sing their verse of love,
Unlike the false songs master does delight to listen,
The artifice of mating call, he speaks me them, of Ovid and Horace,
And many more, I do recall some words,
“Behold destroying phebus holds the spear,
And peaceful mars does strike a note to lyre,
And foolish Cupid has a pow’r here,
Until the fair image grows old and sere.”
And so they sing and mix the true and false,
The Beautiful and ugly,
for Pain and pleasance make a single liquor,
Wherein the Man refined by years of craft becomes drunken,
For this our lives are so determined,
A bitter flavor as to highlight,
A bitter flavor as to sweeten.

Colin: no for forever I see standing in the eye of my mind,
The eye which doesn’t have a lid, and cannot dart back or forth,
The eye which is still even as I huff and groan and sneeze,
The gangly arms and spider-fingers tangling,
the massive standing frame which never ceases to the forepaw for a rest,
The legs which seem my whole body’s length and width, I still see him and hear him.

Cont

>>23143351
A cloud of burning memory forms above Colin, which does a while make all the fur wet and nearly drowns him, which does burn him with the bolt, does frighten him with the roaring thunder, and he does try to hide but again and again scourged by the bolt and full of rain-blister, forced out of den, Colin sees in these the vision of his master, and hears his words through the hateful thunder.

the beastmaster: animal lay down, hold there in place still,

The Iron rod beats the flank first, and its weight is pressed against the fontanelle-spot of a young collie puppy, forcing the head in submission down.

The Beastmaster: feel you this harsh pain, forcing itself hard,
Grinding your skull down, making you laid-flat,
Make to remembrance jolting and hot-heat,
Starvation ne’er paused save for a slime oozed
Drawn from a slain hound, it was thy kinsman,
Prison and dark crate, blood at a fast pump,
These are yours days-length, suffering fear-strained.

With a curved blade half-rust half calf blood-covered the beastmaster did lift up his hand and plunge.

The memory seeps to the yellow pool of Lethe, and the clouds go away with their scourging thunder.

Colin: I won’t return, I won’t return, I won’t return,
The painful cycle, to sleep awhile and rest, then to starving hunger, cold and heat,
My houndhood hewn daily and put into a dark place a moment, then a blinding the next,
I won’t return, I won’t return, I won’t return.

Levriero: by the frogs of the bog where the fog has so clot as to clog with a wann both the log and the rock and beyond to as far as where dawn to the morn to the Bourne of the night has its might even there to the icy most caverns and depths of the sea,
I speak a double word and do reveal the truth to thee,
Thou art gone and thou dead, and yet alive,
by thee thy master has become once more revived,
Go then and away hence to a home ne’er known,
Or else we’ll meet again and far to forest fringe we’ll roam.

Maltais: by humble loyalness I am already gone,
A memory of Goodness, i repeat my master’s song.
“I dreamed one night I came
Somehow to Heaven, and there
Transfigured shapes like flame
Moved effortless in air.

All silent were the Blest,
Calmly their haloes shone,
When through them all there pressed
One spirit whirling on.

He like a comet seemed,
But wild and glad and free,
And all through Heaven, I dreamed,
Rushed madly up to me.
Back from his haloed head
A flaming tail streamed far,
This way and that it sped
And waved from star to star.
And, as I saw it shot
Like searchlights through the sky,
I knew my dog had got
To Heaven as well as I.”

And now this phantasm departs,
My shade returns in full to ethereal heavens,
Of burning comforting fires,
And sweet, eternal, living waters.

Cont

>>23143356
Maltais departs, first leaping with the gentle leap as common the smaller stature, then gaining height with each leap, until he does soar above the trees leap to leap, and does then leap the sky and traverse from dog-star Sirius off to the far-heaven.

Colin: death, there is no death, for death brings me back here again,
Whether I haunt or have been conjured by you, death and life is the same, moment of horror to moment of horror, the trauma of pleasure suspenseful of new-born-pain, I am one in prison,
Prison and dark crate, blood at a fast pump,
These are my days-length, suffering fear-strained.


At this Levriero departs, and hopes tomorrow he’ll have better results.

>>23143344
Fussel’s poetic meter and form+ reading an anthology of English verse to find which poets you like and then studying them, then writing pastiches of them.

The three rules are

1= your favorite writers are the best manuals
2= you need to write and over and off again reread what you’ve written
3 =recite what you’ve written ideally aloud over and over, this will show you truly where the rhythm fails and can be improved and how rhythm works.

>The luminous birds, goldfinches and orioles,
>Were gone or going, leaving some of their gold
>Behind in near-gold, off-gold, ultra-golden
>Beeches, birches, maples, apples. And under
>The appletrees the lost, the long-lost names.
What is the subtlety behind Francis that I'm struggling to replicate? I tried to write a pastiche of him for a /vg/ project but fell short, here:
>+ A bird falls to ice once more
>+ the old body not yet warm
>+ and it drips off. Darkness and
>+ the dark within brings the light
>+ to a screech. Will we survive?
>+ Only if we cut the rope. No matter
>+ Who we leave Behind.

>>23142502

The clouds hold up the night.
They veil her pearly teeth and soft skin
and I meet her gaze.

With a look, she leaves me restless:
In the day, I miss her,
but if I sleep when she's back, I might.

>>23143334
>>23143339
>>23143351
>>23143356
>>23143362
I read the whole thing. It was very good. Why do you post your longer works when the anons here can barely read more than a paragraph or two? You could save them for a collection or something.

>>23143794

>>23143899
>t. can't read more than a paragraph or two

>>23143908
>t. Quantitycel
Here's something else you might enjoy::

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>>23143794
I don’t really have intent to publish and every time I’ve been published its been with friends and along with their works, I have no ideal of being published under my real name, so I’m fine with publishing them after posting them here. I post em here because I do enjoy critique and sharing what I’ve written for those who will give critique, A big part of why I post though is I like this sort of poetry and would like to see more of it, so may as well do that myself.

>>23143908
>The Iliad is a story about how Achilles gets mad at King Agamemnon over a hoe and they squabble until Achilles' homie Patroclus gets killed. Then Achilles gets real mad and trashes Troy for a while, killing Hector in the end.
>Let me guess... Quantitycels need more?

>>23144005
for >>23143949

The Guy in the Glass
by Dale Wimbrow


When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,

And the world makes you King for a day,

Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,

And see what that guy has to say.
For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,

Who judgement upon you must pass.

The feller whose verdict counts most in your life

Is the guy staring back from the glass.
He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,

For he's with you clear up to the end,

And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the guy in the glass is your friend.
You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,

And think you're a wonderful guy,

But the man in the glass says you're only a bum

If you can't look him straight in the eye.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,

And get pats on the back as you pass,

But your final reward will be heartaches and tears

If you've cheated the guy in the glass.

>>23144005
A mound of dirt and a heap of nails
Might fill a cart and weigh down scales
But don't compare in worth or hold
To a tiny florin made of gold

>>23144211
Stop with the readlet cope. Just because you can't read more than two paragraphs doesn't mean anything longer is a cart full of dirt and nails.

Shilling my site if anyone wants to read some translations from little known 20th century French poets. Currently have 16 poets up, and many more to come. Also some original works in English, French, and Greek.
>https://iliazo.wordpress.com

>>23142502
>but I was told there's usually a poetry general
Many have tried to start and/or maintain a poetry general but it never has any staying power. The board only seems to have enough poetic output to support sporadic threads.
Appreciated, though.

>>23145178

>>23145181

anyone watching adam walker's paradise lost lectures ?

A man, flat-feet, asleep on black-grey shore,
His mind holds you, a mind with nothing more.
But as released, in streaks, his final sighs,
You, not he, is took by death.

>>23143344
definitely learn some theory (fussell is probably the best place to start wrt this) but also I think you'll find that the more poetry you read closely, naturally the easier you'll find it to write poems that are at least satisfactory

Later when I have time I’ll give critique of the other posts.

>>23145482
No, do you recommend them? If so I’ll check them out.

>>23143381
>>23145507
Thanks friends

I said online I don't like banks
Now the algo has changed
Robots want to invade with tanks
Everyone is deranged

Extremely offline
You walk the road and it is not the same rod
Anymore than / this or that
The bushes
Were cut. Building a facility there, you see
I almost bleed blind static / Or(Aur)sneed. Losing
More than I ever had, or did
Wish
Or wash
Or loosh hooked with fluoride crystals
Or an ambivalent oblivion: dude drinking coca cola asking around 'ray peat : anyone?'
Anyhow. Purple stained jokes is what damn those bright eyed homies
I am vomit leper lord through this dust
Blowing bubbles with my nose. disgust
Is a mighty strong emotion I'd want to feel
But the Store is closed. And I'm still that sneed.

>>23143080
I wish I could write a poem like this. I use too many retarded words and it pulls me away from saying anything cool. Gotta work on this.

>>23146440
Rhyming has been passé for over a hundred years now. Poetry has moved on, and also returned to the origins.

Rhyming in poetry was a semitic thing adopted by medieval peoples. Ancient Greek and Latin poetry did not rhyme. Hebrew and Arabic poetry did.

Crashing wave.
Closed fist.
Count the rhymes.
Sticks in mud.

>>23143080
How funny, must be something doggy in the air, since we both did dog poems. I like the loose rhythm it fits with the aesthetic of the poem, I also like the Assonance rhymes, only those who truly care about the sound will rhyme “least” and “leash”

Though the first stanza line three, “this dog,” tumbles over rhythmically

Line two stanza 2, “potential “ is too abstract, too conceptual for the desired register.

>>23143080
How funny, must be something doggy in the air, since we both did dog poems.

“She does not bark, but she does show her teeth” I would give the Samuel Johnson complaint against Milton here, putting the comma there and continuing the sentence is so prosaic that if pronounced there’d be no sense of the lines and would make the line break arbitrary.
Likewise “time is about noon” if I was you I would consider more irregular lines here.

“With heinie sniffed, and Canine licked,
The time is noon,
It’s time we end our trip!
Returning to our room.

Penultimate stanza is that relaxed nature loving style which I do and enjoy and is based in a reality probably you did experience, for I have written similar having picked up a stick I really did like.

I would just modify the final line to

“Than friends we enjoy” and accept the anapest.

ignore trips
filter their posts
close their lips
punch their nose

>>23145178
Well that's lame. I don't know much about the board's culture but I'd assume poetry would be more common since poems are typically shorter and most anons seem like the type who don't really enjoy longform content due to having adhd subway surfer brain.

To contribute to its survival here's another one I wrote back in 2019. I'm pretty sure it's the 2nd "poem" I ever wrote. It was a competition between /sci/ and /lit/ to see who had the better poets. Judge me plenty.

Here they come
the forces of dark
soldiers clad in black
they will burn the stars
they will tear all precious cloth
Behold, bringers of chaos

A wise tyrant stands, he watches his armies
scratches his whiskers,
contemplates his choices
He hears the whispers of his subjects
His motives they question
This new way they decry
"I am therefore I am, you need not know more"

Before the tyrant his hand kneels
"it is complete my Lord, all that was is not"
"but what shall you do now?"
"sit with me he replies"
Look and see, a parchment perfect,
a backdrop of blackness, void as far as one can see

"Tell me general, do you regret your action?"
Beckoned by the question, the hand cries
"Why do we destroy such beauty,
"to replace it with darkness obscure?"
The tyrant reassured his faithful

"My friend you may not know it ,
but we've done this all before"

"behold a place so pure

Where stars no longer detonate

Where sounds no longer resonate

A place of no friction, but of all encompassing contradiction

How strange it is to be anything at all

Stranger yet is it to be nothing more."

Balls wrapped around my head
Pubes all over filling me with dread
She loves to torment my naughty bits
Just as much as I love her wonderful tits

>>23147917
This I must admit
Ass unwiped, itchy with shit
"pee pee poo poo"
wipeless and regrettable
Still this I wouldn't undo
The mass of the log unforgettable

>>23142502
Do we have a list of /lit/-approved poetry?

>>23147830
>the board's culture
Like ironman in Oppenheimer
It's rather lame
I operate like a pro gamer
Yelling in the rain

>>23142502
I've never written, or particularly appreciated a poem, don't you guys have a link as an introduction to poetry, how to read, how to write and how to enjoy it ?

Posting my first ever poem from back in 2017. It's incredibly embarrassing to look back upon- you can almost smell the Reddit pretentiousness on me- but also somewhat entertaining.

"Damnatio Memoriae

This I’ve known as God’s name holy
Blessed and damned at once be He;
That no shattered glass turneth wholly
Man crieth not as raw lamb shrieked

Once I burned for canvas dampened
What was buoyant hath gone tawny
Chronos tethered I to fires
As all dear dwindled from glory

So with fingers gripping pansies
Firmest jaws stroking imagoes
In the heart’s Bastille I bided
Where no dandelions wander

It was here I shaped a castle
Short of vouched divine technique
In this fort of stolen ashes
The forlorn nigh came to be

While I waltzed in tomb of galas
Fallen men came not to feast
Driven mad by dreams of phantasms
Frigid corpse I set alit

So rose Sol enshrined in gold dew
So its cheeks gave bloom to rose
When that shall succumb to vastness
Not one fray is to be fought

When its eyes should lose their wonder
All my arms shall curse all force
When its flame combineth in others
On that day I’ll cease all blows

Blessed be the Sun and brethren
Dawn drop in the night unthroed
Air spark in the sea unfettered
Rival to the End of All

Seven oceans from out refuge
In this sky all drank by one
Deathless scythe of king and beggar
Yet still desert ere and forth

Thief of all that’s ever glistened
That he toucheth never was
Every coin he snatcheth from pockets
Ever barren his own turn

Still I floated east of sorrow
For this garden, too, grew bliss
Fruit of men since life long rotten
Still I cherished every gift

Sentinel of naught but ruin
Blithe in one fool’s paradise
Penman not of truth but musings
Roman name in northward lands

Woe, a dunce I was to gather
That the wilted could resist
Powers that had bested blossoms
That a vestige would persist

One by one my jewels cloudened
War by war the kingdom falleth
‘Tis an ode to muted luster
‘Tis an end requiem of yore

Knowest forewarn when thou seest it
Last to perish I shan’t be
Hither first I’ve not arisen
So all hope abandon thee

Where once fields would chant oath solely
Azure gems lament vows broken
Nothing these wild winds hold holy
Celeste dwarves have not a token

Where once stood a church of Cherub
Now a graveyard for her form
Where once echoed hymns of angels
Now the bell of mourning tolleth

Where I searched for breaths departed
For her tears I scoured damp air
Where I sobbed for roads not traveled
Now I weep for that I’ve fared

Where I rephrased lines forgotten
For a single act I pray
Once a stage of reenactments
Now the swan mere beast is made

(Cont.)

>>23149344
Sui generis’ dued expiries
Cruelly tease memento’s close
Pastiches of Heaven’s Rising
Oust by abstract works signed moi

And the Sun hath nigh gone Nova
Satellites all melt to naught
Fabled days and sights we bartered
Now seem just a summer’s thought

I pray mercy to be granted
In the belly of the beast
But the daemon’s stomach grumbleth!
Hither’s little left to eat…

Where grew smithereens of daylight
Now flee feathers of a dove
Least that leaveth my doted prison
Relict glow tied to its claws

Not a cry lighteth the desert
Not an ember thaweth the frost
Not a solaced, nude crescendo
Not an epitaph is cawed

Lives of wars all fought for nothing
Death to Death and Death unthorned
As all else, the Dark Prince caught me
Life to Death and Life unsowed

In the endless ink I drowned then,
In the gluttonizing sea
Hence I ask to those who follow:
Who was “I” if none is he?"

melville's In The Prison Pen

About five or six months ago I turned down getting published because they wanted full creative control of the cover [I already had my friend's painting picked out] and I couldn't stand the thought of my work not looking the way that it was meant to.

Am I a moron or did I make the right call? I am still writing poetry but I would be lying if I said I didn't find the entire ordeal devastatingly demoralising. Poetrybros, what would you have done?

>>23148160
my diary desu

>>23149727
that is a bit retarded tbhdesu but also shows respect for your friend and a lot integrity. why don't you try approaching other publishers/agents though?

I just dreamed up my first poem ever and remembered it this is it, should I continue writing?:

Deep within the dungeons depths.

Chicken broth stank on my breath.

Many life's filled with regrets.

I haven't taken the first steps.

Lord take me up into the light.

Do it or I'll take my own life.

Mary(4x) Mary(4x) Mary(4x)Mary(4x)

>>23143080
It’s hard to write about everyday things. Most poets go abstract to make up for a lack of substance. Good job brother

>>23143279
More hypnotic abstract loose poetry. Well written one though

Here’s mine
Though I will admit
Our hands on the cannon
Like manning a till;
We blew those poor boys away
Into yesterday

I saw Johnny fly into the boulevard.

Though often rambling
Our lips in the center
Like from word of mouth;
We spoke so soon, today
And tomorrow

I saw Johnny walking right after.

Though the monsoons
Dot this battlefield like spots on
A hungry, prowling leopard;
Whose only desire is to
Whisk away this generation of fools
Into senseless extravaganzas!

I saw Johnny having his day.

Though I stand on a precipice
Between the blanks of nothing
Clouding my view and heart;
Come from me, total control
In a managed manner pouring
Like the cheers welcoming him home.

I saw Johnny at the Parade.

Though the world is set against us
Or it seems, with every moment
You spend doing your time;
Until you are called home
Like those left from behind
And those left without loss.

I saw Johnny in this way.

>>23149727
you could have agreed to let them handle the cover of this one, if they allowed you to pick the cover of the next

You may scorch me, torch me, you may set me ablaze
Reduce me to ashes if I'd then win your praise
Indulge for me a jape with imagery absurd
That you might see my love so winsomely averred

Suppose Eros picked poorly his bolt for the day
Choosing an arrow murd'rous, right ready to slay
He'd loosen his missile and find much to his shock
A corpse -not a lover- deadly still like a rock

I'd be quite morose as I watch on from high
As you find my pale body, screaming mournfully "why!?"
I'd be fine, however, if you treat me like game
Make a rug of my skin and step sweetly, my dame

Are these lines too silly to convey my affection
So piteously sweet as tooth-rotting confection
I would die for you, lady, slain true, what a pall!
To win a glance, a thought, for anything at all

>>23151273
I wrote this:
Last paragraph would be better as

Are these lines too silly to convey my affection
So piteously false as tooth-rotting confection
I would die for you, lady, slain true, what a pall!
To win a glance, a thought, for any winning at all

>>23149947

>>23149241
I don't have much in the way of advice besides what I've been told: always read it aloud. It helps to appreciate the meter.

>>23150653
More hypnotic abstract loose poetry. Well written one though
Thanks bro. I'm glad you said hypnotic specifically. Thanatos had a brother, Hypnos, God of sleep/dreams. I was kind of trying to reference him with the structure and specifically the line "exorcise they"

>>23151553
>>23150653
Also, do you think abstract/loose/hypnotic stuff is bad in general, or is it just when there's obviously a lack of intent/substance as you say?

I also like your poem, especially the structure and sense of transformation

can you enjoy poetry if you're dumb?

>>23151934
Are you struggling to enjoy it? Try some easy stuff like Poe (if you can parse the more complex language) or Dickinson (if you can't).
There could be other reasons, like not being able to read poetry rhythmically, not having practiced one's reading comprehension enough, etc. If you're starting at absolute discord/tumblr zoomer level with modern slop being your primary reading material, you'll probably want to start reading real literature to improve your comprehension first.

>>23151568
Thanks, I appreciate it
No, there’s nothing wrong with writing loose unfocused poetry for the sake of good prose, it can always be fun to read, imo. But a lot of poets cop out by not sending a message and trying to go all surrealist
Now that you’ve seen you can write, is there anything you want to say?

I'm not quite certain how to end this poem. If there's a more glaring concern in it, I am unaware or brute-forcing my way out of it.

As the soil dances impatiently, chirping bachelors give up hope,
The horizon's tease might have been more welcome, if it
knew when to give up the joke; cracking leaves keep no secrets,
wind hums with the night's song; one can only wonder if
it knew the language, it would decide that the
diva was sufficiently strong.

The gossip was likely a rambler, gift to his chest,
not quite so eager to exhaust himself,
for the forest needs it rest,
God! Every toad would love to jest,
but none come to the troubled man's aid
The old joke leaves him be; the bachelors return blessed.

May we thank God for soundproofing her theater,
and the Fates for not supplying a surprise guest,
for such true artists need no narrator,
nor a makeup room pestil hence.

>>23142502
Have a schizoid poem I wrote about a song I like.


I see doors that are not doors,
And walk through them all the same
To find new realms beyond the moors
And sit down where the satyrs sing.

I pass by pipers who pipe no tune
And merry, maudlin men
And snakes that run and dogs
That slither round the straightened bend.

And deeper still, I hear a trill
And look to see a tree;
Though the oaken trunk has nary an eye,
It stares and winks at me.

Deep as can be, I stop and stare;
A courtyard square, shaped in a ring-
The purple piper does pipe here,
In the court of the Crimson King.

>>23151948
nta but can you help me out? I'm relatively new to appreciating poetry correctly and I've been collecting poems I like. Here's what I have so far: Cities and Thrones and Powers, Brahma, Chapter Heading (Hemingway), Because I could not stop for Death

It's in that order. I'm not sure where to find poems similar to these. I really love the poems that I have enjoyed, but I'm tired of reading classical anthologies just to read Shakespeare waxing poetic about his girl of the week in, guess what, another fucking sonnet.

>>23152310
Gonna post Brahma by Ralph Waldo Emerson cause I've been rereading it tonight.

If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven

>>23152081
Anything to say? In full honesty I wish I knew how to write something without being drunk, depressed/obsessed

i long for you
long long long long
until i become a single tear
stretched out into the atmosphere

HAD I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage and wild affright
Upon Deïra's squadrons hurl'd
To rush, and sweep them from the world!

Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them, my friend, my Hoel, died,
Great Cian's son: of Madoc old
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd and had the lovely Maid.

To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row
Twice two hundred Warriors go:
Every Warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link :
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar, that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn:
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting thro' the bloody throng)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep and sing their fall.

Unreachable lovers
And ceaseless corridors

Fake memories circling
Down spiral staircases

Night time whispers wishing
Wistful replacements

Gelatinous figures
Lurking in the doorway

When i wake up you are
Already sulphurised

Cloaked in molasses and
Dripping in milk of bears

Anger acquaintances
Attention, abandoned

I don’t want it anymore
I don't get angry anymore

>>23153487
I like this one, gives me a big Tennyson vibe, reminiscent of some ancient tale or battle. Is this based on anything in particular, or standalone?

>>23152204
>>23143382
I think that I have a common flaw in both of these. I play with teased messages and hidden details(more overtly in the earlier poem since the reader is supposed to have context with the universe the character is in) but I don't really know how to manipulate details to my advantage and keep figurative meaning at the same time, so I just say a whole lot of nothing or have flat metaphor.

How do I fix this? Am I misdiagnosing the problem(or not seeing a larger one)?

I don't need the map.
Where did everybody go?
Starting to get late.

A GLASS OF OLOROSO

For Olalla
and her
supercilious posturing of intellect

Along the Yarra
stubby hands lifted
glasses of red wine:
these were the people:
slipping, sliding,
perishing:
they all had some familiarity
with triumph:
they all owned expensive houses,
and drunk expensive wine:
they were as pigs:
well-fed and content.

Something was floating on down the river
No one quite saw what exactly it was
It was long, and white,
and shone, caught the light

Drinking is much like meditation
in that it results in gratitude.
One such example was one man who,
in a show of drug-induced good-will,
slipped his grandson a few hundred dollar bills.
The grandson was twenty-one
and was drinking also
and planned to spend the money on weed.

The thing in the river wasn’t white anymore
It had turned into more of a pale green
It’s getting longer, one lady near us said
The tables were rumbling with excitement
And wait staff everywhere were working hard
to keep things going

Tired? Tired already? my grandma
said to my grandpa,
dozing off in his chair,
his head nodding as if
to a song,
but no song was playing.

These were the people:
nodding, swimming in the river
in order to investigate the thing,
ordering another round for the table
when no one had had even half their drink yet.
The night became more dark
and the world became its own shadow.

A one-time slice of hard space
won by walking to the bathroom
and getting in a stall
to piss.

Some people were saying
the thing was a new kind of
amphibious drone,
others that it was
some kind of
water-based UFO.
When I caught sight of the
thing at first I thought it
looked quite like the
periscope of a big
white submarine, but
when it got closer I saw
it was moving, side to
side, back and forth,
like a pendulum
from another world.
The Yarra was dark, murky,
completely opaque.

On the drive home
my father, the driver,
accidentally entered a
bollard-protected bike lane.
We rode it out until
a gap in the bollards let us
escape.

Home in bed trying to sleep
drunk. Low volume video playing
with quiet piano playing loud.
The lights are on and the
shadows of things loom

>>23142502
Each morning I arise, I say my prayers to Goldman Sachs
To God & Country
To Halliburton and the starved blood of the innocent
I watch children die, I take no pleasure in it
But I shed no tears for any of it
I haven't felt feelings in decades
I do pretend to, it's important to perform.
Performance is peak performance here,
In the land of who's and what's,
I pretend to have feelings so that I am not counted
Among the blood & guts,
So that all the other husks allow me to live,
I imbibe the grease, sweet sweet grease
Lining my insides like poison, I thrive on grease and on blood
I haven't felt feelings in decades.
God bless God & country, watch the little ones die
They sleep under cars in bombed out hovels
I buy watches, I buy trinkets, I buy extra large fries
Humanistic death! Philanthropy of genocidal intent!
Libertas, and justice for all!
360000 megatons of emancipation straight to the fucking heart
I live to passively kill, never by my hand,
But just by virtue of my apathy and my disgusting way of life,
By virtue of the sin I was born into,
I am not a man, yet I am
I feel nothing, but I pretend to
So that the other husks allow me to live.

>>23154590
>title: The National Anthem

>>23154560
I liked this but felt a little anti climacticism upon the end
Much like my physically intimate life

>>23142502

Here's one of my poems. Open to critique.

Young cardinal sings,
heralding the return,
of radiant morning;
arisen, unquenched flame,
burns open, those low-hanging,
indigo curtains;
fibrous, clusters of cotton,
tumble along cyan currents,
ebbing and flowing,
as ocean waves;
beating upon shores,
of newborn day

>>23154689
Nice imagery.

being freak detached, I must sane
nothing makes sense is or not, have a nice sane (is sane?)
I'm crayozauce times ten, your name was never even been sane
I'll take Icelandic Singers for 200, Ken (formerly Alex)
Who is fucking bjork
Correct
No I'm asking, who is fucking bjork because it's definitely not me, namsayin?

sorry

>>23154776
it's alright, just don't do it again

>>23154778
I promise I won't.

starting a phd at cambridge in october. anyone know what the poetry scene is like there these days? is there much variation betwen the average quality of poet amongst the colleges?

>>23154780
ok

Thumbed through "Late Fire, Late Snow" recently and loved it, where should I go for poets similar to him?

Bump

Poetry is dead. Now is the time of AI song lyrics. Put your poem into suno.ai and press "make song ok".
https://vocaroo.com/1jFl08p9TyRX

>>23156269
no they will steal my precious work

Why is poetry so good bros? I can't even focus on reading Dostoevkiy because I'm re-reading sonnets over and over again.

>>23157086
It's the nicest way of telling stories

>>23157086
it packs more feels per syllable (fps) than novels

>>23152312
I'm always staggered when I read Emerson. There's something genuinely psychedelically transcendent about his work. I always leave it with a fervent sense that the mystical and metaphorical is more real than the material.

>>23153984
It's not mine
https://www.thomasgray.org/texts/poems/deho

atrophy:

in the cruel crescent night
the hunter stalks its prey with his light clutched tight
an immaculate hare spotted in the clearing
marked by a hunter he knows not to be fearing

with a deadly aim he sends an arrow
that maims the benign little fellow
a shadow fell as the hunter tread
through the snow as his prey bled

with shallow breathing the leveret sighs
as the hunter grasps to snap his thigh
with a groan the child moaned
as his body is picked apart before his very eyes

with bloodied hands the predator stands
as he looks around the now barren lands
whilst the stained man is spotted in the clearing
marked by a hunter he knows not to be fearing

this is the second poem that i've ever written. i wrote it kind of quickly and haven't gone back over it so forgive me for any flaws. i have no idea what im doing really, so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

>>23157713
I couldn't agree more. I only recently found some of Emerson's poetry while browsing classical poetry sites and I've been obsessed with Brahma. I was reciting it out loud in the supermarket a few hours ago to memorize it; they all probably thought I was a drug addict lol.

>>23142502

Reverend solitude takes my hand
And shows me two directions:
One of brimstone, one of clouds,
Both paved with good intentions

Know thyself and know this mantra:
As within, so without —
Pulvis et umbra sumus;
To know we are dust leaves little doubt.

Solitude, a guilty conscience or
A soul at ease; solace found by both,
So take whichever road you please —
Solitude, devourer of my many fatigues

a homeless man froze to death today
maybe today i will go buy some warmer clothes
a man lit himself on fire today
maybe today i will go buy a fire alarm
a girl was raped and murdered in the park today
maybe today i will go for a walk
a classroom of kids were shot to death today
maybe today i will go to a museum
a white guy shot up a black grocery store today
maybe today i will go get some groceries
a group of hispanics were shot to death in texas today
maybe today i will go enjoy some mexican food
a guy drove his car through a group of protesters today
maybe today i will get my car's oil checked
a schizophrenic cut his dad's head off today
maybe today i will watch a movie with my mom

>>23158482
i usually dont fuck with this style but this instance isnt bad

gushy cauldron is boiling
hunger of the liquid / consumes
and consummates those who partake
in this most honourable operation
the gesture is made
out of arbitrary findings
with a thought that no thing is useless
such positivity is being prepared
with the help from the muses
linen gloves on her shadow hands
her gift to my kind
the dance is outside the rim of your eye
the symbolic is crucified in it
divide it further towards the magnanimous shine of ousia.

>>23158482
>>23158725
Millennial whining

>>23158482
Good, but a little kitschy

>>23152312
https://vocaroo.com/1d4bADyLenRY

>>23160332
>https://voca.ro/13VML95IEgyc

>>23160523
Thanks for the feedback and not pretending to be something other than the disgusting mindless retard you are.

>>23160543
You're welcome.

https://vocaroo.com/16ibhYG1qRnT

I started writing poetry about two months ago. I'm trying to write a short story using different meters. This is just a short snippet. I've got about 1300 words so far, and everything is about at this level of quality. Be as critical as you wish.

sliding my finger slowly up my cock
it's now glistening and hard as a rock
come kneel, sexy boy
You're going to be my toy...

Then out spake brave Horatius,
the Captain of the Gate:
"To every man upon this Earth
death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
than facing fearful odds,
for the ashes of his fathers,
and the temples of his Gods?"

witnessing this tight room stuffed with part-time shitposters
not quite gullible
for the full time employment
it makes one think:
the reason is bitter
and bitten at the root
filtering the proposed form
unto the time garment

who dresses it/you/them (we/they might ask)

but can it no really can it be stressed towards being a proper trade
as a tight C4 planted the base belongs to dumb fish who swallowed the bait
being wickedly hungry
crossing the wilderness (who could blame them?)

memes apophatic means they don't show their front face
only a set of gestures to navigate the maze
through intuitive propulsions
genetic memory from another time
is hinted from the far away future (Leibniz)
an evolutionary leap accompanied with rhyming

in the distance (of meaning) between the bait
and the fish
lingering
the word 'ditch'
and a slow evening
of dreaming
about the progress
and pilgrimages
towards the restoration
of potentiality.

bump

>>23163817
nice. wild in a lot of places but this poem fucks.

i love being an angel
even though no one has ever loved me or cared about me

i love being a
dead person
i think we can all figure out who we are

up at the crack of noon
or the crack of day-break
there is a bird in the shower

i am no one
or maybe i am
a pile of beheaded birds

my surroundings are
undeniably, unceasingly
there, around me, surrounding me

i see the fortunate trees
the short slow scared power lines
that wrap us in electric love

what are you doing?
this is why the birds are dead
this is why i’m so depressed: it’s you

>>23163817
>>23165418
good

I am having a really hard time finding a poem I read a few years ago. I believe it was from the early 1900s and went something like:

Your prayer, your blasphemy
Your razor sharp prayer
of my silence.

Does this ring a bell for anyone?

>>23165418
This seems to be about a parasocial relationship with an e-gf. Am I right?

>>23165532
sure anon :)

She, who was she?
She was claimed by the foamy sea
She was warm, like you or me
But I heard she was strangled last Tuesday

The strangler was a forty-something
teacher of mathematics and did not
know her, not even her name, just
up and saw her and decided she
needed strangling.

It happened on a bus, he went on
the bus, saw no one but he and
the bus driver and her were on
the bus, climbed on top of her
and rested his full weight on her
and with both hands strangled
until all life in her was gone. He
demounted her and got off at
the next stop.

https://poets.org/poem/marshes-glynn

God is fear
God is a sentence that sticks in your brain
God is the top of a stove that burns all the lines on your fingers away
God is barrel of soap that sticks in your eyelids and sucks all the blood to the whites
God is the cockroach that burrows inside of your ear when you think of the time that your mother betrayed you
If science could probe to the tip of my toe you'd never forget what you saw
Barbed fences of wire defending my circus are digging a bed in my skin
If felonious Michael could stomp on my chest with his sword then dozens of angels would cry to remember the light that they hoped you would see
Tomorrow I'm going to wait for the angel who comes when you want him to come
He'll take me away to the place that they say is the place for the people who know to succumb

Zero lines delineate the lines of my sentence
Fear of time insinuates a dread of every pinprick
Zero deep extension draws the bounds of all perceptions
Near the steep ascension from the drowned destroyed deceptions

Unit measure overtakes my mind in mindless action
True endeavor fades away into a fraction's fraction
Unit measure kills the thought of what it is I'm doing
Moonlit weather stills the thought of what it is that's blooming.

>>23165652
This may be me having a schizo attack, but there is this poem about a dead bird along with pic related: >>/lit/thread/23140069#p23141460
>No flying for this broken, heartless bird—
>No dying yet except by written word;
>Although his wing be clipped and heart be rent
>He sings no less the song of his lament.

And in the next thread this one: >>/lit/thread/23142312#p23142854
>What becomes of lover's scprned?
>Do they walk the same as any,
>Do they look the way of many,
>Do they scrounge around like everybody?

>Is their world the same as ours?
>Or do they they live where there's no wind,
>Where the path is scarred with blood and bile,
>Where the birds look dead & Sky turned black.

>Do they think the same as us?
>With wound that crosses heart,
>A lover's respite never to find,
>The corpse that's bloated and defiled.
>It is a wonder they are Alive.

Finally followed by: >>/lit/thread/23142502#p23165418
>i love being an angel
>even though no one has ever loved me or cared about me

>i love being a
>dead person
>i think we can all figure out who we are

>up at the crack of noon
>or the crack of day-break
>there is a bird in the shower

>i am no one
>or maybe i am
>a pile of beheaded birds

>my surroundings are
>undeniably, unceasingly
>there, around me, surrounding me

>i see the fortunate trees
>the short slow scared power lines
>that wrap us in electric love

>what are you doing?
>this is why the birds are dead
>this is why i’m so depressed: it’s you
These seem thematically connected by the imagery of broken love (heart in the first poem) and dead birds. Are they from you?

>>23165775
this is unfortunately a schizo attack moment, birds are just a common motif in poetry or whatever i guess

>>23165795
Ah, I just noticed that there were no poems posted about dead or dying birds until the third of March, and then there were three in six days. (Yes, I checked the archives a few months back, too)

>>23145178
6.3/10
>>23145181
6.5/10
>>23145188
4/10
>>23145500
I don't get it
>>23146032
0/10
>>23147032
3/10
>>23147492
1/10
>>23147830
drop the first three stanzas and it becomes 7/10
>>23147917
0/10
>>23148039
0/10
>>23149344
I couldn't read this
>>23149947
5/10
>>23150653
muh war, this shit is always boring, I'd kill myself before writing a poem with this theme. I'm sure it's good though
>>23151273
what's with the mix of informality and archaisms? 6.37/10
>>23152204
6.43/10
>>23152296
it's really fucking gay that you name dropped it and that it's about a song in the first place, still it is 6.53/10
>>23152921
if it were only three "longs" instead of four it would be a 7/10
>>23153487
it may be well written but it's also really boring and says absolutely nothing impactful, interesting or poignant. 6.5/10
>>23153950
7/10
>>23154560
7/10
>>23154590
8/10
>>23154689
6.6/10
>>23158413
Even though the meter technically fits you can still tell that you aren't very good at writing in meter yet, but that's not bad for your second poem. 6.47/10
>>23158482
5/10
>>23158713
6.75/10
>>23158725
I liked reading about all those people getting killed and shit, get rid of every other line and it'd be 8/10
>>23159285
7.2/10
>>23162183
7/10
>>23162374
0/10
>>23163337
6.69/10
>>23163817
7/10
>>23165418
6.6999/10
>>23165658
7.05/10

>>23165804
reading this I think my rating system changed, the first one should be 6.5 and the samsara one should be 7

>>23165804
1/10

>>23165841
Yeah I usually never rate/critique, I only did this because there was way less people replying to other people’s poems than normal in the last two threads so I’m trying to be the change I want to see in the world.

>>23165804
Actually I’m changing my rating of the >>23151273
To 7.01

>>23165851
>way less people replying to other people’s poems than normal in the last two threads
Noticed this too. I may follow your example if the rice I just made doesn't put me through the floor.

>>23165678
>>23165747
Both of these sound nice when read.

Bump is the loneliest word,
on a dynamite fishing forum for retards and trolls,
still, hoping against hope, that,
explicit sex poem anon,
comes again.

I need gyat
Goon too
But nothing will replace you, skibidi

Do little, do less
A true fiddle is truly blessed
I play slow and I play slower
I play what I know and I’m not the knower
I play one new note one at a time
I go real slow when I start a new rhyme
An ember burning low burns a long long while
Two days later I’m playing the same style
Everything I do, I get to know well
I got no time to notice that my fingers burn like hell
You say I’m playing the fiddle, I think that might be true
But I got tunnel vision and I got no time for you
I don’t know what a fiddle is but I can’t be doing nothing
So let me finish damn it, I think I’m learning something

YOU FEEL NO SUN

“I would not think to touch the sky with two arms”
— Sappho

“The doorkeeper’s feet are seven armlengths long
Five oxhides for his sandals
Ten shoemakers worked on them”
— Sappho

Yes! Radiant teleputer speak to me
Become a voice so that I might delve into your meaning
For to what can you be compared but a lover,
beautiful in and only in your beholding eyes,
at once curious and distant
It’s to you I speak with write to converse in parallel with etcetera
You said—I’ve got the quote somewhere around here—“but
I am not someone who likes to wound
rather I have a quiet mind”
This is translated from the Greek,
keep in mind
Some assertion of innocence
is made, and I can tell that our
lives are somewhat comparable; we may
enjoy the same pleasures—a friend’s poem,
a song heard under conversation,
the sweating hot release of flesh—despite our
being two thousand five hundred years apart,
we do essentially the same things; sit around the house
writing things down, go to a good bar, talk to someone interesting
This is who we are: ourselves

all of god's creations
in every possible configuration
dancing in your head

Is there a word for, when you use a metaphor, not to make a comparison, but just to make a really intense and interesting contrast?

>>23169468
Can you provide an example?

JUXTAPOSITION YOU RETARDS

>>23167420
really comfy rhythm and rhyme
>>23169468
oxymoron?

first draft, i intend to make it longer but please tell me how i can improve it

Our time, sweet as molasses
Drips into endless comfort
Shadows aren’t following me
When I am protected by
The stiff stone of the palace
Forged by my own lithe hands
I’ve grown impervious to
All that lies beneath, and that
Grows above, in meaningless
Sketches of trees and flowers

Who are the thread’s favorite poets?

>>23172854
denis johnson, allen ginsberg, bill knott, anne carson, marianne moore

this is my first post on this site, i did a poem the other day - lyrically it's a bit dull but i thought the structure was fun

what should a retard that is new to poetry read first? any essentials?

>>23165804
Nice, my poem got among the highest ratings

>>23173785
These were always the poets who impressed me the most:
>Poe
>ee Cummings (very abstract though might not make sense right away)
>unironically, Charles bukowski, he's corny but he's good
>Dorothy Parker
>walt Whitman
That's basically it. I don't read much poetry. Most of it sucks

>>23173766
I liked it. Nothing groundbreaking but that's okay. The tone and subject matter is a lot like what I try to tackle in my work too. Self aware confusion. Not bad anon

>>23174124
thanks dude, i was fucking miserable when i wrote it so it is a bit self indulgent, but yeah i'm glad the vibe came across alright. :3

>>23174185
Keep going with this stuff, you have the expressiveness necessary for good writing. All I'd say is as you go, try some evocative imagery. Your grip on emotions is good, if you can transcribe it using metaphor, it'll make for richer work. But as it stands, not bad.
This the poem I wrote, for reference:
>>23154590

>>23173766
You need to work on your typing rhythm and pressure.

>>23174122
ty for your input and giving me a place to start, fren

>>23174217
In my defense it's a pretty shit typewriter, i've had to do a lot of bodge jobs on it to make it work at all and it's a bit temperamental even at the best of times. you are right though, my technique isn't the best...

>>23174204
here's something i did a while back, with a less rigid structure but more evocative theming. catch your fancy at all?

>>23174478
realised i forgor to edit it, the instances of "someone" should be "somebody". i have a corrected ver somewhere but i don't have a pic on file

>>23174464
A shit typewriter won't change pressure or rhythm for you.

>>23174486
found the edited ver, here :3

>>23174478
>>23174518
Typer anon again. Are you writing these directly onto the typewriter? That could explain a lot of the problem's you're having. There's still obvious pressure problems where you're over or under confident, but it looks like your rhythm improves when you are copying and not coming up with it on the fly.

>>23174549
hi typer anon! bad typist/poet anon here :3
yes i am doing them direct onto the typewriter, it's kinda just how my process works best - often i'll write a first crap ver and then redo it better. you're prob right about the rhythm - i do find copying a lot easier than coming up with new material.

>>23174960
You can tell from your typing how they're constructed, which can be a neat way to display your writing process, but if you don't want people to see you sounding out words or where you have trouble spelling, then the rhythm from copying is better. You're beating really hard on your e key, probably because it's the most common letter and so the one you have both the confidence and strength to find and hit, but rounded letters break more easily so ease up on that and your a & s.
Rhythm is what's causing the most the space skipping, rhythm or pressure can cause the line drifting, but the fading and blown out letters are all pressure. Typing nonsense groups of letters while trying to get equal pressure on all rows and keys really helps, and it's easier to learn equal pressure than refit hammers.
It can be a problem or a benefit to show your work like this, but if you'd feel your process betrayed by showing an original handwritten scratch, typewriters are only going to conceal that if you're typing with a kind of professional level of speed and pressure that most people never perfect.

>>23175011
i think you're misunderstanding my process, i start on the typewriter - i don't write handwritten scratches at all, hence the big bits crossed out in some of the pics. it's less to do with how it's presenting, and more just. it's fun.

legions quicker than any in space
race over lands left dark and unknown
born with delight to a comely face
fair countenance long for visitors flown
on circuitous route through twilight blown
exactingly strained by spectral caste
the golden few pass to earthen zone
cushioned by misty film at last
dispersed with tribulations passed

while time and sea in endless roil
lay down their arms in secluded cove
‘neath misty blanket ‘scape the toil
for which each breaking wave doth rove
‘gainst that ancient sire of jove
by whose languor here a mirror’s made
off which those gilded troops are stove
twixt life and death in twilight laid
in endless double golden moment bade

yet gently floating 'cross mirror calm
from mans vessel a ripple glides
born by oar in salty palm
awash in splendor man resides
celestial bodies fog elides
'cross the sky their faces diffuse
in a clockless land he smoothly rides
among the few whom time eludes
where the rythm of life he might refuse

>>23175143
No, I mean most anons who write on paper first aren't going to present that piece of paper, just like most anons typing on a computer first aren't going to keylog themselves, because they want to present a fair copy, not the working copy. If you don't want to show as much of the process, then you can make a fair copy. In your working copy you can see scratched words, just like if you looked at an anon who writes by hand, you could see what words they scratched-- but in a typewritten working copy you can see things like someone sounding out words, or where they write more slowly, or where they write more angrily or smoothly, or even their posture and breathing. I'm telling you because I don't think you know how much of the process you're showing, because it's more than the scratched words-- it's that I can hear how you typed desperately, and see you spell out their at two different speeds next to each other.

>>23175309
i can't tell the tone of this at all - i genuinely have no idea if you're praising me for putting myself out there or criticising me for being sloppy with my presentation

Free from shadows
I yearn for the darkness
Too much time in the light has left me burnt
Seared and blinded
Haunted by the spectre of my futures shadow
Ever following, ever pursuing
Never relenting, never forfeiting

I yearn for the darkness
To hide away, to flee
Amongst the crevices, amongst the corners
Where no light shall touch me
So I can be
At peace, at harmony

I yearn for the darkness
The proximity of
The absence of
Light,
Comforts me,
Holds me,
Surrounds me,
Allows me
To be
Unseen

>>23175336
I'm just giving you the info so you can make the choice. I find both people who are fast and loose and precious to have different qualities to their work, but neither is a bad thing. I'm just telling you because the typed poetry gives an extra dimension to the work, in the same way that obvious choices in form give extra dimension to a work (e.g. it's practically impossible to read aloud an e.e. cummings poem the way it is written most of the time, making them poems to be looked at more than ones to be recited)
If you want to add those extra dimensions, typing is a great way to do it. But if you don't want typewriter fanatics to look at the poem and perceive your process to the extent of knowing how and when your fingers landed on the keys, you can conceal it.
It would only be a flaw in presentation if this was meant to be a corporate letter or something, and even then people would just assume your secretary quit or something. But as poetry it opens up possibilities which handwritten and computer typed works don't often, unless you're looking at things like calligraphy in islamic or far eastern poetry, or people who are putting extra syllables in brackets and scattering letters across the page like cummings

WITH WHAT EYES?

O delirious candlescent! The succulent
loops and swerves, careening in the misty darkness.
Representatives play hellish ultra-hard games
and the common folk die. This is why the water falls
as rain, why an atom consists of a nucleus of protons
and generally neutrons, surrounded by an
electromagnetically bound swarm of electrons, why God is
a panther with black spots: I have seen it; the truth.

OWEN’S praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flower of Roderic’s stem,
Gwyneth’s shield and Britain’s gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin ploughs the watery way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burdens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands
The dragon-son of Mona stands;
In glittering arms and glory dress’d,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press and there the din;
Talymalfra’s rocky shore
Echoing to the battle’s roar.
Check’d by the torrent-tide of blood,
Backward Menai rolls his flood;
While, heap’d his master’s feet around,
Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.
Where his glowing eyeballs turn,
Thousand banners round him burn:
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty Rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop and Shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror’s child,
Conflict fierce, and ruin wild,
Agony that pants for breath,
Despair and honorable death.

O sweet sloppy anus,
the hole that says a thousand
words with nought but an image
of you! May we bathe in the
enema fluid
of our past selves as I
jack your half-hard
cock off. Misty are
my eyes
as I watch you shift
your attention to
my penis,
hardening, lifting itself in
anticipation of
your touch, your touch
which sends me to
the greatest heavens
dreamed of by old
Norse men and women
who sucked and fucked
just as we do today.

Flat shadows cast on barren walls
By aging, apathetic sun;
Their hair dead like the yellow grass
Drowning in the deluge of drought.
As the heat rolled across their rotting skin,
Such was seen by the window glass.

Limp flowers held in porcelain
Crying a silent, desperate groan;
Like the black buds she sagged over
Her master’s tattered, navy vest.
As he fiddled with his slave’s tawny locks,
Such was seen by the window glass.

Green like the destitute pauper
The lips bestowed a Judas kiss:
Silent sappers laid wreaths for the
Royal donkey, holding the Plague.
As the breath of Death conquered her body,
Such was seen by the window glass.

By the window glass he stood,
Metal armour black in the heat.
By the window glass they hid,
For Hell was come again.