/lit/ - Literature

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
--John Donne Holy Sonnet X

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than He
Whom thunder hath made greater?
-Milton

can it be original?

NIGHT SCHOOL
Charles Bukowski

in the drunk driver's class
assigned there by division 63
we are given tiny yellow pencils
to take a test
to see if we have been listening
to the instructor.
questions like: the minimum sentence for a
2nd drunk driving conviction is:
a) 48 days
b) 6 months
c) 90 days
there are 9 others questions.
after the instructor leaves the room
the students begin asking the questions:
"hey, how about question 5? that's a
tough one!"
"did he talk about that?"
"I think its 48 days."
"are you sure?"
"no, but that's what I'm putting
down."
one women circles all 3 answers
on all questions
even though we've been told to
select only one.

on our break I go down and
drink a can of beer
outside a liquor store.
I watch a black hooker
on her evening stroll.
a car pulls up.
she walks over and they
talk.
the door opens.
she gets in and
they drive off.

back in class
the students have gotten
to know each other.
they are a not-very-interesting
bunch of drunks.
I visualize them sitting in a
bar
and i remember why
I started drinking
alone.

the class begins again.
it is discovered that I am
the only one to have gotten
100 percent on the test.

I slouch back in my chair
with my dark shades on.
I am the class
intellectual.

IF.....

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


-- kipling

>>621239

Go for it

Mindspeak

It’s hard for me to think a thought,
So I must think aloud.
It’s norm. that you would think of this aught,
But imagine this happened in a crowd …
This one thinks “if I may”
This one “if I might”
Another says “what a shame”
Another “what a fright”
So you see what horrors might arise,
For me … personally,
When my deepest secrets are no surprise,
And everyone’s looking at me.

Pedestrian

Asphalt black and asphalt bare,
Cars that overuneth.
Cement that’s grey, green grass at right,
Why don’t it overcometh?
One walks along,
And stops along,
To smell the roses there.
But the flowers he sees,
Nonwithstanding the bees,
Breath exhaust instead of air.

The Vacation

Once there was a man who filmed his vacation.
He went flying down the river in his boat
with his video camera to his eye, making
a moving picture of the moving river
upon which his sleek boat moved swiftly
toward the end of his vacation. He showed
his vacation to his camera, which pictured it,
preserving it forever: the river, the trees,
the sky, the light, the bow of his rushing boat
behind which he stood with his camera
preserving his vacation even as he was living it
so that after he had had it he would still
have it. It would be there. With a flick
of a switch, there it would be. But he
would not be in it. He would never be in it.

~Wendell Berry

insp. utawarerumono?

So high the casualties in battle,
When one king fights another.
The men go fight, to battle do,
Man fights man, and kill each other,
No one wins, just die, and kill.
The emperor, king, or lord just stays,
At home and plays around,
And orders food from in the town.
While soldiers fight, knowing not for what,
Their captains order them about,
Lieutenants lead with just a shout,
And send them running all about.
But the best of them, the ones in charge,
Generals, kings, and great men all,
To them, all answer beck and call,
To, with a purpose, fight and fall.
A sense of right and loyalty,
Instilled when serving royalty,
Which cares about your loyalty.

Travel Plans

Yesterday, last summer, I found myself astray,
Flittin’ and a’flutter, along my merry way.
Presently I passed a field, grassy, green, and flowery,
The beauty and majestic nature came across like royalty.
I took the next few miles, jogging on the quick,
Jumping, spinning, dancing, trying out new tricks.
I passed through many villages, medium, big and small,
Some I saw, so small and quaint, they had no name to call.
The progression of my journey took me through the night,
And so, a farm I saw along, took pity on my plight.
The food was served, a massive feast! It surely made the grade.
Afterwards, to lie my head, a bed of down was made.
The next day starting nice and early, found me on the road,
My mood so jolly, full of cheer, I scarcely felt my load.
Lunch I had by a small lake, a swim I took to clear my mind,
The fish a’flittin‘, swam about. The water clear and cool and kind.
The evening finds me once again traveling the road,
I find that now I recognize every flower, stick and stone,
And now I am dead-tired, weary right down to the bone,
Because I am finally making that hard Long Journey Home.

Trust Me?

If you need to put at ease,
That twisted thing you call a mind
If your sure, and that’s the case
Then turn your head and look behind …
Every wall and good intention,
Every kindness, every face,
Every smile and dementia,
Every moment of disgrace.
And when your good and satisfied,
That there is nothing more to hide,
To find the truth, Your eye make blind,
And what you get is what you find.

When she came on, you couldn't keep your seat;
Fighting your way up through the orchestra,
Tup-heavy bumpkin, you confused your feet,
Fell in the drum - how we went ha ha ha!
But once you gained her side and started waltzing
We all began to cheer; the way she leant
Her cheek on yours and laughed was so exalting
We thought you were stooging for the management.

But no. What you did, any of us might.
And saying so I see our difference:
Not your aplomb (I used mine to sit tight),
But fancying you improve her. Where's the sense
In saying love, but meaning indifference ?
You'll only change her. Still, I'm sure you're right.

?Life?

I don’t know what I’m doing’
Or what I’m gonna do.
I don’t know where I’m going,
Or where I’m gonna go.
I can’t tell what I’m feeling,
Or what I’m doing here.
I wish I had the answers to answer all of these,
But right now since I’m tired, I’ll just go back to sleep

Iceman

An assignment I had to write a story,
First person and spooky, not necessarily gory.
But as I sat at my desk with my pen and my brain,
Neither thought nor idea could I seem to obtain.

A wonderful brainstorm struck like a snake,
There was a good friend of mine called Bobby Drake.
He was a cheerful, smiling, peaceful old fellow,
But could tell creepy stories from here till tomorrow.

I jumped in my car and drove to his house.
What luck! The light in the windows made me feel less a louse,
For knocking so late on the door like a souse,
And he opened the door quietly so his wife he’d not rouse.

I explained to him quickly my risk of low grade,
If, on the morrow, my dues were not paid.
It would cost me a story, one spooky at that,
So Bob acquiesced with a doff of his hat.

He told me a story, a story he told,
Of a day in the past, a day that was cold.
That day had been as cold as can be,
So cold he could barely explain it to me.

Birds freezing midair, falling crack! to their death,
Air stopping in lungs so none caught a breath.
Iced people had fallen and lay in the street,
Frozen, shattered, cracked off at the feet.

“The Iceman is coming” came word from one man.
Who had luckily been able to get in his van,
His wife and three children he’d lost on that day,
How it had happened … he just would not say.

Bob suddenly stopped, his face etched with fear,
I too, now felt the hard chill in the air.
Bob froze, and fell, and broke with a crack,
With the cold on my heels, I fled out the back.

As I ran to my car and fumbled the keys,
My heart beating fast, and a shake in my knees,
I tried not to breath of the chilled summer air.
For Bobs' final words I remembered with fear …

“The Iceman Cometh”

Poetry

Finally, a place to vent my anger and frustration,
This pen and paper that I use, the symbols of my station,
And as I write it clears my head, my heart, my mind, my soul,
I find myself, and cleanse my self, so I can bear my roll.

#@*%& OFF!

My brain is fried,
My heart has died,
My eyes begin to burn.
I want to kick to strike out hard,
My mind tells me to kill, kill, kill,
Wherever I go I start to turn,
To find somewhere inside this crowd,
Where I can go to sit, be still,
Because all the actions that are done,
In front of me, to everyone,
I hate to see because they're done,
To hurt, to harm, with shameful aim,
At colleague, friend, and those afraid,
Of some strange benign deformity,
Of mind, of shape, they're casualty,
Of those who think themselves above the rest,
Who hide away on dusty, upper shelves,
All books of morals and doings right,
And are indifferent, to the plight,
Of those, they think, below them, in might,
And in doing so cause harm and shame ,
To those who are different only in name,
And go their way,
No harm and no foul
And leave in their wake,
A trail that is full,
And littered to boot,
With people who come from every root,
Who find themselves the victim again,
Of the mean, or thoughtless, or those with a whim
To cause others pain.
And so it begins,
Again.

Ode (in ancient meter)

Hardly had I thought I should learn to perish;
Ever young, enwrapped in my robe I wandered,
Raising dreamy eyes to the star styled often
Solitude's symbol.

All at once, however, you crossed my pathway -
Suffering - you, painfully sweet, yet torture...
To the lees I drank the delight of dying -
Pitiless torment.

Sadly racked, I'm burning alive like Nessus,
Or like Hercules by his garment poisoned;
Nor can I extinguish my flames with every
Billow of oceans.

By my own illusion consumed I'm wailing
On my own grim pyre in flames I'm melting...
Can I hope to rise again like the Phoenix
Bird from the ashes?

May all tempting eyes vanish from my pathway
Come back to my breast, you indifferent sorrow!
So that I may quietly die, restore me
To my own being!

Anger Unmanaged

My blood begins to boil,
As it flows on through my veins,
It bubbles and it roils,
As it passes through my brain,
My brain absorbs all that it can,
The cells absorbs some more,
It overflows, it overfills,
It fills up to the core.

And so filled, there’s room for naught,
No room for mind, no room for thought,
No room for any brain or notion,
Only blind enraged emotion.

The anger comes, the anger goes,
And like the blood, the anger flows,
Through brain and vein, through limb and nerve,
It flows with spirit, vim, and verve,
And like the blood, it fills me up,
It overbrims my mental cup.

My Reasoning falls on the floor,
My I.Q. never felt so poor,
And the focus that I’ve held so long,
Which kept me up and made me strong,
Is here no more,
It all is gone.

Crime. Punishment? (insp black cobra)

Cries for help assault the ears,
A quick glance confirming all the worst fears,
Vandals and thieving and murder galore,
These criminals here do all this and more,
Young rebels, old con men,
Assassins and crooks,
Jewel thieves, hit men,
And cookers of books,
The people who plan and execute such,
The fodder who don’t even think too much,
The crimes they commit,
The people they hit,
The stores that are robbed,
The cops who’re mobbed,
All are done without any compunction,
As if this is the victims only function,
To be, as it’s called, an “easy mark”,
To get stepped on and kicked, and robbed in the park,
Lawyers and children,
Merchants and teens,
Doctors and drivers,
And all those between,
Are not safe on the streets,
Are not safe in their homes,
While felons and outlaws,
And drug lords still roam.

The Vampire 1 (insp. lestat)

The blood that flows
Upon the street
Eternity
Time flows different
A long time past when blood flowed freer
The lives of men were worth less
Blood flowed
So free it was
In darkness the lives that were led
Kept from the books, forever undead
Eternal existence
The vampire
Pitiless
Dangerous, alone, darkly cold
They wander the earth
With no place to go
Wherever they go
Can be called home

Power there is, in strength and in killing
In existence so empty, it brings some small meaning
To kill without caution,
The pure senseless slaughter
Achieved by one who feels so alone
With no other feelings, none of his own
No one to love, no one to hate
No one to scorn, no one to beat

Blood that is drunk, brings life to the dead
The ruthless, the savage, the fearless
Of death or destruction, of life and the living
Eternal beings, uncaring of wealth
The whole world belongs to
The living of death
Though one thing is missing
The fine gift of life
Pity.

? ?

What does it mean to be alive?
To feel the wind rush through your eyes,
To find the joy in the worst of times,
To find the good in the worst of kinds.

What does it mean to find yourself?
To bring your feelings off shelf,
To put aside what holds you down,
To discover within, what brings a frown.

What does it mean to have a friend?
To someone, with whom, the rules to bend,
To trust, to enjoy, to know, to care,
To find and make encounters to share.

What does it mean to be in love?
To honor another, like the one above,
To embrace each day with the freshest kiss,
To take each breath, so sweet it is!

but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets,
but not so very much
poetry.

>>621284

thank you

How odd,
of g-d,
to choose
the jews.

- ogden nash


it is not odd,
the jews chose god.

-- in response

Up through earth's core
through the seventh gate I rose
and on the throne of Saturn sate
and many a knot unraveled by the road
but not the master knot of human fate

Emoting (insp. Hp)

A smile.
So uplifting,
To the spirit,
It cheers, it’s bright, it’s real, it’s right.
A hug.
So innocent,
A thing to do,
To love, to leave, to greet, to grieve.
A kiss .
So small a thing,
With ease you miss,
So wet, so warm, so weird, so wild.
A word.
So much power.
For everything.
Can hurt, can heal, can turn, can kill.

one mans poetry is another mans gibberish.

one mans gibberish is another mans poetry.

and now for some gibberish.

Towels and Toasters and Breadloaves, oh my!

Sometimes late at night I find myself awonderin’,
My body starts to drifting, my mind begins its wandering,
At first the strands of thought that trickle through my brain,
Come across as … basic, you might even say tame,
But as time goes on and there I lie,
Inert of limb and closed of eye,
Dark shadows flash before my sight,
And I start to shiver a bit with fright,
And that’s when it takes a turn for the worst,
And I begin to think I’m cursed,
For weirdness creeps up and won’t go away,
And some of the things I saw in the day,
Are transformed into the most nightmarish monsters,
Like evil blue towels and invading toasters,
That come well armed with loaves of bread,
Which they take to hurling at my head,
Pounding, pounding till I’m dead,
And finally I scream “enough already”,
“Any more will kill me I say”,
And just as I can’t take one more,
I find I’ve fallen on the floor,
And my radio clock is blaring loud,
It calls me from the sleeping shroud,
And then it gets up on both legs,
Busying itself at laying eggs,
Which hatch more toasters … and lots of bread.

When once upon there never was
As like another then as such
Where finding others brings another
Many others find themselves

Though ne’er one to give in to it
The last of any other brings
As brings within though never cited
As with the thought of any thing

One time I said and did as told
That time I was as such not bold
For much long time this went on long
My body weakened, mind grew strong

When came the time that I decided
I would leave this horrid place
I would no longer take what’s given
I would not longer what I was told

Where bringeth fore where e’ere cometh
That which now is shown anew
To being any full of folly
Being aught but any foul

Most strident offal simply shinning
Causes singeing causes pain
Although the constituency screaming
Nothing sacred naught ordained

If egress causes anguish faulty
Brings that twisting turning scream
Some heavy crimping cramping style
Ever bringing never still

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And--"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.

What is poetry but the outpouring of ones emotions?

how can anyone profess to completely understand another's feelings?

All assured act aberrant
Aggregating as alone
After ample allocation
Awful actuality ascends

Being bogart brings back brutal
Bilious baleful bagatelle
Bodacious bigoted banality
Bitterly balancing bashful bane

Confusion counting closely captive
Calling challenge courses changing
Central claimants calibration
Clearly causes careful calm

Dereliction destitution
Dare defiance desecration
Delirious diurnal dancing
Dear departed dedication

Elegizing esoteric
Empty ebbing ending era
Elegiac enterprising
Endearingly empowered endings

His promises were the surgeon's gag,
Her promises took the top off his skull,
She would get a brooch made of it.
His vows pulled out all her sinews,
He showed her how to make a love-knot.
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer.
Their screams stuck in the wall.

CRAWLING IN MY SKIN
THESE WOUNDS THEY WILL NOT HEAL
FEAR IS HOW I FALL
CONFUSING WHAT IS REAL

amidoinitrite?

Another classic

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-William Ernest Henley, Invictus.

>>621327

i like it

Abou Ben Adhem
by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold: -
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
"What writest thou?" -The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

i grew up, a fuckin screw up,
got introduced to the game,
got an ounce and fuckin blew up,
choppin' rocks overnight,
the nigga biggie smalls tryin to turn into the black frank white,
we had to grow dreads to change our description,
2 cops is on a milk box missin',
show'd they toes you know they got stepped on,
a fist full of bullets a chest full of teflon,
run from the police, picture that,
nigga i'm too fat, fuck around an catch an asthma attack,
that's why i bust back, it don't phase me,
when he drop, take his glock then i'm swayze,
celebrate my escape, sold the glock, bought some weight,
lay back, i got some money to make, mothafucka

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

---emily dickinson

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

----emily dickenson

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away


"Antigonish" (1899) first verse only
---William Hughes Mearns

Thanks for the opportunity to share my attempts at poetry guys.

thread revival

>>621473

appreciated

Czas
Jest biały, wydłużony
W stronę serca.
Ptaki rosną przez serce.

Gdzie czas się kończy, po drugiej stronie serca
Mieszkasz niewidzialna.
Powietrze
Szepce
Do mnie Twoje ciało.

Miłość jest krwią rozległą.

Gwiazdy są echem Twoich oczu
I poruszają się po ścieżkach
Wydeptanych przez Twoje sny
Gdzie noc się kończy.

Gdzie śmierć się kończy moja pamięć rozszerzona

Time
It is white, elongated
Heartward.
Birds grow through the heart.

Where time is up, the other side of the heart
Live invisible.
Air
Whispers
To me your body.

Love is an extensive blood.

Stars are an echo of your eyes
I move along the paths
Beaten by your dreams
Where the night ends.

Where death ends my memory extended

A Wrinkle in Time,
Awrinkl’in Thyme,
Thyme to dry,
Thyme to grind,
To grind and grind,
Exceedingly fine,
The Wheel of Time grinds,
A wrinkle from Thine.
n Spring,
The Rain,
washes over my window.

Hot Summer,
The Sunshine,
hits full and embrightens.

Long Winter,
The Ice,
who will slip who will fall.

Come Autumn,
The Leaves,
paint over the sidewalk.

>>621581
A Wrinkle in Time,
Awrinkl’in Thyme,
Thyme to dry,
Thyme to grind,
To grind and grind,
Exceedingly fine,
The Wheel of Time grinds,
A wrinkle from Thine.
-
-
in Spring,
The Rain,
washes over my window.

Hot Summer,
The Sunshine,
hits full and embrightens.

Long Winter,
The Ice,
who will slip who will fall.

Come Autumn,
The Leaves,
paint over the sidewalk.

>>621208
HHh
T+T
+tt
pPP
;;.
///
///
ÀÀA
+tt
...
kkK
ÌÌÌ
MmM
MMm
Ooo
Áàà
;.,
sSS
EeE
///

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!


Some English guy.

>>621665
>Some English guy.

>>621209
hHH
t+t
+T+
pPP
,,:
///
///
áÀÁ
+Tt
;:;
KKk
Íiì
mmm
MMM
Oòò
AÁá
..,
S$5
EE€
///

Waiting... forevermore.
By Drake Blacula.

God is a spectre, comprised in malevolent, benevolent, omnipotent myths,
barely surreal, barely tangible yet people will die to say he exists.
I can scarcely submit to a duplicitous force,
Wrapped in hypochondria, hypocrisy and lies of course.
But the fact still remains that am what I am.
A cog functions not like a dog functions, but just like a man?
I am my own me,
It’s all I will be,
I’m fake, I’m a lie but I’m honest you see.
I know what I do and I hate what I don’t
but the fact still remains that just because I can means I won’t.
I don’t care what you think, I don’t care for the lies.
Your mind is made up, regardless the reprise.
Now wrapped in my rhetoric, you see you are with one of the best
but again I’m lying, I’m cheating, I’m the exact same as the rest.

Light has no weight, it barely exists
but it does, don’t deny or I will have to insist.
Life must be more than the sum of its parts
or really all philosophy is just a fanciful farce.

There was a man who lived in leeds
who filled his garden full of seeds
and when those seeds began to grow
it was like a garden filled with snow
and when the snow began to melt
it was like a ship without a belt
and when the ship began to sail
it was like a bird without a tail
and when that bird began to fly
it was like an eagle in the sky
and when the sky began to roar
it was like a lion at the door
and when the door began to crack
it was like a pitchfork in my back
and when my back began to bleed
i was dead, dead, dead indeed

Fuck I love rhymes.