/lit/ - Literature

damn is that the chick from Crystal Castles? she hasn't aged well

>>4109633
Probably. I don't see why not.

Please help me.
Please participate.

Well, they's seem no to be any poets on /lit/

I like that /lit/ is slow enough that I can come back hours later and find this thread.

So, does nobody want to do a good old "everybody post their poetry and everybody else critique it?"

I thought it'd be neato.

>>4112108
I feel uncomfortable bumping threads, so here's a picture.

Well, I've already gone too far.

What about bird? You probably like a birds.

Oh, silk haired girl,
Who spun you?
The tall man in the distance

>>4112280
I kind of like it, specifically the rythm, how it gets all abrupt with the question, and then kind of elongated and... drawn into the end slowlyish... fucking words man, but it leaves me wondering who this tall fellow is and what business he has spinning a girl's hair.

Is it meant to be that way?

>>4112315
thank you for the critique

you know when girls are all made up with nice hair and make-up and stuff? Their hair is like silk, more or less. And you wonder, why do they dress up like that, who spun that silk?

the tall man in the distance

>>4112340
I do get the part about the spinning, and I do like how you do the synechdoche bit metapohry thing, "Who spun you?" to mean, "Who spun your hair up all pretty?"

I don't understand the tall man in the distance.
Is he like, some super-tall barber standing in a field miles away, or is this another metaphor? If it is, it's not very defined, unless I'm missing out on a part of culture where a tall man in the distance represents something.

Looking for my poetry notebook now, /lit/. I cen never find it when it's needed

>>4112441
Check your poetry cabinet!

I've been hanging on for too long
To who I used to be
The blue-eyed boy lost
In books and harmonies
Humanising horrors; empathetic to a fault

Only recently, I feel reality has jolted
Me awake

Everyone needs an edge
Sometimes when nothing is said
Tormented by shadows of thoughts in your head
No eloquence will do
A simple 'No,
Fuck you,'
Will suffice.

I wanted to be nice
But you don't always get what you want.

Anger does not come easily
When it feels it would be most welcome
Cowardice, or admirable peaceful intentions?
I knew someone who tried to teach it
She did her best, but I could not reach
The bar was set too high
In fairness, I didn't really try
It wasn't the kind of trade I could ply
In good conscience

Some cannot be reasoned with
Or made to accept their fault
Seems that no memories or cares for others
Truly cause a pause
Even for a moment

I once envied them.
But now, I am glad.
They drift along with the perfect stranger called Future,
But I walk beside hunch-backed old Past
since I learned to love her sutures.

"No! Don't touch me!"
Yelled in my ear.
But I held her down
Opened her eye
And let the drops drip, drip in.
She cried, understandably
Because eyedrops are plenty irritating.

>>4112447
Nah, found it in some old folders in my room

>>4112465
I don't actually like this one very much but I brought it out to help OP

I see things when I stare into space,
zone out.
Artifacts of color, lines and squiggles and blur.
My eyesight's bad, my mind's the same.
And as I sit on the deck I helped build all those years ago and write this
These artifacts obscure the morning's golden rays
and baby blue skies.
Noises from the birds and the bugs
become hushed.
My head's a mess.
The world's a mess.
But I'm safe enough in my backyard to write this
So who am I to complain?

These were written on the back of receipt tape from the time when I worked as a cashier. When I got bored I'd write.

>I
An orange light, a dying fire, a blushing star
seen only in the distance.
Warm color, cold feeling.

>V
As if butterfly wings
(fragile stained glass)
Could hold me this high up in the clouds.
Large hot-air balloons sailed past my head,
their shadows a safe blanket from the sun,
warm and scathing all the same.

>VII
Salt piles an sand castles,
like sky scrapers,
touch the heavens in great anticipation
of destruction.
Sodom and Gomorrah welcomed doom.

>VIII
Salt, carried on the wind
blew into her hair
down by the shore.
The sun stained, bleached it.
She stood against the wind, hair blowing
and watched the sails on boats far out in the distance
doing the same.
She wished she could be those sailboats so far out,
or at least the captain of one.

Not my best work, but it's what I could come up with then.

Nicotine on her fingers, breath
left stains upon my face, cheek
that probably looked ugly and small, she
grabbed my arm, made me green

>>4112474
I liked that it was not obvious what you were talking about at first. I felt worried it was a view of rape from the rapist's perspective and thought, "typical 4chan." Felt much relief when it turned out to be a parent or doctor giving a child eye drops.

I was walking up while the fighter he walked down
At one point or another all men walk on even ground
I thought it peculiar, that a smile was on his face
When I wore a frown, born from fear and a brother’s disgrace
He had nothing but his memories and those famous fading scars
I thought he would be vengeful, he glanced at the lonely burning stars
I strode on with my ambition, he stepped slow with his defeat
So why was that look he gave me the most pity I will ever meet
Having lost everything that belongs, to a master of his trade
A world champion still makes you feel insignificant, for all that you’ve made
So I write this now to conquer the struggle in my mind
The fight to determine what it was the fighter had left behind.

>>4112565
That was the point, hahaha. But thanks for the kind words. I normally title it >That's what she said
but I figured it gave a little too much away - that the entire poem was a double entendre.

>>4112490
Not sure how to feel about this one.

Feels maybe more like some cool prose than poetry.

Maybe throw in some meter or rhyme's to prove it's a poem? Or just turn it into prose: stick it into a story.

>>4112576
I'm a big fan of Bukowski, and while reading some of his poetry one morning I decided to try my hand at his style

>>4112570
had to read a couple times to get what it was even about, (or at least think I get it) but, but that might have had more to do with my state of mind/inability to pay attention right now.

I kinda liked it. The rhyme was refreshing in that it was easy, yet not really cliche or contrived.

I posted this on /lit/ once before and got no response. ...not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Anyway here goes:

Scrimp and save,
and savor the flavor:
a day in the life
of a work-a-day work week,
and a day to day slave savior.

East meets west in a way when
the sun melts the meek
and makes them tender.
BANG!
Tending fires and helter skelter,
The beast and the best
seek the feast and --what's your guess?--
feast your eyes on a one way ticket
and a way out of the shelter.

Punch the clock and get a fistful of fisticuffs,
and a handful of glass.
Where we go from here is up to ...who?
But please make sure to have some class.
The time keeps ticking.
Dragging by with
too many minute by minute moments,
But "Do you want the hours?"

Flailing and failing
in the ways of m'lord
--or was I just imagining things?--
I'm getting kinda bored.
This isn't over yet

(Because I'm)
Happy to be a hap-hazardly
Hazardous has been who
Has been to
Here and there again
And had them by the balls.

May the powerful powers that
Power the powers
Prove useful to you
To prove your innocence
with two forms of I.D.
and a proof of insurance.

I touched myself
To your profile pic
I possess wealth
And a monstrous dick

I'm 9.5 inches in length
Five inches all around
You look like a skank
I'll pound your pussy to the ground

Don't deny
Please reply
I don't lie

#YOLO

I could never figure out how to write poetry but I jot down lines that cross my mind so i'd like to contribute to the thread. I would also like to know if anything at all could be said about them:

I am always so tired
My body weighs a ton

He said poetry comes from the heart
What comes from my heart but movement and blood

In death, atoms are scattered and reassembled

Pic related, its your face when you read my contribution

>>4112632
Are you a rapper?

Bitches and Snitches
Im a rapper cuz im dapper
I fuck all yall
with muh big black cock
a doodle doo
my balls are blue

>>4112693
Splendid

>>4112695
please try to be constructive with your feedback

>>4112685
not a rapper, but I AM a musician, and I remember when I wrote that, that I thought it was kinda like making music. ...I wasn't too concerned with a particular meter or rhyme structure, just wanted it to "feel good."

I don't listen to a lot of rap, but hip-hop beats are pretty good alot of times. I like funk and jazz alot too.

Anyway, I'll take your comment as as compliment. Thanks Anon!

>>4112693
Dig.
and top kek too.

>>4112676
I just pictured some black kid trying to write a rap and coming up with that instead. I liked it.

>>4113120
Thank you

>>4112632
Lovely wordplay, nice rythm, a little too narratively coherrent for my taste...

Then again, I like nonsense... Here's mine:

The prices we put on our prawns are predictably
purged by the peers in the pool of particular
pricks being picky about their pecualiar
pre/post-traumatic pronounced permutations
of polypersistance prolonging the pride
of the pompous imprudence that buggered the pie
in the sky when policemen came by and preposterous
plots of plasticities pryed and we prayed
for the player of pride to survive but we planned it all
wrong and wound up all deprived of our privacy

proven placebo effects count the fluttering
fart of a faulty device and the flailing
of flirting and fuckable eyes or the freckles
or pickles or prawns or the pricks of peculiar
prudent persistance to parse the pertaining
prescription of pudding and putaway paltry
per se and the peep of the pooper the poop
of the peeper goes deeper than proven by pipers
of popelines and papers of peeplanes or popes
of the pleb in the presence of pampers
proclaming and pointing out pints of a kind
that remind you of porno and prepuberty
and the flipperty liberty flops when you find
that the flaps on your fluke are just shutters and blinds
fornicating your mind with a fling of the flam
and your flim is a zam zala bim zalabama

te llaman las llamas watch out it's a frap
and it's fripping the fog of your flacid fahluhlah
it's flipping the flag on your flickery faliant
fartherlydoodle forsake it ferfriessakes
it's far beyond frotherly friction it's frommedly
fringing upon your frecknitions and frooming
fugnations the frad of the frith of the fred

of the froth if the floth of the flath in the fleeth

pffffffffffffth!!!!1

>>4112520
I like the rhyming. Not bad.

>>4113386
>p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p

Birch skin and bird songs
scale the seams of your neck
as fine fescues
crunch
beneath your trodden head.

Collapsing in comfort
to the season’s display
bones bask in boredom
with gratitude inlaid.

And for a moment,
you are there.

>>4113544
It is Lovely and makes me think

The emptiness creeps forth
A vast, dark horizon
Following every life

The Diligent forge paths
The Insane dive inside
What awaits the others?

I lay down my worn tools
march forth to the very edge
of the darkness, perched on
the tip of destruction
I masturbate into the abyss

>>4113544
I thought of a tree. I like it

WARNING: Depending on your worldview, this may or may not appear edgy. Proceed with caution.


A man shouts cries to ev'ry crowd he sees,
He speaks of things that we must all defend;
Declares he honor, duty, loyalty;
Or else, he says, the world will surely end.

The people hear and cry out in support,
These values true all eager to fight for,
Their children parents send and men deport,
They cheer in the streets and cry war, war, war!

Across the globe, another stories told;
Men, broken, lie; they can't be told apart,
The dreams of glory fade away; behold!
The glorious war that all wished to start;

No voice can be heard but the soldiers cries,
On these vast fields where hundreds of men lie.

>>4113386
Some good lines in there for sure. I can't help but think you might have gone a little overboard with the alliteration, but to each his own.

>>4113544
i dig it.

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white
But no such roses see I in her cheeks
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my lady reeks

49 days ago, 15 years
a buzzard like Joel
had paint in his hair
with buck teeth
and a sad dad with a pot belly and bags under his eyes
later, I saw him serving chili in a church on New Year’s Eve

Did we ever wake my neighbors up with all our ugly words?
The echo of your misery is singing with the birds.
And what about the toothpaste and the clothes you left behind?
It seems like you’re not coming back, I guess that makes them mine.

Every day when I’m chipping away at the mountain,

filling my pockets with the dust that falls,

I think about what I can do that night

to see the sun again.


The dust is only good for a few things

and it’s not enough to matter,

if there’s a hole in my pocket and some falls out

or if I drop a handful on the ground to remind myself I can.


She says she needs me to get more.

When I come home, too much of the mountain still stands.

I am too forgiving, not tenacious enough.

My tools are delicate and imprecise.


What can I do to make her forget the dust?

She has less than I do but she craves it.

Gladly standing in the shadow of the mountain,

she thinks that it will save her.


I found a new tool but it’s not so sharp.

it’s not easy to swing and it breaks all the time.

it scarcely penetrates the mountain,

but it fits in my hand.


I don’t take much dust with me

and most gets left behind

as I am digging through the mountain

I hope that she follows.

the flowers in my garden
kept me company
when she was not there
to comfort or caress

they wilted when she was
dried and withered
as I tended to her
and disregarded the plants

now that she’s gone for good
I revive them with my care
desperate for their presence
I am drowning them

sheets mottled with our stains
painting portraits of those afternoons
in dried tears and satisfied drool

Hello I am dead
I lived once but it wasn't
All that great

The summer days from long ago return in autumn rustles
I pace in lenient musing of a weathered chronic mile
I think there was a time when we hugged in May
June was the end of a desperate union

If I thought it was easy I would have let it go
Too many nights spent longing for a hair
A slight twist of the neck
A radioactive kiss
A hand in prayer
Puppy dog eyes

They told me Benzedrine sheep would blow a gale
And tumble away my fortifications
The brick song I sung when building a muse
Never led me to more grief
Than when I saw her again
In the passing of my dreams

>>4112509
VII was really good. The rest aren't bad, but VII spoke to me.

>>4112570
Awesome! not enough rhyme in poetry these days.

Edgy is always good.
There is no bad edgy.
My goal
in life is to
be
more edgy

The man with the studious nose
Takes acid
And watches the bridge disappear

>>4115398
One man's edgy is another man's vanilla.

I guess it's always easier to post "so. fucking. edgy!" to everything not readily identifiable as suburban and withheld.

Off the cuff:

Through the canes they rumble,
On floors of water they crumble,
The mess, the smell, the cancered
Cavaliers, from corner 4 to castle 5,
and no one notices when they all take all by the hollows & underground.

>>4115474
One of the best ITT. I'm serious.

>>4115579
says the person who posted it.

it's a shitty poem.

MUH DRUGS SO EDGY

>>4115594
I'm not the person who posted it. I like it because it's so short yet it has a lot of meaning. When you snort acid the bridge/bones of your nose start to wear away. I also like it because it could be interpreted as him hallucinating.

I have no idea why I replied. You're probably a troll. Fucking /lit/.

>>4115099
This is great. I have no idea why everyone thinks /lit/ writes shitty poems. Nearly everything in this thread is better than a lot of the stuff I've read in the past.

Smoke da pots
Do it lots
Smoke 4 fun
Smoke da marijuan
420
Erryday
Dealer kill me
Didn't pay

>>4115605
>has a lot of meaning

>two meanings
>neither one interesting

>>4114187
Interesting

Find the silence and fill it with emptiness
It takes all my energy, but I barely exist

Pretty and pitiful is all you were to me
Pretty and pitiful is all I wanted to be

Drink until your problems belong to your blood
I want to see sickly orange smoke from above
I want to see it flood the roads and cement
I want to bleed my problems into the pavement

Little fucking insects
Crawling on my tree
Crawling on my knee
Stupid fucking bugs
Scuttling about
Running about like
Little retarded kids
I'd fucking kill them all
But what would that say about me

>>4115388
Thanks for the kind words.

>VII was really good
VII was the one out of those that I didn't like, hahaha.

Rat-footed, I wander this land,
Counting those I've met on my hand,
Yet my fist remains closed,
I am king, remaining unopposed.
A lizard, a fish, a cat, a squirrel,
Running is how they show their deferral.
Yesteryear I met another man,
Oh! How beautiful, eyes of cyan,
A beard of red, old amongst his eye,
He was the first I knew to defy.
I loved him for that, I said my first words.
Inside my stomach came the fluttering of birds,
"Well met, solemn friend."
To impress was his aim.
He went on, as if to pretend,
That we were not the same.

>>4115837
"Eh" idea, terrible execution. If you give it another run, it might be alright.
>>4115720
edgu as fuark.

>>4115619
Modern epic, bro.

bump

I actually really like OP's cadence and use of semisexual (?) nonsense. Saved in notepad for future reading.

>>4116484
Though I prefer "spellys got swimmers" to "spellys got squimmers", as I originally misread it, because it made me think of semen.

The past, the present and the future,
are as if a theater.
The wings, the past and the future,
and the stage, the present.
Oh, how they love the present.
Where the action happens,
Tears are shed,
when men die.
But the wings are where,
the true magic happens.
Where those who died,
wipe off their mortal wounds,
and prepare for their next role.
The wings,
are what truly brings life to drama,
or brings drama to life.

>>4112352
>>4112352
The tall man in the distance is the female fantasy of their personal THE ONE and they dress up and do their hair all pretty just for the sake of attracting any potential Mr Rights.

And me I'm no stranger to culms of bamboo
In bubbling cauldrons of hot pork chop stew
The cyanide, coconut sweet pickled string stalks
Are tumbling down streets where they don't know the climate
Atlantic coast rock beaches native to pandas
Where leopards and rice-field rats sleep at the wharf of Boothbay
Don't go confusing home life with hotels
Things never do work out
When we lie to ourselves

How could a person still live that way now?
Turning limp cartwheels in dried up canals
The spirits you slept on moved West after Wednesday
And now all the paddies are next door to juice stands
Where forty years prior our ancestors just made it
While of half of me used to fly in plasticine steamships
Your other side sometimes still overcooks the broth
All of the reverends you made into statues
Are kind of at fault now for why they can't move
Don't you forget what old acronyms spell
Things often don't work when we lie to ourselves

And you half your pride points are rooted in skin tone
So forty-five colors are all shades of purple
While orange pulp and pajama robes falter towards laminate
Card stock and flower heads wallop propellor fins
Slithering adjectives grope to your viscera
Holinshed's ospreys are fishing for contretemps
Masked finfoots fulminate over your nakedness
How could we get lost inside such minor acreage
Often when we sneak around
Things don't work out
When we lie to ourselves

>>4116328
Maybe someone?

Parallel lines will never meet
Such is the consequence
Of moving forward
Lines and lines and lines and lines
That fill the space
That should be void

A line is just a point
Running away from itself
Leaving traces
Of past mistakes

The still lines of your eyes
Gaze upon you from the mirror
Trembling from the vibration of
The terror, the dread, the permanence
Of the last chord of a dying throat

Scarlet drops fall from your fingers
To rest at last
In a puddle of blood
The tepid arm
Stretched across the floor
Reaching for a why

And why, o, why
Do points keep running away

>>4116328
>>4116811

>Squirrel/deferral
Painful rhyme. My eyes are bleeding.
>Inside my stomach came the fluttering of birds
>Inside my stomach came
>Inside came
I come inside my girlfriends' womb everytime I can.

Now, for logical inconsistencies.

Of the four animals you mention, only 50% can run. Lizards crawl and fish swim.

You count the people you've met. Your fist is closed, so you've met no one. Yet at the end of the poem you meet an old friend from yesteryear.

6/10 would read again.

>>4115626
THIS. EVERYBODY SHOULD THINK THE SAME WAY AND IF IT'S NOT INTERESTING FOR ME IT SHOULD NOT BE INTERESTING FOR ANYBODY ELSE. STOP BEING EDGY ABOUT DRUGS BECAUSE DRUGS ARE EDGY AND IT'S USERS TOO.

The sky is blue
And now it's red
And now it's green
What the fuck is going on

With green pine needles stuck into my foot
I ran into your house
With my nose, eyes, mouth covered in soot
I rubbed against your clean blouse.
And pine scented fragments of my inner shell
smeared themselves on your shirt
While my hands, sticky with sap,
Found the hem of your skirt.

On your bed rested those pine needles
once stuck in my flesh.
On your bed rested me.
Once stuck in your flesh.

I'm not entirely sure about that last stanza. I don't think I like it. But I just wrote this thing in 5 minutes, so whatever

Bummp

>>4116849
What a sad little strawman

>>4116863
Short, but I like it.

Bump for critiques

>BOOKMARK

I must apologize for the wait
Like prayers on a deathbed,
I’ve returned to settle the mystery of this character
Once and for all, too late

How long have I remembered,
“Paragraph 2.” Even the words that start it
Seem familiar, as if my parents had told me
But
Surely I haven’t read them yet

Plucking you from your grave,
The glance I owe you is not payment enough…
In your tear, I see the corner of my mother’s face
Behind an ad for the restaurant I didn’t like
And, sadly, will never taste again,

God, has it really been that long,
Old friend?

>>4117210

I'm not a girl, but this made me moist.

>>4118875
So you're saying you pissed yourself?

>>4116697
At first I thought it was just wordy for the sake of being wordy but I finally pieced together the imagery and I think it's the best in the thread.

>>4116328
Just trade out deferral with deference and you've got a pretty good poem.

Dylan: At dawn
I wonder at which birds you hear
now that you've transcended me
and into the city.

Between us a choir of whippoorwills
herald the mourning dove.
They suffer my witch's voice
despite your sanctions.

Below the seagulls dive
into each and every opportunity--
You are more their son than I.

So tell me.
What song has broken through
the lived in shell of a northern man?

(we never spoke of birds and
that gives me hope: despite
a decade of adulation
there are so many gaps to fill).

>>4118875
>I'm not a girl, but this made me moist.
Nicest thing anyone's ever said about my poetry.

Seriously, though, thanks. That one was written on the fly and I was unsure of it.

>>4117210
The rhyming isn't perfect, but not bad 6/10

>>4118852
I really liked it, especially the second and third stanzas. 8/10

>>4119124
Also really like this one, with all the bird stuff. 8/10

bump for poetry and criticism

Oh, setting Sun
Don't set on me.
My brittle fingers freeze
In the biting wind,
My eyes can't adjust to the dark.
Don't set on me
Oh setting Sun.

I have read my book, I lied.
For I cannot coprehend
the hastily scribbled words
nor the meaning in the lines

I guess the answers
to all the questions
stirring in my mind.

This is old and I never finished it.

>>4109631
It feels like there should be an extra syllable in every line to make the rhythm better, it's weird as it is

Otherwise this is better than most of the try-hard poetry I've read here

>>4119791

Bookmark guy here, much obliged

>>4109631
Reminds me of Dr. Seuss.

>>4115626
It's how that meaning and his thoughts are expressed.

>>4119025
Thanks man, I guess it is a little wordy. Anyone else have any thoughts on it?

>>4120489

>This is old an I never finished it.

Is this context or part of the poem?

>>4120846
Both

>>4121037
Whoa, totes meta, dude.

Just kidding

by the lake,
is the beach.
by the ocean are the ships.
by my heart is a ruler measuring sign
that i've begun to learn to use
more and more breezily
in my hospital bed
under heated sheets
while i think about the end of the universe
and wait for you

bump for interest i guess

Here's my first not-completely-shit poem I wrote today. I actually did specific line-by-line planning before I wrote it, having recurring patterns instead of just dicking around like my previous stuff, and I don't think it's that awful.

A rabbit that died of ecstasy,
head full of hair and tetrahydrocannabinol,
Born again a tired idealist.
A busy mind, searching for oneness in names,
numb in empathy and novacane in gums,
exploring in place like Columbus's state.

A machine in a cave,
like a fire with no oxygen,
Born again a fan of the sun.
In its latent authority,
Sixteen thousand years in the making, a product of every generation,
sentimental in bursts, the object a heart.

A meek knife-shamer,
in a self imposed zone with a crime of impassion,
Born again a mason of ghost towns.
Finding amusement in the apparition,
Survivor of dopamine, apathine, dramamine,
On an island with no coast,
Collected by God,
ready to inscribe the divine typography.

The rhythm and flow is kind of clunky, I should definitely work on that. Any thoughts?

My son, my son, my beaming sun
Take boys steps towards a man
The vice and virtues of the world
Are out of your command

The seven seas are poisoned now
The fields are choked with sand
All outstretched arms you run towards
Are held in Satan's hand

The clocks are slow and flagging now
The wind has petered out
The axis grinds upon us soon
And time is slowing down

What strides you take pave death my son
Beyond my breast's abyss
Inferno traced on every step
A seraph's Judas kiss

The light lies down to sleep tonight
The sun takes leave of Earth
The God's renege on human gains
Our prayers tamed by our hurt

The universe has lost her shine
And tears drench nature's face
The past has come to claim her price
But you still have my embrace.


But you still have my embrace, my love, you still have my embrace.

Hay /lit/ - I fed your stuff to the cut-up engine.

Salient sniplets:

>The emptiness creeps and men deport,
>They cheer in pride
>of the pompous imprudence that she’s gone for good
>I revive glass.
>Where we go from here I'm no stranger flag on your flickery >faliant
>fartherlydoodle Sun.

>The still lines of it's a frap
>and it's big black cock
>a serving chili in kill them all
>But eyes can't adjust slave savior.

>The them with my care
>desperate for sign
>that i've begun to the very edge
>of the out
>The axis grinds upon ever meet
>Having lost void

>A machine in live that way now?
>Turning limp present and the future,
>are as the future,
>and the stage, the not so sharp.
>it’s not easy of the universe
>and wait for on her head
>I have seen sailed past my head,
>their deprived of our privacy

>No voice can be heard rooted in skin tone
>So forward
>Lines and lines a zam zala fill the space
>That should be land,
>Counting those I've met guess?--
>feast your eyes on a acid
>And watches the bridge disappear

And so forth - read the whole thing and pad yourselves on the back.

http://cut-up.comli.com/pastebin/readpaste.php?file=lit_-_Poetry_Critique.txt

Will we ever understand,
The depths of ignorance that separate
My love from your ultimate desire;
Your desire: the bringer of life

Senescence reached by seven
And wisdom lost to the ether
Of these thoughts that breed you
To every perfect detail imaginable

Cold contempt bred from familiarity
Bitter tastes from brittle, Byzantine bridges
Blindly striking at smouldered steel with flesh
Reminding one of a parable: a tragic lament

Fields of butterflies in summer's wake
Catching gossamer tidal waves in a make-shift net
Revealing a world that is blind to you.
Love, you're trying to bring the waterfall home

What even is poetry?

BAMP

>>4115063
>>4115066
>>4115069
>>4115071
>>4115073


Critiques, please.

>>4115073
This is good.

>>4115073
Decent. It'd be better with the right title. Also I feel like "the painted portraits of those..." would be better than "painting." The deed's over, the speaker's reminiscing. I feel like sheets could be modified in some way too. Even just "my." That would underline the single-ness of the speaker more. Maybe the title could do this work.

>>4115066
Did we ever wake my neighbors up with all our ugly words?
So what? Why does this matter to the speaker?

The echo of your misery is singing with the birds.
This doesn't really make any sense as it is. Sound fades. Common birds don't mimic. Misery doesn't sing. The event's clearly passed, as shown from the last line. If this is taken as a way of talking about gossiping neighbors, then why ask the line before if the neighbors heard?

And what about the toothpaste and the clothes you left behind?
It seems like you’re not coming back, I guess that makes them mine

So what again? What about them? The transfer of ownership doesn't mean anything.

The poem's boring. The one bit of figurative language is nonsense.

>>4123381
You give good concrete advice. What do you think of mine? >>4116697

>>4114731
Some critique would be nice.

Birth anddeath
smelly flesh and messy
beth lays on the bed, dead
Christ again has been born,
crying, hungry, alone in the shack
Christ again will soon expire
again, again

>>4124749
Eh, a little pretentious

I don't know jack shit about poetry but I wrote this and consider it a decent description of panic attacks that I've had.

thoughts swirl, purpose an enigma
panic attacks form social stigmas
in the midst of anxiety
some may turn to piety
i cannot
forego rational thought
solutions are ephemeral
and escape is impossible

forgive me if it's not actually a poem or anything.

>>4126145

Rhyme scheme deteriorates. That's generally a no-no unless it's for effect.

>>4126236
Makes sense, wish I'd paid attention in school. Not that it's hard to learn now, but I've never really been into poetry. Thanks for the information though, I'll try to refine it.

>>4126249

Think of poetry like this:

They're two ways to play tennis, with a net or without. However, only the net makes it a true game. The rules act as this net, however it can still be tennis without them.

>>4126275

Burdened are the thoughts of the idled mind.
They are the gnawing waves that never ebb,
But flow instead until you are submerged
And lost within the vacuum of its web.

>>4126275
Robert Frost, it's past your bedtime.

my silver spoon,
gives my only reflection.

a bulging nose,
and pinpricked eyes dotted,
crossed and etched.

I am no man,
who questions his features,
but his cold senility,
and graceless teeth,
have bitten better things,
reflected on silver before.

>>4126427
THis is only the first stanza of a poem I'm starting.

>>4112490
>My eyesight's bad, my mind's the same.
I thought that was a neat line.

>>4112693
Very rarely do I find something so witty and eloquently worded on /lit/. Incredible, anon.

>>4126427
this sounds rather forced. It reads like jumbled words that are trying to form the "thoughts" you initially mention, but instead rip the meaning away and replace it with adjective showmanship.

and another thing...
stop mentioning waves. they're cliche'd as all hell. if you were ever to submit this poem it would be tossed into the fire with a belly laugh.

you want to force those fuckers (your readers) to understand an emotion, even if they really aren't keen on the idea.

>>4113386
Fucking delightful. I haven't had this much fun with a poem since I read The Complete Poems For Christopher Robbin.

Slimy genetics slipped through spacetime
Flourished into a corpse consuming itself alive
Engaged in mechanical arrangements
Flat-lined high
Heart beating faster than the chills down its spine
Jaw's run amok, the tongue has fled
Eyes roll down the face of his head

>>4126461
Thank you for that honest critique.

>>4115063
I liked this one a lot.

I saw a juicer jump into a Prius
Left me in the dust of an existential crisis

>>4126471
last line is excellent. its intensely visual.

the rest needs a bit of polishing.

not sure if I am all too sure what slipping through spacetime has anything to do with what you're trying to get across.

>engaging in mechanical arrangements
you could be a bit more clever with the wording of this line to slip gingerly into the next short line that really sticks out in the stanza.

>>4126473
honesty was all I ever wanted.

there is no shame in the face of an honest man,
but shame in his mother's eyes,
his son's clenched fists,
and his wife's purse.

>>4126478
Cool, thank you.
Honestly, I just wrote whatever the fuck.

I guess "Slimy genetics slipped through spacetime" is a jab on my heritage and basically calling myself an accidental happening.

>>4116520
>Where those who died, wipe off their mortal wounds
I'm shit at giving any sort of constructive criticism, but I liked this line.

>>4126487
spontaneity is something unflinching.

capture it in your writing, but revise it in your process.

>>4126477
Does anyone get the humor in this?

>>4114731

>ev'ry
Don't do this. Just write every.

>the world would surely end
Why? Give me his reasons.
>The people cry out in support
Why? Give me their reasons.

If you're going to attack a position, you need to give the position, not just say people hold it or accept it.

>Their children parents send and men deport
Add a comma here between send and men deport for clarity.

>Across the globe, another storie's told
You never told the first story. You just told me, briefly, that a guy was shouting about things and some people agreed. That's hardly an anecdote.

>Man, broken
Good rhyme

>the dreams of glory
You never even established they had them. Weren't they deported and sent by parents?
Does anybody really have this anymore? People join the military out of a sense of tradition and duty and the need for a job. The general populace doesn't see fighting as glorious now, more ethical, if good at all.
And men, broken is shit compared to a hundred years of poetry that gives us great images and poetics used to express war.

>the glorious...
See above.

>...war all wished to start
What war exactly did we all wish to start? See the above. There is an argument for this but you're not making it because you gave no reasons earlier.

>No voice can be heard but the soldiers cries,
>On these vast fields where hundreds of men lie.

No wars look like this anymore. At least not any ones that are first world.

Are you writing a war poem about world war one? Two? You're a generation or two late, and this gets its arse kicked by Wilfred Owen et al. The textbook standard, Dulce Et Decorum, does way better at everything this poem is trying to do.

There's no concrete language at all. No figurative language of any freshness. And it's an obsolete critique on its subject, presumably the present, given there's no indication that it's about a specific war or one from the past.

>>4126487
If you just wrote "whatever" then expect the response to be just, "whatever." The poem you posted is free-writing with a few potentially interesting phrases.

whenever I post in these threads I give constructive feedback and honest praise, but never hear a voice on anything I write.

am i doing something wrong or right?

>>4126514
/llit/'s just a slow moving board. I suspect most of the people here like me are just lurkers who enjoy reading what others have to write but are too shy/uncomfortable with their own work/critique to really contribute.

>>4123632
>>4116697

Honestly, I had some difficulty with the language, and I had to read it a few times, but that's a good thing: the speaker, in my measured estimation, is preforming, through his vocabulary choices, his distance from the implied listener, somebody, presumably, still "half" in the "paddies" making "hot pork chop stew." There's a great irony between the plain-ness of the refrain and the density, somewhat pretentious, of the majority of the language. In a way, the speaker is lying to himself -- about his heritage. The fact that they can reference all these things with such specificity indeed shows they're no stranger to "culms of bamboo." The poem does become a bit overwrought at the end, where lots of unusual words stack up quick. Contretemps and flinfoots fulminates are things that seem very inappropriate for the implied listener. Or any listener, really. If this kind of use of terminology is something you fall back on a lot, you ought to dial back as a habit. Though, better poets than I - Ashberry, for example - get away with just as much.

>The spirits you slept on moved West after Wednesday
and
>Don't go confusing home life with hotels
>Things never do work out
>When we lie to ourselves

These are, in particular, strong lines I want to point out.

This is a competent poem.

As far as suggestions for improvement, besides pruning, I would have you go through the poem and punctuate it. I feel as though the density of the language could be offset more by the logic and pacing that proper grammar adds. I'm in no mood to do that for you.

I'm also not going to count out the meter, and letter the rhyme, but I can feel it moving this poem along. No howlers. So, competent, at least, in that department too, which is unusual for /lit./ Read it out loud a few times and have somebody read it out to you to check it more.

Consider submitting this to a literary magazine after a revision.

>>4126514
Post or link something and I'll critique it at least briefly.

>>4126527

>>4126442

>>4126486

>>4126442
>my silver spoon,
>gives my only reflection.

the silver spoon
gives my reflection

Is a much more natural bit of language. I feel like the "only" was only there to make the line sound more poetic.

Remove the linebreak here. There's not enough going on between the speaker noticing his reflection and the reflection itself. The reflection is also boring, considering he's being reflected in what's basically a fun-house mirror. All you get is "bulging."

>Pin-pricked eyes dotted
>crossed and etched

Are we talking about markings on the spoon? I'm not really getting an image from this. A cross? This is too vague.

>I am no man
Good linebreak.

>who questions his features
Follow this up with questions that other men might ask. They are implicitly brought up in this line.

>his cold senility
Senility invokes mental incompetence for me. This speaker's clearly not that. Seniority would be a better word in my opinion.

>graceless teeth

Teeth are pieces of bone affixed to the skull that move up and down. There is no possible grace in teeth.

>have bitten better things
Good line. End it here. Don't need the bit about the reflection. It just dilutes the sentiment.


You need to be more careful with your diction and you need to work on your figurative and image-making powers.

>>4126542
many thanks!

>>4126442

I agree with >>4126542 about cutting the last line.

Everything else should be kept as is.

>>4126546
Mind you, the "only" might mean that this speaker doesn't have any mirrors. That's way too much avoidance for somebody who doesn't "question his appearance" and who moves on so quickly from his own reflection. You don't need to include the questions, but it interests me what this guy might think are appropriate questions, what questions he thinks are silly, or what questions he is secretly avoiding when he says he doesn't ask questions. There's a potential there.

I also like how, ironically, this poem about a man reflecting on himself is quite brief, and quite curt. "Oh look at this old bugger. I've seen better." Clever.

>>4126486
This poem is a fun little one once you get it. You're not going to get the close read you need to do that here. You could go go with "pumps" instead of "purse" so you get a more certain payoff -- and something that's really shameful -- but there is a charm to the subtly and tact. Also you need a good title that doesn't give it away, but works once you know it.

My impulse is almost to make it a question, too, which is more interesting

There is no shame in the face of an honest man,
but what is there of shame in his mother's eyes,
in his son's clenched fists,
and in his wife's purse?

>>4126554
"In his wife's purse" doesn't really make sense, sorry. "in his wife's pumps" does. Also a pun.

>>4126546
Take your work somewhere else. It's too decent for the vast majority of users here to actually give a critique worth a coin.

4chan is where you come to get berated and put down.

I just can't put this sort of work down. Even if it is raw and needs some more time. I just can't

Bump for more poems and critiques

I'm quite bad at poetry, but here's some for the sake of contributing.

When meeting people from other time zones
I always feel compelled to ask
“How is the future?
Do we survive alright?”

And by “we” I mean
The Entire Earth
With its glittering and shimmering
And madness and sadness
Not to mention
The horrors and terrors
Of this ancient complacent
world
A dynamic and fantastic
Beautiful hopeful
pearl
A gigantic speck
In our neck
Of this universe

So, please, if you’re 6 hours ahead
Answer my question
And I’ll pass it on to those 6 hours behind
“How is the future?
Do we survive alright?”

distracted, there are drifting pairs
here, there is a one
a lonely one
who glances at the moon
and wishes he could
glance instead from its perspective

The forrest fire burned forever
Torched the sky with glowing ember
Scorched the mountain, charred it black
He is never coming back

>>4126542
This is actually really constructive. You are a cool person

>>4128578
>burned forever
>torched the sky
>scorched the mountain

There's some problem with the idea of "forever" and the tenses you chose here. If the forest is burning forever then the sky is being torched, the forest fire is torching -- not torched, past tense, done with. The same with scorched.

>Torched...glowing
>Scortched...charred it black

Your action words imply your images to the degree that your images become superfluous. Torching creates glowing and ember. Scorched is charred and black. You're repeating yourself, and you're not adding information with figurative language or by making the effect of the word, torched or scorched, different than the anticipated cause.

>He is never coming back.
This is nonsense without some sort of additional context like a title or more poem. I can't deduce who "he" is other than his leaving causes forests and skies and mountains to burn perpetually. Is he a religious figure?

He could also be a person of great personal importance, but there's no additional information to help make this available to a reader.

If this was the case, then the repetition of the damage to the sky, etc, could have some value as a form of emphasis or rumination.


Honestly, this reads like the stanza from a poem, and not a whole poem. Go back to your writing desk and give us at least two more and a title.

>>4128581
Thanks.

>>4128535
This is competent. It has the charm that a lot of short Japanese poems have, a little image, a swift conceptual movement, no linguistic pretenses. The last line is good, effective.

I feel as if the word "distracted" maybe privileges the "lonely one" too much. It suggest that the couples, engaged presumably in one another, and not the moon, are somehow missing the correct subject of attention.

This may be corrected by a line of description about the setting, which I think would benefit it even without the word. Something natural. That would make this much more of a scene. Set the time as night, but without the moon. Save the moon for the end.

"lonely" could also be subbed out for something line "solitary" if you want to save the payload for the end. It would also open up the option of the poem, with the word "distracted" preserved, being interpreted as either a lonely person or a sort of meditating philosopher, who's happy with the scene, and even wishes for more isolation.

Paisleys swam on industry air
As the parts per million painted Cézannes
And taunted humidity at the funnels
While salmon spirits humming sustens
Floated on the tops of the water wheels on all those primary school charts

>>4128640
Thank you. That was actually just something I wrote really fast for the sake of this thread. I just wanted a response

>>4128656
Holy shit dude, thanks so much. never actually expected anyone to read it and care to critique. And with insight too- you perfectly captured my meaning.
Thought it up while looking at the full moon tonight. I think I'll go back and make those adjustments and maybe turn it into something.

anons like you redeem this shitty community

Two miles behind me
Two miles ahead
And two miles beside me
And it only grows as I lay here
Silently
Forcefield.

The darkest of times are easiest to notice
but the most beautiful of things
bloom in the darkest of places
Remember, the lotus.

Birdhead Man taught you to speak
Thought drawn down yet at its peak
Cursors move a subtle force
Careful now, the voice gets hoarse

rob me of these thoughts
my mind has betrayed me
replace my poisoned organs
with the good inside you
place your hollowed head
against my aching mind
and breathe for me
speak the words
i could not find
swallow
what i cannot stomach
make me part of you
so we may be whole

>>4128862
Good God how awful

A checkered past of Chekhov, pasta, Pinter, and denial
is washed away like crocodiles in waters of the Nile
by numinous night-traveling until all fears are spent
and by Whitman, Cummings, Ginsberg, Frost, Jack Kerouac, and Wentz

>>4128669
Can someone take a look at this?

Whenever I see
People in poetry
Threads about
Loveliness
All falling sacrosanct
Needy caaar hookups
dying to meet you
Pink and sand rainouts

>>4128669
Nice words... feelings evoked: industrial, dirty, technologic, society, 1800's

I don't know what it means though

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File: 1379045323730.jpg-(36 KB, 500x706, Learn2Google.jpg

Poetry Critique Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)00:08No.4109631Replies: >>4120493 >>4120541
My Dingle-Dong left me
My balls are up tight
I can't get a whiff now
Not even a light
My sprinket is twisted
My tiptom is tight
Your spelly's got squimmers
Unless you don't fight.
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)00:09 No.4109633Replies: >>4109646
damn is that the chick from Crystal Castles? she hasn't aged well
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)00:15 No.4109646
>>4109633 #
Probably. I don't see why not.
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)00:28 No.4109672
File: 1379046527428.jpg-(1.06 MB, 1680x1050, 1377276788894.jpg)

Please help me.
Please participate.
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)16:27 No.4111170
Well, they's seem no to be any poets on /lit/
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)23:07 No.4112108Replie: >>4112111
I like that /lit/ is slow enough that I can come back hours later and find this thread.

So, does nobody want to do a good old "everybpost their poetry and everybody else critique it?"

I thought it'd be neato.
>>
Anonymous 09/13/13(Fri)23:09 No.4112111
File: 1379128154218.jpg-(181 KB, 991x687, 1377277122152.jpg)
>>4112108 #
I feel uncomfortable bumping threads, so here's a picture.
>
Anonymous 09/14/13(Sat)00:38 No.4112277
File: 1379133518151.jpg-(33 KB, 500x375, 1376357550199.jpg)

Well, I've already gone too far.
What abou bird? You probably like a birds.
>>
Anonymous 09/14/13(Sat)00:40 No.4112280Replies: >>4112315
Oh, silk haire girl,
Who spun you?
The tall man in the distance
>>
Anonym 09/14/13(Sat)01:12 No.4112315Replies: >>4112340
>>4112280 #
I kind of like it, specifically the rythm, how it gets all abrupt with the question, and then kind of elongated and... drawn int theend slowlyish... fucking words man, but it leaves me wondering who this tall fellow is and what business he haspinning a girl's hair.

Is it meant to be that way?
>>
Anonymous 09/14/13(Sat)01:24 No.4112340Replies: >>4112352
File: 1379136282486.jpg-(17 KB, 240x320, pretty-girls-19.jpg)

>>4112315 #
thank you for thecritique

you know when girls are all made up with nice hair and make-up and stuff? Theirhair ilike silk, more or less. And you wonder, why do they dress up like that, who sp

>>4116697
Damn anon. Will read again.

>>4116697
At first I was thinking "wait, pandas don't live on Atlantic rock beaches" and noticed a lot of contradictions but then I realized the jumble of images and references come together to convey a sense of cultural amalgamation and globalization.

9/10 would submit to a lit mag

>>4130555
i-is this a poem?

Someone deleted my poem what the hell mods?

Do you even know me?
For so long have I softly pulled to say
In corners, under shade, slipping away
Unfinished business, you'd have to
Unfold me.

At night, what thoughts possess you before you sleep?
When you look for your reflection -
Beauty and absence, sullen sickness
Gloriously wrought from precious stone
Left to rot under blazing sunlight.
When you look for your reflection can you
See the fire in my eyes?

Do you ever feel me within?
When I was growing up I was always told
To wait.
When I was looking for conscience
To hold.
From my chest, you'll have to wrest
Spirit, fire, coal.

Can you possibly realize the truth
That plies to crack the lies
Un-smeared in timeworn grease.
The carbon black
Of armatures wrack
Like shears to skin un-torn.

It hurts, you know
Each time, each stroke.
I'd scream to ease the pain.
For what in mercy you lack,
Tenfold in stone pays back.
A heavy burden.
Unload me.

Don't you recognize me?
I am the same
But I am not what I was.
I am you, rather you are what impels me.
In dreams, in rhymes
My soul that sings to pass the time,
Faith and fervor deride me.

I am you.
Rather-
You made me.
I made me like you.
You loved me then,
What keeps it on your lips,
Behind that god-like face?

Now I carry your bastard,
Your faceless name echoes
In the hallowed cavernous
Maw of my splayed ribs
Pressed open and cracked
Vivisected, grotesque.

Who could ever love me?
With a face like yours?

>>4116697
Is this Vogon poetry?

>>4132778

>>4132778
i-is it that b-bad?

>>4132815
Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning", four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived only by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles" when his own major intestine--in a desperate attempt to save life itself-leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Sussex, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.

>>4132852
4/5, splendid movie, im glad my brain picked up the deadpan accent before i knew what i was reading.

>>4132739

I revised stanza 6 i thought this made it more lyrical.

Don't you recognize me?
I am the same
But I am not what I once was.
I am you, rather you are what impels me.
In dreams, with rhymes
On seams and lines
Your soul-sing chime compels me.

i like this.

The Flower of Life doth perish in the thorns.

>>4121536
>By my heart is a ruler measuring sign

I like this line and

>while I think about the end of the universe
>And wait for you

>>4122842

>aw

It's another hour.
I know this, yet I can't bear to face the clock.
Running away from all my responsibilities
All the promises I made
Just the drip,drip,dripping of the kitchen faucet
The moans from a neighbors room
And the eerie glow from the computer screen
On a Sunday night
.

>>4132852
>dat second last sentence

My lord, Mr. Adams, does the world miss you

>>4132978
Try Robert Asprin, if you like that mold. Mr. Adams was a superior writer but they are both similarly silly fun.

>>4132978
Douglas Adams knocking someone else's writing is pretty much the epitome of pot and kettle.

>>4132778
I'M DYING

>>4132989
>Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings
It's a friendly joke. They were both in school together.

OCD
You've done the same things over and over, time and time again.
You think you're developing some OCD because you have learned nothing from results nor mistakes.
"It gets better," they chant, a mantra burning into your skin and branding itself along the sharp lines of your jaw.
Love. That is the reoccurring sense of pain; it is the heart wrenching disorder of humanity.
You fall in love on Tuesday and forget on Sunday.
You think you're developing some OCD.

Damsel in distress

When I look in the mirror
I see a plastic doll
made up of slightly uneven parts.
One shoulder too broad
and the other too narrow,
a defective Barbie
the assembly line worker misplaced.

In my kitchen I count out grains of rice
and put them onto a scale.
Two thirds of a gram too much,
no, too little.
Maybe if I eat an almond less tomorrow
it'll compensate for my gorging today.

I wear fabric woven
by African women who's pores
have stained their shirts with toil.
Stains barely visible under dim lamps.
Its authenticity detected only
by the sharpest eye trained
looking at weekly catalogs
of old designs with new names and angles.

When I wrap myself in its luxury
my organs get compressed
and my stomach tightens,
revealing a curve seen only
in a camera flash,
a fraction of a lifestyle captured
to put on glossy pages and bright screens
so those with any aspirations
of empty vanity
can look and wonder
how I look so timeless.
Beauty requires sacrifice.

I've waited.
Patiently.
I've waited and I've waited and
I've waited.
Nails ground, hands bound
Tongue wound, head down.
I'm waiting here in the twilight hour
Of one very long day.

Can you hear the muffled sounds?
Through tears, drowned.
My heart pounds.
Aren't you going to save me?

I'm waiting in the cold midnight
for a sun that will probably shine
Among stars I stare to find
my personal pathway
for unnatural lust
for unbearable lightness
of a sun that might shine

the White Tower, twisted by blisters and marrow,
kaleidoscope pies, columns - joints & rows,
in the mist among star splinters busty blush
Howls time, the wind's scurrying aria


the poverished drawn minds
housed at infinity's staircase
Pleads the author for ink
to their own conscience's lines

born with two mouths too much,
but neither bread nor conversation
in this first and every step to eternity
lie Apollo's hack porcelain to rest

When my mother, she fell down the stairs
I picked her up, her face was bare,
of markings, features, lines and cares
And I couldn't follow suit, couldn't understand
Why and how come she came to stare
At the spot on the wall where,
At 5, I puked blood
And laughed.

The Pale Man that watches from those windows,
every single night as the sharp wind blows.
His eyes tell a sorrow that no other man knows.
They're told to me by the pale man watching from the windows.

The home across the street has been a catalogue of widows.
Passing on each year in time with the season's rise and lows.
He sees each woman as she comes and goes,
The Pale Man that watches from those windows.

In dreams I've whispered as my wishes flow,
Words tapping against the cold glass of his window.
Written in journals are his thoughts in prose.
Versed against my sleep in rhythm that shows.

Boarded doors where no-one goes and no-one sees and no-one knows,
There once was a friend of mine living there and try often as I might,
No more do I see him in the night.
The harsh wind blows to mirror my frustration.
Why is it that no-one knows where it is that The Pale Man goes?

Clouds are like towering waves
or tiny blots of foam
The sky is the sea
Far below the surface
We cling to the bed

Le jour où il pleut.
La tristesse m'inonde.
Je me tue et je meurs.

It's not like I expect any of you monolingual Anglo pigs to understand my poem though.

>>4132942
I don't get what you mean by that

I yell at him.

He yells at me.

Our feelings get hurt.

He's illogical.

I'm rational.

But he is strong.

He threatens me.

I resist.

But I'm weak.

So I pupate.

I lock myself in a pupa.

In the sticky silence, I dream.

Until I grow a pair of wings to fly away.

Until I can afford to be a free soul.

Until then, I can just hope.

I hope he won't attack this pupa.

I hope enough time remains for me.

Inside the pupa, I find you.

You are dying. You stare at me with eyes full of grudge.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"I am you."

I shed tears. I feed you images and words.

"I'm sorry." I apologize.

"It's okay."

"I won't leave you again." I say.

"You better not." You say with a bitter smile.

I hear whispers outside.

"Ignore them." You say irritably.

"Will we make it?" I ask.

"We better do."

>>4134264
"je me tue et je meurs"
wat

>>4126468
Why thank you Anon. I reckoned at least someone would apreciate my deconstructive efforts.

Now here's some general critique aimed at all and everyone, critics included:

In grasping the concept of oneness, each one
must conceed that a unity strives to succeed
by asserting itself as a possitive difference
from anything else that exists and as such
can be justly compared to the drawing of circles
in water or squares in the air and as such

The me that portrudes like a prick in the eye
out of all these bombastic depictions of I
is depraved and detached like the limbs of a lepper
or soft lumps of cold sweat and cotton, the like
I am likely to find digging through my own navel
propulsing myself through the whitespace of writing
as if an assertion of me makes a statement
or worse, as if feelings are bound to a subject
strung out on a frame like the hide of a cow
or a goat on a drum you can beat with a meatstick
of dubious dreams and desires to be

to be me and be free and be different and feel
and create like a boss or a steve with a job
that's the rythm which every cretinous creature
is following blindly in schlurping succesions
of selfjerking cirkles, like sheep on the run
or like people in cages as if there was nothing
to tell but the story of I and the act
of engulfning, endulging and striking my stem
or the rod or the root or the nuts or the nude
while pretending it's beatiful, blatantly boasting
a lewd and most ludicrous logical phallocy

[comment too long - don't expect a conclusion, I'll keep up the fight in my following post]

>>4134264
How to be as cliche as possible with 17 syllables.

The years have passed me by
I have long given up my vain attempts to hold the water of memory within my leaky hands
Everything has changed
I am not who I once was
My decrepit body no longer responds to me
It too has begun to ignore my cries
Everything has changed
Yet somehow nothing has
I cannot be alone, or my mind wanders
My broken memory begins to flood with all it has retained
Thoughts of what could have been
Dreams that might have been realized
Lives that may have been touched
Who am I?
I still know what I should have been
I no longer know why
Recollections have seeped through the gaps
Hung for a moment to be seen one last time
Fallen unceremoniously
Lost forever
But I hold on to the dreams of an enigmatic future
Postulation of excellence
Goals of success
And yet the less I know
The more I regret
Everything has changed
I was meant to be great
Destined for a throne
To be invaluable to all
Instead I am dispensable to most
Valuable to few
Replaceable
Everything has changed
I live in solitude
Ignominy, or so it would seem
But not even that grace could come my way
There will never be a complaint of my existence
A riot over my doings
People have forgotten who I am
Who I was
And still their presence,
Their scent, their touch, anything I can remember
It all remains
Nothing changes
I am tormented by their voices
I am taunted by these thought
I am ashamed of myself
And ashamed of my tears
But soon those will dry up
Leave without notice
And I will too

>>4134326 cont...
Hail thee narcissus (and nietzche and kierkegaard
sartre as well just like anyone claiming the sovereign
selfness of self) - I praise thee for the affirmation
that one can be one and the I can be me
and the me can be this and then this can be that
and thus that can be thruth and then truth can be had

But lo! it's a joke and the joke is on me
think it through we are but transmutations of cheese
change the this into these and I'll see that to be
means to be something else than a me and that I
is a pie in the sky that I think I can reach
while the hokus and pokus is all in the words
do I read me? my me is profoundly absurd
it's the crap of a bird it's a flirt with my self
or a turd I regurgitate just to be heard

And this text can go on if I like it or not
it is writing itself on the fly you can tell
by the I's it has scattered throughout that it wont
stop for nothing until it has filled every hole
and orifice it can like a man with an I in my pants
it's the nature of language to conquer the lands
of my mind and my space and my time like a plant
of the kind that I can't just unwind in a poem
or a dream in which dandelions sprout through the asphalt on every street breaking through the cement working slowly but stronger than concrete relying so confidently on the wind to be spreading it's seeds once they're whithered and dead yet alive and all kicking with life just as I know it not and will probably never be able to grasp save for moments of ejaculation I get to experience whenever I manage to just shed myself of my self and embrace something else and allow the submersion and subsequent full dissolvation of I and reality suddenly opens itself like a glorious matrix of green and the screen of the internal tv explodes it is burst by the force of a million thistles and nettles entangled like dreadlocks of hemp and the like and the nodes all connect in a map of my self which is everyone everything else and is anything true but myself and I me myself my and my my I am this I am that I am eye in the sky

I don't write poetry, but I do write raps. Git some. This is about some bitch who doesn't love me.

I saw him stick-legged before all was said and done
Scuttling atop potato chips gone green
He said what he felt for me had sent him dumb
But then how’d he go dumb with what all the boy’s seen?
Mean evadin’
Bein’ crazy
Seein’ jays in his sleep.
Green assailant
Sheet blazin’
Creeper on street,

It’s people like him,
That are failin’
These bailin’
Freak fucks on beats.

He says that he loves me sweat
Deep shit,
I say he loves me cheap,
And if not that’s a
Steep fuck,
For a fling.
Couple minutes for undying love.
Never felt a thing,
But his eyes are turnin’ push to shove,
Emotionally king.
Yeah, right,
If only tonally he’d sing me a serenade,
As it is,
Kid’s bout as interesting as lemonade.

>>4109631
love it

>>4112474
>Opened her eye

change eye to her/the lid(s) for more ambiguity - why would a rapist open her eye? opening a lid seems more metaphorical in the misdirection. Like a lid to the jar of his sickness or her victimnity. when you said eye - i knew right there it wasn't malintent.

The reality that I was so curious about is a fictitious one;
A verisimilitude of truth that made me paranoid, anxious, and worried.
The gnawing feeling at my heart; the uncomfortable, colossal chains around my wrists;
The man at the door who saw my every move.
I was in a prison of doubt and angst that I knew I could not get out of. However,
I have discovered something much more pleasing: Individualism.
It’s confidence empowers change. Change of persona for the better
So that I can achieve my long-strived for goal that I created one evening under the December moon.
I knew there were going to be risks, but the trials and tribulations were not ones that I could predict:
The grinding teeth, the shackles, and the man.
It is no matter; they are just illusions of tension created by peers.
Companions that I looked to for guidance, and they gave me directions that are fraudulent.
A helpful intent that led to a damaging core.
It is time that I took control and actually listened to the wind so that I may find the road to substance.
The breeze communicates the authentic and the real, which is all I need.
There is healthy dreaming to be done.

On se trouve
dans un cas similaire lorsque, comme cela se produit souvent en
pratique de façon plus ou moins explicite, une institution


(une banque, par exemple)
s’occupe systématiquement de maintenir ou « préserver » la

valeur de ses actions en
Bourse, à
l’aide d’opérations financières qui font savoir sur le marché que l’achat des
titres est « garanti » à
des niveaux de prix déterminés. S’il en est ainsi, et dans la
mesure où le public le croit, il s’agit à nouveau d’une opération qui, en
définitive, fait
naître un contrat de dépôt irrégulier par le biais de l’investissement en titres, valeurs ou
actions, dont la liquidité sur le marché est implicitement et


constamment « garantie »
par une institution qui inspire confiance. Il ne faut donc pas s’étonner que de
nombreuses crises bancaires se soient dues, plus qu’à un retrait massif des dépôts, à la
vente massive d’actions de la banque,

que l’on supposait être un placement sûr de

l’argent, dont la disponibilité immédiate était pratiquement garantie. Quand on commence à douter de la solvabilité de la banque, les titres représentatifs de sa
propriété sont les premiers à se vendre en masse et cela empêche la banque de remplir
son engagement implicite de maintenir la valeur des titres en Bourse. Ces ventes
massives se doivent
au fait qu’au moins jusqu’à maintenant l’appui indiscriminé des
banques centrales, qui fournissent des liquidités aux banques privées dans l’embarras,
ne s’est pas étendu au point de permettre le maintien continu de la cotisation des
valeurs en Bourse ; et on constate qu’en définitive, les seuls « déposants » lésés au
cours des dernières crises bancaires en Espagne et dans d’autres pays ont été les
actionnaires.

>>4134473
Just a quick note
>long-strived for
Should be
>long-strived-for

Every day I go up on the mountain
Climb to the top but I don't know what for
It's quiet until I hear a voice up on the mountain
Beware of what you want
It might want you more

ashes my burned hut
but beautiful like cherry
blooming on the hill

-one of my patients just before he died
And just before I left the hospital and began to travel
If he could face death so calmly
How could I face life with so much doubt
Now I can sit on the side of a mountain
And watch the shadows slowly filling the valley floor
But not without the doubts that still linger
And constantly caress the edges of my shadowy interior
At least a catheter expels impurities in a manner of model efficiency
And my previous profession always at least offered that
Flawless vasectomies in clean and well lit places
A sterile field sealed from infection but not from disease
I often wonder if I left anyone behind
But somehow I just can't remember
Only an oddly defined drive to find a better way
But somehow I don't believe this is it
As I watch the shadows slowly creeping closer
I think about India and the Hindu concept of Maya
It took me so long to understand
The space between reality and perception
And now it seems that I live there

Holy fuck, this thread is still alive?

I'm not so sure about the last couple lines, but give it a shot. plz
Ozymandias, lay down your burden!
Your spiral of affairs, that rests,
Oh so heavy upon your sunken shoulders.
Let it slip, splash through the waters,
To rest in the silt.
Ozymandias, free your mind!
You trudge through muck and filth,
To blaze your own trail that no one will follow.
While a well-paved path sits beside you,
Waiting to feel your hobnails.
Ozymandias, forsake yourself!
You have wrought the rock into,
A likeness of yourself lesser,
Than what you could become,
Now more than you might be.
Ozymandias, approach me, do as you will!
Take blood from these rocky veins.
Heal me with your chipping needle.
Ozymandias, die!
Let me be your legacy,
For the king is not the creator,
but the creation.

>>4134326
>>4134337

i like this

>>4134375
close, it needs a stronger end, and the voice is confusing, is it about him or you? As it stands the structure doesnt allow it to flow about him & you. The ending should be revised, its a suspiciously tenuous tie to rhyming dictionary flotsam.

Oh!
What's in here?
It's -
It is,
Well it sure is something.

I'm curious,
You see.
And I am as clever as can be!
So open wide, don't try to hide,
A knurled curled finger
You'll fast find me inserting!

I poke and prod,
I kneed and knod -
OH!

Hark, attack! It answers back,
My oily clandestine friend.
The sinews slack
Roar ivory black
Twang pulses front to end.

It hurts, it stings! This life - it seems
It pesters it screams.
It hungers to transcend!

Well time, dear thing,
To kiss the ring!
Your guts ill try to splat.

The thing about you, you're red
And I'm blue, and I must
I do -
There's still something left I've been called to do.

But it didn't have to end like this you know.
On the fiery membrane betwixt the two worlds -
Yours mine and ours, streaming space and time
Colors rhyme when shared the prime divisor of us all.
I would have very much wanted to tell you a secret.

I would have left a single tear at your cheek.
I'm so sorry to have done this to you.

I hope you still love me.

>>4134545
I goddamn love it.
However, the beginning sounds like you're talking about fingering a girl.

the
white race
marches
on

Today is my birthday, number thirty-two,
And I sit here, lonely, just thinking of you.
The horizon and sun grow close,
As we never will, how fucking morose.
To be with you is what it would take to appease.
You know what? Fuck you. Fuck me, please?
My students are dunces, my wife is a whore.
I know it's alright, but I still crave for more.
Your spotty skin, your crusty eyes,
without them I would have reached my demise.
Musicians are faggots,
Cats eat maggots.
I'm that which is disgusting, and so are you.
I sit here lonely, on birthday thirty-two.

>>4134712
Can't tell if edgy or satirical.

Before,
I was vulnerable
Everything confused me
Life was hard
But the simple color of dusk
Could fill me with feelings

Now,
I am confident
I manipulate everything
Life is a piece of cake
But even before a thousand colors
I feel nothing

Sometimes,
I miss the emotions.

>>4109631
this poem sucks

>>4134712
>the autumn years feels

>>4115099
best ive read on /lit/
best amateur ive read in awhile actually

I can't believe this thread still exists.

>>4134788
Thanks, that's what I was going for.
Do you think that there's too much cursing? Kinda on the fence about it.

>>4132910
Did anyone like this? I know it's short but that is exactly why I posted it.

>>4134545
fav

>>4134963
I think it's pretty good, especially if by "thorns" you meant roses. So life dies by love? Either way, pretty good.

On most days I suck at poetry
Except for today
I feel inspired today
I am the greatest
I will write a poem that in ten million years
will be uncovered by some new species of human
and it will be me who they decipher
and in this poem I will teach them our ways
you can thank me now
for being such a good representation
of the human race

>>4134963
>doth
Shakespeare, is that thou?

>>4135018
>implying Shakespeare was the only one to say doth

>>4135023
But he was on of the most the most famous to use it. No one fucking uses it now and it makes the "poem" look dated and cliche, like something you'd see in a 90's teen romance movie. The only time you'd see that kind of thing is in a pastiche and the like, which I highly doubt the would-be poet intended

>>4134545
>I hope you still love me.
Not only have you written a love poem, something overdone to begin with, but you also had to end with a cringeworthy line.

>>4134539
Meybe meybe?

>>4134864
nah it captures the bitterness pretty well i think, makes the character more feasible

>>4135029
I did not intend that, no. You'd probably hate some of my stuff. I have a fascination with the Middle ages and I cannot say it has helped me at all. Rarely does this kind of line come to me, though. When used very, very sparingly (I might have fifteen lines like this out of thousands), it can be a pretty turn of phrase.

i feel like
tripping along
with all of you
you most of all
to tell my mood
is it.ert234i6-07526uy06

concrete

>>4135023
Doth is completely wrong to use in any situation. This isn't some sort of Renaissance fair.

>>4135973
This is brilliant

I posted this awhile ago in a haiku thread, but:

once more, sleepless night
let my ebony eyes see
the eve of my earth

pretty girls are cartoons
filling in my heart with the fill tool on MS Paint
the only metaphor I can think up is
because I spend my time on the computer
without

>>4136985
I thought the first two lines of this sucked, but reading on, the self-awareness of it was pretty good.

The past is a streetlight, the future one too
And between it all, in a puddle of darkness, lies you.

>inb4 it's just a couplet

Once I was Manny from Black Books and now I am Bernard
It sounds better when they say it on Black Books
When I played Maniac Mansion on floppy disk then I said Burr-Nard, like SAINT BUUURRRRR-OXNARD

The measurability of time lead me to try
a number of vicious acts
About which I cannot lie
For all I sought were facts.

What, perchance, is measured distance
But the line between "a" and "b"
Now picture it this way; an easy mistress,
the wife, and a batch of poisoned tea.

Adding now a de-railed train
Who for the station was schedul'd at 5
But in slipping off tracks from falling rain
Could not be blamed for death contrived.

Last but not least
Was coma victim Stacy
A young girl who ceased
When her boyfriend got spacey

Didn't even notice these responses to my earlier-posted work

>>4134412
>why would a rapist open her eye?
I saw some porn vid once where the dude opened the chicks eyelid and came in her eye I'd seen it in real porn and in hentai. I understand now, however, that perhaps other people haven't seen this.

>>4126453
Grazie. I liked it a lot myself.

>>4113398
I tried making it a bit unconventional but still have some rhyme. Glad I succeeded.

>>4136954
Thanks. There is hidden meaning in it if anyone likes concrete poetry.

>>4136543
I wrote that, too. Sometimes the archaic is better for my own moods. I can totally understand why someone would prefer nightingale to philomel. It so rarely strikes me, maybe fifteen lines out of thousands. I guess I'm a hoarder of language, in a way. As a young man I went through a Byron and Yeats phase, though now I dig James Joyce and Whitman.

>>4137650
Oh, and I inherited a really cool early 90s (I think?) copy of an Oxford dictionary. It was amazing. It was the only dictionary I ever just could read for fun. I let a guy borrow it and haven't seen it since. I miss it so much. It has some truly wonderful words in it, like meretricious. If I wasn't so stoned I could remember a lot more. This is why you make word lists in your notebooks, gentlemen and women, for you will forget. It is a curse.

>>4137657
Why don't you ask for it back?

>>4138146
He was a That Guy. I think he moved off and I never saw him again.

There are some really good poems in this thread. Thanks.

>>4115099
Damn son

>>4109631

This is so bad I'm actually squirming in my seat. The way you added a full stop at the very end like it's some kind of powerful closing statement fucks me off big time.

>>4115474
This is great too

>>4116697
This is a great thread for /lit/.

>How could a person still live that way now?
>Turning limp cartwheels in dried up canals
I Bateman'd

I love all of this.

>>4116863
Breddy gud

>>4117210
Good

>>4116697
Do you have a place where you keep more poems?

>>4114731
>ev'ry

stopped reading there

How oft
has man
been held aloft
by angel and serpent
who thought
him no better
than the dirt
of which he was made?
tormented by
what he could never understand
when love is a tyrant
oppression the babe;
what a poet might give
to understand
just one
of God's thoughts on man
how pathetic the scientist, the artist
the shepard, the carpenter
strive under that smile!
lay down your life
for one who does not care for you
at all! at all!
let this be
our clarion call
no more to bow
none to scrape and kneel
before what laid us low
and, begged to heel,
like rabid dogs of war:
the poet just wishes
to see the 'morrow
of what was wrought today

5/7/2012

Iseendaga võidelda-
see on ju nii kerge!

Vaja ainult karjuda, sõidelda,
hüüda taevasse ''Merde''!

Ma õnnelik õnnetu, andekas andetu
ahastuses loorbereil istudes vandugu-
Oo Issand, tõesti, õndsad vaimust on vaesed,
õelalt pobisen-mugisen: lisatagu ka naised.

Elu Bacchust teenides hinge on mattev.
Veini läppunud lehk, silmil sall on kattev-
Elagabaluse riitustetöö on ju tappev!

Mis loeb mulle närudes-kaltsudes sant,
kelle leib on kivi, elu Näljale pant.
Ärgu nõudku mult halastust, kurbuselööki-
mina olen kokk Peojumala köögis!
Lembivaid hõrke, kõike head teen mina-
mida loed mulle üleüldsegi sina!

Olen Dyonysose saatür, Bacchuse kõri
Elagabaluse orgiatel vemmeldab veri.
Mu elu on raske, mu elu on kurb-
olla keiser ja rikas- vat see on mu ulm!

>>4138235
Yeah, I do everything in Notepad on my computer and I email them to myself every once in a while in case my laptop breaks or something. I've got more if you want but no more in that style.

>>4138828
Slipping sideways on my stair rail
pass! pass! pass! on, pass me by
my eye sides hurt
the sugars shrinkage sings to me
"watch yourself; the young are going"
My teeth feels smaller
I should eat less
as I count the counter pieces
What's that whine
is it the tv?
is my roommate's girlfriend singing?
I've left the bathtub on I know it
Tell me huntress, where'd you go?
are those footsteps from the kitchen
or do I just hear the freezer making ice?
is my vision prescription up to date
It's felt fuzzy funny fuzzy lately
lately, lately, lately layers
I have left the sink on! damn!
good god mine god the fan's still running
Not again! fake winds will kill me
and send strange angel Ansen for my legs
who the hell still has a home phone
anymore?

Citrus fruits, olive juice, fudge almondine
Loosen up warm in a worn gaberdine

>>4139068
That's another one of mine that I've posted on /lit/ a few times.

The Flag
Trembling
In her hands
Reminded me
I had left
My Flag
Half mast
In the rain

mapped the path to paradise
the provisions well prepared
veins and limbs all free of ice
mind not even close to scared

inspection done, I wish him luck
I hope tomorrow I give a fuck

WHY DON'T I HIDE THIS FUCKING THREAD

HER FACE FUCKING DISGUSTS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT AND I NEVER HIDE THE THREAD

>>4139298
DINGLE DONGLE MOTHERFUCLKER

>>4139298

i was thinking that unconciously. i will hide the thread.

>>4139306
Who is she anyway?

Please, remember me happily
By the rosebush laughing
With bruises on my chin, the time when
We counted every black car passing
Your house beneath the hill
And up until someone caught us in the kitchen
With maps, a mountain range, a piggy bank
A vision too removed to mention

But please, remember me fondly
I heard from someone you're still pretty
And then they went on to say
That the pearly gates
Had some eloquent graffiti
Like "We'll meet again" and "Fuck the man"
And "Tell my mother not to worry"
And angels with their great handshakes
Were always done in such a hurry

And please, remember me that Halloween
Making fools of all the neighbors
Our faces painted white
By midnight, we'd forgotten one another
And when the morning came I was ashamed
Only now it seems so silly
That season left the world and then returned
And now you're lit up by the city

So please, remember me mistakenly
In the window of the tallest tower
Calling passers-by but much too high
To see the empty road at happy hour
Gleam and resonate, just like the gates
Around the holy kingdom
With words like "Lost and found" and "Don't look down"
And "Someone save temptation"

And please, remember me as in the dream
We had as rug-burned babies
Among the fallen trees and fast asleep
Aside the lions and the ladies
That called you what you like and even might
Give a gift for your behavior
A fleeting chance to see a trapeze
Swinger high as any savior

But please, remember me, my misery
And how it lost me all I wanted
Those dogs that love the rain and chasing trains
The colored birds above their running
In circles around the well and where it spells
On the wall behind St. Peter
So bright, on cinder gray, in spray paint
"Who the hell can see forever?"

And please, remember me seldomly
In the car behind the carnival
My hand between your knees, you turned from me
And said, "The trapeze act was wonderful
But never meant to last", the clown that passed
Saw me just come up with anger
When it filled with circus dogs, the parking lot
Had an element of danger

So please, remember me finally
And all my uphill clawing
My dear, but if I make the pearly gates
I'll do my best to make a drawing
Of God and Lucifer, a boy and girl
An angel kissing on a sinner
A monkey and a man, a marching band
All around a frightened trapeze swinger

>>4140581
It's Alice Glass as she is now.

>>4141075
A little long, but I really liked the last stanza.

say
something
because
it
sounds
nice

>>4141920
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0x3efjOtiA0

>>4116697
Best thing I've ever seen on /lit/

MY DINGLE DONG IS HARD

>>4141075
i fucking love iron&wine.

This frosty hag will haunt me everywhere,
these loins of mine, she sucks and bites my nard,
the brew she's left is not a stinking drop,
her stomach pale I hope for I came hard.

>>4143853
me too. his lyrics are haunting at times.

"pallbearer"

essence on my shoulders,
i spit into the asshole of infinity,
and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.

my eyes drift along the blossoming grey,
catching their inscriptions.
here lies nature's decapitated sex slave two thousand one two thousand thirteen and a condor flies into my mouth and i
i peel the lips off my mouth to feed the coffinworms, coffinworms, coffinworms, dug up from my whirling bowels, whirling through the brown jet of infinity's eternal diarrhea i come whirling out its ass together with my coffinworms,coffinworms,coffinworms.
...lingering behind for another quarter century.,,
this saturnine ghost seems self-assured, but i know the truth, the coffinworms, and the true essence on my shoulders.

so i spit into the clitoris of extinction,
and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.

"pallbearer"

essence on my shoulders,
i spit into the asshole of infinity,
and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.

my eyes drift along the blossoming grey,
catching their inscriptions.
here lies nature's decapitated sex slave two thousand one two thousand thirteen and a condor flies into my mouth and i
i peel the lips off my mouth to feed the coffinworms,
coffinworms,
coffinworms,
dug up from my whirling bowels, whirling through the brown jet of infinity's eternal diarrhea i come whirling out its ass together with my
coffinworms,
coffinworms,
coffinworms.
...lingering behind for another quarter century.,,
this saturnine ghost seems self-assured, but i know the truth,
the coffinworms,
and the true essence on my shoulders.

so i spit into the clitoris of extinction,
and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.

"pallbearer" essence on my shoulders,i spit into the asshole of infinity,and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.my eyes drift along the blossoming grey,catching their inscriptions.
here lies nature's decapitated sex slave two thousand one two thousand thirteen and a condor flies into my mouth and i
i peel the lips off my mouth to feed the coffinworms, coffinworms, coffinworms, dug up from my whirling bowels, whirling through the brown jet of infinity's eternal diarrhea i come whirling out its ass together with my coffinworms,coffinworms,coffinworms.
...lingering behind for another quarter century.,,
this saturnine ghost seems self-assured, but i know the truth, the coffinworms, and the true essence on my shoulders.so i spit into the clitoris of extinction,and breathe in death's inebriant miasma.

>>4144503

Whose phone number is that?

knowing you
was like being guided through a museum
where nothing intrigued me
and nothing caught my eye
but I did not want to stand outside
with only my self to examine

knowing you
was like
swimming in a puddle
and pretending it’s the ocean
at least I wasn’t dry

Odo’s death was rather tragic
Being as he was, a mute
To mend this he imbibed the magic
Angry, one-eyed, rough-skinned newt

Acy’s death was comprehensive
No doubt with great intention hewn
One moment, he was sitting, pensive
The next; in blocks of flesh was strewn

Ira’s death goes still unnoticed
Simply since he rises still
And walks, and talks, and keeps appointments
Feigning life through strength of will

Asa with a novel captured
Who had him at all points besotted
Page turner; can’t-put-downer
Denouement was a mess
The curve between her lips garrotted
Him, so then, they’re square
I guess

Within a bustling park, by day
A glass-eyed loony shouts at others
Telling them to go away

and shoop a doop
boopy day day
puddin pops

Give up all hope.

I am what you hate. I am an asshole. I am ugly. I am a dick. I am ignorant. I am a follower. I am dum. I am the person that likes what you don't. I am the person that is against your beliefs. I am the person that talked behind your back. I am the person you're jealous of. I am the person that forgot about you. I am the person who let you down. I am the person that broke you.

Your true love sleeps with me.Your dream job is my occupation. Your happy ending is my story. I will turn everyone against you. I will do everything you fear to you. I will live longer than you.

Nothing wrong will happen to me and there's nothing you can do to me.However, to your surprise.

>>4144497

I like this. So vicious yet effortlessly, naturally so. It's hard to come across something so dark yet lacking in that offputting forced quality that usually associates such matter. This seems to flow straight out the puss filled sores of Sorrow and Annihilation, sir, I thank you.

Like vines I wrap
and grow up your legs
hands clambering for more and more of your flesh.
Twisting and covering every bit of you,
but you accept, solid and strong,
my leaves becoming your face.
Allow me entry, let me grow within,
sunlight filtering through windows as sustenance,
the breath in your lungs as air,
your body as my soil
your heart as my seed.

>>4144732
This made me angry in both ways, so pretty good.

Full awoken street
Pavement for ants
Why you fallow
When bareness is unfolded

Inconsistent shades lay
Frameworks of time
To fit they rumble
Bodies of own

http://johnbeetlepoetry.tumblr.com/

>>4112509
>>4113544
>>4115073

this. this is some really good poetry. it's rare to find anything above average in these threads.

>>4115099

good wordsmanship, but the subject is meh.

>>4117210

the second stanza is good, just reword it somehow and it will be a decent poem.

>>4122825

this poem feels heavy, it's getting crushed under the weight of the words. it actually feels too though-out, you need more playfulness.

>>4128303

this is esentially prose. Develop it a little more and you have good little text.

Here where I stay,
Where summer days are cool and bright,
And winter days are lively in the night
Foxhounds scurry in twilight

When her sound will pass my ear,
I will hear
her, softly crying in the twilight.

Here where I stay,
Her voice will tremble
And change,
And she cries and cries
In early hours of the night.

Here where I stay,
Where summer days are cool and bright,
And winter days are lively in the night

>There once was a man from Nantucket

Dear 4chan,

You were there when I was dying had only three friends in the whole world.

You can't bring no bigfoot to my house without me knowing, Gus!

Love, Patrick Philomel

>>4144619
I managed to avoid quatrains for this one at least

What disposition will extol a drink more tears then ethanol?
Lingered fingers wet the basal pulpit arcing,
Diffuse the glimmer from the forebrain, barking!
Not the sole transfusion, water falls
Refracting, shows the coarseness of the walls
Shade the fuel that sweats on our diffuseness
Facejacket cold-blockade and Lambert looseness

Ocean water's going diving
Translucent children say, it's leaving
But far in the punctured weave, the breathing
Of all headburning half afloat ones
And all their musing's skyward seething

Now never count the steps that walk you in
Homonculi inside your head breathe in
In all the land abandon symbol's sale
And vomit in, a monopalate meal
Regurgitate, in tongues
The efficient self-deceiving spiel
Of another surreptitious autocrat
Not worth a damn, our labour's yield
The night is young - I'll drink to that