/lit/ - Literature

Practice more. Read more poetry. Idea is dandy, delivery could be better.

I contemplated writing you a poem
with metaphors and imagery and rhyme.
So eloquent that you would never roam,
about how our whatever outshines time.
Then I recalled how snobbish sonnets are,
Abused romance, four-letter shallow lies,
Like a pretentious writer’s northern star,
Fanatically misused seduction tries.
I figured I could tell you how I feel,
How I fit perfectly inside your arms,
Then awkwardly affections I would steal
With r a n d o m spaces, and, cute comma charms.
Then end with something passionate, sort of
Somewhat alike that feeling known as love.

She glides in grace, like snow fall,
A glimmering gaze of sunset,
Passing by, the fools enthralled,
Their knees undone and swept,
Of trees, the breeze so sweet,
A beauty never seen, never felt,
And things of norm by day,
Are bent, her voice persuades,

Heaven remains a mystery,
Sought by men of all,
Her smile is like a simile,
A glimpse of heaven below,
So soft, so mellow, her cheek,
Calm like an ocean unmoved,
If only a poem could prove,
Of how she stands, so unique,
So high, so sweet, her brow,
Her love, so innocent, so free like a cloud

>>2524357
You'll want to change both instances of "never" in the 6th line to "ne'er." It may seem pretentious, but otherwise that line blows the meter all to shit.

Might want to mix up the first line a bit, unless you want to make the allusion to Byron painfully obvious.

In the second stanza, try to come up with a way to rhyme the second and fourth lines, as inconsistency in this regard doesn't do much for a love poem. And don't use heaven twice in the same stanza.

The Poet Regards the Populace of /lit/

Once came I among a people fain,
to give advice or take it as is due,
for them their own reflection is their swain,
and burn to be a higher breed than you.
This land of /lit/, so riv'n with scorn and spleen
where hipsters and elitists find their rest
a greater prattling has there never been
when these two flocks come home, to /lit/ to nest.
while elitists chirp and cackle at the hip
amused, we hardly smile, just a tugging of the lip

>>2524423
Thanks for the critique.

I tried finding a way not to repeat heaven twice, too, but came up short. But for the purposes of this poem (to woo a wench) it worked.

Actually you're right, the first few lines was inspired by Byron.

Thanks!

Song lyrics alright in here? I really don't write much but I've been trying to do some songwriting lately and have no idea whether I've got a knack for it or not.

Anyway, I know it's difficult to judge a song without melody or music but based purely on the lyric how's it looking?


you were brought up on the bible and raised with the lambs
your security was the dew of the green country land
sweet as a peach and scared of your father's stern hands
well i could never hope to get through to you

you left him next winter with the dead leaves around
and caught a cab into the cold and lonesome town
working tables for tips and living hand to mouth
it was all you could do to keep moving on

i saw you through the window one morning next june
scrubbing down the seats and humming some old tune
with a smile on your face and your hair all askew
i sometimes wish i had just talked to you

but my girl was back home and waiting for me
with some argument or telling me how i should be
so i packed up my things and left on a memory
but like adelaide herrmann you could not be found

Just wrote this out in the last twenty minutes or so and it needs two or three more verses, I guess. Think early Dylan-esque arrangement.

Victrola

At first sight, I thought it was a casket.
Upright in the corner, cracked blood velvet,
The finest wood, the goldest trim,
Once at home in elegant mansions,
Now exiled to my basement,
Keeping company of cobwebs.
I crept down to investigate the sound,
His master's voice spoke to me, vaguely electric.
The haughty machine talk needled
my tarnished golden horn, gently
snaring my ribcage with stale percussion
“Sactuary!” cried sagging arias, its
archived inheritance now missing,
spinning times long gone.
I reached out with my childish intentions,
Looked into the spiraling pupil barred
by the coarse blood velvet, and spun
like shaky wartime couples
until I broke the crank off.