/lit/ - Literature

>>6119130
I don't understand the usage of that enjambement at the third line.
Some verses are just awesome, like the last one.


Italian verses:
Se le Muse raccolgo in qualche loco
a narrare l'erotico concetto,
potrà parere discussion da poco,
che banale parrà, va bene: ammetto

che codesto argomento fu di gioco
ad ogni Vate in Elicona eletto;
io, che putrido son dinnanzi al croco,
lo faccio per mostrarle mio l'affetto.

Mai lo mio nome assieme all'almi forti
vedrassi sull'elleno monte assiso
e sul capo corona di gran gloria;

I miei ricordi, deh, saranno corti,
ma preferisco caro il suo sorriso
che negli agoni avere la vittoria.

>>6119130
Nice pattern op with iambic pentameter. Watch your syllables on line 3 thoughI wrote one in IP today too. I posted it in r9k because it's about tfwnogf but I'll post it here too...

Pic related, it's my favorite poet.

>>6119155 here

Weep not, o lady, for a vanish't day,
Wherein fell bitter tears as Cupid's darts,
For now thy cries on my poor soul do play;
Each fallen tear's a poniard in mine heart.
Spurn not my love! O turn me not away,
Nor cast me to the howling wolves without,
But let me strive thy terrors to allay,
And nightmare from thy presence strive to rout.

Full bitterly I beat my breast and sigh!
No meat nor drink do pass between my teeth;
With thirst unquench't I wax weak, as to die,
And starve upon this frigid windswept heath.
My bones do crumble at thy plaintive cry,
And searing pity racks my tortured soul,
My strength all flees; my mouth is rasping, dry.
Mine eyes go hot and red as glowing coal.

Around my deathbed beasts do, circ'ling, go,
And prowl! Their eyes with rage and envy fill!
From fangs of onyx doth mine heart's blood flow,
And snarling fiends my utter downfall will.
By mine own folly pounds my frail heart so;
By foolish vanity I dared to woo;
But by thy sharp displeasure I'm brought low,
And gasping lay, my glaring sins to rue.

But my salvation might by thy word be;
Renewed, I might from frailty rise,
If but one word of love thou tellest me,
And on my face dost gaze with gentle eyes.
Then might I stand, mine harried heart to free,
And fingers 'round the sabre's heart to twine,
If I might but my foolish love give thee,
And thou didst take this broken heart of mine.

Pic related, it's my other favorite poet

Something I'm experimenting with

There was a chill in my bones as I departed
From my home alone.
The chill bore in, and I became cold.

I walked through the doors entering that gloomy
Ceremony. The cold rattled my soul.
Black garbed men flanked me,
And I waited impatiently.

The atmosphere was warm with passion, love, and tears;
Warmth never reached me.
An hour later, outside a grave newly dug,
I was still shaking,
But not from love.

>>6119163
Why don't you just write this as prose? It makes more sense.

>niggaz come half steppin with no meter or rhyme whatsoever

>>6119169
>Something I'm experimenting with
I do have poetry written with meter and rhyme scheme, but this is just a drawer poem I'm messing with.

>>6119172
Yes, but why didn't you "experiement" with it as prose?

I'm not trying to give you shit (actually, yes I am) but that's an honest question. It would be great as a prose paragraph or something. If you break it up and call it poetry it reads like something a 15 year old emo kid wrote on Livejournal in 2007

This bundle in the crook of my arm
Is all I am worth, is all I can give
We walk, my sweet, to where it is cool
Where the water waits with a hungry gleam
So we walk

>>6119180
You should continue dude, this could be a cool narrative sort of thing

>>6119176
It's a work in progress. I was using the breaks to draw attention to the "off" lines (2,5,9,11,12).

>>6119184
Thanks, man. Still thinking of what to add though

>Was that a breeze that chilled and stung my neck?
>A frosty spirit? Devil of the cold?
>Whatever you may be, be on your way!
>Return through crack or punctured wall,
>From hole in floor or from the open door-
>I can't be bothered by you anymore!
>The fire blazing grants no heat or warmth,
>Gives only ghosts of memory and wood.
>Be gone, you cold! You wait and hide outside,
>In corner of my eye, and sink your fangs
>and crack your whip and pierce with icy blade
>and are the only foe I can't evade.
I'm just trying out iambic pentameter as an exercise, don't be too dickish if it's bad

bump

bump

>>6119130
That last line is great bruh. You used "spin round" twice in separate lines which seems kind of repetitive. Unless that's what you're going for. Also "fury strong" does not sound appealing to me. But that's just my opinion. The rest is good.

Sidewalk chunk symphony
Hits hard, but it ain't mean
Auto-portrait, but it ain't me
It's you who can't believe,
Won't believe in the
Street sounds, ants swarmin
Crawlin coffee grounds
I seen your sister hangin around
Dropping piggy nickels in patchwork pockets
Like,
If you want it need it but don't got it
They say prayers do somethin
At least distract the goddamn unconscious

Redirect them ropes
Tuggin so hard at the back of your throat
Youre not chokin but your prides
Been worse than broke for a while
Functioning, for someone else
Hitting someone else's
High notes
High birth
Throw the babies out
With the baptism bath
But now you got time
And a dozen silver spoons to look at

So,
That's that
Don't bother bringin it back
With the slow reverse
And a pile of poor man's trash
Can't eat flat screens
Boiled Jordan's you can but won't
Cause that logos been there like a birthmark
And the textbooks didn't seem so smart to invest in
When your best friend got his head caved in
For that jersey you lent him
Smart kid, smoke the sorrows
Well spoken retards never know
Picking up the gun is an easier load
Than strained smiles on park benches
And baggies full of late teens fallout pension

The last way you kept
Humidity out of eyelids
Dried up the brains
And I wept
Midsummer day slept
Between dumpster and chain link,
Between the prologue and the
Brink of beginning notes
Sunrise, nope, that's high hopes
Just headlights
Breakin up the late night cockroach festivities
goddamn, this whole bloody city
Smells like a poorly written mystery
Catalogued, false recorded history
Revolutions bled to death in these streets
Curb stomped by law abiding Americans
Who said nothin when the city
Burnt it's children to a crisp
And opened fire on those who dare flee
Running, screaming, their arms held babies
But the boys in uniform shooting
Apparently ain't responsible
For doing what they were told to do
Now the flags bleed their red into the streets,
The blues are hiding in the poor families
Who salute the bleached white flag
Hanging in their doorways
Curse the rebels down the street
Cause the TV news tells them to
Meanwhile the kids are off to school
To hear chained and abused truths
About how the courage of a revolutionary few
Led you to pay taxes the same
to Kings with softer names

My heart's bleeding lemon juice on these pages
But it ain't turning up anything worthwhile I been saying
I liked it better when I was breaking bullshit with my tongue
Heavy on the ears but lighter on the heart
Than making my loved ones think I'm
Pissin on the places I come from
The fact is, whatever the fuck I'm trying to say
Is said better by emptying a pocket of its spare change.

>>6119180
It is quiet.
What is the next step?
I peer into my bundle
What is the next step?
The weight stirs the animal,
the soiled woman who had once before, and forevermore, kept silent
What is the next step?
What is the next step?
She is nearly upon us, my darling
We must run!
And so we run
Until I am spent,
And she has won.
And you, so quiet.

We walk back up the path,
Back to the water
Where the stones are there to greet us
They seem happy in my bodice
And they escort us into the blue belly as we walk.

>>6119161
It's possible to write in iambic pentameter without using hideously antiquated diction. Parts of this are interesting ("Around my deathbed..." and subsequent lines, good imagery), but to be frank >tfwnogf is a played out topic. I'm tired of reading poems and stories about it, and hearing it in songs. Furthermore, you adhere to the tropes of the topic so firmly that the poem lapses quickly into absurdity. Just in the first stanza: Cupid, multiple instances of bitter tears, hearts and souls, and an appeal to the fair lady that you might win her heart. And it just goes on and on, following the typical arc of suffering, then death, then a final appeal wherein love is touted as a form of salvation. Fuck why am I so mad about this

cormac
morrrmaaaaaaac
morcac
pictish mormon
conan moleman
feckless merman
peckish norman

>>6119130
It's a little overdramatic and it isn't saying very much, but you do have a nice feel for pacing. The metre doesn't fit as neatly with your enjambement, it interrupts the line halfway through. Not bad for a first poem

>>6119163
Nice. You've got a cool little interplay between internal and external rhymes presented in a very prosaic tone.

>>6119180
>>6119648
Reminds me of the end of July's People by Nadine Gordimer, but much more serene. I like it

>>6119646
This feels slightly like slam poetry. Not really my taste

Sitting in the bloom of May,
Whose blossoms crown the tips of trees,
Where children play
and dance all day
Amongst the crunch of ancient leaves,

You rest your head upon my chest
Until I gain the strength to say
‘When sunlight fades
And winter shades,
Let me love you in those darker days.’


Smog blooms over the horizon,
As the heart of the city melts
Its bitter sweets over the darkening skyline.


You answer with your shining eyes
‘Against this world of bitter grey
Where concrete shades
And beauty fades
I will love you in these cold, dark days’.


Old Phoebus plunges below the surface
Where the whir of ancient machines
Stir softly the slumbering giants.


The nights grow cold from winter’s thumb,
While under watch from crescent eyes
The fox awakes
The early drake
With hounding teeth and bristled tongue.

Deeper down into the dark,
Of blistered stone and acrid rust
Where evil dwells
In human shells
Who leave the streets a hollow mark,

The fox he prowls the bitter cold;
Gazing out at concrete moors,
He turns his head
Up from dread,
Vision fixed by crescent hold.


And well beyond that looking-glass
Which sails the dreary darkness past;
Softly do we sleep in snow
That does not fall but ebbs and flows.

Does this work in the meter, use caesura and enjambment correctly, and sound alright?
>A rotting field of long gone life; crows come
>To pick, to gnaw, to leave the carcass clean.

This thread is what makes people laugh at poetry and poets.

Fury strong? Is that a Native American you saw once at a 7-11?

Rain came down in strings? Like spiderwebs?

Are you fucking retarded?

And does soup spin? Why not laundry and a machine? Because you need the right meter and rhythm?

At least you made me laugh. What a daft cunt.

>>6120030
>Fury strong? Is that a Native American you saw once at a 7-11?
That was dumb, I'll give you that.
>Rain came down in strings? Like spiderwebs?
Sometimes rain doesn't look like individual drops, but like long lines of water dripping from the sky. Hanging down like string, almost. Just how I see it.
>And does soup spin? Why not laundry and a machine? Because you need the right meter and rhythm?
Another dumb line, but soup spins when you stir it in a pot.

>>6120030
I like this, but the formatting is weird, and I think it would be better if you got rid of the last line. It makes it a little more ambiguous.

>>6120030
>not posting you're own poem before you criticize

>>6120048

I find it more enjoyable, and easier, to criticize.

Thanks dad.

>>6120030
At least your honest. I hope my poetry isn't quite as bad as you say it is.

There is no /general pleb thread/ so i rather post my question here than create more shitty threads.
And my question is about poetry so i think its fitting here nicely.

I've written a fair bit of poems. Theyr'e in my native language so i wont be posting any here.
But what do i do with them now?
These poems are written in quite a stretch of time, and they all don't share a mutual feeling, place or time.
Should i show them to someone? And if yes, who? I'm really shy on showing it to anyone.

Any other poetplebs with similar issues?

Pic related

>>6120216
In which language do you write?

>>6120223
Finnish

I'm getting into poetry.

Who do you think are the "essentials"?

>>6120241
Depends of your language

>>6119130
i liked your poem so i sang it
http://vocaroo.com/i/s1x4AqupKXhL

>>6120006
This is a nice little passage and its technically sound, but you could've done something more interesting with the
>to pick / to gnaw / to leave
iambs instead of sticking rigidly to the metre.

>>6119152
Quell'enjambement tra il quarto e il quinto verso mi convince poco: sarebbe stato anche accettabile, se non avesse diviso due strofe intere.

"Mostrarle mio l'affetto" è leggermente cacofonico e rompe il ritmo: il verso suona più lungo di quanto sembra, laddove la coda dovrebbe fungere da 'riposo' ed essere di più ampio respiro possibile.
Ti faccio un esempio, prendendo in esame l'esametro dattilico (l'accento va posto sulla sillaba maiuscola):

TYtire TU patuLAE recuBANs sub TEGmine
FAgi

L'ultimo piede è formato da FA, sillaba lunga, e GI, sillaba che potrebbe essere sia lunga che breve: viene infatti chiamata indifferens. Infatti, come anche nel parlato quotidiano, le ultime sillabe tendono a farsi sentire di meno.

Per il resto, è un sonetto piacevole: apprezzo particolarmente le ultime due terzine.

>>6120241
Metre, rhyme and imagery
If you're competent enough in those, then often elements such as form and structure develop outwards from them. Also if you're more interested in things such as free verse or prosaic poetry, it's handy to understand the rules so you know how and when to break them.

>>6120248
Spanish. Bit I don't mind reading translations. So it can be originally made in Italian, Russian, French, or whatever. If the translation is good I don't mind.

What do you guys recommend?

>>6120356
Just read poems in Spanish, translations are very poor
Authors like Gongora/Vega/Cervantes/Calderon are good even for starting poetry I think (I'm not Spanish though)

>>6120216
Write with the intention of expressing, rather than satisfying someone else. You will always be your own worst critic, but at least that gives you the opportunity to constantly revise and improve your material.
If you really feel like sharing them, start attending some low-key poetry readings and see if you can't read any at some point. I have the luxury of a regular poetry pamphlet published each term, where the editors thoroughly analyse each work before deciding whether or not to publish it. If you're attending university and there isn't something like this already established, it might be a good idea to start your own with a few friends

>>6119872
Thank you for your critique, anon

>The rain came down in spiderweb-like strings
>And slapped the concrete street like countless feet.
>We watched the sky and clouds swirl around
>Our tilted heads. My noisy thoughts felt small,
>My bones unclean and empty, mind a mess
>In front of nature's total ignorance.
>In mutual terror, eyes spin round our skulls,
>Our hands fill up with salty water sweat,
>Our hearts begin to pound without an end
>And minds soon find they're nothing more than flesh.
I revised it a bit. Thoughts?

To hear and see it bubble up and pop;
A richer red- it calls the eyes to come,
To come and smell the air, to taste it well
and taste it long, the iron in your nose
Now pouring from the throat like water white,
And see the sun reflected bright and red.

>>6119872
Interesting motif with the seasons. I especially like that last part.

>>6120398
>>6120275
listen to me singing your poem fuccboi

On the days when the world closes early
and stacks its chairs in darkened windows,
my mind always dead-ends at
the same cafe. It waits on a corner
in the hazy glow of fluorescents
on oak, and behind its short
counter is a most beautiful girl.

On the nights when I'm all spent on
cheap jokes and tired irony, and the
walls have started to study me back,
then every sound and color seems to draw me
towards a hazy cafe where a beautiful girl
is only a short counter's distance away.

How many pallid mornings and
deep yellow nights have I strode
like a sleep-walker through the glass
door, crossed the carpet to the cold wooden
floor and heard the sweetened sing-song
of her greeting from across the counter.

She tells me a story and we share a smile,
I order the first thing she recommends
and she disappears into sugars and smells.

In the back by the window I sit and thumb
through Chapter One of whatever I can find,
until a shadow from the front calls my head up to see
a most beautiful girl stepping slowly towards me
with a cup that smokes like a warm gun.

And in the moment of transfer our hands
may touch on the hot paper and it's all
so familiar, plays out
just like a dream, right down
to the instant when our impulses are reversed
and she strides away and I,
silent for fear I may shout,
watch her disappear again
behind a counter just a few inches
taller than I could dream of crossing.

I sip and it burns.
I never had a tongue for the taste of coffee.
Until I learned that for the price of a tall dark-roast,
even the meek may touch the hand of beauty.

>>6120436
anon you should ask her out

>>6120472
I've gone out with her a couple of times.
I get the feeling I'm way more into her than she is to me.

>>6120486
is she hot
nice poem tho, best in thread

>>6120489
She's an intellectual qt.
Thanks for the encouragement

What's she saying?
What's that behind her
head forward if you want to get to
reception is where it all began for
me me me me myself and
I sometimes wonder what's happening in the
world around me.

Because I tend to lose myself in my own consciousness.

Tomorrow's rotten youth,
today's parents resposibility.
But they're rotten too.
Repulsive idiots, suburbmoms and car-driving fuckheads.
Don't worry though,
if something is bothering,
you can block your ears; like a hare,
locking the door that closes behind you.
What is left outside of that is what you're supposed to fear.

>>6120501
I can't decide if I like or hate this.

>>6119130
bump

I saw the man sitting, solemn
with head peeking over the festering pit
He had a wearied look, jaded by war
Another meaningless moment
In fetid fields, with no warning
For the blink that brought the bomb on
And all was smoke and body parts
Which once was a man
And the Greek poet Pindar
Haunted my heart more than the memory
Of the death, for the shadow's breath
We all are.

http://pastebin.com/bRQmEUGE

>>6120501
>>6121215

I like it. Partially because it made me feel obliged to share my own piece I wrote earlier. But I thought it was a take on daydreaming or if you go the darker route, schizophrenia.

Here it is.


Stream of deliverance

Eastern Europe the new middle east
Served up in a syringe of ideology with an ease;
Backstabbing demons, relinquished heathen
Seize the lever - emergency wheels released
And we’re moving through spaces we don’t see
So naturally we breathe this new sea of fresh
Eloquence I suppose is the hidden factor of grammatical actors
The artists of wordestry slaying words with black pens
On recycled trees, the semantics are changed if you read backwardly
The phrases keep being free and verse posed without stance or prose
Or structured laws and vows, wow what an ocean of wildfire in lines
Between the sky and I, I sensed a new arrival trying to act vital in my mind space;
Sometimes the place I retrace my steps to is filled with messes, erase them
And move through the old face, a façade of sentiments simple arrogance
Systematically senseless, if one were to ignore the flow of the crowded rats
the neurons intact will lose to plagues retaining space in your mentality’s endless labyrinth
a maze of proper living, be saved by your own senses replenish the elements of your expansive consciousness.

>>6120216
Find a poetry open mic

My name is Lazarus of Bethany. I spent my death peering
through the cracks in a tomb.
I liked the sleep. I liked the dark dust–
no, I did not care, or even ask to be raised
from the peace of death–Jesus wept– Martha wept
as she removed my damp wrappings

of linen. In the night, we burned my wrappings
and I could not stop peering
into the smoking fire pit. Still, my sisters wept.
They (and I) thought I was lost to the tomb.
Even as we added branches, and the fire raised
the flames still smelt of fabric, and the dust

of death. In sleep, I still smelt dust;
In my dreams, constricted still by funeral wrappings.
In the morning, when I was again raised
from a kind of death, sleep, I faced the new sun peering,
covering eyes against harsh light. The tomb
upon the hill was open still, where Jesus had wept


and had pried me out. I too then wept
not for Jesus, or my sisters, but for boats of dust
built, scattered round river Lethe like floating tombs.
Ss I poked the ashes of my burned wrappings,
In the distance I spotted converted Jews peering;
down at me, the good souls who had not left for the Pharisees. I raised

my arms, and waved back to them. They knew I was raised
from dead– I was the man for whom Jesus had wept.
Animated again, brought to life, spent peering
into the emptiness of death–the Kingdom of dust–
that had healed my rot– I can still smell those wrappings–
and how sudden light burned my eyes from the darkness of the tomb–


Now, life is death again, and I sleep in my tomb.
Resurrected every morning, yawning, raised–
blankets and furs slide off like funeral wrappings
after chilled Bethany nights. When my sisters wept,
thinking I was rot, decaying bone, disintegrated dust;
they should have known that one day we will all be peering


towards nothing but our own funeral wrappings. Yes, they wept
over my tomb–misplaced faith– amazed as I was raised;
But I am sorry Martha– Sorry Mary– it is into dust–that we are peering.

Lacerate fat coagulated under the bacterium breath of Bitches and beasts
Epidermis of soot and kootch, validated with violating relief
Sleeping again only heavies my sheets with dead skin, sweat and sins of unholy priests
Blue spectrum light reminds me not to give a f*c k about placebos and psychotic belief

Your pulchritude warmth in this hazy dream of desire and imminent demise
the crude of pride swallowed by your intent-less stride
Our projected hope upon the tombs of ephemeral f*cks
The ejaculate of gaseous giants, fertility in sentient smut

Shared suffering the nativity of empathy,
immortalized by birth right of fire and misery
there is no catharsis of the rich, psychic or enlightened that will inhabit the relapsed mind of love
impartial to reason and depth,
defining lines between time and the divine

I bloodied the man for being as confused as me.
I spit on your grave to distance me from the mutiny of my heart
You're placid skin reminds me that I ache profoundly
and your crown of dirt sentences me to inertia

I'm very sorry to you,
I do not want to hurt anymore,
I don't want to seek company,
I am morose to the core.

>>6120275
You did good champ

Oak’n vessel tossed at sea.
Feel its buoyant rift.
No rest for my weary soul.
Its grief comes as a thief.
Even the wine will not hear.
Why I pray, can’t you play?

My mind cannot correctly see the forest from the trees.
Ah my brothers! They would nurture the seed!
But instead they scold, for me being so bold.
For they know not that thief, nam’d wretched grief.

My heart is neither hard nor flimsy.
As it will neither roll nor can it be sold.
These rites and statutes.
Borne deep within my core; I want nothing more.
Exalted tree! I command you to never be hewn.

From dusk ‘til dawn you ponder their hate.
Heart, be not dismayed by vexation and strife.
For broods of armed men damn with words.
My heart. Rended. Consumed.
Filled with self-hate.

Brilliant Sun. Sly Moon.
Who continually wax and wane.
My thoughts, like a bloody pool,
Dull and dilute,
Do dim their celestial reign.
I long for the wings of that lovely dove,
To soar far, far away

I'm writing a sonnet for a class, is this at least iambic centimeter?
Despite the freezing air and snow tonight
I think I also want some wind to blow
a clearing wind that with it brings the light

>>6123822
*pentameter

Steam of consciousness stuff coming in.

A saint.
A day to celebrate supposed sin
Touting love and cheer and diabetes
Sweet to the bone
Arrow to the gut

Love me.

That day of nothing
Spent in solitude
To write and cry
Or
To seek beloved stupor
Too weak to stay another day.

Love can bloom, they say
Even on the battlefield.
It does, too, in lies
In shit.
In the vulnerable, desperate fool.
It did in me
Clearly.
Please God let it float me to my end

>>6123902
Well, shit, I had a direction in mind and it totally skewed. I suck and I'm a piece of shit

>>6123822
> 5 iambs
Looks right.

>>6119130
>My bones unclean and empty, mind a mess
>and empty
This proves how shit your grammar was. If you want to make a poetry make something that makes sense with proper sayings. Otherwise people would be confused on what you're saying. Don't believe me? Read a GED book! you'll find your answer to advance grammar.

>>6123914
I am entirely horrible at telling where stresses fall, thank you

Pollution
All around.
Sometimes up.
And sometimes down
but always around.
Pollution, are you coming to my town?
Or am I coming to yours?(hah)
We're on different busses, pollution
But we're both using petrol
.
.
.
BOMBS

>>6123639
I thought my poem was awesome. No one? Any critique?

>>6124080
There's a bunch of stuff in it that doesn't make sense

>>6124080
Also you need to avoid cliches.
You have overrated your poem.

>>6121525
It's nice man, I like it.
And yeah mine was a take on depersonalisation.

>>6124003

You complete and utter bastard.

>>6122486
Could I please get advice? I really have no gauge on whether this shit is salvageable or terrible.

I thought I could sketch out your substance
With the million poems that I had penned
But I found not even a shadow
Of who you are, and in all truth how I could begin
I know not what you are
Nor ever will
When you left me for Jody
When I was in jail
What was left of the dream
Fate had assailed
And life is no longer confusion
For I breath no more of the delusion

Every post in this thread is the reason why genre fiction is the only worthwhile literature being written today, and why Stephen King is our greatest living writer

>>6124427
Too many big words, too much that is nebulous. Be concrete and specific. Pare it back.

>>6124427
It's imagery is purposely disgusting and you really have to ask that question?

So my poetry improve with practice and reading more? I just wrote a few dumb poems, and they're total shit. I'm doing it in iambic pentameter, and while I enjoy doing it, the final product is often really bad and/or embarrassing.

This one's about music:
>A god or angel surely sent you here
>To organize our clustered buzzing combs
>And hives, transform the whistles of the birds,
>And sing with strength of thousands unheard song
>Which lies below the tongue; not once expressed
>Through word or text, yet growing in the mind
>Until it almost bursts our brains to bits.

This one was loosely inspired by the one about music, because people often just listen to music as something in the background and don't think about it much:
>The thoughtful often invites thoughtless- those
>That sit like vultures, feasting on that carcass killed
>By braver beasts than they will ever be.

I could have died for love and often thought
that such would be my fate to flee
the world and mortality, for i had brought
the spirit of pyramus, romeo, inside of me
But there was no fair love to flee this world
And i had grown to spitefully see
this thing called love had been unfurled
By centuries long decree
To be nothing but folly

>>6124638
'Mortality' sort of upsets the rhythm

>>6124650
you're right, thanks for the input.

He closed his eyes and dreamt of bulldozers
and cranes, and construction cones all floating down from the sky
at the beginning of everything

a genesis full of steam-rollers
and cement

He woke and tried to remember his dream, but it was gone
he dressed, showered, ate, and walked to class
passing on the way a church
and a park
and a man with a cardboard sign
and only one eye
and two dogs
and also a road crew rebuilding a road
and maybe himself

I killed the love of my life
I watched my savior eat rocks in a shallow grave
Oh my lonely well-known rife
I am going to depress and misbehave


I look outwardly to reality and what composes me
Entrust my heart to bitches
awaiting blunt death and directionless wishes
I rendered my soul willful under an ill full regime
of refuges and confused pipe dreams

Weezing in weasel dust
Absurdity envelops sobriety
Amiss among the salty seasoned cries of shallow sluts
Tapered to the ranks of ragged laborers
I get geeked and accept that I am a misplaced freak
I take responsibility and transparency,
for the filth inside of me.

I'm not going to be self confident
I'm going to continue being weak and temporary
I will find someone that defines a confidant
and sing odes to things I find arbitrary

>>6124660
go to bed, tao lin

I felt a fear very deep when the angel shoved my soul
In paralytic silence, and started to unroll the scroll of sinful thoughts
In my and other minds, and the livid beat of wings
Ceaselessly stung my shoulders
And the vision of a false god's followers
screamed his name into my mind, wholly His design?
My heart resisted the sound of the other
And as I lay smothered, I shouted His name
to save me for His mercy's sake
And so I then was relieved to take
a moment of reprieve, meditating on the scene

The legacy of our love haunts me
And will until the dust's reprieve
consumes my flesh yet i decree
I will not face you in my dreams
but will continue to dwell alone
the burden of light lingers the sun
yet still he climbs devoid of malice
the moon too ascends and flees
Slowly away from the petulant seas
of passion my soul leaves
youthful yearning as another's part
too restless for my shattered heart
to find such cause to grieve.

my rivulet leads me: to say
in between all of moody brooding
and boards which may
give a faint odor of crude oil,
i am really gay!!!

>>6125021
Brilliant and moving.

>>6119130
My rendition and improvement of your poem.

>>The rain came down in spiderweb strings
>>And struck the concrete street with relentless fall.
>>We watched the sky and clouds spin round, like soup
>>Inside a giant pot. My thoughts felt small,
>>My bones unclean and empty, mind a mess
>>In front of nature's brutal ignorance.
>>In steadfast terror, hearts spin round inside our breast,
>>Our hands fill up with salt water stains
>>Again hearts pound within our chest
>>And minds soon find they're nothing more than pain.

So my poetry improve with practice and reading more? I just wrote a few dumb poems, and they're total shit. I'm doing it in iambic pentameter, and while I enjoy doing it, the final product is often really bad and/or embarrassing.

This one's about music:
>A god or angel surely sent you here
>To organize our clustered buzzing combs
>And hives, transform the whistles of the birds,
>And sing with strength of thousands unheard song
>Which lies below the tongue; not once expressed
>Through word or text, yet growing in the mind
>Until it almost bursts our brains to bits.

This one was loosely inspired by the one about music, because people often just listen to music as something in the background and don't think about it much:
>The thoughtful often invites thoughtless- those
>That sit like vultures, feasting on that carcass killed
>By braver beasts than they will ever be.

You fags need to stop replying to your own shitty poetry to artificially inflate your worth.

>>6125680
Who are you referring to, mean person?
Why do you belittle, pound, and beat those
People making poems on a website,
With audacity to criticize on
Terms you do not know; and surely
Have inside some bitterness concealed and
Finding sweet relief in cynicism
Making fun of others to avoid the
Pain in owning up to being really
Really really really dumb and ugly!

>>6125751
#pwned

>>6125758
>>6125751
Samefag

>Everything in poetry workshops reads like slam poetry or spoken word
>They read their pieces like they were slam poetry or spoken word

HELP

My July sky, sunlit boo
This is for the special few
Love of hate, a great, bold view
Love of you is something new

Swinging arms and singing stars
Dancing with a maiden of Mars
Sleeping in old broke down cars
Touching all your dismal scars

I was selfish and I was wrong
I knew it true all along
Liquor lips and broken song
Trying to keep our love strong

Remember when the wind was warm
And the lightning bugs would perform
As if they knew all our troubles
If they knew we'd end in rubbles

>>6126165
The ones here are no better

>>6125751
>>6125663
>>6119233
>>6119130

>>6120436
It drags a little in the middle after 'pallid mornings', but you pull it together well in the final stanza. Also you build on the reader's empathy in a very subtle way, I always enjoy any poet who can draw value from the mundane

FREUD WAS RIGHT
EVERYTHING IS DICKS
I AM DICKS, YOU ARE DICKS
SKYSCRAPERS
I AM CONVINCED GRAVITY'S RAINBOW IS ABOUT DICKS
FREUD WAS RIGHT
DONT TELL MY MOM

>>6126425
You need to spit this shit over that OG Maco instrumental

>>6120436
best poem ITT. i was a put off by the warm gun when i got to it but after reaching the conclusion it seems like a fitting striking image.

good job.

>>6119130
test

Never Would Never Can
Never would never can
Neverwood nevercane
never would never can
never would never can
never would never can
neverwood nevercane
never dome eighty eight
clever bone mediate
neverwood nevercan
neverwoud ever can
never good never mad
never a million
never should never sell
neverwood cupids spell
ever done matenel
weather material
heavens interior
seven more wins this year
instagram pakistan
ever for nethrendan
never fadellington
winter chameleon
breakers man zillion
extra milleltitide
brether fermalidihide
creepers intensify
never will never can
is this a game youu play
help me to illustrate
whats it about this place
When can we meet again
ill be around somewhere
talkig to air and space
somewhere from far away
i see a holy place
novacaine eighty-eight
show me your not a prize
baby are you surprised
all of a sudden
its not so thoughtful
bring out the water
ever so fruitful
make me deliver
Jack to the Liver
aim it the most high
is it the same thing
theres nothing hurtful
about the nonsense
were packing’ forever
its on our conciseness
are we the ride
are we the prize
take me forever
but will it be worn i
i hope forever
i do i want forever
would you be together
with me by your side

oh ok goodnight

In The State of Just Existing

I've noticed this recurring event
Every waking moment is spent repeating
Every waking moment is spent
Pinching every perch foolish enough to breach the surface
Life's hallucinogen loses itself in itself
The universe is our cold state,
And we are forever freezing.
Never meant to see the sun.
Soothe the tongue, watch it bite down.
Feeling every feeling pass over into a dream;
A sleepless dream: Where life is loved unconditionally, and man never ages.
He strokes the gray, he picks the hairs out. He is still young.
The night is young and everlasting.
She is the moon, and her love is the sunrise.

>>6127143
20's Hunting

The sun yawned itself away, leaving nature at rest.
Besiding the hunters, the siren sounders;
Those who roam themselves, elapsing on the fates' pyre.
Red, red and sterile taste held in their hands

I stare through the burn, and there I see you
Your eyes not to me, someone's head held over your own
Yet it's a face I've known, known without shelter,
And without safety. I can smell the past on you.

Resting on white, in dreams drenched in our disrepair
Swaying in these forests of flesh, all of us one with the branches
Perhaps this is the only time in Ever's age
Where losing to the moon meant more than fighting through our days.

Hunters,
Seekers,
Blistering birds.
Returned to the new end-days of this world's first war.

>>6127149
Stockholm and the Damage Done

An evening marker coated in snow
Flight travels a distance I do not yet know
Every ocean drifts me further away
Away from the torment, from the passion and the pain.

Yet, I still see your eyes, bygone
In a similar stare, lost in the memories of the starry sky
The altitudes which I have never lived
Bring me back to the hell to which I never leave.

Floating above the deep blue nothingness
Finding everything hidden within the endlessness
The iceberg mindscape, sinking every ship
Down to the graves we call “forever home”.

Picking up the pieces, to make a white puzzle
The race has been lifted, horizon miles straight ahead
Now is my time, to shed from the sheath
To watch every last staining blade fall, underneath.

>>6127184
>>6127149
>>6127143
Rate these three?

>>6127187
they're so winded

how long did it take you to write those? did you FEEL anything when you did or did you make up a love storygggg

Here's my first attempt at iambic pentameter. Bear in mind that english is not my native.

>It is the coldest winter of my heart
>Though yet there is no single flake of snow
>The reaper calmly strings his deadly bow
>The arrow flies and breaks me into shards
>Her face is fleeting 'fore my eyes in haste
>Her fading memory fails to stir my blood
>Her footsteps slowly vanish in the mud
>And leave no trace, no sound; just endless waste.
>What is a spark that cannot start a fire?
>A vile excuse for everything that's foul
>The feeble mage has cast a wayward spell
>That will not make a knight the lowly squire
>And lest the packs of wolves so sadly howl
>My heart's desire must I with tears now quell.

>>6127205
Yeah I felt something. Theyre poems that capture the feeling I had in the moment I wrote them in. I write poems in a stream of consciousness style.

What do you mean winded? Is that bad?

>>6127220
i liked the first one

but not enough to read the second besides the bottom part

or the third...

I'm probably not the guy to ask

>>6127212
Comments on this, anyone?

>>6127187
They aren't good. Rethink your approach.

bumping; for great justice,
for many have keenly asked us
to indulge them our vision
to extrapolate the option
of their amateur scribblings.
for these are the smallest things
that matter the greatest for most;
and on that high note - on the E strings -
is how i will end my humble post.

"My shadow shrinks more than yesterday,"
He remarks with a mouth full of crumbs.
They fall and fill his cheeks.

His chest, naked and painted and young,
On which together we play chess,
Heaves with life.
I strategically roll over his preferences, his boundaries,
Sweat, sweet sweet, he kisses me,
His delicate lips full of sweat.

But I do not return the gesture; my approach undetermined yet.

Spontaneous meetings today at the morning table.
Outbursts of mourning at the mesa.
"El joven está comprado,"
You spill, your mouth full of words.
Your body empty in worlds.

You eyes sparkle
Green and blue and white.
The morning was gone without so much as another misplaced fight.

Walking with you today on the way to class,
I dreamt that you and I alone were
Built of glass.
I turn to relay my vision to you
But you're dressed as Faustus, eyes on her,
Traded our love to live anew.

My eye rolls back tonight in its socket
While you hold my hand cold in your pocket.
The death of us is just a memory in your locket.

Lie a bit
On the couch
When the phone rings

Novel means entertainment
And music and fashion;
But then how can
The future compare

To the offers
Of friends

And wasting Cash
And my own precious
Existence

It isn't my own
And to live vicariously
Is a life
And to live for others
Is a life

And i'll take it
For the happiness of
others
Happy as I am
To see lovers
Hand-holding
In the street

____

Just bored - stream of consciousness

HERE'S A LIL QUATRAIN I WROTE LAST NIGHT WHILE WATCHING SOME PORNO

This pornstar fucks like someone I know
Her moans and face; her moves and cries
And in place of lust I'm filled with sorrow
And every woman I'm with is you in my mind

sun weeping
falls
of
rain
into silk-ridden hair.
drip,
drip,
down
her curves-weaving
into Concrete.
We
could
now
spin!
spin!
spin!

>>6130292
Can someone please rate it. I never receive criticism.

>>6130321
Rate this dick bitch nigga

>>6128661
here is my poem i call it f5

oh f5, ring in the morning
ring in the day
ring in each minute of my life!
f5 this and f5 that
everything will be refreshed
and taste as good as coca cola(tm)

My free-verse poem. There's more meaning to it than you think. Please give me critique.

>>6124678
please review.

Would like an idea of how to write effectively and what I am doing wrong

>>6130767
congratulations, it's self important shit.

>>6124678
>>6131016
poetry is not supposed to be a puzzle. you need to provide context and be clear. no one knows what these lines mean except for you.
>my savior eat rocks in a shallow grave
>Tapered to the ranks of ragged laborers

don't talk in generalities and abstractions. be concrete and specific.
>I am going to depress and misbehave
>I look outwardly to reality and what composes me
>Absurdity envelops sobriety

>>6127212
still waiting for reviews on this

>>6131016
Read 10 poetry anthologies.

>>6127212
Ok I'll scan it for you you whiny shit

it IS the COLest WINTer OF my HEART

It CAN scan first line as iambic, however, since we're in a time of free verse, most of those monosyllables will be scanned as unstressed by normal people. Keep that in mind.

though/THOUGH YET/yet THERE is NO SINGle FLAKE of SNOW

the ARRow FLIES and BREAKS me INto SHARDS

her FACE is FLEETing FORE my EYES in HASTE

her FADing MEMory FAILS to STIR my BLOOD

her FOOTSTEPS SLOWly VANish IN the MUD

and LEAVE no/NO TRACE, no/NO SOUND; JUST ENDless WASTE

what IS a SPARCK that CANNOT/not START a FIRE

a VILE EXcuse for EVeryTHING that's FOUL

the FEEBle MAGE has CAST a WAYWARD SPELL

that WILL NOT/not MAKE a KNIGHT the LOWly SQUIRE

and LEST the PACKS of WOLVES so SADly HOWL

my HEART'S deSIRE MUST/must I with TEARS now/NOW QUELL

>>6127212
redundancies:
>fleeting/haste
>vile/foul

>fading memory fails to stir my blood
this is obviously untrue

is this a rhyming scheme you've made up or is it standard?

overall it's decent

>>6131860
>>6131886
Thanks. But why do you think
>fading memory fails to stir my blood
is untrue?

Rhyming scheme is literally what I looked up on Wikipedia

and
>whiny shit
wow rude

Ive never been critiqued, so i have nothing to base my self worth on.

But here is a random thing i wrote:

The weather rages on,
people forcing doors,
trying to keep it out.
but the cold still creeps like disease
the amber glow on snow
shines like gold
in the night familiar.
the moon was out early, eager for the show
of acrobats
in the snow
of snow, on snow
they flowed and danced
on icy paths
buffered by the cold.

i like simple flow, I cringe at some work here that is like: The cold shattered my soul. For me, it feels forced.

So my poetry improve with practice and reading more? I just wrote a few dumb poems, and they're total shit. I'm doing it in iambic pentameter, and while I enjoy doing it, the final product is often really bad and/or embarrassing.

This one's about music:
>A god or angel surely sent you here
>To organize our clustered buzzing combs
>And hives, transform the whistles of the birds,
>And sing with strength of thousands unheard song
>Which lies below the tongue; not once expressed
>Through word or text, yet growing in the mind
>Until it almost bursts our brains to bits.

This one was loosely inspired by the one about music, because people often just listen to music as something in the background and don't think about it much:
>The thoughtful often invites thoughtless- those
>That sit like vultures, feasting on that carcass killed
>By braver beasts than they will ever be.

as I chase and poke through brush and growth
my senses contract, expand, explode
questioning rays through canopies shone
only here I am alone

>>6132476
>fading memory fails to stir my blood
is untrue because the narrator is obviously stirred by her absence

>>6132813
>shines like gold
>>6132917
>A god or angel surely sent you
don't use cliches

>>6131759

Tapered to the ranks of ragged laborers was especially concrete, just a poetic way of describing being caught in a failing society and resorting to the same hedonism that others have.

But thank you will revise and do :)

>>6120275
Really good acually.

Lose me in a moments time
Like the fading light
Or the sliver tide
But put me in a line you write
And bury me 'neath forest bright
That roots may turn this hurt to wine

An hour here, an hour there
Tripping around the garbage can
Sliding between thought and action
And counting hairs on paying plans
Saint Peter will call, that I'm sure
Checking the sun-watch, counting meals
Some fight it, some kite it, some none
Pass their days as statues on wheels
It's very strange, these people are
Results of evolution's fee
And live their lives with greats and giants
Like blank slots on a lottery

>>6133805
Tripping throws off the rhythm. You don't say it like 'triPPING', you say it like 'TRIpping'. In your first line, you end on a stressed syllable, 'there'. Going into a stressed syllable from another stressed one doesn't work.

Father

When I was a boy,
My father taught me to ice-fish.
Here’s a memory;

Father drills a hole,
the auger bounces, vibrates, roars,
shaving ice– soon
the blade connects with winter water,
–the engine fades off.
I fish floating ice chunks from the hole with a skimmer
while
Father sets the trap, ties the sinker, and hooks the minnow
thru its side.
He lowers the line
gently into the fish hole; the bait plunges to the lake bed.
Father reels up the slack, pitches the three legged trap
above the exposed black water
and we wait for a trout, or a snarled toothed pickrel.

Father,
I have learned

to fish for thoughts
with an ice–trap. When the flag
springs up, I reel
slippery ideas up from deep darkness.
As they flop, I pull the hook out from their lips,
knock them in the head,
throw them in a pail; as I gut them, I spill fish blood on the white snow.

>>6133452

Not bad