/lit/ - Literature

Can she make me forgive my constantly defeated ambitions—
Can an easy finale repair ages of misery—
Can a day of success destroy the shame
Of our fatal lack of skill?

Can accidents on scientific magic and movements
Of fraternal union be considered a slow return
To time remembered before our fall from grace?

But the Vampire who makes us kind
Expects us to be entertained with what she leaves us,
Or in another way to be much more amusing.

Convulsed with wounds from the dying air and the sea,
Racked by murderous silence of water and air,
By torments that laugh, their silence a terrible howl.

Your finger strikes the drum, dispersing all its sounds,
And new harmony begins.

Your step is the rise of new men, their setting out.

You turn away your head: New Love!
You turn your head again: New Love!

"Alter our fates, destroy our plagues,
Beginning with Time," sing the children.
They beg of you: "Make out of anything
The stuff of our fortunes and desires."

Come from always, you will go away everywhere.

I love you-- you have to believe me--
I love you, I do--
in a thousand ways, little dove
little dove, I love you

but we cannot talk-- but we can joke!
we cannot dance-- we walk!
we waste time-- we like to waste time!
but we cannot talk--

how could I leave you little dove? &
break your love not small?
but if we did not say "I love you"--
how would we talk at all?--

my love, my love, my little dove--

>>5366348
>>5366355
>>5366357
It's post /ONE/ rate /ONE/ you fucks.

Long after days and seasons pass,
And the living have gone, and the land,

A Banner of meat that bleeds
Onto the silk of seas and arctic flowers; (they do not exist).

Echoes of heroics, and the old fanfares
That still attack us, head and heart—
Far from the assassins of the past,

A Banner of meat that bleeds
Onto the silk of seas and arctic flowers; (they do not exist).

Delight!
Bright fires, raining in squalls of sleet—

Delight!
Fires in the rain of a diamond wind
Thrown from this terrestrial core, charred forever,
And for us,
The World!
(Far from old retreats and ancient flames we hear and feel.)

Bright fires and foam. Music, turning in crevices;
The shock of ice against the stars.

Delight, music, world!

There...
Forms; sweating, hair and eyes, drifting...
White tears, burning tears... delight!
The voice of Woman in gulfs of fire,
and frozen caves of ice.

And a Banner...

>>5366365
okay, sorry

I posted this one >>5366357 and I rate this one >>5366357 10/10

SALE

For sale—
Whatever the Jews have left unsold,
What nobleness and crime have never tasted,
What damned love cannot know,
What is strange to the infernal probity of the masses,
What time and science need not recognize:

Voices reconstituted;
A fraternal awakening of all choral and orchestral energies
and their immediate application.
The occasion, the unique moment, the set our senses free!

For sale—
Priceless Bodies, beyond race or world or sex or line of descent!
Riches in ubiquitous flood!
Unrestricted sales of diamonds!

For sale—
Anarchy for the masses;
Wild satisfaction for knowing amateurs;
Atrocious death for the faithful and lovers!

For sale—
Homesteads and migrations, sports,
Enchantment and perfect comfort, and the noise,
the movement, and the future they entail.

For sale—
Extravagant uses of calculation, unknown harmonic intervals,
Discoveries and unsuspected terms, immediately available.
Senseless and infinite flight toward invisible splendor,
Toward insensible delight—
The madness of its secrets shocks all known vice!
The mob is aghast at its gaiety!

For sale—
Bodies and voices, immense and unquestionable opulence,
Stuff that will never be sold.

The sellers sell on!
Salesmen may turn in their accounts later...

I am never free and I am not kind
I am the edge-lord of fedora-crown
Neck unshaven in weeks
Amish from the chin down

Sprechen sie Dutchie?

What scratchings can I find here
Amongst my neck
Plastic surgery guaranteeing a qt future on a sailboat with some
Androgynous waifu queen, Willing to subject me to endless symptoms as we move in Korean daybreaks
Window with fishingline
Sunflowers
Her dancing as my laptop fades in the street
And I wake in Chicago.

>>5366368
I like squalls of sleet and arctic flowers. The rest is unclear.

>>5366386
I forgot the title, which is Barbarian.

Sitting down in a circle of envious
Blank-faced hate
Creeping necks extend forth—
Swollen nostrils flare

Deep resignation soars into the hairs—
Blowing back scarred scalps and—
Defeated minds

Ugly bodies wriggle and twist,
Shouts of disdain pierce between teeth—
Silence evoked its voice!

Beating frantic, an open tongue
Reveals vomit dripping on its side—
In a reaching glance I release my knees
From their crossed symposium
And slit my heels with the sharp fixes
Of routine!

For he who scoffed at me when I told him I was depressed
For he who laughed with me regarding jokes told by a simple glance
For he whose white pickup truck symbolized 12 hour days at work and a good novel in between all the driving
For he who knew me better than myself.

I love you! Not because you let me play on a client's trampoline
I love you! Not because of the incredible tales of a simpler time.
I love you! Not because you asked me how to spell this or multiply that

The life you lived was absurdly real and painfully good-natured.
You showed me what true men see.

>>5366383
I enjoyed it. The last line's significance seemed either out of place or lacking though. 8.25/10

>>5366384
This is actually really good as well considering ithe subject matter. 7/10

>>5366384
15/10, beautiful.

Sing to me in
britone, poison ivy
dancing around your
tongue.
Sing of the
ajania wrapped around
your
uvula, leaves crushing
against your teeth.
Sing of the the rivers
filled with sweat, pools
of sighs and moans.
Clench your
fists into balls of
fire, and
strike the wine bottles,
I want to see them
spill, staining our feet.

Never really worked hard on my pieces and looking for critique, please.

Loki the Fool

Oh, the great gods of Asgard are noble and free,
They are upright and forthright (as great gods should be),
But one in their midst doesn't follow the rule
That sly mischief-monger called Loki the Fool.

He lies and he pilfers, tells jokes that are crude,
He's raucous, he's ribald, he's rowdy, he's rude;
He tricks and he teases, though he's not really cruel
Just don't turn your back on that Loki the Fool.

In grim Jotunheim, where the weather is freezin',
He mixed blood with Odin (and who knows the reason?)
They laughed and drank wine, went on gay escapades,
Fought wizards and trolls, and seduced fair young maids.

Some think that here Odin made a mistake
By tying himself to this impudent snake;
But I'll tell you a fact (though it makes scholars mad)
If the Allfather likes him, he can't be all bad.

Poor Lopt's reputation is not of the best;
He gave Sif a clip job without her behest;
He lifted from Freyja her most precious jewel;
And Thor's got his hands full when he rides with the Fool.

He stole Idun's apples (which wasn't too nice),
Sired monsters galore and put Balder on ice;
And the gods all berate him for what he has done
Well, gee, can't a boy have a wee bit of fun?

They say he's corrupted and wicked indeed,
'Cause he mothered the Allfather's whimsical steed;
It's not that he's perverted or easily led
Let's just say he's not very choosy in bed.

He tried to enliven sedate Asgard's halls
By tying the beard of a goat to his balls;
And they say that his tongue's his most effective tool
(And that's why the ladies love Loki the Fool).

To the end of all Time he'll roam free through the land,
And things stir and change at the touch of his hand,
And when the world's old and no fun's left in store,
He'll blow it all up and start over once more.

Now scholars and such say he's captured and bound,
But just look at the world, I'd say he's still around,
For to live here without him would be just too cruel.
Oh Loki, we love you, great Loki the Fool!

>>5366459
I've been trying to figure out how to capture the aesthetics of Andrzej Zulawski's films and bring them to my own verse. I really like that type of imagery and I think you've captured at least some of it.

I can't say that I enjoyed the poem in terms of rhythm and musicality too much, though. The line breaks come at the most awkward points and there isn't much in terms of rhyme, assonance, etc. I did like the way "leaves against your teeth" sounds, try adding more stuff like that.

I've been trying to translate Dylan Thomas's "When I woke" myself. I think that it's a good poem to take as a general example of how to be musical in your poetry without resorting to outright rhyming. Give it a read.

I might be the last person who writes somnets, but I don't care:

Tra l'avite frondose spoglie egroto
d'amore a lungo rinnegato stendo
le furiose man d'un contennendo,
ch' a lungo d'una patria stette vuoto.

Dirizzato ripongo il folle coto
che sol dal Tosco poggio il sangue prendo,
e le colpe passate tristo emendo
giacché la mia vesania prisca noto:

se pur quel tal apprese da Sicilia,
chi son io per poter disprezzare
la vulcanica terra, suol d'Atena?

Anche se 'l vecchio me or or s'accilia,
è noto il lungo e disteso filare
e 'l glacopide dono e bianca rena.

At current there is no single rule, for which to see
The way we do abide,
A life well spent - does not occur, to those who run and hide
At most we try, and realise, the simple things we do
And then we come around and see
The most important thing is you

>>5366625
awful

>>5366625
>dat ending
No.
It had potential until that.

>>5366650
it had no potential

the whole poem is a cliche

im half assuming its a bait post

>>5366677
Yeah I think it was okay until realise, at which point it was gone.

>>5366483
its a pity that it reads like jingle - your metre is just not serious enough

Why not. I know the second and third stanzas are weak, but never could quite figure out how to fix them.

I'm lying here without you in the darkness of my mind
The shadows take on grim and fearful shapes
I can but choke and stutter as around my neck they wind
And bite into my soft grey thoughts like snakes

I fall into a foggy land from which I cannot wake
The poison courses strongly through my veins
And everything is tainted on whatever path I take
I shouldn't be surprised I'm here again

The darkness is familiar, but still gaspingly cold
And everything I touch is an illusion
But though I may long pace this place, slowly growing old
I can't lie down, for sake of this delusion

And that is this: I saw you once
Bright and beautiful, warm and true
And though it may not make much sense
I'd wander an eternity...
Through the black and heavy nights
Til I am empty, barring this
And I would walk on past the point
Where my legs just fall away
And then my face and arms and brain
And crumble myself into dust
And then float on, borne by the wind
And search the depths of earth and hell
And ask the reeds and trees and sky
And onwards til the end of time
...To find you

once on youtube my mom saw me
blushing red for joanna newsom
I have no reason to be ashamed
I'm a young james franco
with no shit to show
your eyecontact makes my palms sweat
I know many people
do you wanna go around?
dodge challenger

>>5366483
I definitely like the concept and rhythm you've got going on here. It reads sort of like a poem explaining the story of Loki in a children's book about Norse mythology. (This guy >>5366723
just doesn't know anything about fun. Not every poem about mythology has to be a serious epic.)

Just highlighted a few lines that stand out a bit as jarring/not quite fitting the rhythm in my opinion. They should be quite easy to fix if you want to, or you can always leave them if you like them like that

>doesn't follow the rule
Vage language, doesn't quite fit with the previous lines and not working for me

>Some think that here Odin made a mistake
You have to leave quite a space between 'Odin' and 'made' to make this fit the rhythm, and I don't like it. Actually that whole stanza is a little vague for me. I feel like you've focused too much on adhering to your rhyme scheme and failed to put through a super clear meaning/message; and the two couplets don't really follow on from each other solidly enough.

>is not of the best
That's just a silly thing to say

>And Thor's got his hands full when he rides with the Fool
Doesn't fit the rhythm quite right, and I think you'd be better off referring to something specific like with the previous two lines, than making this vague statement

>wicked indeed
'Indeed' doesn't really fit here, again feels like you're just trying to make it rhyme

>It's not that he's perverted
Doesn't scan

>his most effective tool
Doesn't scan

>For to live here without him would be just too cruel.
Not sure about this line. You haven't said anything that really qualifies what you mean. I'm assuming that you mean because the world would be boring without having him around, but you've only implied that indirectly and I think you could do better. Again, it seems like you're just trying to make it rhyme.

Sorry if I seem a little finnickity, I actually really like the idea and the poem overall, these are just the few places where I could see some improvement. Keep on poem'ing dude

It is true
there are elephants,
lions too, in Piccadilly Circus.

>>5366776
let me be clear: its bloody vulgar

>>5366723
Well it's meant as a sort of joke-y poem.

>>5366776
Thanks man, I'll re-do the lines you mentioned and generally try to polish it a bit.

>>5366348
>>5366355
>>5366357
>>5366368
>>5366383
>>5366433

when did prosody and Rhyme stop being important?

how could possibly read this and think it ever comes close to scanning?

>>5366948
Oh you didn't know? The more obscure and without rhythm the edgier and 'better' the poem. Post-modernism. Tadaa.

>>5366948
i would roll you like a joint and smoke you
light you on the tip and toke you
they bespoke you, revoke you, say its all a joke you
know t isn't
the worlds a prison,
and we're on the inside,
staring out through bars,
tryin to hide the scars
watching all the cars roll by on the highway
that isnt my way
im a bird of passage, i tread a circle
fast pacing
heart racing
hoping for a miracle.
I watch you weeping
when you could be sleeping,
when you could be dreaming
of a way out.
a way to lose doubt
to escape fear
. a way out of here,
but i just watch you crying.
it feels like dying,
dying on the inside,
like i already died,
like i died long ago.
So let me roll you,
up like a cigarette
and we can both forget,
just for a moment,
the bars and shackles
the paper crackles
, like a new dollar bill.
upon the window sill.
folded in a nightingale.
that never went to jail.

>>5366948
>>5366965
jesus christ

read more

rhyming does not make a poem good

построй
(но это лучше колдовать
во всем, души
которые ты можешь открывать
даже в лампочке
на улице
в мечтах
ты не можешь избегать)
себя

>>5367015
Neither does not rhyming, though.

I am literally the only person who has ever posted any good poetry on /lit/.

>>5367015
no but but meter does you buttblasted hack

lrn3prosody

>>5367027
post some and prove it

>>5367051
you cannot think that this conceals you
that time alone, frail tapestry
can hide the clean limbs the bright eyes
the glorious afternoons in the long grass,
the dusty barn lofts,
sweat adhering he grime to your pale flanks.

you cannot believe, that words can hide you,
that perfumed ink, and smoke scented paper
can hide your musk
from the hounds of love and regret

come out now, come to me, in the blue moonlight
in the shadow of the elms, and let me see your naked quiver
in the wet sand behind the bike sheds
where i swallowed your manhood
and we smoked stolen cigarettes
from your fathers silver case

you cant believe. the past will shield you,
that age and weight and gray whiskers
can disguise the slender faun
with the fingers roiling in my hair
as i took your thrusts and ached
to hold the moment forever on my tongue
remember with me
forget the days and years and miles.
i am beside you, behind you,
outside your door. come down to me.
you cannot hide.

You left this morning
a strand of smoke, the door
half a jar of cigarettes, on the floor
a note
singing nothing you hadn't sung before
already, as the embers burned away
I was drinking up your ashes.

>>5367027
kolsti pls go

>>5367085
touche

>>5366483
i enjoyed that, thanks

The children yell
Things at eachother
In Mandarin
Chinese
Why am I in
The park?

>>5367089
>nothing you hadn't sung before
Interesting poem, just a bit clunky sounding
already

>>5366900
Cool, please do post an updated version someday

>>5366779
go to bed, Ian

>>5367169
Glad to hear it, mate.

>>5367247
Will do. I'll work on it tonight and probably post a new version tomorrow sometime.

>>5366948

Dana Gioia pls go.

knee-jerk cultural conservatism is for dullards.

>>5366459

It shows promise with its linguistic playfulness, its incoherence bound by the anaphor. The ajania (had to look it up), wrapped around uvula is perhaps too strange. . . Really though, it's unclear what this poem is about.

Here's a poem:

Embroidered sweater
bearing scents, memories, warmth
Hangs alone on hook

Probably not edgy enough.

>>5367310

see >>5367033

>>5367375

Anyone who knows what they're talking about knows scansion isn't an exact science. Without a verbal performance of the poem to critique, the "doesn't scan" criticism is some weak shit. Maybe a few writers have incredibly sophisticated metrical skills in their oral performance such that it transcends

Taa-taa-TAH Taa-taa TAH yankee doodle dandy. . .

The Working Hour

The Chinese can not work as hard as me or my kin
Get rid of them now or we will never have standards
Such an obstacle should not exist for Americans
Our blood helped pave the railroads to the west
Did it not?
Am I only here as a figurehead for this country?
Or was I chosen through birth to uphold an American right?

It matters not now because the government has intervened
Their duty should have been to back up its people
Not a group of immigrants that want nothing but money
Where has my country gone?
And from the east I hear of great revolts
It comes to us in telegraph
Down the railroad line and into the palm of my hand

While I marvel at the great achievements in the shadows of transgression
I wonder where you are and why you have not set a course for the west
Then I remember how badly things have gotten and I wonder no more
Jesus asked God why he was forsaken as he bled on the cross
Why has my country forsaken me?
Am I not worthy of a comfortable life?
Why must men born into priviledge get everything they desire?

Then I remember how badly things have gotten and I wonder no more

>>5367089
It might just be 3deep5me but I didn't really like the final line. I enjoyed the rest though.

>>5367451
this made me tear up
i'm an eagle btw

>>5366766

muh nigga

>Rhyming is overdone and boring
>not rhyming makes you sound pretentious

>>5367436
It would have to a very skilled performance to overcome the fact that those poems I quoted have vastly different amounts of feet in each line

OXYCODONE

You kept sniffling
from the drugs
you said: it's fine
I sniffled too
into your wet hair
showered skin
on mine like dunes
mixing sands
clean softpink sands
in the breeze
that stays past a storm.

I caught your furtive glance
Yet I turned away
In shame.
Why did I?
Were you judging me?
Yes?
Wherefore?
Were you admiring?
No?
Unfortunately.
I want to grasp
Your pallid skin
And hold it close to
Lose myself in those
Enchanting eyes.
I kept looking at your
Singular Beauty —
Ignoring the lecture on Joyce
Although I felt like Stephen Dedalus
Where you could be the object of
My aesthetic theory.
The light shining through
The window
Illuminating your skin
Signified my beacon of Hope:
Insofar as I can appreciate Beauty
In this dark world.
I am always already alone
But I can feel close to you
By admiring from the distance —
Never to overcome
The threshold of communication.

>>5366948
>>5366965
>>5367015


ITT people confuse valuing prosody for valuing traditional accentual-syllabic verse forms such as the iamb and the anapest.

Read Hopkins, Whitman, Pound, Williams, and Eliot to learn how to write free verse that is actually attentive to prosody instead of just dense prose with line breaks. You know Pound loved Hardy? Read Hardy too. He's an extremely innovative writer structurally.

Read a decent primer on the sounds in poetry to learn that decent readers of sound care about assonance, consonance, alliteration, the general textures of sounds, the lengths of words, the lengths of feet, etc.

>>5367436
To say that you can't critique written poetry because it isn't preformed is wrong. Written poetry isn't a script for an author-actor's special performance, which may add accent or character with its diverging tones, gestures, facial expressions....it's a script for readers. Written poetry is 'read' by the internal voice. You generally read it as generously as possible - supplementing the prosody with the musical elements appropriate to the sense - but you're still basically sticking to the text.

>>5367815
eliot wrote much of his work in blank verse

Fat girl on the bus, you sicken me
This bus is slower than it should be

>>5367984
/fit/ pls go

>>5367986
fatty detected

>>5368016
>tfw skinnyfat and not qt ottermode
kill me now ; ;

I just put all my poems on tumblr

>inb4 faggot
>inb4 SJW

http://pornographicpoetry.tumblr.com/

>>5367984
ahaha

Is this any good?

John Cage composed Imaginary Landscape No. 4 for 24 performers at 12 radios

103.1 WUAG
89.5 WTJY
92.3 WKRR

I'm not getting anything.

He composed Music of Changes with the I Ching

xián
kuí
sǔn

I'm still not getting anything.

He barely composed 4'33" at all

...
...
ahem

Would anyone care to
enlighten
me?

>>5367781
I like this, though I would say it could use a bit of work because it can come off as cheesy at a few points, but overall it's pretty cool.

>>5367852

How am I saying Eliot didn't? I'm saying you should look to the work that isn't blank verse. Also his critical writing, particularly Verse Libre, Tradition and the Individual Talent, The Metaphysical Poets...

Speaking of blank verse, you could also go to Milton. His experiments in grammar, and his variations, are also just as instructive for the would-be non-traditional poet.

>>5368281
Thank you. In regards to its cheesiness, I agree, especially concerning the line "in this dark world". I wasn't sure how to phrase that line, but that is the general idea of what I wanted to say, although it might be unnecessary to have that line in the poem.

>>5367815
this

Also, using any sort of rhetoric doesn't make a poem inherently good.

What are emotions to us?
Are they little friends telling us what we can and can't do
Or rather a large assortment of various colored vehicles trying to make it to the finish line first
Maybe they are butterflies trying to flutter their wings for your attention
No.
Emotions are nothing.
Trying to explain them would be trying to explain what the universe is made of

>>5368580
yuck

>>5368580
This is a poetry critique thread. Didn't you read?

the heater broke and the hot water came out rusty
i took a bath for the first time

The light of stars,
shining outward from
an ageless flame
refusing to falter.

The color of ancient
Earth, of dirt and grass,
of things long lost
but not irretrievable.

The passion of centuries,
of lives lived,
of summers enjoyed
and winters endured.

The eyes of Helena,
the eyes of Beatrice,
those eyes,
your eyes.

Are today's men and women (7)
Capable of loving and feeling content (10)
Instead'a feeling extremely contempt (10)
It's been burned down, Cupid's den. (7)

Where has the public's love gone (7)
Away, did it vanish in the abyss (10)
Of greed, misery and what did we miss (10)
When Cupid's den was long gone (7)

In search of love, what can we (7)
Expect, I have been hurt and you condemned (10)
To be imprisoned by your own fears, dead (10)
Is my soul and none is free (7)

Maybe it's a lost cause, but (7)
Wait, others still hold on to the hopeless (10)
Thought that they'll finally find love, today (10)
While their souls die slow and rot. (7)

>>5370096

7/10

>>5367757

It's perfect.

>>5370107
That rating was much higher than I thought it would be, so thank you. Also, 9.5/10.

>>5370122

>9.5/10

Holy shit, I never thought I would get that high of a score.

As for your poem, I rated it high because of the imagery and different rhymes in each stanza. Bit cheesy though, but that's alright in my book.

>>5370096
This feels like it should be in metre, but doesn't appear to be in metre. If so, I feel it would be much better in metre.

>>5370096
Also forgot to say, myron that Dante allusion. Influenced by T. S. Eliot at all?

>>5370107
I like this man, dunno if I could rate it, but if I did I'd rate it high.

>>5370129
Cheesy, yes, though I can guarantee that the first draft was far cheesier.

>>5370148
I was thinking the same thing, but I've never been good with metre before. Something to work on. I'm sure I'll continue re-writing it many more times.

>>5370151
I'll actually admit I've read nothing by T.S. Eliot.

>>5370154

Thanks!

Still trying to get the hang of poetry. Her's my third attempt.

Waiting, waiting.
pit in my stomach.
Fuzzyness and prickles,
Is it in my head?
Is it working?
Escape the couch and the
Alien prawn.
Ah, Tractor Tire
my friend.
On him I stand.
An hour past,
or maybe two,
before they came to find me.
They laughed and laughed,
and thougth me crazy.
Yet one joined me,
then two,
and we stood
above the golden ocean
shimmering,
dry grass parting only
for shark-dog
as he harried
dragonflys.
It was working.

Oh, could anyone recommend a book that's about analysing and understanding poetry? Looking for one that's either free (or piratable) or something cheap on the kindle store.

>lyrics to a song I'm working on
>girlfriend doing vocals
>https://soundcloud.com/corpuscle_islands/courtyard

whisper your dreams into the courtyard
tell me your darkest fear
return from wandering far
to peer deep into your soul

find a painting on the wall
Its a woman, with a sapient smile
face to face, through a dark glass
you stare in her eyes and she in yours

you come to road where a sign is posted
its written in an unknown language
the words begin to arrange themselves
to say

you might not like what you find

>>5370274
Works well for a song. Although she was a little hard to hear. Gonna listen through the rest of your songs now.

Anyway, listening to your girlfriend inspired me.

Fat flaps clapping,
The rhythm of her desire.
Foul air filling,
Sloppy gushes, her perspire.

Dead Dog by Side of Road

To earth I know I shall return
the life I know will trouble me no more
dark again are the stars
still again is the shore.
My brothers-
playing on the distant grass of half-forgotten days
-I’ll see them soon
and we’ll speak of all the ways
to chase the foxes in the fields
to sleep beneath the changeless summer sky
to race the doe unto the dark until she yields-
but all is lost
the world has passed me by.
From where I go, I’ve come,
the river runs two ways.
Away, away from the sun!
unto the end of days

>>5370096
I agree with
>>5370148
You're already going for an agéd style, why not make it metric?

>>5366766
good

Deposition

The trail of blood on the calf of the lamb
of the world of the god of the son of the man
who, eyes caught on dark earth, left paradise
the sword at his back, the accuser
fangs bright, a crowd of skulls and thorns knuckles white
under red over grip on the wheel of the dead
and the living could shoulder
brief peace and forgiving, past anointed arm could trace
the rescue of the flailing race
who
drowning in california
without a spirit over the waters
waves washing over her mouth in the dark
looked up in vain at the stars
and closed her eyes and looked again
at a sky of dead fixed constellation
and acronym comets’ tails in the dark
dimmed by strip lights’ glow
but she would not drown
until they had taken the last away
pencils down
Yea,
down,
Until the breaking of the day

>>5366368
I like it because I do not understand it on a liminal level

Cloud Lions

The cloud lions are
in the cloud mountains found
Their lives they spend high
their paws ne'er touch ground

Despair the cloud lion!
Formidable foe!
For no beast of earth to man's given such woe

He stalks behind cirrus
nimbus's his den
Don't talk or he'll hear us!
and we'll meet our end

But if you survive
He’s a beauteous beast
Those teeth like white knives
Are the beauteous least

Of all of the bounty the cloud lion's got
His mane is a marvel, the main thing that's sought
By the cloud lion hunters
Who zephrous fly
And chase the cloud lions
Down out of the sky

blinking out words, too poor to cry
a lakeside tomorrow,
I hope she burns my arm
line dash line dash of salt
pour vomit in the Kermit mug and slip it up, lap the powder

>>5370274
like the other anon said, it works as a song, but as a poem, idk. second verse is the strongest however

>>5370500
*but not as a poem

>>5370497
... but that's none of my business

Your eyes speak more than your voice does now,
Your stomach too weak to push up, your throat too tired to form,
The heavy, sobbing words you owe me.
But your eyes, downcast, too blue for midnight,
Mutter to my own.
Your finger flicks a cigarette a dozen times,
Though no ash mars that unbellowed coal,
Tapping out a desperate, untrained Morse code,
Like if your thumb speaks long enough,
Your tongue may never need to.
But I know well your eyes and hands and lips,
They have been my ceaseless study, my unaccredited thesis.
I've seen them all in many lights, and far too often under melancholy midnights.
You need not speak in words, for I hear without sound,
And forgive, as always, without pause.

>>5370164
>I'll actually admit I've read nothing by T.S. Eliot.
I'd definitely recommend him, probably best known for 'the Waste Land,' but if you're gonna I'd recommend starting 'the Hollow Men.'

The only reason I mentioned him is because the whole eye thing pops up in a number of his poems.

incredibly flaccid Jake and the dino kids went into the ball bit looking for blood. It’s a bad time to order burgers n fries.

“No girls, no trouble,” said Spike the dino kid as he eyed all the pre-pubescent ladies. That was all he had to say. In a matter of minutes the ball pit was emptied of girls.

“And lose the shorts,” grunted Jake as he prepared The Wheel of Doom. “REmember what I told you, that life has absolutely no meaning.”

Jake’s hands were full of hot pockets.


For the next hour every kid’s kiddy stuff got burger’s and the memes didn’t stop getting made till midnight. THe room stank with feces. Jake left the restuarnt at dawn hot sauce’d and particularly analytical,

“my soul is a pebble collection fundled under 12 year old vagina” he said. sunrise that day was pregnant.

A different face every day
And every month a different way
Pulled together into one whole
A sort of patched-together soul
>
The greatest actor that ever was—
and some people get paid for this?

The blank line in the middle is where I intended to write more but I haven't thpugh of anything yet.

>>5370481
Well then I suppose I'll just have to spend today re-writing it, and then I'll post the final version to here and see if there's any improvement.

>>5371070
Well then, I'll have to sit down and read some of his work.

No one ever concrits my shit

>>5367089
Reads a little like Plath. I like it.

>>5371290

yeah, join the club. I gave a criticism too. karma is such bullshit.

>>5367757

I didn't like the metaphor of skin being sands. Didn't strike me as very apt.

>>5370096
>>5370129
>>5370148
>>5370151
Rewritten with meter. I don't know, I'm not sure how I feel about it.

The light of stars,
with ancient shine,
men see and say:
"She shall be mine!"

Color of Earth,
of grass and leaf,
one look destroys
all sense of grief.

Your thoughtful gaze,
wisdom untold,
from summers warm
and winters cold.

Of Helena,
of Beatrice,
their eyes, your eyes,
painfully missed.

I would give you a world
to explore and destroy
but your ennui unfurled
and left only a trace of joy

it was wrapped in parchment
dried in the hectic sun
which beckons the flowers
to open when night is done.

Walking beneath the lights
blinking out in day's rise
you showed me a device
to unveil people's bald lies

It beeped and clattered
buzzed and tabulated
as if the truth mattered
and was potent, uncreated

Your last words, weary were
"tell me if you want it"
as the blue fog rose, sure
that it was the bees knees

"Throw it in the river"
I replied with gilt ease
"No one wants a liver
picked at by sharp beaks."

You vanished in the mist
dissipating in light
another movement of wrist,
a gadget disappears from sight.

>>5371762
decent.

Of Beatrice needs another syllable unless you pronounce it like a faggot.

Bildungsroman

At the age of probably 14 or so there was a moment of transcendence
Asleep just by the river my two best mates and I were yet to cross
Out from our maternal colony
And into some kind of desert oasis that offered little
But the less we had the more we had to build
And how we built and built and stacked chopped wood and found tinder
Into a stack as high as a small Toyota perhaps even a little taller
Some kind of pyramid came into being and
It wasn’t as though we’d created it but by some coincidence
I guess all the things we carried found their way to the same place
And fell in some orientation that allowed a great rush of air to run in
Right at the moment
And if nobody six kilometres down the road could see us then
Forty five seconds later the pyramid was flying up into the air in pieces
The flames were probably five or six times taller and infinitely brighter
Than what they consumed
I couldn’t even play the piano at that point – not like it mattered
Rural NSW is curiously devoid of Steinway & Sons
Over the next ten days we probably crossed a dozen more rivers
But we camped by the first, on the first night since leaving Ballarat
Until twelve hours ago I always thought we were home that night
Someone told me that we weren’t – not like it matters now
1800 days later

>>5371877

wow why is there an image of this uploaded as well? wat the shit

>>5371883
the board does that automatically when you have a lot of text

Elvish chicks are so fun to pork!
Fuck their eyes just like an orc!
Lick their asses and smash their face!

That's how Bilbo Baggins rapes!

Dump your cock into every hole
Pound them up with your thumping pole
And when you've finished, if they are whoooooole,
Post pictures online just to troll!

*flute plays*
That's how Bilbo Baggins Rapes!

>>5371886

no it doesn't

>>5371852
"Of Beatrice, blessed"?

I don't know, I've never been good with writing in meter. I feel like it lost a lot of its allegorical meaning compared to the original.

>>5371883

Bump

let the tears
be my peers
at the loneliest moment in life
a blanket of darkness covers me
sadness in me heals me
everything else ripped by you
emptiness that is so thick it can not be filled
death doesnt want to take me
she has no interest in dead beings
life is disgusted by me
god has revoked me
now it is only I and
I dont want me

>>5366453
>>5366459
I must become a neckbeard icon.
Sperglord to the thousands who dwell basement-wise
The NEETs who burn cars at the invasion of their turf by rival dealers
And don't get laid for four years only to fuck a series of outside-loving normies (not driven out by their serious mental issues)
The basements and the peaks are very close
Evola in his apartment typing train bombings and NATO organisations
Changing Italian politics
The innovations that come from being a quirky recluse
Every step outside society enables the foundation of a new way. A new order, the beginnings of something if you can stay alive long enough to see it.
Usually ten or twenty years after you stop. Or have moved to Africa or a similar place as far from where you were born as possible.
These fountains of newness
Whose water floods out the past
These sculptures of ice painted with melted sugar
The basements decide where the peaks are and if they might be the peak
The mid-slopes accept this and the disturbed join the high and low camps
It is being the fucked peg that enables you to choose to make a society where the fuckedness is normal
Or to abandon society or live half in it with any number of identities
The indeterminable eyes of a criminal without criminal mannerisms
One who knows how they're made and makes themselves

I seriously consider becoming a jaguar every day.

Meet me down in Happy Town
Where I can peacefully die.
Meet me there in Happy City,
We'll swim across the sky.
Come with me to the neon jungle
My friend, who art so kind.
We'll walk the streets into
The darkest corners of my mind.

Wrote it while high a few months back. Kept it around for posterity.

well said thats my cock shes jackin off on
so her sweet lovin belongs to me and
what a tight pussy must go slow and gentle
and when she has an orgasm ol goliath erupts hard
sending spurts of hot cum deep into her squeezing
glorious pussy hole flooded wih our spunk
yep she loves her ol buck and knows ol buck
loves her too but good luck on some other porch

today i read an article
of perhaps dubious origins
arguing whether or not beyonce is
a feminist
what is wrong with you people
there are children in africa
who
to adapt to this lack of food
have reverted to photosynthesis
and lie in the grass all day
collecting
cosmic rays
they have terrible sunburns yet
you decide to argue about the moral standing
of one women
you are a waster
of the resources
i hope the environmentalists come
and get your goat

>>5374112
Phenomenal/10

We poke fun at each other
with poison drenched needles.
The jokes slide under the skin easily,
but burn on the way back out.

I am etched with your words,
you are carved out of stone.
I have bubbles beneath bruises,
and your hollow skin is rife with toxins.

Underneath a starless sky,
above a field of blue lights,
I stretched my thoughts across the whole runway
thinking of all the wrong things to say,
like “I love you” and “There's something in your teeth.”

It amazes me that I have to keep telling myself
that there are things much bigger
and better than this town,
bigger than us.
Better.

>>5371921
That would be five, unless you pronounce it 'blest' as opposed to 'bles-sed'. I guess it depends on your dialect.

Personally, I would have left it as is. Where I come from it's pronounced Bee-eh-tris, so it scanned fine to me.

I was the guy who first suggested metre; much prefer the second version.

>>5374251
Glad you enjoyed it, sir.

I beg thee, traveller, please be kind.
Give name to this madness of mine,
The cursed yolk of my design,
I can not rest 'til this I find.

I gave up love, and in its wake
I found myself in a grim state
Of foulest grief. T'was my mistake.
I beg thee, traveller, please be kind.

I wandered lost, pushed by my dread
To hate and fear in my love's stead
'Til now, to thee, I appear dead.
Give name to this madness of mine.

Where once my heart was at my core,
Now a pit, eternally sore.
No type of pain could hurt me more.
The cursed yolk of my design.

I know not if she'd take me back,
Coward, heart stained -- forever black.
What hope is left shines through a crack.
I can not rest 'til this I find.

Now friend, I leave into the night
In search of her, whose soul is bright.

>>5374112
>no caps

Why do people do this? It's the tone of a teenaged girl.

This thread is absolutely disgusting

>>5374379
Why are you writing in romantic style?
this is fucking gross

a terrible, terrible imitation

>>5374409
Not him, but I disagree. Better than the tacky experimentalism that usually marks these threads.

>>5374379
This is actually quite nice

>>5374374
If you're looking for more to change, I'd suggest looking at the second and third stanzas. More specifically the first two lines of each.

I'm guessing that the Helena is the saint Helena, and in Dante, Beatrice gaze (at least how I took it) had to do with his own redemption. That seems pretty religious to me, so why not give the poem as a whole more religious imagery (subtle or explicit idgaf)?

More specifically, with the third stanza, I'd be tempted to change it to "from summers warm/ to winters cold," and then use the first two lines to imply it's the lack of the gaze that does this.

Anyway, hope that helps.

Radio Memory

The camera watches while the tune
of no one even saying a goddamn word
plays the radio memory lapsing
out the words like we were leaking
the love you had for me into paper
stars you drew with him on Christmas.

When I flew in from Christmas
to a new family falling tuned
out the way the words
fought. The me and you we made was lapsing
into January rain that beat through leaking
words I could only write on paper.

We wet the paper
in doggie bowls on Christmas
Eve one year the tunes
only it said words
that bled out into the lapsing
water that drank the dog to leaking.

My face was leaking
out of the camera picture paper
that printed the last Christmas
we had together when we tuned
the piano to sound like words.
I wish I was lapsing

like we were lapsing
again and leaking
starlight into paper.
And we could wish like it was Christmas
when we were kids again in cars tuned
to carols too full of words.

Words
were too small for us lapsing
again into fighting out our leaking
air we made out of paper
wrapping leftover from Christmas.
Our voices out of tune.

Never liked Christmas when we wrote on paper
the way you sang the tune of all the words
we ever said to each other leaking. Lapsing.

>>5374507
Perhaps change the third and fourth lines to "without which all / summers turn cold"? Either way, you've given me some good ideas. I think I'll further edit it tomorrow, see what I can churn out.

The one I wrote it for is religious, though her religious beliefs, as well as my own, are rather unorthodox. The original poem had allusions to them (although, upon reflection, it seems only she and I would catch them), and unfortunately they were lost when I tried to re-write it in meter. I think a few hours of serious work could produce something promising, though.

Thanks for the help.

>>5374522
All good man, keen to see what you come up with.

Just one last thing, reading over the original version again, I realise that while I prefer it in metre, I feel some of what I originally liked about the imagery has been lost. When you rewrite it, maybe try to get a little more of your first draft in there, perhaps even abandon rhyme, so you can reuse some of the language.

>>5374545
Good to note, I'll do my best.
But first I must go get some rest.

... I've been thinking about poetry too much, lately.

>>5374413
plb as fuck

>>5374552
Plebs quam fututio

sweet fuck for 90% of these poems follow this simple rule:

after you are finished with your poem, write it again (or save a separate copy) but without the last line.

everyone tries to be deep and cool with the last line of their poems and it fucks them. IT FUCKS THEM. YOU TRY TO HARD. Take out the last line and almost all poems are better for it.

>>5374577

For example?

>>5374588

let me find one...


>>5374509
this is generally too incoherent. Too selfish and the strict adherence to 6 stanzas of 6 lines each (with the notable exception of the ending tercet) is clumsy. This one it doesn't matter. Redo it.

>>5374379
This is not your regular diction. This is not your regular syntax. It is blatantly obvious. I hate these pretend poems. The rhyme scheme is obvious. Pro-tip: if the reader gets bored with your poems they will start only looking at the end of each line to try and guess the rhymes. dread/stead/dead. That kind of stale shitty rhyming only takes away MORE from your shit poem.

>>5374235
the picture messes up the typography of your poem, which is obviously important to you on account of the last stanza. Take out the picture or give more empty lines so that the first 2 aren't poking out awkwardly. Too many adjectives. Take out the useless bits. It is narcissistic for poets to write about words, for novelists to write books about novelists and for painters to paint painters. Third stanza ok.

This one is altogether not horrible. Take out the last line. Tries too hard. Replace it - maybe - with something else.

>>5374112
This poem could have been good but it reverted to politicking. Poets that politic eventually look like fools, no exceptions. If they were good at politics they would be politicians. Political poems are a bad way to go, unless you take an absurdist perspective. (can elaborate on this if anyone cares) Generally ok. Again, remove the last line. Maybe the last two lines. They try too hard.

>>5374102
FOR SPARTA!

>>5373821
at first your poem is just boring re-hashed shit. Then the sixth line comes around and its gets worse. Writing poems about self pity only works when you are trying to fuck a crazy girl. There are no girls here. Poem sucks. Also remove last line. Tries too hard.

>>5373315
Like the last one but much worse.

>>5371893
FOR MIDDLE EARTH!

>>5371877
Huh. I like it. Prose poetry is trickier to critique because it walks between standard poetry and short stories meaning a lot of the standard 'tools' of poetry aren't as important.

>>5371789
lol wat?

>>5371213
a work in progress not bad not good but a work in progress so hard to judge.

This is my last one:
>>5371198
FANTASTICH! FANTSTIQUE! OH FUCK ME HARDER MEME MASTER!

also I forget where at in the thread but some fuck mentioned he was the only person to post good poetry on /lit/ and that poem was pretty good.

>>5374642


>>5374509 here
but its a sestina...

It makes me sick that I can only speak in cliché
“A man is a product of his culture,” well what can I say
When my birth is multicultural, (thanks Mom and Dad)
And I don’t mean to imply that I’m mad, but
--She talks about His overseas family more than He does.

It’s like, when grandma calls and I don’t understand what she’s saying
It’s She that gets angry, telling Him he should’ve taught me
Spanish, (Could you guess my prose was half-Hispanic?)
Because the color of my skin is anything but tannish, and
--Everyone else says my last name better than I can.

---------------
I wanted to add more to this but it would just feel forced.

>>5374685

I'm sorry I didn't even notice. To be honest I wasn't able to read the whole thing.

On a more positive note: Sestinas are very difficult to write because of the whole 're-using the last word in the correct order' rule, so don't be too hard on yourself.

Sorry, but its not good.
I was never able to write a readable sestina either, and I know few who can.

>>5374693
And to add feedback,

>>5366984
You should ghostwrite for some rap-raggae groups.

>>5367016
I can't believe anyone thinks /lit/ would speak Russian.

>>5367089
The last line comes off as forced. I would drop it entirely. (why are there so many poems about cigarettes, seriously?)