/lit/ - Literature

>>5957207
whaaaaaat

>>5957217
if you're questioning that I forgot to hit enter once when pasting, yeah my bad

>>5957223
uh, that's not the only thing I'm questioning.

Already posted in the critique but I will format properly.

My life is in the spider's hands,
as it sits above from the stands,
like a noose around my neck, growing ever tighter still.
Running up my spine is a chill,
I can hear the spider's thrill,
as it draws closer,
the more I fright the the webbing tights. Quickly the spider killed.

>>5958005

This is so embarrassing.

A Winter Prayer

Let there be no coffin-followings
no black sweater shopping
let there be no tearful greetings
no yellow earth on patent leather
in the sullen winter weather

Man proposes, god disposes
here amid the wilting roses
drink the health of some warm girl
and let November eat the world

Give me never wracking sobs
let us have no huddled whispers
dreams in strange familiar rooms
only cheer bring is together
In the bitter winter weather

man builds up and god destroys
in the quiet and the noise
hoard the things that still have worth
and let December ride the earth

Dark and silent stand the trees
Hearse tires do not mar the snow
headstones wear a cap of white
and warmth and life come to us rather
in the silent frozen weather

Man beseeches, god denies
In the night the grey owl cries
hide us from his dreadful sight
when January rules the night.

>>5958001
Don't be a faggot.

>>5958005
I like it. Simple and I like your rhymes. Well done.

>>5958294
Puts a very somber image in my mind as I read this one. A prayer? Sounds a little negative to be a prayer, but that adds to the poetic nature of your write. Well done.

>>5958647

I was going for something short and shocking but it's kind of cringe worthy.

first attempt, written for my gf

Moments I
Together, we are one; one mind, one self.
To paint a picture, thoughts flutter to us
In bed, in arms, my arms. Side by side, us.
Into your eyes, I see the best of me.
Silence, a quiet which needs no words for us
To know it is a moment, no need for
Validation. It’s not unique, but ours.
*
Your laughter, like love, lacks nothing at all.
Is it unique? It’s yours, mine to cherish.
My chest warms, overwhelmed, gushing and free.
Every breath makes my heart flutter and
Every look makes me weak and in love

Moments II
Air fills my lungs, blows my hair and yours.
A bridge, we stand on it. I say some words.
You look, and are, confused – then your forehead
Clears, but, your mouth wrinkles, teeth show: smile.
*
The tears, which do not run, one by one, jump
Down my cheeks, leap. I do not hear your words
But I do feel them. Three words, how cliché,
How true. My heart unravels, knowing it’s
True. And mutual. And Beautiful. And true.

rate, a/s/l x

GHOST

Your absence is a ghost.
You fill up this house, all the rooms.
You rattle the pipes, and I hope

that I am a fair host. I see you
reflected in every bottle, every mirror–
your absence is a ghost.

Death haunts survivors.
You've seeped into all the walls.
You rattle the pipes, and I hope

that when I die, I will not haunt my host
as you, spirit, haunt my home.
Your absence is a ghost.

For an empty spirit, you fill up space.
You fill up every corner and crook–
You rattle the pipes, and I hope

that when I die, I’ll join you, friend...
But I know that spirits fade.
Your absence is a ghost–
we will soon rattle pipes together, I hope.

>>5958294
I really like this, very nice form, well crafted.

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/uprightbasedplayer

There's a few up there. editing old shit.

>>5958781
next time write for your girlfriend instead of your professor

>>5958294
>drink the health of some warm girl

it's funny, no matter how "aesthetic" plebs try to be, their crudeness always shines through at some point or other

We of the earth, take from the sands;
I of the air bow to all skies, from grace not command.
From a single feather; my skin that is shed,
falling ever so elusively, not to cause a shake,
down into the abyss of some earthen, woven place.
Drifting, almost to caress the air
into some other worlds of quaking with no reason to care.
Not to taste the ground, hungry away
is it by the earth; of we, of this land.
As I in the sky can fall from without
footsteps; we of some earth feed fast into the sand.

>>5959027
storm the castle

Rape is its own reason:
justifications are trite,
excuses irrelevant
It exists beneath morals
outside law
as sacred and awful as childbirth,
or the holy knife
at the throat of the lamb.

>>5958705
It's a good idea, but why does the spider die? I thought it was from the perspective from a trapped fly or something.. Rewriting it wouldn't be a bad idea.

The wind sings a song in the chimney
and carpets the yard with bright leaves

and night, a fat kitten, rubs the curtains
and scratches her back on the eaves

let us take the blue book from the mantel
and read the old stories again

tales of gorgons and hydras and chimerae dire
and the deeds and destructions of men

we have journeyed too much in bright highways
we have lingered to long with our toys

In the idyll of safety and reason
and the doldrums of civilized joys.

Have we run far ahead of our childhood
Have we come to senescence at last

may we not lay down maps and directions
and seek the lost road to the past?

the wind's song bears its burden of sorrow
the night sharpens its claws on our hearts

in the shadows the ancient gods whisper
the ghosts speak their lines and depart

Let them rise once again from the pages
and put on their immortal attire

can we not see the clash of bronze legions
in the shades that are cast by the fire?

Now, while the strength is still in us
and the voices of heroes still stir

we shall drink down the draught of dark lethe
and remember the men that we were.

>>5958781
I'm not too good at love poems.. But it's very prose-like, not to overuse that damn word. Something about it just doesn't feel very poetic.

>>5958797
Very nice. Love the repetition, it's very fitting and the ending is perfect. Nice job!

>>5959027
This one is like a battle poem. Needs a title though, unless you're one of those who prefers to leave them untitled.

>>5959527
Rape is a terrible thing, and this poem describes it in an interesting way.

>>5959546
Amen, nice write. This one should be read by a fireplace. Again, perhaps you can think of a fitting title as well? I'm a firm believer in the title being just as important as the actual poem itself. Personally, I love couplet poetry as well and this is a fine example. Nice!

Is German stuff allowed?

Nur die Silbenzahl
Macht noch kein gutes Gedicht
Auch ein Haiku nicht

I would post my poetry but I'm afraid it will get plagiarized. What a shame, you guys would enjoy it.

>>5960127
Publish it first.

>>5958294
>no yellow earth on patent leather
>in the sullen winter weather

!!

Nice.

>>5960139

That's the goal, then I'll let you guys know. I sent them to an editor, I'm awaiting the edits. Then I'm submitting to Ploughshares, Poetry Foundation and The New Yorker... do you guys think that is the best course of action when I get them back?

I think they're quite excellent, but some are very dark and morbid so I'm not sure if it will get published or not.

Oh hell, here's one of them:

Flames reigned in his wake
A foul ghoul raised from the pits
Of a twisting nether
A shifting and tumultuous face was his,
The moment a hapless travel
Thought it within his grasp of comprehension
The ghoul would violently shriek,
Convulsions rocking his wicked body,
His face twining in agony til it became unrecognizable
And thus he was known by many names
For he was only distinguishable by his
Lanky black limbs and withering, concave torso,
Crimson ribs protruding grotesquely
At medium intervals

More hideous still were his Godless children,
Molded from the dank mud and bone
Of unconsenting Mother Earth,
Their souls ripped from Hell itself,
Lost spirits of the damned

And on lonesome days at the advent of Winter
When the sun hangs low upon the horizon
And the moon is obscured by funeral clouds
They dance to an unholy dirge
The ghouls deathly miasma chocking
His miserable creations as he mounts
And devours them,
Rangy blades emerging from the
Very pits of his wretched gut

>>5960171

It's kinda cliche and grim dark and edgy now that I reread it. Oh well, I tried.

>>5960202
This

>>5959008
Bitter virgin detected

>>5958294
Solid.

>>5960113
I like it. Not sure if because I was happy i understood, though.

In that gay autumn,
when the fires fell
from the white pillars
of the elms
and the wind,
catching them to her breast
ran rampant,
dropping leafy blazes
like discredited rumors
upon the palimpsest
of the gray sidewalk.
In that time.
I traced your name
upon the stem of a gray maple
and drew a valentine
enclosing it
with mine.

>>5959008

it reminds me that book of alice :3

>I thanked him much for telling me
>The way he got his wealth,
>But chiefly for his wish that he
>Might drink my noble health.

>>5962872
really is a pretty gay autumn

a few facts about probability

forever the universe expands and contracts
shrinking to nothing and swelling up to a pregnant everything
that is, infinitely sinusoidal

like filling a pool with rain water
which evaporates back to be rain
(the input is the sun, i think, the sun powers this metaphor)

we are the same molecules as comets, and hydrogen bombs, and whale sperm, and sperm whales
just mixed a bit

that the molecules that once were me
and the molecules that will be me later
just rotate out

i dont like the word "reincarnation"
but there it is
hiding in this poem like a cougar

and if our swapping is random
really and truly random
and if time is infinite
really and truly infinite

then my molecules
were once your molecules
and once
there was a universe
not so very different
than star wars
or hell
or a tuna fish sandwich

>>5959546
i like this, it reads like a jim morrison song

"
and night, a fat kitten, rubs the curtains
and scratches her back on the eaves
"

is great

In the old orchard
we wandered beneath the branches,
heavy with dew, and age,
and we, young in years and spirit
saw the future ripening,
in fragrant blossom
and mellow fruit,
in warm light and grass as green
as our thought.
now in the early winter
the leaves cannot hide
the shadows of the clouds
and the wayward moon
like the face of old death
so small we can hide it
behind a thumbnail
if we can only
raise our hand.

In this the Very Winter
When from the black firs
the blind owlet inquires
and the grey junco
and chicadee
haunt the dooryard
when the mailman stumbles
and puddles crack white
and the rushes wither
and the faded stars
follow you homeward
and I rise,
with swelling belly
and bring you to my hearth
shrugging frost and shiver,
do you taste in my kiss
the wintergreen bite
of April?

The Trespassers

When the dry leaves scratch
on the window sills
and the thunder haunts
the slouching hills
the killdeer sings in the twilit grass
and along the lanes
the dead folk pass

"Here stood the tree
where you carved our names
and there lay the fields
of our pride and shame
can you recall my skirttail
wet with dew?"

A smile, a slight slow nod.

"I do."

" And down below
where the school house rose
and you stood in wrath
with your broken nose
over one who dared to call me sweet?"
" I laid a rosebud by your feet."

"A daisy surely?"
"A red Queen Anne,
plucked by my mother's
own sweet hand. And shyly borne
underneath my shirt."

"I wonder was the other hurt?"
"He died in France,
he lies there still.
Beneath a white stone spotted hill."

"A sad thing. Well, it comes to all."

Now far and shrill the killdeers call.
And back they wend
through the darkening wood
and the two small mounds
where their home once stood.

and the wind wakes up,
as the thunder laughs
and brushes the dead
leaves over the path.

nobody ever
critiques in these stupid threads
a 4chan winter

>>5958294
What gives you the right to talk about God like this? And you even have the gall to refer to it as a "prayer".
Don't try and tell me this is some imitation of Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes never delves into adolescent sulk "drink the health of some warm girl / and let November eat the world", or blasphemy "man builds up and god destroys". Either this poem is explicitly satanic or it's a bad attempt at the Ecclesiastes lamentation of the world's vanity. I can't tell. If it is the latter though, you completely miss the target. Ecclesiastes laments the world and then clings to God; you lament God and then cling to the world "hoard the thing things that still have worth", "hide us from his dreadful sight". This is more or less blasphemy. The "drink the health of some warm girl" is satanic/vampiric, and to call this a prayer is wicked.
Poetically it is half-decent. Your mix of gothic and pastoral imagery does not work. There are many cliches. The last four stanzas are almost superfluous, I feel like the only reason for them being there is so you can you end every other stanza with a new month, but really the entire poem is already there in the first two stanzas and the remaining four are lifeless repetition.

>>5957207
How about this one? It's in the classical 'Paean to Great Men' mode

I'm glad I know it's Plaster
Who of potry's such a legit awesome master.
If he hadn't been a tripfag
There mite of been a snag
In telling evryone his shit is dope
and at least as good as Alexander Pope
or Gerard Manley Hopkins or that queer Jewish dude
That wrote about the best generals picking up junk off the street at dawn in the nude
Whose poems I actually always thought were a bit gay
Until I heard them in that video with Lana Del Rey
Who's fucking hot.

>>5963226
The poem is fatalistic dope. It's predestinarian if you like. The mix of gothic and pastoral is supposed to evoke churchyards of old churches which you will note are often gothic and by definition pastoral. The cliches are meant to evoke elizabethan dirge structure as is the rhyme scheme. It's not about vanity, its about the inevitablilty of decline and a type of resignation to it.

I'm not sure I'm capable of blasphemy in your sense. Its sort of a contradiction in terms. Like calling the gospels blasphemous.

>>5963280

>I'm not sure I'm capable of blasphemy in your sense. Its sort of a contradiction in terms. Like calling the gospels blasphemous.

So you are too inherently holy to ever speak blasphemy?

>>5963280
>It's not about vanity, its about the inevitablilty of decline and a type of resignation to it.

Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard does this without adolescent sulking or cursing God.

>>5963290
>>5963290
no, its that blasphemy is disrespect or a lack of appropriate reverence. I'm not sure I'm capable of those since i don't know how one would determine a normal value of reverence or respect. and I am familiar with the Awdeley line about the proliferation of incompatible sects being so that the not even the apostles may escape blasphemy.

>>5963307
No it doesn't. It's not even trying to. And there's no sulking or cursing in either poem. i just reread it twice. What are you referring to?

>>5957207
So, you have a good taste in music, you are inspired by geniuses, but when you attempt to do same, you just make, some shitty, watered down teeage appeal shit. Just like Kurt Cobain

>>5963327
so, does the sect that you belong believe that calling God a destroyer and wishing to hide from his "dreadful sight" while clinging to hoarded "things" is not blasphemy?

>>5963226
lol

>>5963322
this is like writing a poem about the king having it off with peasant girls, and then when confronted about it saying, "I'm innocent, you see, because I'm unsure of what respect or reverence kings deserve in the first all; after all there are is a great difference of opinion on the matter."

>>5963348
Not really. the characteristics and prefernces of the king are well known and clearly established. the bible explicitly says that reverencing god in any publicly religious way is blasphemous in itself. and the characteristics and preferences of god are completely indeterminable.

>>5963332
have you read psalms? "destroyer" and dreadful sight" are not terms of opprobrium.

and the "things that have worth" might easily include religious values.

>>5963355
>the bible explicitly says that reverencing god in any publicly religious way is blasphemous in itself.

It says nothing of the sort. Are you referring to the parable of the pharisee and the publican where the pharisee reverences himself while pretending to reverence God? The publican reverence God publicly in that parable, and Christ praises him for it. The Old Testament Israelites based their entire religion on public reverence of God.

> and the characteristics and preferences of god are completely indeterminable.

Yes, the meaning of such phrases as "Thou shalt not steal" is completely indeterminable!
If you don't know anything about God why are you composing prayers? Maybe you should look up a catechism first, lol, learn to walk before trying to fly.

>>5963362
>have you read psalms? "destroyer" and dreadful sight" are not terms of opprobrium.

Yes I know, but the terms in his poem mean something different in context. When the psalmist calls God "dreadful" it is out of awe; when this guy calls God dreadful it can be seen in context as being an unwelcome nuisance. When the psalmist talks about God destroying men's plans he refers to God destroying the evil plots of the wicked for the sake of justice, not human plans in general.

>>5963332
that's a common motif though, that a person isn't ready to truly seek the god because it means giving up on many things which one appreciates

>21 Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.
>22 But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions.

>>5963372
Yeah, Christ praises the man that gives up his possessions; but this guy praises the guy that hoards them and sulks about God's tendency to destroy (even though the Scriptures say: "For God made not death, neither hath he pleasure in the destruction of the living. For he created all things that they might be: and he made the nations of the earth for health: and there is no poison of destruction in them, nor kingdom of hell upon the earth. For justice is perpetual and immortal.")

I don't know how it can be conceived as prayer, that is all. To call it a prayer reeks almost of sarcasm and mockery. It is not a prayer of petition, because it fails to call upon God's aid and wallows in despair. It is not a prayer of prasie, because it fails to praise God, choosing rather to complain about his destroying things man has made. A child wouldn't fail so catastrophically in trying to write a prayer, and that's why I thought it might be intentionally satanic, a mockery.

bread and birds.


i want to live in the hole where sometimes birds go -
tired of memories that snap like bones,
and yesterday mirror ghosts.

gums raw from sea salt,
despondent,
take a wine(,) pause:
morning birdsong and
the roots of two trees planted too close together and
yourself as an entire continent ,-
drifting and -
digestion. wretch.
i am the spectrum a bruise shifts through.

let’s verb.
lets just go and
profanity-ing verb.

(
one day long, long ago -
we should have kissed ) .

i am always wrong.

And the notion that the author might be an atheist appropriate the name of God for poetic purposes has not escaped me. But then I return to my original question: what gives him the right to talk about God like that? Because he doesn't believe in God? That isn't an excuse. You don't insult the emperor of Japan and excuse yourself by saying, "it's alright, I don't believe in the Japanese empire."

>>5963407
it's just about a guy dreading that someone he loves might die in the months mentioned, and his dread of the funerals and grief, there are two prayer types in each verse. a supplication followed by a resignation, in which he accepts the inevitability of fate and still hopes to be spared. It's no deeper than that. we don't know if the "things that have worth" are physical or spiritual, or the identity of the god addressed.

>>5959003
I'm sorry you haven't got a girlfriend who likes poetry.

we are the dead, the damned
we see the future.
wrapped in swaddling clothes
and in its tomb.
as we travel in our circuits,
like dim planets
or ghosts, in silent rooms.

>>5957207
Let me tell you about me
And why I find myself solo,
Be aware that I'm not angry
I just think that I'm a bozo.

I'll always be alone
This fact is surely true,
My body is no gemstone
A personality of no value.

Everyone gets annoyed
When I walk in the room,
All would be overjoyed
Had I never left the womb.

Forever lacking in confidence
I'll be alone until the end,
But with luck and also patience
I hope I marry my best friend.

Head away from the window
Back where sun won't make you age
Perch in endless in paper mountains
Pecking for the one you've left

Thousands lost and found medallions
Thousands stories they could tell
Pick 'em up just to discard them
Some just weren't meant to learn

>>5963557
I wrote that faggot. It's on my PoetrySoup page you ass

>>5964384
if those r ur authentic feelings do u really care whether he posts it or not

>>5964411
Of course those aren't my authentic feelings. I was inspired to write that shit after watching a Cymbalta ad on TV, it's just faggotry that it was posted in the first place

>>5957207
Flicks off my skull unto page,
Feels like a godless prophet,
Praying to books, songs and pornstars,
I consumed my heroes until they took on my emptiness,
They become parodies until I hate them,
I was searching for hate,
So I could write it down,
And prove nothingness is all,
When I win I am left with the reality of absence,
I rejected life, life never rejected me.

>>5964461
My creations are criticisms of shit I love,
While I point out its nature,
Kill your idols I whisper as I caress my genitals,
At least I almost touched something beautiful,
My narcissism is sarcasm- I love my biting comments,
My mouth tastes like shit,
I've been speaking it all day,
The elitist on websites full of myself,
I maintain ironically,
Death is too cliche,
Renaissance hipster,
My antiquity is the sixties and I cry into howl,
Hating my lack of skill,
It's so easy to be me,
I want to suffer, I deserve it,
Then maybe I will enter society, with the damaged fauna.

>>5964411
>>5963557

stealing peoples shit isn't cool

Watch the Murder of a French Policeman Online

See the pearl-white ball move
Along the black, ruler-straight groove
As gunmen snake
Around a row of cars.

In the video above
Please like and share and comment, Love;
And watch him shake
On the cement.

No sound, sorry, not our fault.
We got this from a brainless dolt
Who didn’t make
A noise from where he hid.

To his credit, though, we can
Watch a thing made from a man:
From sleep, a waking
From this, a widow-making.

>>5964485
I pray someone responds to me and says not bad,
Maybe I want to be Katie Hopkins,
A career of hatred and bitchiness,
I'm such a good bitch,
I am a shallow critic,
I love myself more than I know.

>>5964499
Not bad, Katie Hopkins

>>5964499
Although, the more you talk about irony, the less I can feel of the poem.

>>5963403
I like "Let's verb." It's open. Let's just go and fucking verb. Doesn't matter what. The widest invitation possible. That's great.

I dislike "profanity-ing" (if you want to say fucking, say fucking.) Also I don't like "always wrong" self pity stuff.

>>5964488
Thank you

>>5964499
This sounds so shallow

>>5963276
Like the ending, but if you're going to do couplets at least spend the time to get shave them down to a specific meter.

>>5964488
How is it in any way stealing, it's an anonymous imageboard.

Resting, belly up, body submerged in cooling lakewater-
Baptism? Redemption? No. Nothing shifts inside.
There, up in the sky, is the change.

I stare up at a shifting blue void.
The sun closes shop; calls to the night.
Wind sweeps salmon fire-clouds in;
all tinged with the ethereal flame the low sun,
propelled by some transcendent motor—

Look, see the rocks skip from shore,
see the children scream, see
parents pack up minivans with folding chairs
and coolers;

Look, back to the sky. Think,
It’s as if the sheets and layers have been peeled
like a fruit! This is a crimson pomegranate
dusk.
I see the vulnerable belly, the soft inside of fading twilight;
I am diving, I am surfacing, I am gulping in bursts,
tasting the plum sweet summer juice of the not-quite-night wind;

I surface again. Dark has come,
as sudden as a shot. Dark
has piled up. Dark; underwater.
Dark; in the sky. Little pricks of
stars pop up, cut the dark.

I swim. In the night,
through the night,
around the night,
I become the night,
in the water, swimming with the night.

>>5964530
It's a poem explicitly written for attention on an imageboard. Being shallow isn't a problem if that's the goal.

>>5964532
>how is it stealing
Because.. I wrote it.. and here I am in the goddamn thread.. Errr.. How is it NOT stealing?

>>5964541
>true

>>5964541
this guy got it

>>5964543
What does it matter, he didn't put his name to it - it's still your poem, things would get so much easier if you decided to stop being a tripfag.

>>5964540
I think the "I become the night" is pushing it a bit far, but the first three or four stanzas seem strong. I like the "vulnerable belly;" reminds me of Stephen's reflections in the Proteus Episode about Eve: "Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. She had no navel. Gaze. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. Womb of sin."

>>5959527
I tip my fedora to your depravity. May god have mercy on /lit/

>>5964559
I think being a tripfag is okay in these threads; we know we're talking to the person who wrote an earlier poem. Knowing one's speaking to someone who wrote something in the thread gives these things the sense of community they deserve.

>>5959546
You are a genius-- great control of meter/rhyme. well done

>>5964559
it's still the general principle of trying to pass something off as your own that's infuriating. even if there's no name attached to it

>>5962944
Wow. /thread

>>5963217
I do.

>>5964575
Exactly.

>>5964573
And again, exactly. That's why I have it up. It avoids confusion and keeps the posts good.

>>5964559
Piss off.

Sometimes I am in Kansas
Sometimes I am in Kansas

Where the wheat shuffles

And where the people

Also shuffle

>>5964592
*flowing good. Goddamn it. On mobile

Sometimes I am in Kansas
Where the wheat shuffles
And where the people
Also shuffle

>>5964592
>keeps the posts good
>good

>>5964623
As in qualitatively good. The posts will keep functionally okay whether they're good or not.

>>5964623
>can you read
>guess not
>would you prefer well? Bueno?

>>5964592
Seriously, tripfag-kid, is this some sort of (over-)extended exercise in 'deep irony' or are you really so stupid and delusional as to believe that any post in this ridiculous thread full of bits of junior-high doggerel is GOOD?

>>5964633
Would it really be any worse (and in my opinion it would be better) if everyone was anonymous in this sort of thread? There's no fame or gain while being anonymous and it also seems like the best way for everyone to be treated the same and criticized the same.

>>5964647
It goes to show that people are giving back as well as putting things out there.

I, for example, wrote a poem in this thread that nobody's commented on, but I've written around 7 responses by myself. It's like torrenting: it shows that your both providing something to discuss and adding something to a discussion.

>>5964660
If you really believe in that logic, why are you still in anon mode?

>>5964677
Because I didn't post my poem with a trip, and figure that it would be going too far to name myself "THE AUTHOR OF THE POEM IN THIS THREAD ENTITLED XXX." I'll do it next time.

>>5957207
seriously what do you think guys? first attempt at poetry in a while

Midnight, in the moon-washed tundra.
Pedophiles wordless hum lecherous lullabies.
An archangel, mutilated.
parts enclosed in three linear low density polyethylene bags.
In a quarry.
Dead.

Hieroschemamonk Nepomucen, cenobitic Stakhanovite.
This, much to his fellowmonk's chagrin.
tumbles downstairs.
Where is God?

Midwestern American Auto Dealership
Not yet dead.
Rotting inside.
you know they are.

Like pornography
Pastel colored french porcelain. dead eyed nymphs and satyrs
Like half faded residues of your teenage years.

Semiautomatic Revolver, recoil-operated ablutionary instrument.
seraphs plummet to ground, writhe like dying worms.
Fields covered by soot
I am at peace.

>>5964643
>And there goes /lit/ thinking that they're better than everyone else again

There's definitely some good poems in this thread.
>>5964495
>>5963183
>>5959546
>>5959027

>>5964693
>Dead.
Being split into three bags will do that to you. Seems a bit redundant where it's placed.

>Heiroshemamonk Neopmucen

I like Finnigans Wake as much as the next guy, but I don't know if your message is any clearer because of your use of this style.

>Recoil-operated ablutionary instrument
Solid phrase.


Overall, I like the sort of ethereal Beat vibe I get from the thing, I just don't know how the images fit together exactly. I would cut down, refine, and tie together.

>>5964707
thanks dude.

>just don't know how the images fit together

Yeah. I had multiple ideas jumping out at the time. I felt they were united by a certain feel and general theme of decay and emptiness. but I'm probably going to try and fashion this into something (slightly) more cohesive.

>>5964707
Uh.....did it maybe occur to you when you got to the line about 'Cenobite Stakhanovite polyurethane whateverthefucks' that THIS GUY IS TROLLING THE FUCK OUT OF YOU?
Or possibly not.
In which case, please accept this respectful contribution from an old mate of mine from Slough

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x233pgm_david-brent-poem_lifestyle

>>5964850
If that's the case, then WOW I GOT TROLLED.

That'll show me to waste 3 minutes of my time giving feedback to someone who might be just trying to express himself.

>>5963589
can anyone drop some input on this?

>>5965016
I gotcha.

If it had a title to sort of give me some context, I could say more about it. I'm not getting a clear image, although that might just be me missing the point.

As for the second stanza, I like the idea of ignored glory. That some stories just arn't worth bringing back up again, because the information would be wasted on the listener.

>>5964850
>>5964850
>THIS GUY IS TROLLING THE FUCK OUT OF YOU?
Trolling the fuck out of people is a recurring thread in modern poetry. See Baudelaire for example.

>Hieroschemamonk: This Guy.
>Cenobitic: Relating to a communal monastic tradition
>Stakhanovite: (Soviet Propaganda Concept) following the example of Aleksei Grigorievich Stakhanov, employing hard work or Taylorist efficiencies to over-achieve at work.
>Linear low-density polyethylene: Polymer frequently used in the manufacture of garbage bags.
Its all rather straightforward, maybe just somewhat verbose.

>>5965066
Trolling people is a recurring thread on 4chan.

>>5963226
Thou hypocrite! Cast out the beam that is in thine own eye, before thou goest to thy fellow, and sayest, 'Let me pick the mote out of thine eye."

Verily, verily, I say unto ye, lest ye be more righteous than the Pharisees, you will not enter into the Kingdom of God.

>>5957207
op is a fucking nerd

An double etheree I wrote in twelfth grade. My teacher told me it was a piece of shit, but I never understood the flak.

Frigidity

Cold:
Fearsome,
Sentient,
Or so it seems
Outside a warm house
In mid-January,
Blowing in the vicious wind,
Existing through nonexistence,
Biting at careless, fragile faces
Unprotected from its dangerous hand.
The ones of the north know how to endure
The harm of the destructive tempest,
Often undisturbed in its wake.
Outsiders only complain,
And the weak fall victim
To its deathly nip.
Writhing to warm,
Suddenly
Very
Old.

we made us then and all along
beyond white rush of water
and all the living sons of fathers daughters
made them homeward with a shrug

the veil was lifted,
bridled linen torn
a shroud to drown away the outer
hands in ash and cupping cheeks:
the sigh of mothers

Babel's tainted, sooted drawers
the air in teak and leather
saintly heather for the altar
for the lain about the floor

again the rain's let in
the flood's all drew
the babble shook the roots from out her clasping

seven daughters swung to farther
lain as heather at the door,
no longer dancing

The asteroids are starting to reign down.
The belch of ignition echoes clear
through the atmosphere.

I stand here with a calculating expression
on a mountain top.

With a baseball bat.

Touche

If a young black man
became thirsty
and wanted a drink of water
at a public fountain
in Birmingham, Alabama
he would be denied
even now
because
There are no longer
public fountains
in Birmingham, Alabama
anymore
all the water
is locked up tight
in homes and businesses
owned by people.
honest
hard working people
and white.

walk softly, October
where winter is sleeping
in a blanket of maple
the early stars peeping
neath tufts of high cloud
near a wandering moon
step lightly October
don't rouse her too soon
the wind in the branches
the owl softly calling
the drizzle of raindrops
as evening is falling
may seal her in slumber
for yet a small span
pass slowly October
we spare what we can
soon enough her white scribblings
will mar the clear panes
and her mantle of white
will obscure the bright train
of the maple and laurel
the Oak and the bay
and the night and the chill-blain
once more will hold sway
For a time then yet linger
for a space tarry here
in the mist and the twilight
the fall of the year.

I have walked through Ulster
cobbled alleys between tin sheds,
tributary to the great rushing thoroughfares
the river highways
I have chewed a crust
beside the tombstones of its churchyards
and read beneath the mosses, names
of women dead in famine years,
two summers my junior
and leant on the iron pile
behind the orphanages
and the old soldiers homes
where I bought an orange
from a van by Crook's Market
and shared it with a negro boy
in the wet sunshine
upon the green common.

the 1962 Pontiac Star Chief
is a fine car
with four barrel carbs
and a V-8
and if you are a girl
in the big back seat
trying to keep your panties on
and too drunk to remember
where your blouse went
and why your bra is underneath you
and there are bite marks around your nipples
and the whiskey is in your mind
and the heat and sweat
of the man on top of you
makes you cry
because you are afaid of something
you can't quite focus on.
and all the pain
when your fingers slip
and the panties are gone
and youre nothing but naked
nothing but open
nothing but pierced and horrified
and still he rides
and still he grunts and your shoes are gone
and one sock and your hair is caught in the window crank
and he pulls away
and there is blood on your thighs. white thighs
red blood.
red a the hood of the
1962 Pontiac Star Chief
that he bends you over
helpfully
for the next guy in line
123 inch wheel base
23 miles
to a gallon
of leaded gasoline.

Silently, I would listen to the sacred utterances,
Inviolable vibrations of the frigid morning air.
I knew the sounds I heard I loved, I never would disparage them,
I used to mutely brood on them, then scriven syllables, unaware
The wounding beauty of a winter morning is elusive.

I peer into the depths of early twilight. It is snowing.
This freezing scene alone confounds the keenest sounds of men.
Dumbly, through a dearth of words, I echo dawn's divinity
As silhouettes swept out of snow echo the Seraphim.
The wounding beauty of a winter morning is elusive.

/lit/ you say?
more like /r/lit if i may

>>5957207
So I laughed with the Devil,
and listened as I felt contrite.
The words were so empty,
when we became intoxicated overnight.

Now I dance with the Devil,
a beautiful and curvaceous frame.
Feelings of contrite faded,
nothing remained of shame.

Soon will I lay next to the Devil,
and my affection will grow more and more.
With my regrets perhaps only hours away,
we get on the floor,
open the door,
everybody walk the dinosaur.

I'm not from an speaking English country! I hope it's grammatically correct!

>>5967180
>>5967182
>>5967187
>>5967192
Good
>>5967203
>>5965853
>>5964693
Not at all bad, shows promise

>>5963545
is this the whole thing?

>>5958797
reminds me of something, but i don't remember exactly what

Wolves can be disconnected,
Pulled apart piece by piece,
each stretching tendril reaching towards a cloud roiled sky,
curling towards other pink ribbons to reunite
under the sun.

Sweet-peas creep up gnarled-bark sticks stuck two feet down.

Everyone there operated
from a similar perspective,
optimistically shredding tendons,
etching counts into bone
always stretching towards other parts that would
and could not reach far enough.

And it all fell down in an tissued heap, each piece divorced from it’s other.

Apocalypse Always

Neon pavement with savage lights, lit like trash cans, beacons
Atomic air breathes your last virgin breath, for a ruptured sky spews our sickness
Scrape the wound, radiating pus and blood, our blood
Collected from our tainted pool, swim and drink it deep
These wounds we consume, Geiger counters ticking like
Grandfather clock in the living room, floorboards extracted, dead roaches inside
Dry cup dripping, father stands, shot-gun in hand, poised to end our thirst
Shrapnel surgeon, Pa is reloading, aiming at President Murdoch
Newspaper clippings stapled to Ma's forehead
Fall into our gaping maw
Shattered earth, our house's doomed foundation

So does the monstrous reveal itself in
Each contradiction, or is that just where
it hunts? Its goal to fill the alien space,
desecrate the temple, a hockey puck.
Or is contradiction itself a thing
that can only be seen with strong, slightly
monstrous eyes, temple-guarding lions?
There seems to be none in muscle or wind
or anything unused or self-using.
And from this principle seems to issue
the rumour of a secret diction which
can speak through feelings without hurting them.
But is feeling an original sin?
One time I got uncomfortably zen.

5 foot wide, 8 foot deep dots our soil
Lightposts illuminate, blinding the glow of dying suns
Cracked pavement covers the cool earth from which we have returned to
Eyes closed, skyward, doomed and dirt-bound
Hand-me-down boots slap against our tombs
Uncle falls out of a wheelbarrow as service men yell
Skulls smack the mud, and guns are packed away.

We, the generation of unsung genocides,
Of endless extinctions and discoveries,
Who climb limbless through the landfill,
Blissful and blind, and guilty.

We, who sat awake, high on dopamine habits,
Eyes glazed in admiration of screensaver vistas,
Longing for some psychic cough,
Or some other obsolete tyranny to guide us.


All I have so far, but I like it and I'm workin' on it.

>>5964693
a lot of avant-garde window-dressing, but the statements (all totally unrelated to each other) mostly seem to pan out as edgy clichés on the level of OP's, and not even phrased much better ("An archangel, mutilated." "Where is God?" "Rotting inside. you know they are." "half faded residues of your teenage years" the entire last stanza)

>>5965837
"deathly nip" unintentionally hilarious. too many lines here seem like pointless elaborations on previous lines spun out to fit the format.

>>5965853
"the flood's all drew/the babble shook the roots from out her clasping" easily best 2 lines ITT

>>5967180
>>5967182
>>5967187
>>5967192
these all the same person? extremely strong use of line breaks. Touche seems a bit trite and abstract, especially for what it's dealing with. the October one has some really nice sound stuff going on but a lot of archaisms that kind of threw me. the Ulster one and the rape one are both great.

>>5967203
This just seems like using a lot of words to say something really simple, with forced alliteration.

>>5969654
I wonder if "disconnected" is the right word in the first line. "cloud roiled" is also awkward.

>>5971678
5 lines of rattling off hallucinatory-urban-dystopia clichés really necessary? I like "poised to end our thirst" and "Shrapnel surgeon" though

>>5971697
"dots"?

is it the glow of dying suns itself that is being blinded, or should there be a comma there? (in which case it's still an awkward juxtaposition)

"to which we have returned"

I really like what you're doing with sound, though.
>"doomed and dirt-bound"
>the whole boots line
>"skulls smack the mud"

>>5971726
genocides are not typically "sung".

"psychic cough" is great, too much of the rest seems cliché ("climb limbless through the landfill") or prosaic ("some other obsolete tyranny")

i wrote three pages two days ago one afternoon
and sat yesterday moving and correcting things i didn't like
i want to be good at writing
but ive never given the effort to try
so now when i do i become promptly discouraged
it doesn't matter if i ever reach proficiency
farts in the air
there are others more talented
bipolar balancing
of inspiration and despair

Axiom infected askance utter hollows out
the alley innervated folly valley relics seen
as emanated hollow reckless burning cloudy seas
the day of cloudy shadows flitted shallow clinging gaze
of tempest oxidizing sacred misty temple ick
in Knowledge, mystery, and treasure golden ash and grime
the fallen history of stolen pleasures told in time

it feels like déjà vu in this haze
Whatever
It’s not your maze that I’m stuck in,
nor your warm gaze.
But think again, this bolster can hold you or destroy you.
Maybe you’re not as bold.
So it’s told.

>>5971832
Ten percent is all that remains
fingers swollen, hands sliced
through these burns and pains
I must tune in
Or fume away
Dice dice. Spice spice, grill grill
This kitchen sure kills my thrills

>>5971836
Coerced through this earth,
no knowledge of your past
your present is your only hearth
Nimble limbs, short in height, tall in might
Bright days call for vanilla, slight delays for rain, no way will it get in your way.
A silly clown is patiently waiting,
never troubled by your absence
only smiling at your presence
The pink slime sure is a delight.

My native language walks like an old man
in a fur coat. My words are burdock

and I am haunted
by a one-legged pigeon seen by the Galata Bridge.

The blizzard echoes in the bedroom. Listen
to my heart rain against the windows of my skin.

Drink the well-water from my neck. Hold the lantern
of my body against the unlit street of your memory.

I close my hands like hibiscus at night. I tell you
we will evaporate and become wild honeysuckle

but my words are women found dead in the snow
in each other's arms and you look away.

because he is a watchdog;

that is why,

because he is a watchdog,

that is why,

that's why.

Because he is a watchdog,

that's why.

Because he is a watchdog living in a treehouse;
because he is a watchdog,

that's why.

Because he is a watchdog living in a treehouse made by a beaver.

That's why you will never get to him.

Because he is a watchdog living in a treehouse made by a weaver,

that's why you will never get to him.

Because he is a watchdog and that's why you will never get him to do anything.

That's why!

>>5971996
well, the botanical references are sweet, but seem to go nowhere. I think i'll steal the trope though.

A Cat Dreams of Heaven

Just enough catnip,
Just enough fish.
Just a short hop
to a full water dish

Just the right sunbeam
Just the right lap
Just the right time to
curl up for a nap.

A bright summer window,
with birds on the sill,
and the counters and tables
to stalk as I will.

A little gray lady,
A little hearth glow,
and a mouse that eludes me,
a little too slow.

if you guys want a good laugh alongside a broken-neck-inducing cringe, go to tumblr, search "poetry" and change results to "most recent." Absolutely golden.

although to be honest, a lot of the stuff posted in this thread looks like it could be straight off of tumblr

>>5972557
I challenge you to pick the three most and the three least tumblr-worthy then.

>>5972576
Just skimming through the thread:

>>5958294
>>5959027
>>5959546
not tumblresque at all

>>5963403
>>5964461
>>5967180
very tumblresque

>>5972599
I pretty much agree. I have found good stuff on tumblr occasionally though. And some excellent stuff in these threads

>>5972616
Oh, of course.
There are some quality things on both /lit/ and tumblr every now and then. The unnamed irishman and the Gomorrah poets, for example.
But I think we can agree that the very large majority of tumblr "poets" are Wattpad tier shit.
/lit/ isn't very great either but at least we have people here every now and then that have at least some sort of semblance of an understanding of prosody, eh?

>>5972638
I think what the versifiers here lack is skill and the understanding of how to work with the conventions of the medium. inspiration and message seem to be all drifted in the direction of dark and broody stuff which is hard to do well enough to stand out. They might do better with lighter themes.

>>5972663
Might be, but what can be expected of a writer that posts on 4chan? I think it's safe to assume that a very large majority of us are young men, and it's a tendency among young men, especially 4chan users, I believe, to drift toward darker and more brooding themes these days.
I'm sure once we all experience life a bit more we'll come to appreciate it more than we do now and that'll result in a branching out of our themes, in my opinion.

Poetry is the art of life and love, afterall.

>>5958294
>>5959546
I have a hard time liking poetry but this shit right here does it. Great job.

>>5967180
>If a young black man
>became thirsty
>and wanted a drink of water
>at a public fountain
>in Birmingham, Alabama
>he would be denied

a lamentation of a young black man who cannot find a public fountain

where are our plantations of old, rows of poplars under the hot sky,
the white bloom of cotton flowers, the safety and stability that we had?
they lost, lost in the mist of cotton, lost in the heat haze,
lost are the times when water wasn't locked from us, and we were given food,
and we could walk freely with a blade, ready to plough the earth,
not being afraid to be shot, not being afraid what we would eat tonight,
not knowing of drugs, always being cared of,
every tear was wiped away from our eyes.
the north came and took it from us, people of iron, hearts of iron,
they drove us away and set an angel with a rifle at the plantation gate.
the birds of alabama cry and i am crying with them...

Have you ever been out
when the wolves go out
with their eyes as white as the moon?
have you seen broad tracks in the silver frost
heard the shivering call of the loon?
High in the night with the silent owl
have you heard the howl
when the grey backs prowl
by the crest of the hill
when the wind stands still
and the pine needles litter the snow?
have you gone where the wild wolves go?

Have you ever been out
when the wolves go out
with the heart beat loud in your breast,
have you hunted the deer, the sweet-fleshed does
through their tangled woodbine nests?
I have stood on the hill,
on the high-cliffed hill
where part of myself is standing still
as the grey ghosts pass,
through red sage grass
I have seen the bright eyes shine
and out in the snow,
where the drift winds blow
I have followed the paths
where the grey wolves go
and there were no tracks left but mine.

>>5973099
Not bad.

>>5972744
>not rhyming alabama with banana

I don't wanna stay at your party
I don't wanna talk to your friends
I don't wanna vote for your president
I just wanna be your tugboat captain

there's a place i'd like to be
there's a place i'd be happy

>>5972235
pls
will return any critique

>>5973182
>If a young black man
>became thirsty
>and wanted a drink of water
>at a public fountain
>in Birmingham, Alabama
>he would be bananas
>in pajamas

>>5971791
oops it should be:

Axiom infected askance utter hollows out
the alley innervated folly valley relics seen
as emanated hollow reckless burning cloudy seas
the day of frightened shadows flitted shallow clinging gaze
of tempest oxidizing sacred misty temple ick
in Knowledge, mystery, and treasure golden ash and grime
the fallen history of stolen pleasures told in time

also, obscurity and "muh no meaning" are not criticisms

>>5973269
Boy, that stinks.

>>5973271
that's not a criticism. i would enjoy actual criticism.

>>5971733

>easily best 2 lines ITT

I'll take it

>>5973269
Boy, that stinks.

>>5973253
in the torrid alabama, sitting in my silk pajama,
while a cluster of banana litters floor of mine with peels... :3

>>5973269
>>5973269
>>5973269
if you maybe chose your words a bit more carefully it would stick.

also the fact that i cannot discern a meaning really does make it off putting. if you could use the same technique but instill something meaningful or at least amusing it would be much better.

>the alley innervated folly valley relics seen
>as emanated hollow reckless burning cloudy seas
i suggest you move "reckless" to before "seas" as it creates a more elaborate slant rhyme.

>Axiom infected askance utter hollows out

>of tempest oxidizing sacred misty temple ick

these two lines are great on their own

>>5963398
So what? Art and expression hold no religious ties.

>>5971745
Correct, that's why I used the word 'unsung', which relates to the ignorance of such matters.

Thanks for pointing out the cliché though, I appreciate constructive criticism.

My soul breathes out
where the skater boys ride
down the dusty grey streets
by the tattoo parlor.

Angry muscles tearing at the breeze,
or sitting solid as a storm cloud
on the horizon,
beneath the locust trees,
sweating in the afternoon shadows.
drinking apple juice form a red cup.

I am that dark shape
beside the swingsets.
hands in pockets,
watching the bottle pass,
from lip to lip,
from hand to brown hand.
I am the silent witness,
pretending to read,
brushing the hair from her eyes,
blown by the same breeze,
that dries your wide backs,
that cools your smooth faces,
that carries your scent,
soap and sunscreen,
prespiration, to where I am,
pretending to read,
watching.
saving this moment
of your lives.

>>5961471
stilleblaetter.wordpress.com
There's more.

bump

Stones are built into the old path, rough against my bare feet
We walk through the wet twilight, your head on my shoulder
Your eyes are marble and warm, and I'm finally happy
We stop to gaze at the celestial body that hangs in the endless black expanse of night
You look like a dream, I fall into you and you fall into me
We share this moment, and I can ask for nothing more

>>5975629
a lot of obvious choices. it lacks personality/novelty.

i’m FotoFobic
thas why the shades
jus lifted em off the rack
an about
the jacket
it’s cuz i ride
cuz can’t afford much gas
cuz the kid
is sick
he weren’t born right
cuz his momz a coked up cunt
cuz her dad did fuck ‘er
n’ so did i
which’s why i’m in this
rut
cuz my dick don’t work
when i’m fucked up
so the raincoat slipped right off
n’ rotten worm
foun rotten apple
ch’is why i’m in this
rut
ch’is why they
give me
hair gel free
n’ tell me
keep it real
cuz i’m the new damn Fonzie
n’ i guess i’m Cool
with that

Literally the first poem I've written since high school, 8 years ago. It's shit, I don't care


Through pain and ardour,
it was you I find,
On me you fell with fervour
in which I returned in kind,

Life has brought me nought but sorrow,
and now we break,
existence brings nothing in the morrow,
today it is for you I ache,

From that day two weeks have passed,
there is but no joy,
it is not to be, that we not last,
my heart now cloys,

You are all that I desire,
this I cannot feign,
my heart like roaring fire,
all for you, my Jane.

Yes I was b& for postin meme's
my sides did scream, oh joy, oh memes.
I posted gets and thrice was scorned,
Ye global 3rd thy did ignore
But MODS, oh MODS, forever patient
Is bateman gets not /lit/ related?
My punishment was served in silence,
Oh meme's, oh meme's, plz give me guidance.
Thy meme's to the refuse to speak,
Oh meme's. 'oh memes'.
I am
too
weak

>>5972534
cute

Regret

let no man say
he is master of grief
the bottles
before the bright mirrors
are never dusty, never full
but they hold no hope
their mirth and forgefullness
is a lie,
like the ones you tell
to the tired girl
on the stool beisde you
like the ones she tells you
and in her ancient bed
in her tiny apartment
up three flights
of outside stairs
carefully negotiated
without arbitration
at three AM
there is something,
an old story
an old hope
maybe.
that a path might be retraced
a lost key found again
a dream recovered
but morning is cold
and the footsteps
coming back from the bathroom
are never the ones
who would understand
your apologies
and the arms
that open
are not those arms.
and behold! at the window
is the day,
but not that day
not that sun
not that sweet breath
of wind beneath the awnings
as you crumple the number
that is not the number
and the gutterwash
takes it into the past
Let no man say
he has conquered sorrow.

I'll give it a whirl.

Art:

That loving grin is offered not to me.
Simply worn to coax the painter's hand.
That chestnut stare doth gaze but cannot see.
A square display I've come to understand...

I trail aside but eyes doth track my gait.
inviting words to flatter artist's brush.
Worthy acclaim I cannot find to state.
Adept in form, abandoned in a hush.

Dipect my person standing at her side.
The painted maided neednt such a blight..
She smirks despite her long and lonely bide
And revels as the object of your sight.

I make a point to pass it in the hall
A masterpiece admired from a wall

>>5972534
i liked this

>>5957207
"A Plight for Pussy"

My pecker was parched and peaking niggardly
Push-ups promised me pickings and posterior
I put on my snap-back and dicked her dastardly
Condemned by the Mexicans I was rendered inferior.

I saw the jasmine-prominence in rodeo Pendleton
Brunette sirens fellatiate swag cappers
Blank and buff, weary with a western temper
My ass was soon a backstreet bopper
And my chode flew away last December.

>>5972534

Thats fucking adorable

>>5980590
>>5981803
>>5983026
hint, if you want to be praised, write about cats

>>5983058
"when a cat was a goddess
the earth was flat sand
and the river of life
ran like silk through her hand
and the might of her mettle
showed all foes defeat
when a cat like a woman
stood on her back feet...."