/lit/ - Literature

fuck shit
this

Is there a more fallacious phrase
than the phrase,
"fight [it] from the inside"?
If you are still compelled to fight
[it],
then you are not inside

>>6583600
Jason Segel is a good DFW, by looks at least

>>6584554
The only good DFW is a dead DFW.

1
The man he arrives
He is stronger than a bear
But a bear that rides a bicycle
And dances for pleasure and show

Aye, the man he arrives
And he so dances for pleasure
For pleasure and amusement

>>6584234
Huh, the brackets do their job and are cool. I like it.

Red is ribald, rapturous,
Resplendent in the sun.
Red shines every dawn and dusk
When day is start and done.

Red is warm and light and life
The heat that moves us all.
Red is fire, lovely, hot
And too the leaves of Fall.

Red is crimson, scarlet, brick
All ruddy hues and shades.
Red is fight and war and death
The last step 'fore the grave.

Red, at last, is sacrifice,
The blood I shed for thee.
Red, too, is the blood of Him
Who died upon the tree.

As limbs that lithe began to preen and spread
With Grecian grace, unfolding me to you,
Arrest without a sign, turn stony dead,
With iron pace I labor into bed

The old and rusted chain of hoary steel
That sputters in my chest begins to creak
In dusky beats it measures what I feel,
A heavy ballast sinking through a keel

Electric waves that crest within the mind
Are equalized to lap a lonely thought,
A mad recursion, sparking blue with times
When hope had swelled unto a bursting rind

>>6584234
You need to quit tumblr. You put up brilliant stuff like this and it gets ignored but you get flooded with notes for some muh feelings shit.

you hope—that
i am your—sweet sweet lullaby
when you cry—out
for help in the night

oh—so desperately
trying—to be relieved
of all your endless suffering

i know—that
you try—but
age just can't be beat

Laying with my kin
Sunlight goes through wind ,
and wind goes through skin,
grass through feet so thin.
Laying with my kin,
of green goldskin,
lilac fragrance in the wind,
of trembling hairs so thin,
Sprouting from their skin
so fair,
so keen.
Singing chasm fairy's songs
Of chiming dreary tones,
from a cursed awry tome,
in a long forgotten dream,
from memory deep within,
now laying in a field,
with my kin of green goldskin,
the dream gone in wind, no more stream of somber sound,
no crimson cinder,under dark cowl,
nor stark awls and owl howls.
But remember no past now, 'cause:
In sunwind, glowing, with goldreen lightskin flowing.
Up on grassfeet so thingreen,treading softly with lofty threads of tremulous hairs. Upon lichen floors of wooden halls; the crimson cinders, smothered, under the golthindreen feet of my wee kin.

>>6584753
I like this one, nice contrast with the strong as bear , but it's actually a dancing bear.
>>6584816
This one caused some interesting visual imagery on my mind, nice vocabulary too.

>>6584753
i like the bit about the bear being a dancing bear

Thunder on the mountain, and there's fires on the moon.
A ruckus in the alley and the sun will be here soon.
Today's the day where I'm gonna grab my trombone and blow.
Well, there's hot stuff here and it's everywhere I go

I was thinking about Alicia Keys, couldn't keep from crying
When she was born in Hell's Kitchen, I was living down the line
I'm wondering where in the world Alicia Keys could be
I been looking for her even clear through Tennessee

Feel like my soul is beginning to expand
Look into my heart and you will sort of understand
You brought me here, now you're trying to turn me away
The writing on the wall, come read it, come see what it does say.

it's impossible
i feel
to really appreciate the value
of a poem
on 4chan
there is too much information
moving to quickly
for subtlety to be acknowledged
posting "excerpts" here
is pretty much like shouting
in a dark room full of people shouting
and expecting to be heard
and appreciated

>>6585101
would make awesome alt country song / 10

Roses are red
Wololo
Roses are blue

Earnest Hemingway raped English
He gagged her and tied her to a chair
Had his way with his contemporaries
Beat her afterwards
Sixty eight days later
She doesn't feel it anymore

I have most passion
When I know that I'm wrong,
So I'll yell these lies from
The closest mountaintop.

There's a swamp in Louisiana
I often dream about.
One day I'll get there
But until then I'll stamp and shout.

I'll seek out the viking biker
Who stole my golden beard.
Put my hand on his shoulder
Offer him a damn good deal

Give me a ride and I'll
Let you
Keep the beard.

bump

>>6585129
Gold My Love gold.

With every year
Comes that time

When perfection reigns, joy is conceptualized
Platos illumination basks us

Offering shocks of night
And jolts of day

Forging memories fused with serenity and imbued with bliss
As Aristotle's rays feed us life

And with its conclusion
Depravity reemerges, like the death of Augustus

And witnessing with bare eyes
The successor of epitomized perfection; corrosion

Looking up and gazing upon the brightness and its confident intensity
Feeling, touching, desiring, loving;

Socrates' light is nowhere to be found

Didn’t you know
The stars are actually dead
Long since extinguished
And space is very cold
And dark, and static

Remember them
Not as they are, but as they were
Miracles of existence
Pearls sewn into a midnight dress
Hear the owl give a soft eulogy
That cuts through the thin air

Mother
Bother
Thinking anything
Is worth it anymore

Questions
Lesions
Your stomach
Is full of rust

Numbly
Comely
This empty house
Is normalcy

Maybe
When we're older
The space between our rooms
Won't seem so big

The space between our moons
Won't be so thick

Let's hope distance makes us fit

>>6585214
This is actually the only non-autist thing I've read so far.

SoC:

Novel(la)

Sometimes you jimmy it enough, life, and the tongue that you machined to be one-eighteenth bigger than the groove slip, firmly, into each other…something that looks like it was made to not fit suddenly fits better, and will for longer, than something made “perfect.” And the only thing you can do wrong the whole day is almost accidently wear your watch into the shower, because you wear it so much that it has almost becomes an extension of yourself, like a rubber band you might wear on your right wrist, for reasons you can’t really explain to other people…like everything, it’s a symbol for something. No one wants to get punched in the face, not in their suburban life, with their kids and their dog, but it can be good while it lasts, to get in the ring, not so much to punch life in the face, but to take a few straight rights and realize, this isn’t bad…fighting not for money but just for the euphoria of winning, or knowing that you lived. I hope there’s a heaven some…I can’t say somewhere because I don’t choose to believe it is somewhere. I started to call God itself instead of himself, but I feel great about it. I imagine that this is how James Franco felt when he was just playing the good-looking friend of Peter Parker, and no one knew about all the rest, except for him. I just need to avoid the part where I turn into a bastard…did he even ask Cormac McCarthy about half the stuff he’s doing now? He probably says, “McCarthy itself isn’t hard to work with, it’s just appropriating it to the screen, or the stage…” What a bastard.

>>6584234
Fuck off kolsti you're garbage

>>6583600
That image is sincerely the most disgusting thing I've ever seen on this site

Praising the king does nothing for you
And the king does nothing for you either
Under an unofficial rule you die down too
Loving the king helps you not

But you still do it for no reason at all
Like an unguided mouse
About to fall
Running around screaming the name
Trying to get the king who never came

Moving and inspiritational the king is not
All he does is help you rot
Learn to not worship these whores
Learn to have respect for yourself

Celebrities do not deserve this dumb worship
Of all the people in the world
Please read the first letters of every sentence

>>6588816
:^( no bully

>>6588816
stfu bitch I'm the literary Anthony Davis

I just found my first two ever poems. Here is the first one, written around two years ago. I hate poetry, but I wrote it for a girl. It is about us meeting for the first time in a museum in Toronto.

Through hidden hand I never planned
This contingent future, once too bland
Antic irony pushed us together
Soon enough you layed in my feathers

A mesozoic neck keeps the truth at bay
We barely made it through that day
Exhausted, consumed, whatever you'll say
I left you at Bloor St. confused, in dismay

We wrote thousands of words for a man who can't speak
Forgotten though, his impediment breached
Star gazing, tombstones lay sunk in the grass
I push one over. pure granite, part brass

A glass of ice wine to puke and Deja's constantly looped
The lights are always out as I work at your drupe
Margot lays awaiting repair
Her despair is quite evident she neglects every prayer

We spend hours alone looking for ways to postpone
The inevitable goodbye always awkward, bemoaned
I claim to be thinking of Margot, untrue
Your damn emerald eyes turn my brain into stew

Here is the second:

Creep close my ambivalent ghost
Nothing you do is permanent
White sheets, a window to the coast
Offering false peace, turbulent

Dissonance floods my shipwrecked head
Wannabe autonomy lulled
A broken camcorders thirst to be fed
It thanks its destroyer now hulled

Grateful now it's been several days
My mind at ease, no more solid smack
Life's much different without your haze
Ambivalent ghost I need you back

>>6585101
Taking song lyrics and posting them in these threads is my thing. BTFO.
>>6585135
Blues-Rock, actually.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RPkJeziNyI

>>6589175
Is it really you?

>>6589521
>>6589511
Fuck off pedo scum.
pic unrelated dangles did get some 17 year old on skype to send him nudes which he uploaded to the internet at large though.

>>6585129
what is Christopher Walken doing on /lit/?

Haiku is for fags
five seven five is stupid
suck on my long dick

I made a website this weekend and have some stories on there if anyone is interested?

I'd appreciate feedback on layout and stuff like that.

>>6591305
post the link anon

Ducks, zu Grunde gehen
waves giving their all to the rock, boulders, and various hard places
the pollen in the water creates a ring around anything brave enough to delve inside
I'm the only one in the near vicinity with wetted hair
one doesn't usually swim during cloudy days
It's not nearly warm enough
as one can tell by the color of my toes

He was a well built family man
you could see he had a family by the way he shaved his face
I'll bet he plans to eat food upon a woonden table this weekend
not his own wooden table, his parents-in-law's wooden table
he asked me what I was doing this weekend
of course I had nothing to tell him
I made it seem I was planning to relax
I guess in some sense that's not far off

This weekend I will be hamered while he is eating a dead carcass
dead carcasses upon a dead tree with people he is intimate with
cut very convolutedly, types of ore sewn into it's flesh

He asked if I work, no, no, I do not work
although, I have a life similar to Borodin
I do not work, if I was to work I would sein
but would be busy getting yelled at, most of the time
skipper was known to throw a book or two over
who had ever heard of a book on a sein?
I wonder if anything of value was learnt by anyone
on the journey of tree, to book, to soggy dissolved mass of cellulose

>>6591138

>>6583600
My soul resonates with a silent energy, like
a swelling sea rising up to swallow the diver.

This energy pervades through me, passing forth from the tips of my fingers and the slithering of my tongue. It moves outward into dimensions unseen but that are felt by the heart.

Yours and mine.

--Our chests acting as Richter scales calibrated to define the low frequency that is the thumping of my newest essence.

It touches you and changes you just as quietly as it touches and changes me.
But changes of minutiae are changes all the same, and you and I are now different.

Beneath the rolling waves of black,
images sear the ocean like oil set aflame.

Birthed from the disengaged eyes of simple chestnut,
a soundless purge removes the diver.

All that remains
are the lapping of waves,
and you are now welcome
to swim in my sea.

Murky planet

Gaseous fen

live there xilobolbs

scarce land

the transparent kind

packs of ten

their snot is cancerous cells

Rituals of tradition
The moon dances with the sea
The sun tangos with my shadow
The wind embraces our embrace
Her scent floats my groin
Her gaze sinks my stomach
She stood four foot six
A blooming seed
I see a flower
I took forbidden nectar
The pollen lost in the wind
Western winds took from me my honey
I look to the east for my cunny

one.
in jail all things are steel
or made of cinder blocks and
coated
in enamel like a
straitjacket
under the fluorescent lights.

and in booking its all murmurs
of telephones and corrections officers
bustling
next to the holding cells.

when they take you (finally) to your bed ( or floor space) you
can
not
sleep
but when you do
sleep,
you fall into it
to the sound of distant metallic coughs.

two.
when i am washing dishes everything
is soggy hands accelerated
against hard corners,
the wet flesh of fingers pressed hard
against unforgiving surfaces,
bone and frail joints
under heavy compression. it is so
crushing.

and eyes on high look down leering if they are even there and
time drearily loses
her place
and she
stops and
everything becomes minutia and even
meaning
becomes meaningless.

three.
when i play guitar i
forget the song
but my hands remember and my
fingertips find places
to go(
some are better than
others
)
i regret the inevitable mistakes but
i keep playing. i cannot be stopped.


four.
and when i lay alone
with you i
wonder
how anything
could ever not be just
okay.

>>6592836
Fucking pedophiles on here man fuck you cunt

Anonymous 05/24/15(Sun)13:40:51 No.6583857▶
I want to be a whore
Walk down the streets
Life is boring and I want more
I was born to do this...more than a job
I radiate prostitution potential
It's in my nature
Sewn into me
The over sensitive pain monger
Hurt and free
Purple and blue.
Charge to carry on as I am
It's perfect don't you see?
Let your girlfriend be a prostitute
So she'll come back to you
Pockets full of money
Forever eat for free.

Little god shot back of my head
I'm his second guess correct experiment
He's my perfect hook on (mal)propagation
He leaves me scared of my own judgement

Perfect birth aesthetic death
Aesthetic death I don't know when
Lost my time, I've lost all sense
Déjà vu never again

Perfect birth aesthetic death
Water pool birth flip tub sarcophagus
Stitch me perfect dot to asterisk
Buried as a perfect mess

Little god shot back of my head
I'm his second guess correct experiment
He's my perfect hook on mal-propagation
He leaves me scared of my own judgement

Perfect solar minute eclipse
I blind myself to glance at it
A perfect passed is my perfect hit
Sun meets night, neither's my peace

Little god shot back of my head
My second guess malevolent
I'll bonzo-burn him chakra flesh red
Seen him before never again

Fuck me I've lost all sense

Sweet taste of immolation
Sweeter than taste sour masochism
But I'm left scared of my own heaven
So I pain on Earth for perfect moments

>>6592840
this is beautiful, but not quite finished yet. keep working on it, you have good potential

>>6592836

If you're going to write about having sex with children, at least write well.

Here's an excerpt from something much bigger.


I exist. Perpetually, infinitely; fractionally, ephemerally.
I exist as the trees exist;
Birth and death, then birth by death, and again cyclically, passing... passing... passing and translating.
I exist as the spaces exist.

I contain within me spaces, and within these spaces, I contain you.
And you, within yourself, you contain spaces, and within them, myself.

When I pass you, stranger, on the street, I see myself.
When I curse you, stranger, I curse myself.
And when I love you, stranger, I love him and her, and I love myself and everything in him.

Do not confess! Do not sin, do not pray;
No, for our sex is infinite and known,
For we've met tenfold, more naked every instance,
And the line is naked as we, and we naked as the line.

Do not blush!
For you've blushed already, blushed enough,
Coy enough since the first finger of grass reached up through the earth,
Coy enough since the earth was less than itself.

>>6594851
sorry, but this is pretty bad.

>>6594851
Trash. Looks like a 14-year-old wrote it with the main goal of "sounding adult".

You'll realize as you get older the best writing out there doesn't try so hard.

>>6594851

It's like you want to be Walt Whitman but you have no idea why he's good.

>>6594842
wow, thank you.

>>6594926
np man, but could you do me a return critique? would be appreciated
>>6594834

>>6594851
I like it

>>6594834
I am not well studied in poetry or anything but:

I like it when read aloud, particularly from 'perfect solar..' on. It is very fractured feeling though and I am not sure how to parse it for meaning, which could or could not be a problem depending on your inclinations. The lack of punctuation leads me to think you like fragmented and in-wide-brush-strokes use of language. I do, too, but it feels like there is some underlying narrative or truth you are describing, but I as a reader only get fleeting, blurred glimpses of. It has an occasional song-like fluidity that I enjoy, as well. So I guess my verdict is that it is good in its use of language but as a medium of communication it is hard to penetrate.

(also: minute as in small or minute as in 60 seconds?)

>>6583600
Is it postmodern enuff
puff puff puff puff
ignore I just troll
lol

>>6595031
thanks man. minute not as in sixty seconds

and these are actually song lyrics, which might (hopefully) explain my style

>>6595052
That does make more sense when I think of it as a song.

>>6591756
sorry what?

Daddy:

I work all day, and comin' home
To take a hearty crappin'
Upon the wall I spy a foam -
Now who's it's been a-fappin'?

Son:

Oh pappy, stay your heavy hands
Collect your thoughts from rappin'
The boy you knew became a man -
It's me it's been a-fappin'

Daddy:

I raised ye up, I raised ye well,
To be yer spirit’s warden
And now ye’ve let a demon fell
Come rovin’ through the garden!

Son:

I met a lass, and loved her true,
But her she took to laughin'
So me I locked inside a room
And got my hands to fappin'

Daddy:

The fallen race, that vicious brood,
Of them I’ve told ye truthful,
They’re given to capricious moods
That spend ye till you’re rueful

Son:

The tears came drippin’ slow ‘an sore,
In measure with the fappin’
That pretty voice I’ll hear no more
What sound like waves a-lappin’

Daddy:

Now listen son, you’d best invest
The heart in better ventures
Take guard yer treasures, make yer breast
A vault where no one enters

Son:

What use can glintin’ piles be,
If in a tomb they’re trap’d in?
How can a scepter shine if leaved
Inside a mummy’s wrappin’?

Daddy:

I’ve breathed this air so many days,
And cried so many evens,
I’d hate to see ye trek me ways,
And rue a lover’s leavin’!

Son:

This earth is full of fortunes, pap,
Who knows what can a-happen?
So let me travel ‘cross the map
And take no more to fappin’

Electrified with talent
poem I'm sky em looking lightning
on a bitch lightning on a hitch
feeling like Delly on a deli dick
looking like Kelly knees like the old LeBron
knees like Dwyane Wade knees
like Brandon Roy knees like
Vince carter; quick, whose the dick
talking bout alleles talkin bout genotupesn
Pokemon on a bitch like I'm bigot like I'm bacon
like I'm jewishcbithc I'm like eighth Jewish
wipe my mouth on a towel after I brush my teeth like I'm
Brutus spit really grotesquely after brushing my teeth
like I'm potassium
big k like potassium
yellow and white like banana soft and shiny like potassium
shiny like different colors hitch that's Pokemon
hitch like red guardian flying
like I'm swimming dragon my balls on your face
bitch that's Pokemon bitch that's dragon type bitch that's an island
hitch kolsri and the bandits strike again

If this isn't replied to tonight I'll post it again at some later point and get some criticism on it.

My good day stands on a pin
Melting me, my eyes of want
Smirking with a smile of Alpha
It rests within the folds of relation to me
In the space between my peace and his love
His being is mischievous
The glint of thine eyes
Sparkles like the lottery
And pulls me through

And as the day is done away, the search is a forest tainted with the hidden dress of gold
Two bingos! rest together in the invisible sounds of my vision
What else could I be but gravitated towards the happy warmth of the sun
Who’s shine pales in comparison to the expressions it conjures
It is the sun, a shining shiver, that writes this poem
(Both the shivver and the hero write my heart)
Is potential not worthy of the length that blood gives? Of the hand?

What is this, this flame of reflection which calls shadows to pinch the pavements of my universe?
Periodic splinters of flesh and bone palm and consume my mind in an episode reminiscent of war.
Call out! Call out!
Where are you, the spread of memory evades so easily,
And blurs into the next dawn,
Smelling faintly of a smile unreached,
And Time poking back with smiles unforgotten.
And my good day stands on a pin that could explode at any moment
One which would not expel any notion but human.

me no smart
me no care
me go marry
a millionaire
if he die
me no cry
me go marry
another guy

Jesus even when this stuff is written well it's a fucking chore to read

>>6596265
Nice. Great balance between delivering humor and a heartfelt human concept.
>>6592840
>>6591683
Nice.

>>6597028
nice.

>>6597028
bretty gud

>>6583600
Trough the keyhole, I cannot see
the picture whole; only slightly
can I perceive the symphony
of what happens behind the door

and I spend days,
trying to watch
trying to hear
trying to catch
what would appear, if I perhaps
could slide a finger trough the gaps

During the night, though, I do well
I can picture great shining bells
Marble walls and citadels;
what awaits me behind the door.

I dread the hour someone like me
doomed by a marvelous idea
will, trough this keyhole, align
his wandering gaze into mine


not a native be gentle tee-hee

you once told me that your friend had had it
too much lifestyle
got to his head
now he lives with his parents
on a couch that smells of himself

i get insecure
listening to your past
jesus christ i feel sick
but i want to hear more
because it makes me hard
fucking diamonds
thinking of you
with someone else

especially that time
you said you tasted a girl
you licked her cunt
but you clutched remembering it.
it didn’t reassure me
because i wanted that with you
I wanted to watch whilst you enjoyed her
I wanted to sit and jerk off and watch
but i love you i do
i don’t want to cheapen it
don’t sully this thing we have

but i still can’t get out of my head
that time you said you’d like it
find it hot
get you going
to see me fuck someone else
and now my thoughts are polluted
with images of it taking place

sometimes I wish i could go back to the time
the time before porn
before i became warped
where being on top or underneath
was enough.

>>6597587
>on a couch that smells of himself
decent line, the rest is mediocre imho

>>6596526
First line is great

They said it was all good,
the way that things were.
But you were very young,
and said they were lying.

They said it was for the best,
the suffering was all over.
You were older now and
the best seemed not very good,

They said there was nothing
more they could do for you.
"Good," you said, old enough
to know the way things were

>>6583600
Tsundoku

He without purpose let cast the first line.
Indeed I swear, by fettered cause, learn far
too much from dispelled applause

Oft it bears no mortal man, from distant lands
to point a crooked finger, cast into
the deep blue of a single eye,
name fading as quickly as his face.

Penprick an eyelid open over a
small stretch of drool dangling, now pooled on the
page corner of tales told by a thousand
tongues to heartbitten rhythms of long dead
men

turn spot the monsters with silver faces
head over heels in a black yard alleyway
ferhgeure tumble d out beneath the darkness
unbreach by dim moon face
In the/ darkness/ faint did/ I hear the
rattle of bones, the mislaid steps of a
man in drag

Dislimn through brickled tunnels
and breathe open the street outwards in front of you stretching on and on and on
but I hear a click and a whirr
and the cogs they turn
my limbers home

Crack!

The heavy silence of the midday heat
shatters as Stetson swings his glistening
arms to the faint songs of negroes… drift
ing listlessly along a current of
warm air from nowhere in particular,
light as a lover's touch, a dry tongue dragged
gently from dog collar to combover up
the nape of his sweaty neck.

He pauses,
clears his throat and spits into the dry earth,
veined hands resting on the pickaxe, point
resounding ‘gainst the chains which bind his feet,
the swansong made in metal against metal,
the instruments of men long lost to barbarism
thrumming while the slight water trickle flows
unheard to the inhuman.

"You waitin’ fer the rain, Oswald?", vicious
barking from the only man in shade on
such a dry day. His face is hidden by
the shadow reaching brow to jawline by
the hat askew upon his head, bleared eyes
behind a pair of glasses darker than
the meaty frame weighing down the crunch of
approaching feet on salted earth. Rattled
spit in Stetson’s ear, “Piece a’ shit, I will
knock you on your ass if I am ignored
again. Get that axe back in the fucking
ground!”

Steston scoffs as the guard glares a final
angry vacancy and turns his back. An
axe is raised to rest on leathered shoulder
darkened by the bloody lips of old Phoebus,
earth and dirt caught in the folds of damp flesh
contracting.

The man knows precious little of the world
nowadays other than the simple divi
sion of chopping wood, an experience
he can’t help but miss despite its naive
similarity to whatever the
fuck he was being used for now. Wood was
a winter luxury, mottled gold shining
at the heart of a comfortable silence,
the solidarity of families settling
on a quiet penance for the lonely
day’s work...

now swerved from kindred responsibility,
at which personal investment becomes
nothing more than the shadow of heat-stricken
memories laying giants flat over this arid plain.

cont.

>>6599361
Calignous hands sweep softly the dust from
monstrous beds of black marble stone, riverrun
dry from fountained thoughts to trickled desire.
No boats sail into the underworld today -
no currents carry the silver-faced dead beyond
the pale of my shattered pencil lead.
And yet, waking from the troubling fever
cast on the horizon of my forehead,
I recline back from the desk and I peel back
the curtain and I see not shade, but early sun;

Do I disgrace the storm,
or let it run?

>>6592840
>coated
>in enamel like a
>straitjacket
>under the fluorescent lights

genuinely lovely

>>6596265
Funny. Also kind of a cute thumbing-the-nose at freud which I appreciate

>>6597028
I kekked

>>6597448
very nice especially considering you're a non-native speaker, you have a great sense of rhythm.

>>6596526

this is really fucking cool.

bitch that's Pokemon bitch that's dragon type

tapping wrinkles into the water
eyes closed and, i thought of
the book with the whale
and those winds wrapped
and those bones battered
cracked backs and broken oars
do i have those backwards?
a blue cooler and a cracked coors
too bright for books anyway
too bright to be thinking about books anyway
do i want another
yeah, toss it here

>>6596526
Toto bed

Dreadful Thunder
The storms moving in
And Judgment day is calling
My soul has been healed
By the power of steel
And the sound of glory

I will send into the ground
All that are found
By the sign of the hammer falling
Yes Heathens will fall
I will strike down them all
Then you will know my calling

Bravery calls my name
In the sound of the wind in the night
My sword will drink blood
And I will fight
Yes I will fight
In the dawn of battle
Dawn of Battle

I will rise up from the chaos
I will rise up from the grave
A brother to the darkness
A master to the slaves

I am the soul descendent
Of the fire and the rage
I was wrought upon the earth
Born to rule and battle wage

By the total domination
Of the world in my command
By the Air and the water
By the Fire and the land

I give no explanation
I was branded by the will
Bringer of Death and Destruction
To all that I now kill

Bravery calls my name
In the sound of the wind in the night
My sword will drink blood
And I will fight
Yes I will fight
In the dawn of battle
Dawn of Battle

I long to be free
So I wait for a sign
I wait for a star
To fall from the sky
From the dust of sleep
A promise to keep
Then all who see shall believe
Deliver into my hand
The sword of the land
Let my journey begin
So all shall understand
That if I fall
I will live again

I will rise up from the chaos
I will rise up from the grave
A brother to the darkness
A master to the slaves

I give no explanation
I was branded by the will
To bring of Death and Destruction
To all that I now kill

Bravery calls my name
In the sound of the wind in the night
My sword will drink blood
And I will fight
Yes I will fight
In the dawn of battle

>>6584554
>an actually good actor will never play David Foster Wallace

It should have gone to pic related

I played the Red River Valley
He'd sit in the kitchen and cry
Run his fingers through seventy years of livin'
And wonder, "Lord, why has every well I've drilled gone dry?"

We were friends, me and this old man
We's like desperados waitin' for a train
Desperados waitin' for a train

He's a drifter, a driller of oil wells
He's an old school man of the world
He taught me how to drive his car when he was too drunk to
And he'd wink and give me money for the girls
And our lives was like, some old Western movie
Like desperados waitin' for a train
Like desperados waitin' for a train

From the time that I could walk he'd take me with him
To a bar called the Green Frog Cafe
There was old men with beer guts and dominos
Lying 'bout their lives while they played
I was just a kid, they all called me "Sidekick"
Just like desperados waitin' for a train
Like desperados waitin' for a train

One day I looked up and he's pushin' eighty
He's got brown tobacco stains all down his chin
Well to me he was a hero of this country
So why's he all dressed up like them old men
Drinkin' beer and playin' Moon and Forty-two
Jus' like desperados waitin' for a train
Like a desperado waitin' for a train

The day 'fore he died I went to see him
I was grown and he was almost gone.
So we just closed our eyes and dreamed us up a kitchen
And sang one more verse to that old song
Come on, Jack, that son-of-a-bitch is comin'

We're desperados waitin' for a train
Was like desperados waitin' for a train

Arm fold.
Bed shift.
Bone feels like its melting.
Off.
Repeat.
"Why do we do this to ourselves?" she asked.
Arm fold.
Bed creek.
It won't boil.
Why is it so cold?
Fire. Vein.
Bone marrow soup.
I face her, asleep.
"Because people like to ache".
Lip tremble.
"Because people need to ache."
Skin on the ground.
Lonely houses.
Nothing to be done.

Please tell me this is universal
and I'm not the only one
who fantasizes about insincerity
as a lesser of two evils.

I dream of Adam Levine closing the doors
and listening to Bjork and Strauss.
I dream of Michael Bay and Joss Whedon
marathoning Kenneth Anger.
I dream of Mike Huckabee the agnostic laughing at South Park.
I dream of all those thousand note tumblr poets with their
"your lips are a dangerous, beautiful thing"
and their "her love was like a tsunami"
spending the night with an Ezra Pound ePub.

John Green knows this, and puts Pynchon on his bookshelf
as he jokes about how Alexander of Macedon's moniker
is sexist and eats good off that "It's a metaphor" money.
DFW told people he liked Tom Clancy better than James Joyce.

I'm really worried that there's no such thing
as behind closed doors.

>>6601384
That was a nice Kek I had.

this poetry sucks

whittled when words press for flow
I see stress between lines crossed above and below
I rhyme accidentally, so
so does the air, my heir, come and go
I only went for the knowing
how bitter the taste
I ran, I'm coming,
iran, I'm country

>>6601384
It's a school night, Kolsti.

Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante's Inferno will be made to look like a children's playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.

Unfinished:

O Fool!
Do you not see the path you set?
Before yourself is one on which
You leave no imprint

Actions of un-importance
Dogged and craft-less you travel

No odyssey shall arise
From the kicked clouds
Drought ravaged dirt
The way is set to circle

You fashion shackles of dependence
Chains of debt around every limb
Key in hand You lament their weight

O! Servant to the Azure!
Set lines to your breath
For your lungs, purpose
Those lines give without wait

Gratification befalls thee like tragedy
Seek'd and received
But neither understood
Nor earned

You drink as a man parched but fill not
Passing all as it enters; Retaining none
Draw short lessons into long words
Curt replies as moods arc swings

If not for partners discourse
What reason makes You?

>>6601330
Who's this cum disposal demon?

>>6599480
Thanks a lot anon

Shitposting all day long,
On /gif/, on /biz/ and /g/.
Oh sir, you must be wrong,
On calling him a >she.

The Jews will crash the market,
It's clear as a noon!
You better buy Bitcoin,
And head with it to mooon.

Hey /g/, I am choosing laptop,
I think I'll buy a Mac.
It has white shiny edges,
And can install WhatsApp.

The dark of night is gone.
And the bright of day has arrived.
The knights of old sing hymns in our halls of new.
They cleanse our ashy skin with solace of light.
Now we can see beyond the seas that guide our darkest dreams.

spread is my inspiration when you drop by with your valedictorian
sweeter are times when you insist that you stop by
and times are tough when you call me for my rites
i wish sometimes you were my avalanche.

>>6601384
This is pretty decent.

>>6589511
There are a lot of awkward phrases here and I'd find another way to start altogether because the first couplet does nothing besides shove a forced rhyme in the reader's face, but this is the first thing in this thread that even has potential.

>>6589521
and this I outright like.

Keep it up, man.

>>6590841
wait what

source

dammit he's the only decent writer here rn

>>6601384
I really wish you would leave the era of your writing in which your poems are just paragraphs with line breaks.

>>6594851
This is not nearly as bad as people are saying, the fact that it's getting attention at all indicates this probably.

That said the first three stanzas are "stoner philosophy" platitudes but I like where you go with them rhetorically in the latter two.

would have to see in a longer context whether the clichés function in the context of the rest or whether they burden it

>>6603002
Agreed

Like Joseph and Mary
I leave at night
The gospel won't tarry
I must take flight
To be there
Where I must be
With all care
Story says flee
Leave all
Can't take
Braced fall
Heart break
My faith falters
Story alters

>>6602942
No, it's not.

Rises and sets
Waxes and wanes
The wind forgets
My aches and pains
Light shines through leaves
It knows not me
Birds and dry heaves
The sky won't see
My rich despair
It carries on
The summer air
A soaring swan
It teaches us
Thou should be thus

I don't really like my G rhyming pair. Any suggestions?

The key tone of depression is one apparent in blood,
not just in letting but what's let to happen.
Undernourished, lack of care not only in appearance
but in mind, soul - when tears dry, emotions stay - trapping.

Trapping us in a familiar, oxymoronic state of warmth and welcome.
We swaddle ourselves in the comfort and acceptance of the twilight.
Protected by our recession, we've nothing to fear but fear itself.
And we've no reason to fear, no reason to care, no reason to fight.

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling. I can't seem...

To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

Discomfort endlessly has pulled itself upon me
Distracting, reacting
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection
It's haunting how I can't seem...

>>6604519

Hey, chester.

>>6604519

History of a cosmic aneurysm.


A Synapse of infinite folds
removed itself of its contents
Ignorant of its own primitivity
the watcher continued toward habitual nothingness

Reading perhaps through a bound book of sliced tree
its thought resting on the intricacies of the Synapse which provides it with life

Unto eternity

>>6597587
I actually really like this.

Why can’t I reach inside you
rend apart your rib cage,
tinker with your organs
correct the mistake that someone surely made
with your wiring,
the inner workings of your mind
can’t I reach in and flip a switch that got missed
turn a cog that got forgotten
get you back on track and return you to the person I once knew.
These chemicals give you nothing
you’re floating like an island, aimlessly
bleeding all your problems in an empty room
until you’re drowning in them
but not getting up for air, you choke on them,
willfully,
enjoying the sickly sweet taste of the misery
letting your lungs fill with regret
daily until they’re so heavy that its hard to breathe.
the only cure is to suck in more, consume,
fight fire with fire until you’re burnt to a crisp
a faceless monster, skin melting off like lava,
smoking like a chimney ‘til you’re nothing but vapor
evaporating
I chase you,
I run as fast as I can
but you’re intangible, a smoky blob that I can’t grasp on to
I try and fail, constantly
am I a failure too?
A failure of a brother

what the fuck is poetry

>>6606378
>>6604606
+money smells of conflict+
I believe in accidents

&

The game:

world-to-head race between dreams;

suicide: the original body.

He said," in peace: a message of failure".

The attack was reflected in their anxiety.

(The Bank is a good place to react.)

In the name of development, I smiled.

Under the clock above the city square
In the mind of the young man sitting there
The rhymes he writes are so full of air

>>6607735
Shit

>>6601776
Classic

Hearken;
Roaming Eden by a seaside;
Promethean Fire, seeing Gaia darken,
Tidal rise run night drowns sky
Seize higher ground;
Map this synaptic gunfight,
Ceasefire found sunlight fissured, vision fallen volcanic,
Refracting halo glisten trapped in
Tailor made clay prism,
Imprisonment;
Rainbow playdough

Bakers
Usually
Make
Pornography

>>6612154
you can't just throw a bunch of ostensibly interesting ingredient words together in a bubbling pot (of gibberish) and expect them to come out as edible alphabet soup

Adipose stains, varicose veins, nut-shells ’n’ bolts,
crooked Rectoress’s smiles, herbs from Humboldt,
the scene sets itself a paper-thin veneer,
noticing the translucent naïveté, now and here:
the realization that he, I, have no clue what we’re
doing, out-of-step, drunk as an amoeba in beer.
Re: reticent rectifiers reluctantly refer the alliterative hack
to someone whose name is an industry secret (Jack)
the carpenter sulking between panoramic, off-shot cracks
at midnight out between shiny buildings, un-gentrified,
bushels of corrugated roofs, sounding: roof, roof, chide,
meow the cakes’ killer, children howling and showing teeth,
grabbing pockets with their sticky hands, yanking briefs
down at the lengthily-laced patience of Mother Earth,
howling, showing teeth.––the buzz is nudged, mirth,
undone shoes meet polished wood, bedside––
moans, squeaks, apologies, slaps, and blood-dried
orgasms erupt––teh non-nonsense re-returns
in a redundant city-float parade, adorned with urns,
a star, a son whose matriarch eludes all’s breath,
the exasperated fog emitted at the precipice of death,
the carrier of carriers, denier of murk, of spongy space,
so as to say that the today has laid down its subtle grace (faceless).

The lady flinches from the deer
But puts on perfume
At night

'These people all shit and die
And come from each other's crotch
I should not be bowing with them
But enjoying cigars and scotch'

"I demand to be exempt!"
Cried the philosopher to the king
The people's jester for a day
His head didn't leave the ring

Desperation invades
the western front.
En-trenched is my soul
pulsated by the heart’s grace
beating the seconds
you speak like a gun-
it chokes at the sight of her face.

>>6614503
*entrenched

dude at least get a grasp on the English language before you start writing poetry

>>6614496
Did you think this would come off as especially poignant or deep? The title should just be: TBA

>>6614525
I did it for style but uh yeah it was a bad choice

>>6596265
Best in show

>>6614530
Not really, I just prefer simple themes and simple words. It can look pretentious though. TBA?

Desperation invades
the western front.
Entrenched is my soul
pulsated by the heart’s grace
beating the seconds
you speak like a gun-
it chokes at the sight of her face.

Everybody postean
Nobody ratean
Such is life in the four channels

>>6585101
Mod bob = best bob

I'm going to dump some shitty, edgy, drug fueled stuff I wrote a while back. The first one doesn't really feel finished.

1/2

Sigh for the sorry ones
The sisters
Who starved and cut themselves through weary Wisconsin winters
And the brothers
Who on dull-grey New England days put guns to their heads and dreamed of love

For every junked out derelict downtown
Just a symptom of the way we're living
And all the dreampop druggy kids
Delusional enough to do it all
They'll always believe what they want to believe

Some run to the woods
Letting their worlds shrink and choke them
Barking at the moon
One last effort to ward off evil spirits before a mourning whimper

2/2

Brick wall waterfall
Spring is greeting us
From the short cold days of the midwinter night
To the long dragging days of high noon summer.
The fire's on the wall
In the lightbulbs
The windows
The floor

Morphine nights and marijuana days
Keep stumbling through the fiery haze
Hidden trails and cricket ponds
The creeks shine bright underneath Vermont

They all lead to bogs
Secret places, shamanistic sacraments
Drink a tea of feverfew and woodrose
Green fields and stark blue sky
Pleading with a vengeful god

Waiting for the night to change
We haven't got our rose anymore
It disappeared while we slept
The sun crept out the crack under the door

This sullen world
I don't want to die for this world
So tell me friend
Say when the light will change

When will it sweep over us all
Reviving us in writhing ecstasy out of this darkness
Is it death?
Or are all our dreams just glass
All we can do is wait

I'll keep waiting for the light to change

I can talk about nothing like women
in a salon during a zombie apocalypse.
No really, I'm a monument of insignificance,
when I stand I create a solar eclipse.
Back in school I sailed through endless C's,
carried only by the most apathetic breeze,
carrying the most deadly sexually transmitted disease.
"Bitch please," I once told Eloise, jeez.

Oh, and raindrops refract prismatic lights
into bleary orbs conducive to bleeding hearts
the beg for the opposite of total loneliness
encamped in a room full of fatty onion farts.
Didgeridoos, kangaroos, blue Parisian rues,
the door-knocker maker's daughter gets knock-up,
and the crippled, retarded boxer gets knocked-out,
but his sister the queen still gets laid, eggless,
by Heraldo Bloom, the guy who plays Legolas
from Lord of the Rings. Slugs are usually legless
unless they live next to a nuclear waste facility
and have that bipedal walking ability, like bears.

But our world is full of grocery stores
that are full of soon-to-be shit,
employed by social vagrancy and varieties
of Napa Valley's most famed wine-grape
the Taoenall. But really all we want to know is
what is love, what is life, what is 'is,' who pop is.

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

>>6614557

Your poem is so scarce it feels as though it has hardly begun. Also, read the three acrostics running down your piece

What are the makings of great poetry? Everything I read by "the greats" is too obfuscated, especially love poems. The only poems I remember actually enjoying were snippets from Rape of the Lock and some Russian futurist poem about sex in a swamp.

>>6614629
Nice try

>>6614630
I wrote it during my "haiku period" and the theme is plain so I felt that it was an appropriate combination. Clever observation about TBA, I didn't notice it.

Does anyone actually follow rules and formats or are they a thing of the past?

>>6614712

you really like that state education kool-aid, don't you?

>>6583600
I used to write like this
a lot
when chatting
because of good old IRC days
when channels where full
and with a lot of people talking at the same time
you kinda had to type like this
to keep up with the conversation
and it was good
but then after those days were past
I quickly realized
that typing this way is really annoying in other contexts
not only for the other person
but to myself as well
So I stoped and started talking normally, with everything in one line. And I fail to gasp how other people think this is cool or acceptable in any way.

>>6614718

State education encourages a blandly universal approach to poetry that's weighted towards free verse.

I wonder if they have Americatown in China,
or if blind people dream solely in sounds,
I wonder why I wonder and if curiosity kills,
but I know for a fact that my skills pay the bills.
To string a crowd along is mugging babies for candy,
or to receive homelessly solicited oral for brandy.
My vulgarity arises from daily bouts of excretion
which evolve into endless nights of verbal accretion––
I talked a girl's ear off like Mike Tyson in the ring,
just so I could bag her in my bed to howl and sing.
My life is meaningless like English to a spring,
so I might as well accept what it has for me to bring.

The rest is immaterial, not ethereal.

>>6614501
METRE MOTHERFUCKER LEARN IT

Loving and losing are part of having,
doing and dying are part of living,
sitting and crying, may help your sadness
but know, my friend, that everything passes

The clutter obstruct clarity of thought,
the woodwork suffers from acute dry-rot,
my name detracts from the man behind,
what are citruses without the lumpy rind?
"I don't know," the crowd collectively says,
prior to Richard III dispensing a lot of pez.
Crabapples and Krabappels strewn ground-wise,
while let-go balloons escape from the skies.
The couplets and couples mingle forever,
while the singles eat Pringles and smile for never.
Depressing are the feet in the softly soaking sand,
impressing are the men who describe things grand.
But this is only the second to last line of the poem,
my body's veins lack vegetative xylem and phloem.

>>6615184
What exactly are you trying to say here ?

>>6615187

I was trying to say exactly what it was that I have said. To expand: the poem functions as a distillation of the post-modernistically induced woes beset upon members of generation Y and above, that incarnate in the form of the entropic biblical flood of digital information and the implosion of interconnectivity between social nodes such as communities due to the extensions of man decreasing the radii of influence. Self-reference is the only way we can abandon the prison of global narcissism plaguing us through every electronic and economic outlet unavoidably available to us.

>>6615199
>mfw reading you
You should learn what poetry is

Now some raspy voice comes in a wheelchair
three-ten black eyes breathing tubes completely bald face cracked
still laughing (voice cracks me up)
starts saying something about smoking
still laughing
start to wonder what angle are they taking
haha where's the payoff?

>>6615209

Listen anon, I'm not a robot. Get your gears straight.

>>6615250
sigh

>>6615259

Just for clarity: I hope you know that both my poem and my explanation were both the completely facetious ramblings of a drunkard. I'm not really that obliviously dense.

>>6615259

Just for clarity: both my poem and my explanation were the totally facetious ramblings of a drunkard. I'm not really that oblivious or dense.

>>6614442
What part didn't you get?

>>6615653

I didn't say it didn't make sense, just that it isn't very good or as profound as you appear to think it is

>>6615661
You said that it didn't make sense, then projected your pretensions onto me.

>>6614541
Not sure if ironic but thanks man

>>6615466
Oh okay buddy. I can't really know sometimes, sorry for being an ass then

I sit alone
As I feel the wheels turning
The gears tremble as they operate
Slowly working down from my mind
Until they reach my heart

My chest can barely hold it in
I’m doing all I can to stay together
My bindings grow weaker
As my heart beats faster
Until I am shaken apart

The realization fills my thoughts
My heart has finally cracked
I can no longer hold back my loss
Let my tears run down
Until I run out of water

When I have dried
My rumblings subside
In a state of shock and awe
I reluctantly awaken my senses
Until I can feel reality settle

>>6615826
Is this about wet dreams ?

>>6615921
If that's what you got out of it, sure.

>>6615928
eh interpretative poetry

good imagery but I would suggest working on metre
love

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: hi
You: hi
Stranger: m
You: me too
Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: m or f?
You: m
Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: my snapchat - asl.girl
You have disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like kik.
Stranger: Hi... IM Jason
You: hi
You: asl?
Stranger: M23..,Florida Usa
Stranger: What's your name ?
You: ronald
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You: hey
Stranger: hi how are you?
You: I'm alright. I'm feeling a little culturally lost.
Stranger: cool yeah same here
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like snapchat.
Stranger: my snapchat - asl.girl
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like kik.
Stranger: M
You: hello
Stranger: Hey
You: whats up
Stranger: Not much you
You have disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like kik.
Stranger: 15f... kik if you want > athotanamame98
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like /r9k/.
Stranger: Hello~ http://z18224.o.ayy-mlao.co/i4eglxom.txt
You: hello
You: what is that?
Stranger: it's a Pokemon feet survey
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like writing.
Stranger: Hello
You: hey
Stranger: What sort of thing do you like writing?
You: poems and essays. I'm working on a novel
You: I wrote an open letter to my superintendent that got read somewhat widely by my classmates, so I guess in that sense I'm a political writer
Stranger: Cool
You: what about you?
Stranger: I write almost any fictional thing
You: oh cool, who are you favorite writers?
Stranger has disconnected.

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You both like snapchat.
Stranger: my snapchat - asl.girl
Stranger has disconnected.

>>6584029
WOW

>>6615945
Thanks for the critique. I'm always looking to improve.

I wrote the poem when I was really upset about a great loss.

>>6615966
Could be shorter

gathering of birds
riding the windwave
billowing and flowing like a curtain
the shape of the air revealed

together always, without command or rank
where are you headed? such aimless flight
I gaze at the harmony envious
in my life of discord

Everon's Key

recall the frail thrills of a done day, now dead
morrowhat like then, again, a planck's pace you carryon
cadaver head overandove her heels with love's misery
whistling the tune of the black tar coil

"the ward of everon holds the key!", it hissly sings
lifetimes overdue, the ear you lent to serpentine tongues
naught but dustmeal interpretation of dreamwakery
from the tome-filled tomb of abstractions

already unfathomable fathoms in dante's depths
from decepticore through fictimantle you must climb

your perfection is immanent? yes and for all
there is none much work to be done yet, and you
are a finished product, ever-finishingly
fishing for thrills, ever-fishing with false bait

o fake-bait frail-thrill seeker
give up this post-mortem journey
there is but one thing to do, you see
and not a single riddleknot
to untangle in sight
see in, everon's ward
the key

They raze early and rude; in the park near my block
I was told they would intrude only to build a parking lot

Summer morning, shining metal, prostitutes and sirens
are calling under the bridge; where the open locks have fallen.
And if I gaze at mirror under the mud, watery,
I might see an impostor that isn't anything like me

Truly the city distorts all; in it's unholy grey vortex
Should I let myself sink whole, so I can see what comes next ?

>>6616079
What exactly are you trying to say here

>>6616094

>>6616104
You are not poet then

>>6616106

All 'round me
Lie pictures of you
I can't see
Pink, oh my love
Whatever you want

It hasn't been easy
Letting go
We had our time
I won't be here
Much longer

I'm glad
I knew you
And loved you
Without you
Hearing me

Other arms wreathed 'round your chest
While my bed remains cold
Goodnight

>>6616110
Lol

>>6615826
4.7.8.8.7.
; (7)8.11.6.6.7.
;8.7.9.5.7.
;4.5.7.11.11.

In the first verse, you describe the mechanic transition from thought to feeling pretty well, but the nature of the feeling isn't quite clear enough until the last verse, where we retrospectively understand the poem.

Until then, the poem can be about any strong emotion and is thus interpretative. The use of the present tense is unsettling.

Your style is extremely mechanic wich hurts the emotion conveying. You say X, then X, then X, you have no rythmic pattern until the last two lines wich are great, and still are hurt by 4-syllabes words such as reluctantly (gross !). Your repetitions I also disliked (run especially).

I liked the imagery and the metaphor in verse 1 wich was great and the pushing, comparing your body to a dismantling machine was a very good idea wich sadly makes no sense as you finally go back to more organic realizations (crying, waking up)

Overall you really convey the feeling of a tear crisis and in that you succeed, well done

14/20 I enjoyed you have potential

>>6616061
5.5.10.7(You fucked up)
;11.9.9.6.

Could have had some great rythm here. with either a triple 9 at the end of verse 2 or two alexandrins at the begginning of it. Why didn't you chose a fixed metre ? 5 5 10 10 in verse 1 would have been magistral. I suppose you wanted to go for a conclusive pattern but you can't do that on a second proposition. You would have best turned it in an ending speech

billowing and flowing like a curtain
revealing the shape of the air.

7 too but you can have a conclusive tone.

the curtain imagery is neat; the birds give shape to the air by allowing it to imprints on them like a curtain, but the metaphor is weird since that's not how birds fly. they are also not aimless either. you also suggest that they are in chaos yet have harmony. weird again. is it because you find harmony in chaos and that it could be an opposition to your life ? this needs to be a clearer point of you delegate the interpretation to the reader

In conclusion, though, you convey yourself pretty good tough trough the use of dubious metaphor, and weird metre

small tweaks would make this great

12/20 It's ok and I liked the discrete manner you included yourself in

>>6616079
11.12(Fuck off lol)14.9.
;13.14.15.(zzz).9.
;14.12.
;12.12.12.11(better luck next time).
;7.8.9.8.6.6.2.

what the fuck is this lol

you have completely failed at conveying anything here, not even a narrative, I will just speak for your structure (you need to learn what poetry is)

you try two times to land a conclusive tone but fail two times wich makes it even more noticable; besides you refuse to use hemistichs for whatever reason and instead go for asymetric contingent sentences with a single proposition wich is fucking ugly
NO 4X ALLITERATION EVER
just don't do it it looks ridiculous
could have been a nice graduale in last verse but you chose to miss conclusion instead

5/20 you need a lot of practice lol

>>6616196
ever heard of freeverse? are you of the opinion that all poetry could be fed into a program that could determine its worth based on its syllable count?

>>6615178
great + perfect rythm
>>6615184
what the fuck is this
>>6615248
try again you can do it
>>6615826
not bad, you can do better, work on meter
>>6615966
fun but could be shorter like other anon said
novelty concept boring
>>6616061
your metaphor needs work. good idea. work on meter.
>>6616079
worthless nonsense
>>6616086
vulgar despite decent use of opening alexandrins
>>6616139
only write when you have something to say

>>6616206
>he thinks he is good enough to do freeverse
bitch you don't even have something to say and you want to remove the interest of the form

your fucking message better be amazing if you want to let go of the only thing that can redeem your work

>>6616206
Nobody in this thread has the skill level to write in freeverse.
>inb4 poetry can be anything :3c !
fuck off, poetry is hard work.

>>6616213
>>6616220
So you are of the opinion that poetry could be fed into a program based on certain conditions to be met that could determine its worth as poetry according to whether it "skips along the tongue along and merrilly merrilly after"s incessantly like a marching drum?

You're critiquing it based on 'rules' and not on how the poem made you feel, which is all that matters. Getting scientific about it can be fun and all but more importantly is whether you enjoyed it or not.

>>6616232
The rythm and the flow of a poem has as much importance in its objective value as it's theme. The form is the tool that conveys the meaning. A poor form means a poorly conveyed meaning, and terrible quality of emotions.

The reason there are guidelines (and not rules) in poetry is that people like anons in this thread can easily pick up a template and fill it with whatever they like. If you think you are talented and hard-working enough to go against the flow of 2,200 years of poetic technique, then by all means go for it; but remember it has to be better than what everybody and everyone have discovered (and not invented) so far.

Writing in freeverse is cool, you might impress the ladies, but if you fail to communicate through the poem then your efforts are vain. Take a famous work of poetry and amputate it from it's form or from it's theme; it will be shit. It is always a synergy, a cooperation. There can't be one without another unless one of them is of EXCEPTIONNAL quality, in that it is so good it surpasses the need for it's sibling.

>how the poem made you feel, which is all that matters.
You need to read Rilke, who was the second greatest german author and STILL didn't write in freeverse

>>6615184
i thought it was funny 5/9

>>6616251
>mfw this nigga is completely right

>>6616079
Fine, i'll explain.

>recall the frail thrills of a done day, now dead
the day is over without much fulfillment
>morrowhat like then, again,
"morrowhat" : 'more of what' and 'morrow' (tomorrow) like then (done day) again (tomorrow)
More things like what happened today shall again happen tomorrow (frail thrills).
>a planck's pace you carryon
plank unit being the smallest unit of measurement, at the slowest possible pace you carry on (also carrion, implying you are decaying in this pace)

>cadaver head overandove her heels with love's misery
cadaver meaning corpse in case you didn't know, 'cadaver head' dead in the head, 'head over heels' with (her) love's misery, 'over and ove(her)', .. repeating the same things daily, helplessly in love with misery.
>whistling the tune of the black tar coil
black tar coil simply being an image i fancied and also contains spoonerisms with 'tar' and 'coil', car and toil, the whistling 'tune' of the car, toil, commuting to work (toil) and 'oil' implying car, the black tar coil implying a mechanism, like that of a car engine. Work being a black and miserable thing which you commute to, all only suggested obscurely in the words.

>"the ward of everon holds the key!", it hissly sings

The hissing engine, 'the ward of everon' being 'ever onward', implying the future, and an unstoppable momentum, the engine hissing the sound of 'progress', holding the "KEY", the key being that most precious hoped for thing

>lifetimes overdue, the ear you lent to serpentine tongues
many incarnations spent this way, listening to the voice of the serpent (the voice in your head) that suggests that the solution to life lies in the future (ever onward holds the key), the 'ward' here also being a kind of sentinel that watches all of this (your deeper self)

>naught but dustmeal interpretation of dreamwakery
dustmeal being insubstantial nutrition for the self, interpretations of a living dream (life as it is now) that are insubstantial because they are the product of habits of thought, 'tome-filled tomb of abstractions', a tomb filled with books filled with words (thoughts, abstractions) that are never substitutes for the 'real thing'

>already unfathomable fathoms in dante's depths
Pretty self explanatory, dante's depths being hell (Dante's Inferno), unfathomable fathoms (unit of nautical measurement) deep (you are not aware how deeply entrenched in the 'depths' you are).

>from decepticore through fictimantle you must climb
core and mantle being the center of the earth (hell) and the mantle (that which is between hell and the surface), deception and fictions must be overcome, 'climbed through'

>your perfection is immanent? yes and for all
those who would claim that 'I am already perfect' (immanently so) in the metaphysical sense (a perfect child of god), they are indeed correct (yes) and so is everyone else (and for all)

(cont)

>>6616327
>there is none much work to be done yet, and you
Nothing needs to be done because you are perfect already, yet 'none' and 'much' work seem to contradict each other, but they dont, because

>are a finished product, ever-finishingly
'you are a finished product', the 'ever-finishingly' meaning that the perfection of existence is already perfect and yet becoming more perfect eternally 'ever-finishingly'

>fishing for thrills, ever-fishing with false bait
the 'frail thrills' that the person fishes for are the mistaken delusions (false bait) by which he seeks satisfaction (thrills) in life

>o fake-bait frail-thrill seeker
self explanatory now

>give up this post-mortem journey
give up the journey of you as a walking corpse

>there is but one thing to do, you see
that one thing you have to do is just 'SEE', and only see

>and not a single riddleknot to untangle in sight
there are no problems in life to untangle or solve when you 'SEE' (in sight, insight, seeing)

>see in (see inwardly), everon's ward
(your true self, the 'ward' of eternity, the deepest sentinel of your own mind, your subconscious, hence why most of the poem is deliberately obscure, since I'm attempting to speak to the readers subconscious, which is why it can appear as nonsense)

>the key
the key is inside yourself, the key to life, to happiness. there are no 'riddleknots' in that inward seeing sight, that insight.

There. I hope you realize I actually put a lot of thought and effort into this, you so quickly to dismiss things simply for not following poetic rules of metre etc.

>>6616251
Rumi wrote in freeverse and his stuff is gorgeous. To me anyways. And i love Rilke. And I think great form is lovely too, but it is not a necessity. I'm of the opinion that if a poem can simply convey fleeting impressions or ideas well enough to elicit the proper feeling in the reader then it is good. Which is what most of Rumi does.

>>6616358
>>6616327
I don't think a single one of your words is functional lol

>>6616358
Now you're just dishonoring your ancestors

>>6616374
That's nice, I respect your opinion though I personally disagree

>>6616208
Thanks! Yeah I'll work on my meter.

The Expert/Youth Before the Infamous Demand Media Buyout

I grew up on a content farm.

How to Find a Mesothelioma Personal Injury Lawyer
How to Change a Tire
How to Become a Pastafarian
How to Make a Three Bean Salad
How to Make BBQ Pork Ribs
How to Register to Vote
How to Prevent Arthritis
How to Sell a Used Car
How to Utilize Search Engine Optimization
How to Make Money Using myLot
How to Write a Song
How to Clean a Gun
How to Make Vietnamese Fish Dipping Sauce
How to Make Traditional Easter Cookies
How to Drive in the Snow
How to Clean a Fish
How to Make Chicken Pot Pie
How to Hem a Wedding Dress
How to Hire an Auto Accident Personal Injury Lawyer
How to Do a Push-Up
How to Get Washbord Abs
How to Do a Sit-Up
How to Make Deviled Eggs
How to Get a Girlfriend
How to Start a Compost Pile
How to Change Your Car Oil
How to Make a Snow Angel
How to Scramble Eggs
How to Delete Internet History
How to Get a Boyfriend
How to Find a Job
How to Play Poker
How to Play Thirteen
How to Clean a Grill
How to Surf
How to Properly Discipline Children
How to Invest Money
How to Shoot a Free Throw
How to Shoot a Basketball
How to Fire a Gun
How to Treat Acne
How to Do Pilates
How to Do Yoga
How to Donate Sperm
How to Throw a Football
How to Earn Money Using CashGopher
How to Dance

>>6616376
What do you mean 'functional' and its pretty silly to always try to elicit a reaction with 'lol' at the end of all your critiques
>>6616379
Then explain

>>6616400
Why is it silly ?

>>6616400
I hope you are baiting when you say you put a lot of work and effort into this. Not trying to be rude but you literally did nothing correctly here. You need to rethink why you wrote this

>>6616408
There it is again, 'correctly', as if it were a mathematical problem with a definite solution.

It was an experimental attempt to write a poem to the subconscious

Supposing everyone assumed there was a 'correct' way to make music. There would be no more novelty in music. Same with poetry.

It took maybe three hours, by the way, and I know exactly why I wrote it: because it was fun to write.

>>6616404
It's the whole 'umad' thing. If trolling is what gets you out of bed then go for it but I find it silly.

>>6616426
That's just sad
>It was an experimental attempt to write a poem to the subconscious
Well, you have failed

>here it is again, 'correctly', as if it were a mathematical problem with a definite solution.
Tell me, what is poetry for, son ?

>>6616430
It just means I'm laughing what the fuck
this overconceptualization lol

>>6616431
For enjoyment, or perhaps insight (or both) by which only this medium can give

And why have I failed? Forget the rules bit, do you not see the logic of my reasonings for choosing the words I chose and the way I chose them? You could tell me why that logic was unsound.

>>6616444
It was fun to add layers to it, that was the whole fun of writing it. "Overconceptualization", there was too many concepts involved? The more the merrier, no?

>>6616446
there are no rules anon
you have failed because nobody in this thread understands you
instead of expressing something beyond words, you have made something less clear than normal language
thats why

>>6616454
It was deliberately obscure, intending to produce a feeling of understanding on a deeper level than conscious awareness. Also, I like the aesthetics of it. Not from a rhythmic standpoint, but the choice of words and how they interact.

Any monkey can rhyme in time according to guidelines. I find it fun to do stranger things.

>>6616468
>It was deliberately obscure
POETRY IS MEANT TO BE UNDERSTOOD YOU FUCKING RETARD PIECE OF SHIT MORON GO READ A FUCKING BOOK

YOU ARE JUST JERKING OFF FAGGOT

SOMEONE GIVE ME MY PILLS REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

>>6616468
Well it's great that you had fun, because I can guarantee you that nobody else did.
>inb4 I did it for myself
Refrain from posting in a critique thread then.

>>6616472
>POETRY IS MEANT TO BE UNDERSTOOD
It can do many things
And also, the poem can be understood upon closer inspection, of which I should not have expected from a critique thread on 4chan where people take pleasure in dismissing things immediately 'fucking worthless' and lots of 'lol go read more' sorts of responses.

I often feel as though I am a master thief of style,
gifted in replicating the work of the greats with
little or nothing to say.
I suppose that,
theraurus in hand,
we can all become master thieves,
likening ourselves to angels who likened themselves to angels past.
Often times I have attempted to become an idea and failed,
and surely I will both attempt this and fail again.
With every attempt, little by little,
we chip away at what was first there,
assuming that anything real was ever there,
and I don't believe that any of us can rightly assume this.

>>6616477
Well all great art is done for one's self, and not pandering to what someone believes to be 'what the audience wants', but regardless I did hope that others would enjoy it. Whatever, I'm not broken up about it. It's just two people's opinions. People's opinions given with the usual venom too, of which I don't respect.

>>6616478

>post in critique thread
>get constructive criticism by someone far too nice
>cry like a little bitch

Why can't you just accept that what you produced isn't very good ? Don't you want to improve ?

>It can do many things
fuck off

>>6616500
There was no constructive criticism.
>fuck off
It's bedtime anyways.

>>6616490
>Well all great art is done for one's self
>great art is meaningless masturbation
Pfffrt. I would laugh if it wasn't so sad

Anyone reads French?

Inssaisissable, valsant inlassablement,
aux airs légers et estivaux, elle virevolte.
Enlaçant mes pensées d'un désir virulent,
vile séductrice qui n'inspire que révolte.

Transi, obnubilé par cette nymphe nubile,
sans résistance, elle me mène sous l'édredon.
À la vue de ses chairs virginales, je jubile,
enflammé de la darder de mon éperon.

Chaste ritournelle qui, sous la chandelle, chancelle,
aux flancs ecchymosés, vifs de voracité.
Violences embrasées et osmose charnelle,
désacralisation de cette blancheur nacrée.

Rites carnassiers, exutoire par sa langue,
éruptant au sein d'une carnation exsangue.
Un second souffle sur des braises anémiques
et ravivant une ardeur qui semblait antique.

(this is about me getting together with a really good 'friend' of mine I cut off contact with 6 years ago. I actually love her now.)

>>6616512
>you try two times to land a conclusive tone but fail two times wich makes it even more noticable; besides you refuse to use hemistichs for whatever reason and instead go for asymetric contingent sentences with a single proposition wich is fucking ugly
NO 4X ALLITERATION EVER
just don't do it it looks ridiculous
could have been a nice graduale in last verse but you chose to miss conclusion instead

also no it's 8 in the morning I just got up
I'm going to stop responding to you now, you're mediocre in every way you've depicted

>>6616514
The common criticism that someone who makes something according exactly to what they themselves enjoy as 'masturbatory' is absurd. As opposed to what, making things according to a static schemata, according to what they think the audience wants? All music made in that vein is terrible. People who make music from and for themselves is always fascinating. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mjoV2BT1WQ

>>6616519
Actually liked that. can't criticize too much cuz I don't speak French well enough, but what I understood was a very sweet description.

>>6616523
>you try two times to land a conclusive tone
I was not aware of trying anything of the sort.
>besides you refuse to use hemistichs for whatever reason and instead go for asymetric contingent sentences with a single proposition wich is fucking ugly
I have no idea what those things are, so how could I be attempting them. I just wrote according to my whims and what pleased me to write.

The critique doesn't work for me because it supposes things I never intended and then critiques me on the basis that I was intending them.
>NO 4X ALLITERATION EVER
Rules, rules, rules.

>>6616533
thanks a lot buddy, feel free to post anything, I'll be reading

>>6616523
I meant its my bedtime.

>>6616519
>enflammé de la darder de mon éperon.
Hihi c'est rigolo
>Enlaçant mes pensées d'un désir virulent,
Beau vers
>vile séductrice qui n'inspire que révolte.
Tu as forcé la rime, la non ?
Pas fan de la répétition de nubile.

>Chaste ritournelle qui, sous la chandelle, chancelle,
Ca parait forçé
>désacralisation de cette blancheur nacrée.
Ce vers est très long comparé aux autres !
J'aime bien la progression dans cette troisième strophe.

Attention certains de tes vers n'ont pas de sujets ni ne sont vocatifs.
>Un second souffle sur des braises anémiques
>et ravivant une ardeur qui semblait antique.
La, par exemple, il y a trou logique dans ta grammaire, c'est bizarre.
Pareil pour les 5 et 6

Ce que j'aime :
>carnation exsangue
du lourd
>édredon
bravo

Ce que j'ai pas compris :
>L'ambivalence de la violence et du coté hypnotique de l'acte
C'est peu clair et on pourrait croire a une confusion

Ca m'a plu, poste plus si tu en a.

J'ai fais quelque chose qui ressemble assez a ton travail.

Je vendrai mon âme aux sorcières sans nul doute ou hésitation,
Si la passion de ma déroute ne rendait ma lame si amère.
Des mers de flammes, des routes de fer, je ne tire plus aucun plaisir,
J’échangerai tout mon empire pour une nuit avec les sorcières

Le matin mon corps mis a sac, éviscéré et vaincu,
Souriant, ensanglanté, sous un tombeau de désaccord
Je ne serais toujours pas repu, j’en redemanderai encore,
jusqu'à la morsure a la gorge qui trop tôt sera venue.

Mais même mon cadavre mis a nu, on ne trouvera aucune faiblesse
Aucune faille, aucune bassesse, ou porter un dernier coup.
Et si ma carcasse, debout, se tourne vers l’horizon,
elle paraîtra si vivace que les enfants en pleureront.

Qu’importe a travers l’univers, ou je me trouverai réunis !
Au sommet du paradis ou dans les abysses de l’enfer,
Si ma monnaie je récupère pour qu’a nouveau je sois maudis,
j’attendrai un millénaire devant la porte des sorcières.

>>6616539
It's not a rule it doesn't sound good to the ear and is cheesy as fuck.

I respect your devotion though, hopefully you post better shit tomorrow, I'll be here

read it to filth and make me better for it goddamnit

REALM OSMOSIS

Swimming on the sand.
Languish on magma
collected in silk.
The spheres meet again.
Fabricated stars.

Sky realm osmosis;
the leaves breathe faster,
frantic rocks sliding,
splash into the ocean.

Swimming in magma.
Snakes drink melted stone.
Risk the spheres mixing.
Dressed in rose petals -
swimming in magma.
Fabricated stars.
Live realm osmosis.

>>6616557
I don't understand

>>6616554
every movement of thought
seems to lead nowhere, a cul de sac
contrived to bring about something
which has no roots in the real
rather would i burn alive
than suffer the unholy dragging, dragging, dragging
behind the cart of humanity

>>6616557
I like the imagery it conjured, something like a planetary unfolding?

>>6616566
This is a million times better than what you posted higher
>than suffer the unholy dragging, dragging, dragging
>behind the cart of humanity
Great

>>6616566
This is pretty good except line 4 wich I would rework entirely because of the connotated use of "the real"

>>6616551
Merci pour les commentaires.

Les 2 dernières lignes font en fait référence à cette coupure que l'on a vécu entre passer 24h/24 sans pourtant être un couple vers ''être des inconnus'' puis reprendre contact pour ensuite consacrer cette relation amoureuse.

Il y a effectivement de nombreuses lignes qui ne sont que des rimes forcées, c'est un poème (qui se veut alexandrin, même si imparfait) écrit en moins de 3h!

En ce qui à trait à ton texte:

Je sens une énorme souffrance misogyne dans la première strophe d'ailleurs, j'aime beaucoup ''la passion de ma déroute rendant ma lame si amère''; c'est un vers inspirant.

Ta maîtrise générale de la langue rend le texte véritablement lyrique et non poétique. Je verrais clairement quelqu'un le déclamé.

Puis-je te demander à quel égard fais-tu écho aux relations promiscueuses? Est-ce un fait vécu particulier? Y a-t-il une logique derrière les ''sorcières'' mis à part, peut-être, l'ensorcellement?

>>6616519
This is good, except some artificial rhymes and asymmetry, I dig.
French truly is the language of love

There once was a man from Nantucket.

His name was Phil, He had a wife and son.

and I guess he also had a bucket.

>>6616582
I actually like the other one better, but thanks
>>6616586
I see what you mean

>>6616589
I have trouble building rhymes that aren't ''artificial''.
The way I write these is building around an idea while writing down a few words that are related to it and then trying to find rhymes to these words that would be linked with the way they sound to the rest of the text.

Is there a better way to go to make it sound more natural? If so, please tell me buddy

>>6616597
Probably because you put more work into it

>>6616588
Aaah, le poème prends tout son sens avec cette dernière révélation. C'est sans doute de mon coté qu'est a chercher l'erreur de compréhension, du coup.

Merci pour tes commentaires ! Le terme "sorcière" ne se veut pas péjoratif, il devrait évoquer une puissance terrible que l'on craint et respecte. Je n'ai peut etre pas choisi le bon mot, j'y repenserai

>>6616599
probably

never nevering, ever evering
rainbow solution et al mythic dream
of past lines' forgotten sensibilitine
tri-toned vermillios, dispensed lottings -the bygott trim
truetonic maze, amez, amez-merazing
drange intself ferl glorysake
shelves knocked aside lain bones to jeer
broar me o'er shire n' mord
de'lourd ein green pasture and pier
keeper of keys, say-nayer of knaves cloth-tittle leaves
biopic stroll past topical noggin
venerate your godly mop, aye,
the celtic fosbury flop, it is
for verbage most verbose is the sigh of left-hand right-wingers
ringing dale of knelling knoll, knell toln now well-known telly-tale for thee.
a dime-priced ticket fair timeshare, waste be books and their covers
a fair shake selver dream, birthright it seem
lest ye be no mistaking it

(I am aware that this is complete nonsense, I enjoy writing complete nonsense though)

>>6616598
I see what you mean; you have a raw meaning that is 75% of a verse and you try to complete it when 25% of whatever you can scrap and fiddle with ! Well here is my tip : try to mend two 75% verses together until you have some that are fully functionnal.

By grafting two ideas that are working together, you do not have to summon filler rhymes and concepts.

I'm not very good but I try this technique out. I wrote this with such a method :

Trough the keyhole, I cannot see
the picture whole, only slightly
can I perceive the symphony
of what happens behind the door

And I spend days trying to watch
trying to hear
trying to catch
what would happen if I, perhaps,
could I slide a finger trough the gaps

At night, though, I do well
I can picture great shining bells
the marble walls of citadels
that await me behind the door

I dread the hour someone like me
led by a marvelous idea
will, trough this keyhole, align
his wondering gaze into mine.

>>6616616
Seems like a good idea although I'd say that I mostly try writing in alexandrine and usually end up struggling with the filling of a sentence, not with the idea that I want to transmit by itself.

Although, I will try this out next monday.
I usually write up while working behind a desk, paid and undisturbed.

I really enjoyed your play on rhymes with that last text, well done.

Thanks again for the advices.

>>6616196
Thank you! I actually hadn't noticed I used "run" twice, so close together.

I kind of felt like the poem becomes more organic as the reality of the situation sets in.

Thanks again for your critiques!

>>6616608
you certainly are better at writing sense than nonsense

you need to bottle that shit up and refine it its spilling everywhere bro

[Heart-Shaped Leaves]

Walk on emerald grass.
It will expire soon.
Kiss beneath grey night skies.
Burn dead leaves in my mouth.

Populations flee islands in exodus.
Birds slowly spiral down to earth.
Creatures float lifeless in ponds.
Children starve in silent dignity.
Toss another leaf into my chasms.

Oxygen lost life sustenance long ago.
Our own gasses suffocate us.
Mine throat has been aching long.
Let it rain over my back.
Sunlight burns my weak eyesight.
Moonlight shines through smoke.
Kiss me as rain turns to mud.

I'm exhausted by guilt's weight.
The ocean is depleted for nothing.
Plastic's fragrance spreads far and wide.
Cleanse me of my sins with a kiss.
Mindn't my tears; pretend they're acid.

Earth melts beneath our feet.
My love's shining polished shoes ruined.
We didn't start fiery grandiose disasters.
We gathered leaves tightly as we could -
Lit them in the rain and kissed in smoke.
Waiting to die out with the rest of man.

Not much had been said,
or was going to be said.
All to be said,
all to be conveyed,
your cheeks in liaison with slight twinges
the very lightest of gestures.
Of your cheeks, they are of absolute form
they are chubby,
you do not necessarily enjoy that.

This has not been the first time,
this has not been the second time,
this has not been the third time
it may be the last
each time is a revelation, of sorts
our sobering rendezvous.

Will you turn your cheek
as the waiter approaches?
If so: I will pay,
it might be so this is not the last
I know, as you, what shall be done
I will use the restroom,
while, not in actuality,
it would produce a pleasant effect,
the enactment of putting one in absolute despair.
Go ahead, do it
I cannot, much to my chagrin
for at least, a story may be conceive
A story of aestheticians
we are nothing more.

As if, convicts of Central America
running
over a small village made rope bridge
slaughtering the ropes as they go
it may dwindle momentarily
a very small interval of
what many think holds value
a tool of directive.

We where, are, have been the essence of that dwindle
the form within the form.

>>6616640
'absolute form' what kind of pseud shit is that, dammit

Not much had been said,
or was going to be said.
All to be said,
all to be conveyed,
your cheeks in liaison with slight twinges
the very lightest of gestures.
Of your cheeks, much like other of your features,
your small, disctint, quant details,
are transcendental
they are chubby,
you do not necessarily enjoy that.

This has not been the first time,
this has not been the second time,
this has not been the third time
it may be the last
each time is a revelation, of sorts
our sobering rendezvous.

Will you turn your cheek
as the waiter approaches?
If so: I will pay,
it might be so this is not the last
I know, as you, what shall be done
I will use the restroom,
while, not in actuality,
it would produce a pleasant effect,
the enactment of putting one in absolute despair.
Go ahead, do it
I cannot, much to my chagrin
for at least, a story may be conceived
A story of aestheticians
we are nothing more.

As if, convicts of Central America
running
over a small village made rope bridge
slaughtering the ropes as they go
it may dwindle momentarily
a very small interval of
what many think holds value
a tool of directive.

We where, are, have been the spirit of that dwindle.

Do not see what I am,
during a Saturday,
or a Sunday
morning.
After a razor leaves my face maimed
with a head spinning
powerless to commence my hands
to hold a toothbrush,
powerless I am
to hold your gaze,
or much else.

Do not see that.
Oh, you have.

Your repugnance, my mortification.
Inamorata, Inamorato.

Let us be clawed into the flesh of a lesser life
a tree? Or may it be enacted
from tools of what some
debauchees claim
modern art? The kind one may be arrested for
we have been acquainted.
Let us commence those beloved together
in a respondent union, unto a surface
it may be scratched over,
it may be painted over
a fitting end? Concur?
Of course--you've never done less,
my divergent inamorato.

>>6616684
>>6616650
Two poems posted and no feedback given ? This is an horrible misconduct

>>6616771
Very true. I like some here, like >>6616631
but I can't add anything of use.

>>6616208
>what the fuck is this
I'll take it.

>>6584816
4/10, but you're on the right track. keep writing.
>>6584919
1/10
>>6584949
1/10
>>6585101
1/10
>>6585219
3/10, but keep trying. Read more poetry.
>>6586512
2/10 sounds like a nigger jam that's namedropping greek dudes
>>6586526
2/10 trite
>>6587517
1/10 read poetry
>>6588975
1/10 nigger jam
>>6589511
really bad but yes it sounds like a first poem, so don't feel too bad, that was 2 years ago and I'm sure you're better now (i hope)
>>6589521
yeah this one's even worse but again see above
>>6591683
2/10 but you have spirit, so keep trying
>>6592289
2/10 don't begin a poem with a trite metaphor like that just because you feel like dropping a trite metaphor
>>6592785
reddit.com/r/ocpoetry levels of bad, sorry
>>6592840
2/10 just a bunch of adjectives and linebreaks that give it a high school "I just learned about the imagists and free verse" vibe. Especially "one." christ this actually makes me mad
>>6594834
1/10 nigger jam
>>6594851
sounds like a really bad ripoff of a walt whitman poem

For whom doth the clock tick?
No not I
I am a mere mermaid
Swim to me

>>6585178

"Mother, do you think they'll drop the bomb?"

"Yes my child and it will blow your little mind.
For you see son, the world is an oyster but you're allergic to seafood. So it will rot before your very eyes."

>>6615184
Hi, fellow automatist!

>>6617634
He said it was vacuous nonsense you pretentious fuck

>>6617360

>>6584234
5/10 use meter
>>6584753
3/10
>>6584763
6/10 grammar motherfucker
>>6584816
4/10 imagery too heavy and incoherent
>>6584919
2/10
>>6584949
1/10 artificial
>>6585129
4/10 use metre faggot
>>6585178
ahaha
>>6585214
6/10 pretty good make it rhyme cunt
>>6585219
good concept very weak execution 4/10 persist
>>6586512
1/10 worthless
>>6586526
3/10 boring
>>6587517
1/10 you have nothing to say
>>6588975
2/10
>>6589511
3/10 awful
>>6589521
3/10 slighly better but still awful
>>6591683
try again lol 2/10
>>6592289
awful first verse 2/10
>>6592785
0/10 middle school tier
>>6592836
0/10 worthless
>>6592840
6/10 almost great
>>6594578
1/10 you have nothing to say
>>6594834
awful 2/10
>>6594851
im 14 and this is deep 1.4/10
>>6596265
great 8/10
>>6596526
could have been good you wasted your time 5/10
>>6597005
vacuous nonsense 3/10 you tried form I respect that
>>6597028
8/10 great
>>6597448
7/10 great third verse weakest
>>6597587
vulgar and gross except last line of first verse 4/10
>>6598616
1/10 what are you even on about
>>6599361
just stop
>>6599574
7/10 great make more
>>6601317
teenage but decent imagery 4/10

Forty silk maidens
Banter like a court show bailiff
Bitch I'm the literary Anthony Davis
Half-yellow Jaden, other half what?
If you have to ask are you from Taiwan?
5th season; end weak like The Wire
Tell that bitch I'll kill her less she jumps on the pyre
Damn, cut his throat Sam. Thai pirates on the boat
Cheated for your smarts and your memory is rote
Lai See money at the bottom of the drawer
Got the type of dick to make a tiger mom roar
Got the type of dick to make a rich bitch poor
If she pays for the date maybe she can get lucky
Boardwalk ugly, call me Nucky
I'd rather be Long Duc Dong than Ducky
End it on a good note, Mary Tyler Moore
Eyes so slanted 50 points off your score

>>6617634
>>6618076

You're both right

>>6614485

is this good

>>6618184
hey i'm >>6592840 , any suggestions to actually be great? thanks.

>>6616139
It's kind of plain and lacks imagery but it's sincere and heartfelt. Pretty good, but not particularly interesting

>>6616251
This man speaks the truth

>>6618184
You know an adherence to traditional, simple metre/rhyme isn't a prerequisite for good poetry, right? Some pieces actually benefit from thumbing the nose at conventional form, or at least, moving into something a little more complex and away from straightforward iambic emphasis or ABAB stanzas.

>>6618781
If you can't into form you can't into freeform thats just how it is and will always be.
refer to what fagnatique said upper

rain colour glimmer globes held lightly on bowing pine bristle outbranchings

flickers of sunlightning on flecks of silverwater fall heavy from our roof, while breeze waved forest top folia breathes sparkling rays into this moss scented airly day shower

vermillion leaves praise washed chorus of
'platts' saking their thirsty glossurfaces from skyward grace

tiny voice robins cheer in glee vary pitched sun-dripped song around oak pillars of this supremely natural open mist cavern, the resonant hall of intimate earth where all good creatures live in brightness

Our small home in the heart of mother gives soul refreshment with so many of its simple honest gold-green glories in still dew morning, forgottenly remote from asphaltopolis, beyond desire to recall any busyness amid such gentle arboreal wonder

sudden near from unknown where a crow announces the sacred mystery of this returnal mountain dwelling, welcoming the heart come home again forwhile linger in love with the free rising life of all that grows forever golden-green

What a woman wants

Sizzling, moist droplets of heat trickling.
Stretching out covered meat
is flexing
stepping
clinking rhythmically - A thin, tangerine-colored cloth skin
curving, wittily.
The glossy smooth crown,
gliding and radiating brown; waving from side to side, elegantly
the juicy figuration, assisted by the wind, slowly moving, swallowed
by a cemented thin ravine.

aah... - a whimpering cry jumps briefly off the walls.
A forceful, driven push
a rising cloud of dust.
The ripping of an artificial skin
the frothing salivating blows of lust.

This soaring spirit topples all spurious semblances of pride,
all ideological divides.
He grasps and pulls, uncovering bare, throbbing flesh
and with his virile center bursting forward, he pushes into the open bleeding gash.
Before repelling but now the nature of the prey revealed,
She wants to be devoured she has no true self will.

aah - a conjoining sensual roar.
Two forms contorting,
oozing
snorting.
The feast is over
a few tugs and all the seed is spilt.

He rises, admiring his ravaged art with pure derision.
What a visage, what savage grace.
He adds some spittle considering his work complete;
a broken smile
-thank you
admiring his presence.

unfinished, woefully incomplete but i'm a bit lightheaded today and would want some if any advice as to the language or form.

it is with a strengthening envy along
i trip the axis in celestial dance
and point heavenwards where bellowed long
my thunder, filling sky's expanse.
to a wilderness that's me and once belong
do from which i'm divine select
dawdle, in return for defeating song
then sit to pour from old spirits.

>>6619176
Didn't you post this in another thread? Give a chance to others who haven't received any critique.

>>6616631
Literally perfect?

Often I am afflicted with thoughts dark in origin
And draped with flecks of melancholy
Desperate, grasping like the child for his mother
Aimlessly groping in hopes of clinging onto something greater

Such lust for wonder bursts upon the sight of your smile
From corner to corner of your lips,
I find adventures suitable for the most daring soul
And — as if Ishmael, I seek to explore these mysteries
(In only a nature soft and tender)

Unfortunately, such voyages are halted by a lingering issue
That of my own conscience
Akin to the thorns on a rose, whose mere presence deters those of fragile nature.
Whose threatening force dissipates a love for petals
Dark red and soft as velvet.

And dread may haunt my mind for a duration far too long,
But, in one transient beat in the heart of our universe,
I will feel power unmatched in intensity!
Weariness shall fragment and become dust
And, as the shackles of my boyhood are broken,
I will give unto you grace,
Just as hasty rays of orange sunlight
Scatter about a pale blue horizon.

>>6619019
>tiny voice robins cheer in glee vary pitched sun-dripped song around oak pillars of this supremely natural open mist cavern.

I took a glance only to find a loaded sentence. Now, I ask you for your own benefit, read this to a companion of yours and ask him/her to tell you what he/she understood or felt.

I had this one dream
A moon in the sea
A moon in the sky
Jailed by a balcony of thin

I looked down and I saw up
By looking up, I remembered down.
But I had forgotten what's up.
I did not know around.

So I jumped.

A...
Aa...
Aaa...
Aaaa...

And I fell.

First it was fast,
then it was slow.
Then I couldn't count:
There was time no more.

I sunk into the dark.
I sunked into my tears.
But I looked up for a last time.

And that was the last time I looked.

---
Pretty childish, but I think you'll like the feeling of it.

>>6583600
I see a lot of shit posted here but no critique

>>6619651
here is a list of unclaimed (poetry) in this thread.
>>6591278 (haiku...)
>>6595034 (nt srs either)
>>6599368
>>6601357
>>6601380
>>6601412
>>6601676
>>6601766
>>6602204
>>6602417
>>6602427
>>6603525
>>6603535
>>6604518
>>6604606
>>6606114
>>6606621 (shit-tier, don't bother)
>>6614485
>>6614562
>>6614567 (haiku..)
>>6614614 & >>6614623
>>6614624
>>6614750
>>6615164
>>6616489
>>6616684
>>6618517

and my simple >>6619454

>>6619646
>childish
You're a good critic.

>>6619646
This is mine.

>>6619697
Thanks. I know it sucks, but I don't know many words in english.

bump

>>6619789
Please let this die.

>>6619705
Why the fuck do you write then

>>6619807
Because I thought you'd like it.

>>6619841
>Anonymous Poet
please no

>>6619856
Why do you need to be so mean with me? I'm just trying to write something.

>>6619856
>>6619651
>>6619697
>>6619807

Since you guys are fans to my anonymous poetry so much, I made a prequel:

From Clay

When my feet slip,
upon a soil of nothing
my goals blurred
In the dark of Earth

I tried to lift,
my hands were swallowed
the mud missed me
as from the clay I am made.

I accepted my place.
Rested my legs.
Braced and sunked.
Until the end the end of my days.

Bluargh.

---
Better? It's about someone living a shitty life and giving up to it.

>>6619902
could elaborate on clay --> being dried out by sun

The Locals Eat Chipotle

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

How could a person
still live that way now?
Turning limp cartwheels
in dried up canals.
The spirits you slept on moved West after Wednesday
And now all the paddies are
next door to juice stands.

Where forty years prior
our ancestors just made it
And half of me used to fly
in plasticine steamships
Your other side sometimes
still overcooks the broth

All of the reverends
you made into statues
Are kind of at fault now
for why they can’t move.
Don’t you forget what old acronyms spell
Things often don’t work
when we lie to ourselves

And you, half your pride points
are rooted in skin tone.
So forty-five colors are
all royal purple
While orange pulp and pajama robes
falter towards laminate
Card stock and flower heads
wallop propellor fins
Slithering adjectives grope to your viscera
Holinshed’s ospreys are
fishing for contretemps
Masked finfoots fulminate
over your nakedness
How could we get lost
inside such minor acreage?

Often when we sneak around
Things don’t work out
When we lie to ourselves

>6619949
Considering the quality of his work, "From Shit" would be a much more appropriate title.

>>6616079
>whistling the tune of the black tar coil
Cool
>from the tome-filled tomb of abstractions
Chunky landing
>from decepticore through fictimantle
Cheesy, sounds like an advert for DnD merch or toys
>are a finished product, ever-finishingly
>fishing for thrills, ever-fishing with false bait
I can see you're winding this one back up but the falliteration fouls
>the key
That rhythm at the end just peters out in several directions with no footing

Kinda like.

>>6592840
some good moments here but i don't see any thematic link between the sections.
four was too sentimentally generic.

In a conference room in Zürich
sat six to eight Jews drawn
from a wide cross-section of society.

There sat investment bankers, true,
but also the more mundane
fields such as commercial banking.

They made small talk and snacked,
considering that month's schemes
while waiting for Liz and The Pontiff to arrive.

>>6618781

I do understand that, but if I said your poem was trash, it probably was because you were using freer forms really poorly.

>>6583600
From the popular network series "When Edgelords Go Bad...

Seriously though, don't use a style to insult that same style. It's tacky and smug.

The city lights organized a tryst with the dark
between the funeral home and church-tower clock,
reading: "Night Cometh."
Forbidden, the couple swallowed Adam's apple,
lodged throat-wise, born a suffocating goiter.
And the gold loitered, gone fishin', back in the March,
carried by a pack of disoriented lemmings and teeth.
So solemnity turned to cheeriness, the chattering ceased,
waiting for a package delivery, expedited but late,
forcing one, or two, to ask:
How can the mosquitoes hold their tongues?
while sweat and tears leave blood hanging up to dry?
How can we ask the gentleman on his high-horse
how to file for a visa, and leave this sideways country?
How can I ask you exactly what I need ask you?

You can't, he said in my sleep, nodding like a sculpture,
you just have to wait for the shores to merge
and for dusk to dissipate, like your aching tooth.

And so I leapt up out of bed,
and sling-shotted into space with a gun in hand,
dithering, pilfering time, scraping the ceiling,
waiting for shortening, for a full filling slice of pie,
waiting nonetheless.

>>6597028

kekku

>>6620143
thank you.

Fire around me
Touching and burning my skin
The oath seal my fate

The Shed

The livid clamour echoed and banged
Off steel walls where true wrath hanged,
Dangling and loose, and ready to be grasped
By murderous intent which these two masked.

As the standing laughed at the seated,
Whose composure was almost depleted,
He did not take heed of his scrunched glower
Because it was hid under the roof's cold bower.

Approaching now to rub it in,
Shamelessly flaunting sardonic grin,
Well unaware of the claw that sat beside
The glazed over boy that did not meet his eyes.

Turned towards with endearment to deceive,
It would not be the boy but his mother bereaved,
As handle shot up and in the same motion fell
On curly, black locks where blood began to well.

>>6619902
I like it better yes

>>6616468
>It was deliberately obscure
Be obscure clearly.

>>6621973
nice job not having a 季語, plebe.

There was a young lady named Lorna
Whose mother neglected to warn her
>till some uncleany eremites
>infested with termites
Corroded her flora with fauna

>>6622516
There was an old man from St. Kitts
who was troubled with galloping shits
>one morning at last
>he let loose a blast
that tore his old asshole to bits

>>6620466
>don't use a style to insult that same style. It's tacky and smug
Kek-level mad unskilled wannabe hipster poet right here. Took 300 posts before OP caught one.