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2023-11: Warosu is now out of extended maintenance.

/lit/ - Literature


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3431704 No.3431704 [Reply] [Original]

This is something I wrote some days ago , what does /lit/ think ?

The man who lost his soul.

To my sister who does not know to desire.

In some old house , in some old land
In some forgotten by god's hand,
Place. There was this dried out man
Who lived life inside his frying pan.

Olives , Tomatoes , Cheese and such
Friends he did not have much
For he spent his hours, days
In this italian cuisine haze
He was lost , could not come back
Between shelves of salt and pepper
And the smell of vino prosecco
He somehow dissappeard .
Could not come back.

Home at 9 . Wake up at 7.
Have a break at 4:11
Put some socks on , whipe some tears.
Dreaming of those teenage years.
Dreaming of that Adrienne ,
Who once kissed you with disgust
But must I tell you , really must !
That moment will I forever remember
For it is in my heart to keep.
No one will ever reach.

One tought and he decided:
His soul could not be forever blinded:
"Better shall it be sold than kept without a purpose"
He wanted his time back ,
He wanted all the lies.
He wanted summers on boats
He wanted winter days , eating apple pies.
Growing a beard, shaving it off.
Riding the bike , could'nt get enough
Of what he was once , of what he once had.
A whole big lazy nothing .
At least it was something.

What the dark beholds could never be hidden by light.
The Devil - his customer. The time- this very night.
"I will put it in my pocket. There my soul will be safe
Till' tonight when I'll place it in Dark Lord's grave"
With fear and love and everything between,
He waited by the grave of someone named "Dean".
"The Devil will see me , his eyes are keen ! "

He waited long hours , he was dreaming in dispair.
He could not believe he will be seeing that old pair
Of combat boots. He will feel the leather.
The smell . The black paint he will see aswell.
As if it were then. Twenty five years ago.
Right then and there he will be tomorrow.

>> No.3431711

The rest of the poem:

The horror was growing. The sun wasn't showing.
The man's mind grew weak and thin.
Fear of the darkness came from within.
Our man stood still. Air flew low.
A shattered wing of horrid glow
Appeared.

" Where is it? That soulf of yours.
I could not sleep , I heard your voice.
Whispering my name.
Calling for what only I can offer.
This night will not be in vain."

"My soul lies in this very pocket
Let me show.........here was it
some moments ago !"
The soul. It wasn't there.
In the pocket of his velvet suit
In the man's heart there grew dispair.
The little human did not know,
His soul was never to be found.
He was already in devils claw ,
By a a rope out of dragon skin bound.

Where could it be? The man checked twice.
In his pocket- there laid nothing . Not even a lice.
His mouth went dry , his word began to linger.
He didn't even notice , when devil's boney finger
Grabbed him.

The cemetery went silent. A lost crow flew by.
Minutes passed. The man couldn't be seen by no one's eye.
Ever again.
This tale , I've told you shall be a warning.
For you shouldn't get lost in the fear of a new morning.
Don't mourn the past , do not lose your sight.
Devil's claws may always be by left
... or by right?

>> No.3433890

bump

>> No.3434203

>>3431704

>The man who lost his soul
painfully cliche

>who does not know to desire
I'm not sure that's even grammatically correct.

The poem as a whole is pretty uninteresting and sounds like a nursery rhyme.

You should probably read into some real poets. Check out your local library.

>> No.3434214

It's somewhat cliche to write about being alone and how it sucks.

>> No.3434262

>>3431704
>He waited long hours , he was dreaming in dispair.
He could not believe he will be seeing that old pair
Of combat boots.
Ugh why do people do this? fine you have rhymed dispair with pair but then onto the 'Of combat boots part it read well until then. Do you realise that kind of thing in poetry completely messes up the rhythm?

I don't want to come of as harsh and 'edgy' but this read terribly, it seemed to be rushed.

>> No.3434282

Wrote this in response to a thread last week. Not that well recieved.
I would like to know where it goes wrong, and what strngths OP's poem has over it.

The Banshee

What comfort on so dire a night
when wending home with funeral light
to hear the wail of the pale banshee
"Oh lover, lost, return to me"?

Cold Iron is nailed above the door
I've said those prayers you'll say no more
still out across the fallow Lea:
"Oh lover, Lost. Return to me!"

She rides the high and chilling wind
as to the skies her cries ascend
On to the tempest-troubled sea,
"Oh lover lost, return to me!"

See from her seat the widow start
the cry she hears within her heart
speaks to a soul so late set free
""oh lover lost, return to me!"

Take up the monster's grim refrain
and rise , to follow in her train
and echo back that awful plea.
"Oh lover lost, return to me!"

>> No.3434342

>>3434282

Why do people insist on writing like this. Write like you speak. Nobody talks like this anymore! All it does it make you seem like you're trying way too hard.

Also grammar.

>> No.3434354

>>3431704
It was not something great (hardly can poetry be), but I think it's pretty and decent and it pleased me. I can see you put some work in that and it's not as cliche as others say, like the rhythm breaks and keep going that way. I guess it's boring vocabulary and stupid rhymes (lies-pies) that are dragging it down.

>Why do people insist on writing like this. Write like you speak. Nobody talks like this anymore! All it does it make you seem like you're trying way too hard.
qft

>> No.3434356

>>3431704
How about this:
In daddy's house, by his old hand
We are forsaken from God's land
Able, I gave all that I can
I gave as much as any man

>> No.3434362

>>3434342
Well, it's about a mythical irish grief spirit. Nobdy has believed in them for a long time. The archaic style and laguage seemed appropriate. Also, where's the grammar problem?

I heard the banshee at my door
i asked her what she came there for
she wailed "for death! Death comes, and Soon!"
I let her walk into the room
I said" but death's the price of breath; each man owes to his god a death.
If life were endless, endless too would be the hours spent here with you,
Youd skulk about fortelling doom,
and drive my guests out of the room
with portents grim
and omens dire,
till all would from my face retire
and i'd regret my life's non-end,
and seek quietus like a friend
so if you've got no more to say, why don't you just be on your way?
your ass is wide and my time is narrow,
And I've an appointemnt, in Samarra."

theres another written in teh text field impromptu. better?

>> No.3434372

>>3434342
>Write like you speak.
Wohoho, did you see that?
I think it's, like, the cutest cat
Look at the bit, the bit he jumps in
The box, click there, right there on the thing

Or do you mean more like:
Looking at cats
Online
Loosens the social situation
Catatonia does that
Always, it's like a cat superpower
Taking tension and leaving only
Stupurrrr

>> No.3434384
File: 17 KB, 250x250, 1300044776986.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
3434384

>>3434342
>Write like you speak

>> No.3434394

>>3434372

Uh, um... I, uh, I-I don't....

Know? Heh-uh did you see the superbowl?
Oh-eh, heh you didn't hear me?
S-sorry... I kinda talk quietly...

Ummm.... uh

Ehhh, do you want a coffee?
We could, uh, go see a movie....
Uh, heh - no, uh I wasn't saying...uh
I said WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!?

I-I'm sorry I d-didn't mean to yell

..I just get nervous when I'm around pretty girls.

...Heh, uh, your hair is pretty?

>> No.3434396
File: 10 KB, 256x192, images.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
3434396

>>3434342

>> No.3434397

>>3434372

I mean to speak 21st century english, in any of it's forms, so that the reader can understand it. We were not raised saying things like "so dire a night" so why would we include it in a poem.

>>3434362

Here's a tip. Archaic launguage is never appropriate for contemporary poetry. And just so there's no confusion. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never for the rest of eternety until the world ends and is reborn and time starts over and we would find ourselves back in a world where people actually talk like that.

Also, I'm not here to tell you what to write about... but you are a beginner in the world of poetry... I would try to crawl (i.e. writing poems about the train ride into town in a language people can understand) before you sprint (writing abstract pieces about ancient irish mythology in a dead language)

Also, you capitalize random words. Are you doing it for emphasis?

>> No.3434402

>>3434397
>We were not raised saying things like "so dire a night" so why would we include it in a poem.
Speak for yourself.

>> No.3434403

>>3434394

Well then maybe poetry isn't your forte.

>> No.3434405

>>3434397
Let's just get rid of any words based off of your (arbitrary) standards of words which are "archaic" or not. We shall name you the "Languagelord", and you shall be the official ruler of all that falls under the purview of language or words.

>> No.3434408

>>3434405

Oh yeah, I forgot... Last time I opened a literary quarterly it was filled with Shakespearian garble.

Wait, no it wasn't. Huh... maybe I'm onto something then.

>> No.3434409

>>3434397
>'so dire a night'
Indeed, but fuck It'd be grand.

>> No.3434410

>>3434342
this guy's playing a ruse but he has a point
nobody writes shit that sounds like >>3434282 anymore
it's p much the poetic equivalent of saying 'good sir'

>> No.3434411

>>3434397
I mean to speak 21st century English
But "I mean to speak" is an archaism
I mean to say not I mean to speak
I meant I meant I mean not to say
Is what I meant to say, just in a way
That befits the 21st Century
Or is suits more befitting?
Understand?

>> No.3434417

>>3434405
Lel

>> No.3434423

>>3434397
Oh, you have no idea how much your post amuses me. you have added years to my life, i think.

I capitalize at random because i write very, very fast and i often get ahead of myself. It's not intentional at all, I write these things in the text box and don't give undue (or due) attention to anything i think isn't directly germane.

but please do go on while i whet my tryo's skill against your doughty eminince.

>> No.3434425

>>3434405

Everything I'm saying I was taught in a workshop lead by a published poet and respected professor.

So, if you would like to take up any complaints you have that "languagelord", go right ahead... good luck.

>> No.3434427

>>3434423

You have no idea how much your shit poetry amuses me.

>> No.3434430
File: 24 KB, 400x397, fwm-oharaginsbergtalking.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
3434430

>>3434423

You hear that guys... He gets ahead of himself.

>> No.3434442

>>3434408
now, zounds! gadzooks! aroint thee swain!
how darest though mock what might and main
of earnest effort calls forth here?
and disparage what all hold dear?
the bard's sweet tongue, shall never fail, despite thy peurile caterwail!
the noble standard will go on,
for this Anon, anon, Anon!

an'on an'on an'on an'on...

>> No.3434492

>>3434442
I swear I don't know why people go to /b/ to laugh.
I love you guize.

>> No.3434497

I think the style is appropriate for the content. If you're going to write about train stations and ennui and such then by all means use your meagre day to day vocabulary and present it like an unsure journal entry, but writing about mythology and death seems like it deserves something a bit more dramatic

>> No.3435644

>>3434497
And god knows, we can never have enough "Ennui on the Train" poems.