/lit/ - Literature

i sit here and wonder why

dont understand how it all works, but i try

look into the sun and blind myself

look at me but put me back on the shelf
buy a gun and shoot a cunt

chase her down for thrill of the hunt

aim it to her head, and blast out her brain

then pour her blood down the drain

am i mad? or just insane?
i see all these people content

or perhaps these smiles they have to present

to bosses, co workers and passers by

still dont understand it, but still i try
40 hours a day

for this pitance of a pay

so at the weekend we can lay

pessismist you might say

but realist,i pray
get a job, get a wife

buy her gifts, just end your life

slave to common conecptions

happiness is just a perception

dont belive these deceptions!
believe to achieve

these boulders we must heave

for hopes of a better wage

so we arent the one that turns the page
study hard, go to school

dont drop out, that isnt cool

get your papers with your grade

make a mark, dont just fade
kiss enough ass to maybe get the top

keep going, never stop

and then what? time you get there, you'll prob drop

and fall dead to the ground

family will cry, but everyone else wont make a sound.

>>6922154
so much edge, holy shit, i almost cut myself

this is garbage dude

>>6922462
what is garbage but old things in a big can ?

I could never get into poetry

Are these threads just medium-effort baiting, or do people actually think their elementary-school-tier garbage should be posted here?

>>6922153
Read incessantly for a couple years then try and writing poetry again - stuff like this will just serve to embarrass you

>>6922525
When from thine error, dark, degrading,
With words of fiery persuading,
I drew thy fallen spirit out;
And thou, thy hands in anguish wringing,
Didst curse, filled with a torment stinging,
The sin that compassed thee about;
When thou, thy conscience dilatory
Chastising with the memory's shame,
Didst there unfold to me the story
Of that which was before I came;
And sudden with thy two hands shielding
In loathing and dismay thy face,
To floods of tears I saw thee yielding,
O'erwhelmed, yea prostrate with disgrace--
[About here Dostoevsky's narrator cuts off this poem with:" . . . / etc., etc., etc./ From the poetry of N. A. Nekrasov]"
Trust me! thy tale did not importune;
I caught each word and tired not.
I understand, child of misfortune!
I pardoned all, and all forgot.
Why is it then, a secret doubting
Still preys upon thee every hour?
The world's opinion, thoughtless flouting,
Holds even thee too in its power?
Heed not the world, its lies dissembling,
Henceforth from all thy doubts be free;
Nor let thy soul, unduly trembling,
Still harbor thoughts that torture thee.
By grieving fruitlessly and vainly
Warm not the serpents in thy breast,
Into my house come bold and free,
Its rightful mistress there to be.

You might want to look into professional poetry bud. Poetry centers a lot more on aesthetic than prose, kinda.

>>6922153
>>6922154
Worse than Muse lyrics

Trolling is fishing without hooks
and spamming this or that are spooks
what to lit is aquinas
on int its the british malvinas

tfw another thread with DFW
what has that to do
with my butthole clenching
when I see one about pynchon
or mc carthy's corncobbery
zizeks intellectual dishonesty
or butterflys tripfaggotry

does it then not follow
that my hairy bunghole
is more patrishun
than the common litizen?
at least mine is honest
for the shit that forthcometh
is authentic excrement
that entices more excitement

another day on lit
all the posts are shit
highschool reading and obscurantism,
other various forms of plebeianism,
the weekly camus thread
even though the stranger is bad
and the only thing worse than the plague -
the question: is the post bait?

Who is better, Milspeare ore Shakeston?
Why is vonnegut the best?
Nineteen eighy brave or New world four?
some random online personality test.

Insert obscure japanese homo writer here.
Is Proust the french Knausgard?
Tai Pei vs King Lear?
who does a russian pedo hold in high regard?

4chan.org/lit
why are you so shit
philistine cucks
shoulda stayed in /r/books
and for those who dont get it
>>>get back to reddit

>>6923199
a little try-hard and I know it's just keks, but I like this

They cut off the poet's hand,
And silenced the musician,
Lobotomized the novelist,
and killed the politician

They turned the green to chrome
Turned jungles into towers
Turned talking into texting
Turned minutes into hours

Built walls and broke them down
Built cities left for ruin
The ruin turned to dust
And the dust turned into human

I cut off the poets hand
Took the guitar from the musician
I lobotomized the novelist
I killed the politician

>>6923315
Oooh edgy politics, wow, being scared of change always makes for good art

>>6923354
lets hear ur poetry then, fagtron

>>6922153
>>6922154
>>6923315

>>6923390
Don't need to show you my poetry to criticise yours.

>>6923315
Embrace technology, don't rebuke it

backspacebackspacebackspacebackspacebackspacelinesaboutnothingbackspacebackspacebackspace

I'm stronger now:
Can't you see?
I'll build a house
With all the bricks
That you throw at me.

>>6923853
faggot

>>6922153

When forced onlock bold and boastful
Tempture sallied forth and thismal
Hallock hall cantropes abund
Camulan draws forswing grim and crimsul

Don cemene utop Emaine nock
Pooled Vartur visaged intancred
Aflix ferried transits set annuid
A pillored matorn come fist and tammock

Alas Camulan brask brieful lad
Alas mortine in soth shal flowered
No graccus tought no gether welded
Sherely cland in westerls clad

>>6923853
this one's good. u r not a faggot.

>>6922153

There was so much blood,
bloody
blood
blood,
all over my hands, clothes and knife
knifey
knife
knife
You’d think this was about murder, but it’s not
I’m a butcher, this is my job
Here comes a lady, wanting porkchops
chop
chop
chop
"That’ll be 15 bucks."

for Sabina

i. night comes over bucharest like a fugue;
and our common idiom of breath and gesture is
its own sort of art. down the boulevard trees’
silhouettes unfurl heroically, made flawless
in the loose blue forgetting of dusk.

ii. on the shelf of the hotel lobby’s untuned
upright piano were two picture frames and a glass
vase holding only a tulip and baby’s breath. not once
did i reach out to touch them; they lay
there insensible to the strings’ dull sharpness.

iii. there is no room for error where
bill evans is concerned, beethoven
was never yours, is not your right.

where our shared language closes in,
nearly becomes that wordless art our
breath goes onward unpossessed.

_____________________________________________

>>6922154
Loved it, especially this part
>my friends say i should act my age
>what's my age again? what's my age again?

>>6923315
If you're going to insist on rhyme, read some of Plath's earlier verse (especially her sonnets)--she does a very good job of burying her rhymes so they don't overpower the rest of the poem. Off the top of my head:
Black Rook in Rainy Weather
Conversation Among the Ruins
Alicante Lullaby
Sexton's also a helpful read in that regard.

On a more general note: For the most part, every single word in a poem matters. As you write, ask yourself "Why this word and not that word? What does this contribute to the poem? rhythmically? thematically? musically? visually? etc etc etc " You have so many different tools at your disposal when writing verse, even at a basic level, and before we can even begin to address how fucking edgy this poem is, you need to understand how those tools should be used--or if they should be used at all.

>>6923853
I chuckled

>>6924140
>brieful lad
>not stuffing your face full of brie before heading out with the lads

(you)s in a critique thread
teardrops like thaw on mt. fuji
reminded of le upvotes

Giant squid
Giant squid
Run away from giant squid

He got fid
Pushing mid
Teammates blew respective lids

>>6924412
>>6924419
>>6924377
Posts like these are legit my favorite thing about poetry threads

SLOVENIAN CULTURAL CRITICS
WITH SEVERE FACIAL SPASMS
CUCKED BY ESOTERIC DIALECTICS
HEGELIAN BRAINS ARE GAPING CHASMS

MARK HAMILL WANTS SO BADLY
TO CUT OFF SOMEONES BALLS
THE THOUGHT MAKES HIM SWEATY
AND THEN HE JUST RECALLS
A FILTHY JOKE
OR AN ANECDOTE
OR A LINE OF COKE
LACANIAN ANTIDOTE

SLAVOJ SLAVOJ ZIZEK
WHEN WILL YOU REALIZE
THAT CHOMSKY HAD yOU REKT
JUST FUCKING OPEN YOUR EYES
JUST THINK OF YOUR MOTHER
THINK OF YOUR SON
YOUR POSTMODERN FATHER
AND SO ON
AND SO ON

>>6924457
Kek

suburban white people glorify my lifestyle
ive been held at gunpoint and knifepoint by addicts
middle class white people glorify my lifestyle
i could go to prison for years without seeing my family
redditors glorify my lifestyle
i ruin people's lives to take care of my own
sheltered /mu/tants glorify my lifestyle
i could die tomorrow but at least we stay lit
i could kill somebody's son but at least we put on
i have you tweakin daily but at least we stay trappin
i keep my family awake when I aint home but at least the bando live
aint nothing glorious about my lifestyle but at least i got my chain

A knew a girl named Mari
With short hair and ducks
Who slashed her arms with a razor
And yelled at her helpless mother
Then she sat in a hospital
And stashed the pills they gave her

>>6922153
wrote on the other day

without water, you're
fit only for worms
(indifferent unless they are flat)
i've become very serious
there's no face paint or trench
nature goes a long way
people expect you to be married
the goal is not to be able to tell

>>6924557
This is really lovely, only thing that really put me off was the second line--any reason for 'fit only' instead of 'only fit'?

Broken-down Casanova

Calypso whistles
and you come abounding
with lolling tongue.
Midnight to midnight
you’re in love
with her cigarette.
You’re a carnival romantic
with cyanide expectations
and electric desolation.
Her slow burning mercy
trickles down
to a Cinderella hoodwink
and the solitude you forever seek
is clutched in her glacial grip.

>>6924584
thanks—no good reason, actually for "fit only"

would you believe that each line was a phrase cut from a thread on /adv/? i used to cut out phrases from dear abby columns, they have heavy imagery

I'm drunk
crunked
fucking...
maybe if I lean forward I
can zoom zoom
across the sidewalk
or maybe a dance
is in order
because I am sooooooooo
glassed
I know exactly how glassed
off my ass I
am
Siri where is 45 Hooper Street?
four
more
minutes
walking
but if I merengue home
I'll be there in three
cause it takes
two to tango

I fuck the music
I make it cum
I fuck the music with my serpent tongue

Wanna beer, have no fear, comes and goes, man its here
No one knows, feels so weird, when it blows through my bones
I got a jones for it
I wanna know more, cuz its bout what I got to show for it

I want some more of it
I want too much
I got so bored with it
I shot it up
Wanna light my torch with it and get all fucked up

What is it, where is it
How will it affect me
Fuck that shit, I need that shits bound to be the death of me
Fuck buying it I'm taking it, and sharing it with nobody

Cuz all I really need is some cool shit to mob
Like driving down the street to the beat of a blow job

I own that shit
On some throw back shit
You already know that shit
You even know 'bout how I know the man
Who grows that, bitch o

You can't buy it with your money
You can't find it overseas
Its one of those things that seems outlandish
Til you have it's not a dream
As for me, I'm cool with it
And that's alright cuz it's my thing.

Work that angle til its beveled
Curve of the blade doubled
Edge made to bleed the struggle
Best believe the game's a hustle.
Observer of the strange occurrences
Conjurer of the subtle
Unseen but felt disturbances
That burst a bitches bubble

That's right it's all mine
It's all mine never was yours
Like how you wait in line
While I walk straight through the door
(straight through the...)
Hear you say something
But ain't nothing ?spectators ignored
Pay no mind to that chump's
Just a player hatin whore

I fuck the music
I make it cum
I fuck the music with my serpent tongue

>>6923792
pls critique

What you talkin' 'bout Willis?
You know my rhymes be the illest.
Think you be spittin' like Heaney?
No--you ugly like Cheney
A metric foot up your ass
with my fluid syntax
Take a break now relax
This be a faux pax--oh!
Now it's a duel
you be real cool
when you swallow your stool.
Bar none, you be suckin'
your mama be cuckin'
Older than gouda cheese
now you freeze,
I see be you squirmin'
like Pee Wee Herman
play it Sam--Ingrid Bergman
this be my casa blanca
you be smoked up like ganja
just because I stroke
different don't mean I toke
spliffin'--ride the wing o' my griffin
door slammed in yo' face.

>>6924457
kek x 5

Red, yellow, blue
You know what to do
Mix and mingle
Don't be single
White's just not for you

Now black is another story
At least a little bit whorey
Use it with care
And try to be fair
Because if you don't you will be sorry

But black is trapped in the dark
Against colors it's just too stark
White may play
But you'll just get gray
And have a quick fuck in the park

I am dead
My body is lowered
R.i.p.

I never understood poetry. What could honestly be portrayed better with several lines of abstract symbolism than a clear and well thought out essay or something? People like you tend to start with some sort of point, and contort it until it just vaguely resembles what you started with to get indie-points. People thinking about your work because it's cryptic and distorted is not a substitute for people thinking about your work because it's meaningful.

>>6925073
It's just a different way to portray our thoughts, at least that's what it's supposed to be. Most people who write poetry see it the way that you do and that is why there is so much of this nonsensical cryptic garbage but a true poet simply wishes to convey their thoughts in a way they find beautiful. If others see beauty in that, it's all the better but if they don't then there's no loss.

>>6925073
I disagree. I'm not a huge poetry fan, I've never tried to write it, but I can see the value in it. Whereas prose attempts to bring you to a feeling through a logical and well constructed narrative, poetry attempts to bring you to an emotional state directly, bypassing your thinking brain to hit you right in the feels.

>>6925073
it's like music. why sing about it when you can talk about it? because it isn't about what's being said but how it is said.

Curren and cweled
that thoughtful thing
is to be begone before bylong
and after all, all alls al.

Old and shitty but better than anything recent in my notebooks:

Are the machines dancing in orbit of the secretary?
Are they probing the final dichotomous mysteries?
Smelting the customer's death in parentheses
Automatons reached through the fantastic plate-glass
Succumbing to fevers whose ghosts we had lasso'ed
The stony-eyed millers
they churned the clouds backwards
Our grandfathers' hounds who once won wolves and dodos
Now whine on their backs with their tails gyrating
Toss them a slice of the petri dish pot-roast
They've earned this reward, now let's seek clear waters, let's float!

cuck my shit up!
american corncob
literature is the worst,
makes my colon burst

anglophone lit
is incredibly shit
between sterne and shakespeare
nothing to be seen here

tao lin the xanax chink
one is inclined to think
is a footnote on tombstone
of hunter s thompson
and one can only wish:
fate serves tao the same dish
a nice portion of lead
id rather see him dead
than read something as gay
as his diary Tai Pei

>>6922153
Today I wrote: "Should you find yourself struggling,
Dress sharp enough to split in two,
the curveball life threw at you."

>>6924517

I'm very reluctant to give anything a sincere when the very first letter is a typo; it makes it look like you've spontaneously written it as prompted by seeing this thread, rather than in the premeditated manner of a very stylistically sophisticated serial killer.

>>6924457
thank you

Piss-stained spires of flesh and fecal
Ream her crimson, meat-flap muff

>>6925094
I've yet to find poetry that actually hits that mark that it's trying to. I can see when it's trying to be beautiful, or sad, or melancholic, or whatever but it's never actually got there.
>>6925109
Imagine for a moment you're talking to someone and they start to tell you some deep, meaningful, hard hitting shit. If part of the way through they suddenly started speaking in lymerics it wouldn't sound heavy, just silly or as I said earlier, distorted.
>>6925119
>why sing about it when you can talk about it
Singing with lyrics is just talking at certain pitches, as in musical notes. Singing without lyrics is just making mouth noises at those same pitches. It is not about how something is being said. If you took a beautiful singer, queued up the dead island theme and told them to sing the saddest notes they knew it would be sad as shit. If you told them the lyrics had to be something like "fuck my ass and pour sprinkles on my titties" then it wouldn't be nearly as sad, just off putting.

A message takes priority over the method of conveyance.

Rhyme is overrated

as is meter

also cadence

so what of poetry

is left

poetry

Noun

usually uncountable, plural poetries

The class of literature comprising poems.
Composition in verse or language exhibiting conscious attention to patterns.

A poet's literary production

A 'poetical' quality, artistic and/or artfull, which appeals or stirs the imagination, in any medium

Vague and tautological;

all that is left

of poetry

>>6925164
I think you're trying too hard to find an objective meaning to poetry when it's purpose is to convey subjective thoughts. Just because there are more efficient ways to do it doesn't mean that's the only way to do it. It's all about the journey, not the destination.
See where I'm going with this?
I'm not trying to argue that you're wrong in saying that poetry has no purpose because in an objective standpoint, it doesn't. I'm just trying to tell you why others find value in it.

It's much easier to be negative
rather than positive (source: God):
the more that exists, the more that is relative
just like frowns manifested in digital text
just like misery in man after god,
but now our terms have become spatial
as well as self-referential, like the spoiled
generation of kids inundated by massless media.
En masse we recreate our malignant vestiges
and in solitude we explore new ways to be
crude, compounded when we're alone together.
Uncouth the miracle of reproduction
through the replication of social information
has become, even when we used to be cum.
For all, I remain unapologetic–hedging privilege–
as a child. Free and blind, was but became
blinded and caged: shame shame has become
a phage, enraging the robe makers.
Now please wait to tell me your opinion of all this,
because this is just an test for STDs,
that's socially transmitted disease for those who can't see.

>>6925073
You'll read the right poem someday and it'll all click into place for you. A lot of people fall in love with Poe and just progress from there. I love medieval poetry so I studied it for awhile. That was in 1987. Some people love the Jabberwocky, some Frost, some Joyce. Concrete poetry is interesting. I brought it up before on lit poetry threads but it seemed not many even knew what concrete poetry was, honestly.
Personally I always suggest Easter, 1816 to people. And this: https://youtu.be/tCtZfBVS1Tg

>tl;dr you will find something you like if you seek it

>>6925164
>a message takes priority over the method of conveyance.
Eh, I don't think so. You're getting too scientific. Rhetorically this definitely is not the case.

This parchment was once pulp
Of alike paper, note or page
Holding anxieties
Of a similar sage
Their tepid tappings
Of love or loss or lilys
Were of the same rhythm
Poems accounting Achilles
What river of dreams
Will wet my eyes
When to them it seems
There could not be more
For said water
Has been drank before

I shout pixelated,
nothing belated.
Time now lags never,
so nothing has changed
except that the home on the range
has become but words on a page
[sic].
But now time is taken to screen,
no, taken's not what I mean.
Let me rephrase by saying that:
time occupied slowly to say what you mean
is time gentrified like Boyz n Da Hood
on the movie screen.
But we separate the inseparable
like divorce lawyers and Oppenheimer
to construct myths about god and
how the way things are supposed to be
rather than letting things simply be.

Now read: beauty lies
(I should really finish the sentence there)
in the eyes of those beholdin',
but if I catch you in the eye scoldin,'
just remember that I'm holdin'.

The Mountain Echoes
We crawl across this vast expanse that is blank until we scrawl across it, with our actions, our feelings. This sterile landscape is the boulder we push without rest or succor. With a mind that has transfigured the world we are essentially alone, trapped by bone and fear, prejudiced by what we cannot control.

We O desolate nation, built on biblical law married to barbaric conquest. A nation of jesters, capering for the young and old-all inbetween die on their own. We are suspects and jailers, judges and convicts. We pay a terrible price because we are a terrible price. Cancer our friend, love our enemy. Our twenty-one year old husbands kill their twenty year old wives, pregnant with seven month old fetuses. Our Cains kill with no evidences, no accusations. Think with your sex drives; let the mind on that immeasurable void become dust. No child! No children! The father kills his son, the son kills his mother, the daughters cry, inconsolable, above it all. Murder in the night is your nation’s answer to all dilemma, real or imagined.

Is all information trapped in a supposedly immortal soul? The forensics are non-existent. Prayers echo to a God who promised not to intervene. Why do our bones ache for what we cannot feel? The blocks stack up, blister-like, homely, standing side by side.

We have this dire need for the world to end on our terms. A selfish notion of what is right for us must be right for all. Writing what will never be read in borrowed library books, like borrowed time or borrowed love. What really matters in this life? It’s not sorrow or riches, joy or pain. This is insubstantial. This is transitory and not illumination at all. Only no child! No children! matter. We apes, trapped by biological need, scrabble at the strings of importance, missing what is in front of our weary eyes. It is disturbing to read into others lives the empty promises they inevitably make to themselves and to the ones they love. They claim mortal forms and just as quickly shuck them when something they think is better comes along, traipsing gayly, slyly, deceiving. Lies! Lies! Lies! Your empty promises, O great and humble nation, are lies!

There is a great inestimable pride in our spirit that crawls out and demands we make what we want our own. Our own alphabet and language. Our own buildings, our own discourse, my land, my people. Does it really mean anything? Dreams die on the lips, not the sword. Dreams die in the eyes: let the spear be damned to rot and ruin. To what great masterpiece do we owe life and love? What magniloquent author do we pay our service, our bodies to? Under which rock do we pry ourselves from? Are the angels truly jealous of that ever perpetuating myth of Free Will? What proofs do we have that either actually exists? The stars are real; they touch us not. What angel races between them? The very act of mournful worship speeds their feet, not their thought. Nothing speeds the thoughts of a million pins dancing on the head of a frost-bitten angel. Their skin is blue from icy breath. Why not ours, too? Where is the mystery in their death or do they never suffer the petty pangs of free will? We are whales in their thought. They, the minnows in ours. To be jealous of clay! The thought is monstrously preposterous. Truly, be jealous of arctic breath.

We smile rictus-like for what was lost to us in unpaced ravages of time, the ravishment of youth who never learned to love the picking of cotton, to say sir or ma'am, to wait for Saturday morning cartoons. The peanut gallery is dead, dead. Hollywood royalty harvests Oedipus like Jimmy Carter harvested peanuts. The new earth recoils at blood and rejoices in dust. Struck dumb at the sight of a veiny cow’s Udder. The mother is struck down in bitterness. To taste despair when a young promise is struck down by Ambiem and Valium. What dies tomorrow is lost today. Fifty years-fifty years it took for the dung eaters to celebrate a vacuous socialite and revile wild-haired thinkers. Da Vinci would be stoned a heretic, a two month old son in his arms. Shall we die in flames? Burnt by unforgiven gravities we are all bound to? The Rituals we’ve grown accustomed to strangle us not by inches but by light-years. New today, gone tomorrow. We’ve dulled our teeth on vacant idols, lost to appetites in dying technological deserts. Dictionaries are as foreign to our hands as condoms. We conform to secret signs that we do not recognize, that lay on our skin like dark spots. Sin is the by-word for fame and success. We taste reason as ashes in our mouth, radioactive and losing sanity. We celebrate Atlantis and destroy Venice. The screed of blood and thinking, you can save us with social reform while we can’t even stand the taste in our mouth. Save us, save us, the careless mantra. Save yourselves! Parry the lies for those who live. Let the dead rest.

The poor author cannot make you understand. You come to it by yourself, the end of a clearing, a dusty road, a love you never wish to forget. The handwritten note or letter from them that you cherish will bring you to understanding faster. No one sleeps in the jungle, anymore, O wealthy nation, so do not claim ignorance. Take your pox-riddled blankets and suckle to a mother you do not claim. It is that very void that defines you and you allow it. By the hells, you celebrate and revel in it! The gods you have created are dead in my eyes, their Mount Olympus deserted and unhallowed. The hierarchies of substance you cannot prove exists. Is the mind a torment? Do you have the capability to answer such a question?

Our Freud is dead! Long live Freud!

The author is dying as are you, right now. The cells strive to promulgate over the force of entropy that started when you were but a gamete.

We die crying other’s names, crying out for leniency, redemption. The black smoke chokes the sky while you breathe your last. Consciousness descends, falling on gold, diamond dusting your brow.


There is a part two if anyone is interested.

>>6925464
nty

>>6925153
Fuck I forgot people never make typos.
But you're right, should be an 'I' instead of an 'A'.

>>6925423
Awful. The self-referential shit is lazy and tacky, your syntax is very poor and clunky, and your references and how you call upon them are just the worst. Back to the drawing board please.
>>6925379
Eh. If you intend to do the no-punctuation thing, rather than just forgot, change that. Otherwise there isn't much to say, good or bad; keep writing though.
>>6925190
Reads like pretentious and pompous amateur philosophizing and attempts at zeitgesting, which you have chopped up into pieces and added line breaks to. Do you even really want to write poetry?
>>6925162
Everything about this just screams amateur. If you want to pursue this sort of tone/subject, you need to be inventive because this is basically edgy technical death metal lyrics condensed.
>>6925143
ayyy lmao

>>6925190

This is the most cringey shit I've ever read

>>6922501
smelly things in a big can, really.

#What's new? I'm blue. How can you know what's true? I'm thinking of getting a tattoo. I'd fit in better with my crew. A new haircut too. As long as you give me the cue. Not that it's all about you. It's just that I don't know who. What will I do?

>>6924772
Pretty bad, but if you added a simple "SHIT IS MINE IT'S ALL MINE SHIT IS MINE ALL THE TIME YEAHHHHHHHH" it'd be great.

>>6925674
Hey man, I thought I was being deep, is what you expect me to think and say and what I thought and said.

>>6925633
Yeah, sorry to come off as a dick, just trying to point out why a super common mistakes super comma

>>6924404

> read Plath

Might as well tell someone to learn poetry from Shel Silverstein or Novel writing from JK Rowling.

For rhymes, try an ACTUAL poet, Swinburne is mostly fluff but is the uncontested master of rhyme

>>6925737
Telling someone to read Swinburne is like giving someone homework; you'll probably just turn them off the entire subject.

>>6925677
Not bad. I would just recommend trimming it; after a little bit it seems as though you're both repeating yourself and adding things too casually - like they don't build on the poem, but you threw them in because they fit the rhyme and were close to what you are going for.

>>6922153
pretty good, op. kinda edgy, but i liked it

>>6922153
High school poetry tier
Really nigga grow up

Also
>religious beliefs were their enslavement

The apparition of you faggots on this board
NEET, uneducated horde

I'm sorry, but this is just bad.

Everyone in the world
is in front of you,
so spit some
of what you have
at the screen
in a backlit stream.
Now extend your hand
and cage your fingers
and scrape and
collect what you
can, like it too
were water.

>>6925737
>try an ACTUAL poet
Confirmed for having never read Plath

>>6924404
>dull sharpness

>>6926064
I bet you felt really clever writing this, too bad it's shit.

Szerelmes Levelet A Kurva Duna
(Love Letter to the Whore of the Danube)

There's a forceful kiss, catches me off guard, and then
a peck on both cheeks, a friendly greeting that should
have come before the first, and you say,
“Ten thousand on the table. The fourth time is free,” and
we're in your room your place your country and,
I say, “I hate you,” and you take me once twice thrice,
and you recline on your bed, in your valley, and I see
your pillows make a hill on the west, leaves nothing to
the east, but, you languish there, tired and worn and
old and young and confused and alert, and I say, “It was nice,”
and there is a river, a river of cyanide, and it flows from
your mouth, which is painted, the red of gulyas, of borscht,
and I can only think stupid thoughts, like,
this is a water bed of the finest water springs, and,
you pass me a cigarette, light it with your last match,
and as I get up to leave, after the fourth time, I can only think,
”I will miss you,” or “I love you,” and I get up and go,
and leave the whore, no, the jewel, of the Danube in my wake.

>>6926697
>sharpness
not sharp like a knife, sharp like above concert pitch

>>6926740
if you need to explain your poetry its not good poetry

>>6926747
there's a difference between me having to explain a poem and you not knowing what a word means.

>>6922153
I just came up with this, it's dark and cold. Please critique.

Oh misty night, muttering in the quiet
how the cold night shrieks loss of sight
how the plight sits behind this misty night
Where are you light

Oh long day, your sun is bright
Oh long day, you hide my plight
However long day, night must come
However long day, night reminds me of whats to come.

In the midst of the woody Forrest sat many trees
It seemed a place for every tree as they sat silently
There confidence singular for it grew, without worry of where or how

Here I sat in bleak despair even though I could go anywhere
With me my wallowing woes as I sat silently in pity
I sat with me a question of where to go but one true question; tree will you teach me to grow?

Such silence a clear no, the wind replied telling me to go.
Such silence but now I know.
The only way to grow is to go with the flow.

>>6926764
I'm not the guy you were responding to + you make no sense. Bad poet, bad. Go train.

>>6922153
is this a srs poem

Too many girls in my dreams
That I hardly even know
Talking about Bergman and woman in the dunes
Deluze and guittari t-shirts lost,
Winter light on the sand and the snow

Red hair is familiar
Keeps me at a distance, a distance I adore
I've met you for the first time
Too many times before

Take me from the present
Wrap me in the past
All the lives I've never lived
Are extinguishing fast

And I could spend a million evenings
Watching movies on my own
It takes an indigo mood to exclude
The thought of living alone

And the froth on the daydream
Floats so weightlessly by
Sadness corrupts and mountains erupt
And the northwest is gonna slide
into the sea

>>6926774
too irregular metrically to make the rhymes at all satisfactory. "you hide my plight" feels forced and meaninglessly archaic, and the repetition of "plight" feels needles too. the last line is awkward.

>>6924404
a pretty poem but marred by things that will feel to any reader as pointlessly showy. in particular, "night comes... like a fugue" is not a good simile, especially not good because the imprecision calls into question the musical references in the poem. because the simile is mediocre it seems like you don't know fugues well enough to compare them adequately to something, which hurts the poem greatly.

other than that the poem generally works well

>>6926817
not the poet but words games like that are pretty standard poetic stuff and while that usage might not be that aesthetically justified it's not like you can just say:

>dull sharpness

and then be done with the criticism.

>>6926856
>pointlessly showy
>mediocre simile
Definitely noted, thanks. Anything else I should be concerned about on that front?

meme dream supreme clean
cleam me in dream cream
cum cunt mummy /r9k/

>>6926911
personally i have never felt that the silhouettes of trees "unfurl" in dusk, much less "unfurl heroically," but maybe you have. i don't think that:

there is no room for error where
bill evans is concerned, beethoven
was never yours, is not your right.

are strong lines, and because they are not strong talking about bill evans and beethoven feels like namedropping for the sake of namedropping "serious" people.

quibbling now, but the plural possessive like "trees'" or "strings'" bothers me. it's not that you're using it wrong but because poetry is really meant to be said aloud and saying "trees'" outloud is awkward it makes it very awkward in poetry. people usually say trees' with some sort of nasty two syllable thing which doesn't sound good and which you don't want people reading your poem with

>>6926938
>Bill & Beethoven
Tied to a memory with the person the poem's dedicated to, but I see where you're coming from

>plural possessives
I was actually kind of hesitant about "trees'", but only because I hate ending lines with possessives. The pronunciation issue hadn't crossed my mind actually--I pronounce "trees" and "trees'" the same & most people I know have similar idiolects.
I'll keep the variation in mind though, thanks m8

help me defend my thesis, /lit/.

>>6925073
>What could honestly be portrayed better with several lines of abstract symbolism than a clear and well thought out essay or something?

You couldn't even if you tried your whole life.

You don't understand poetry and that's fine but that doesn't mean other people are as ignorant as you.

>>6922153
stupid fucking romanians,
they came and stole my kidney!
so I had to hunt them down,
in that weird cold fall of Sidney.

>>6926708
>I bet you felt really clever writing this
nope
>too bad it's shit.
at least explain why bruh that's the point of a critique

Maybe someone here understands German?

Rauchen

Wie süß schwebt nun dein Gift daher,
Von Raum und Zeit ich weiß nicht mehr
Bist wunderbar dem Tode gleich
Schickst unnahbar ins Totenreich

Doch wüsst‘ ich gern, wie ich mich wehr
Bild‘ mir doch ein, ich sei mein Herr
Bin wortgewandt, doch arrogant
Und sag von mir, ich hätt’s erkannt

Doch folg‘ ich still dein‘ lockend Ruf
Bei Gott, ich wünscht, ich hätt genug
Denn Trotzen dir bedeutet Mut
Dein Joch stand mir fantastisch gut

Ist eher ein erster Gehversuch. Naja

I wrote this late last night. I haven't had a chance to revise it or anything, but I'd appreciate some feedback anyway.

I came to fear falling asleep,
That churning in my stomach that no
Waking days work could shake.
Instead, I would lie awake
And dream of better worlds.
They weren't better; only I was.
The toil and sacrifice life required were brushed
Behind the romantic painting I had dreamed into being,
But maidens far too easily into my arms fell
And villain's blood was spilled as casually as
A glass of wine on an already wine stained shirt.

If dreams are our solace from life, then what is our solace from dreams?
Where is the nightmare that will carry me thrashing back into reality
And come nipping at my heels as it drives me toward a better one.
My stable is empty, my garage cleaned out.

Alone I lie, motionless, awake, a virgin sacrifice
To whatever god will finally decide it is desperate
Enough to take me.
A typical Monday night.

Above, the ceiling fan endlessly circulates cool air over my cool body.
I hear the dishwasher change cycles in the kitchen below.

Why is it that only shitty writers post in these threads? I guess it's good in some ways. /b/ collects the lamest of 4chan users, and these threads hold the attention of those who slip through /b/.

>>6928911
3/10

>>6928034
I'm a beginner German learner, but I liked your poem. I don't feel comfortable critiquing it, but as an Anglo, the rhyme scheme seems a little trite. Don't really know how that would scan for a native German speaker

>>6928877
couple of lines are trite,dig the mood, and good last line

>>6926834
digging this. reads like song lyrics. some of the lines are lacking the kick you're aiming for, though.

>>6926815
syntax is a bit strange, was about to write this off till 'tree will you teach me to grow ... such silence but now I know". strongest part imo. clip the last line, it's bad.

>>6926725
nice, old-fashioned. tighten it up where you can. give it more punch

>>6923117
ohhhh shit!

I sleep, O sleep.
I rest within my knot of peace.
With eyelids creased;
My dream's vitality does well decrease.
And wakefulness makes sure to seize.

I lay in vain.
Turbulent, the heart's in pain.
Foresee the day with great disdain.
The thought of you,
The deepest sown and growing grain. At once my bane, but still the soul make way through my warm veins.

I rise, I rise.
Soreness resides, and trace the room with tired eyes. Unsheathe my legs, strip them of last night's dregs. The thought though, O your thought knocks me down pegs.
Humble me, humble me! My charitable sweet!
Smiles to keep me on the edges of my feet.
Crossed paths and by high grace we meet, The Lord's work He's sure to peet.

>>6928924
Poster of shitty poetry detected.

When people often ask me
what I'm looking down at
I look up and just say "you."

The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone;
The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes,
Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back;
The gypsy knocks his hands and tucks them up,
And seeks his squalid camp, half hid in snow,
Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind,
And bushes close in snow like hovel warm;
There tainted mutton wastes upon the coals,
And the half-wasted dog squats close and rubs,
Then feels the heat too strong, and goes aloof;
He watches well, but none a bit can spare,
And vainly waits the morsel thrown away.
Like this they live--a picture to the place,
A quiet, pilfering, unprotected race.

>>6924599
You stole a bit from desolation row

This is something I wrote a couple of years ago. I don't know if it counts as poetry.

The boy watched quietly and he did not blink. The news was of a breadth of issues, all harrowing.
He knew that this was what there was.
He turned down the volume with the dial on the remote control.
He continued to watch quietly.
There was no difference.
The weather advisory was accompanied by cars careening into ditches.
A reminder, stock footage.
The boy left into the hallway, parting curtains.
He felt cold emanate from the window.
Ice had frosted the border of its view.
Snow fell and the boy did not blink.
His eyes began to tear.
He suppressed a need to shiver.
The wallpaper began to tear and the boy watched quietly.
The boy went to his room and rested his head on a pillow.
He looked at the cracks in the ceiling that he had never seen before.

>>6929621
Also there was meant to be a line break after every sentence. I messed up copying it here.

>>6929571
i'm glad you noticed. It's a cut-up of that song.

Someone read my poem

the sky was real purrty when I went for a walk earlier

The sun is gone, thus the blue of the sky becomes
A thing deeper and inkier than before our star
Did slide below the horizon. A turn of the head,
And it is all a streaked and milky pink;
A drying watercolor with flecks of grey.
But turn, still further, eyes level with the East,
For a first steam-rolling image of the storm,
Mere moments away - and the color of soot-soaked concrete.

>>6929766
which one is it

>>6929798
The last one.
It's nice to enjoy the sky with a storm.
Here in the Midwest it looked wild yesterday. After the hailing.

Amateur poet here, just trying to fine-tune my craft. Ears wide open!

Entonces the sconces ensconced
milky wavy light lit by little white mites,
phosphorescent in essence, precious;
and the room drips with quick reminders,
daily blinders in the shape of scrapes
and cracks in the wall made by madness:
propriety in notoriety; piety in sobriety.
But the doors shut, windows up: drafts,
ripples, tickles, a sprinkle sublime.
The room stands still when no more room
there is still, standing on the solemn sill.

>>6929621
Well I wouldn't say it's poetry, or prose poetry; probably flash fiction. I say so because there isn't much in the way of imagery or diction which doesn't simply get this character from one thought in the writer's head to the next.
Regardless, lines like
>A reminder, stock footage.
feel like fluff.
The last line is a little corny but satisfyingly ends the piece.
>>6929563
decent, but the last four lines are very awkward and need to be totally overhauled.
>>6929542
No no no. Are you trying to Linkin Park, bruv?
>>6929369
You seem to start off each stanza with some okay repetition, some nice simple lines describing a simple feeling/scene, and then trail off into overwrought badness.
Lines 4 and 5 of stanza 1, 3 and 4 of stanza 2, and lines 2 and 5 of stanza 3 are all real bad.
Also line length; what's the point of having a pattern to the number of lines per stanza when the length of a line can be 3 times longer than the rest and for no good reason? Because those over-long ones don't add anything more.

>>6929915
>decent, but the last four lines are very awkward and need to be totally overhauled.
Mind expanding on that?

Namaste, Bazooka Joe,
how does it really go?
A-OK he says today,
but I think he means
I can't quite say.

I sensed his pain
I truly did–
clouds of rain
above the kid.

Come bowl with me
I said to him,
Let me be!
he said so grim.

I pleaded him to come–
even invited Janet Gum–
but he denied and decried,
never wanting simple fun.

I banged on the door
begging some more
but minutes I waited,
about three or four.

Then came a pop!
And a big wet plop,
and I knew just then
Bazooka Joe was dead.

>>6929926
The fourth to last line, though it makes logical sense, is too inverted and makes it awkward - it drew me right out of your poem. ("but none a bit can spare,").
The following line however, because it is missing a preposition where it needs one, doesn't make any sense.
Next one is fine.
Last line: the adjectives you chose seem arbitrary. Yeah I get that they're bums, but where is the support in the rest of the poem for "quiet, pilfering, unprotected." Also, why "race?" and not something like "band?"

obviously, those are all opinions opinions opinions but they stood out to me whereas the rest seemed okay.

>>6930007
m8 it's a poem by John Clare

Sent this to a girl I like via facebook, she is an english TA so even though it seems kinda over the top I think she like this kind of stuff:


Olivia, my dear, I offer you
This composition of mine
A proposition, when you see it through
Of my love for you it shall be a sign

You're more to me than just an English TA
To me you're the most beautiful angel
Your face does all my pain allay
Yet you pass me like a stranger

Olivia, be my girlfriend!
I know I'm not the most good-looking
But I'll do anything - anything you want!
For you I'll even start cooking.

And I'll even stop smoking weed, like you told me.

Olivia, you're the one for me.
You know it as well as I.
We haven't talked much, but enough
To know what within our hearts lies.

O, siren, heed my call!
Would you let this wayward man fall?
The semester's over, so this might be late,
but I really wanna take you out on a date.

>tfw waiting for a response

>>6930030
nice meme but we've all seen the screencap

>>6930036
link to story?

>>6930025
You're great

>>6929940
almost great

>>6930046
Some fag wrote that shitty poem to a gril and shared it on r9k after she failed to respond and they all made fun of him. I dont have the image but if you search the poem on an r9k archive I'm sure you'll find the thread

>>6930025
So? Still think they're bad lines, now I just know they're written by Clare and not Anonymous

>>6930081
If you still think they're bad after considering the period in which they were written you don't know what you're talking about. Your complaints were strictly about the "awkwardness" of the lines when there's nothing awkward about them if you're aware of speech of his time. In that case then 99% of poetry is awkward.

>>6930098
Fine, they work when considered as the work of an 18th century British man, not anyone in the 21st century. Wowee language changes.

My question is what is the point of posting an established poet in an amateur poetry thread? So you can laugh when someone doesn't recognize it and critiques it? Congrats on your dank troll, bro.

>>6922153
Did you just rewrite Ozzy Osbourne’s "Black Rain", but shittier and without any music?

Compare:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XNy_uapikE

>>6930136
It was pretty funny actually. Not op

>>6930148
But his response was fine. He critiqued, said it was okay, but there were a couple of flaws. He didn't make an arse of himself so it kind of fell flat as a joke.

>>6930159
aw, such a sweetie anon

>>6930159
Stop talking about yourself in the third person.

>>6928935
thanks, i'm the guy who you said reads like song lyrics. they are song lyrics. here's another one i wrote but will probably never actually turn into a song because i don't like it very much:

Sitting in a hostel in Spain
Listening to J-Pop
Want to go out and drink
But it's too hot

Let's just stay in and finish the tequila
Mixing with juiceboxes
Goes down easy

This is the Grand Tour
The European Scene
About which every upper-class
white American has dreamed

Watching girls on the train
They're just like us
Backpacks, train pass, we'd have plenty to discuss
They're going to Barcelona
We're going to Figueres
One's reading a book by Dan Brown
So whatever,
Good riddance

This is the traveling life
The European dream
That entitled white kids spend
Looking at their phone screen

I've got two, one I post once in a while on /lit/, one I don't. Hopefully this is formatted right.


"Dirty Looks"
Here comes mean and clean
Mister Cool,
Leaning on them walls as the
Punks play pool,
Knocking back drinks and chewing on
Old tobacco,
Looking up those young skirts like the
Prince of Monaco,
Licking his lips as if they were
Sticky envelopes,
Knocking back little shits like he's the
Woodland pope,
Scraping yellow off his teeth with some sharp
Toothpick blows,
Tonight he's looking to shed off his
Blue dick woes,
The girl across the bar is giving those
Dirty looks,
Yes sir, tonight Mr. Cool's cleaning out them
History books.

>>6930945
the other one:
"Bleeding Heart Blues"
There was this old man
From Vietnam
Under the orders of Uncle Sam
He lost his legs, lost his eyes,
Lost everything he ever did prize
But if you could hear him sing-
Ooh golly gee-
God damn is his voice so heavenly!

He'd sing "Oh-oh-oh-la-dee-doe"
Old men, dead men, what's the difference?
Man, nobody knows!
Oh-oh-oh-La-Dee-Dee
He wakes up every morning asking
"What's there for me?"

He was my old friend,
From neighborhood end,
Got every letter that he would send,
Looks like he's lost his hair, lost his drive
He just sits at home satisfaction-deprived,
But if I see him again-
Oh golly gee-
I'll kick his ass into shape: guaranteed!

I asked him "Oh-oh-oh-la-dee-doe,
How are you doing old friend?"
Man who the fuck knows?
Oh-oh-oh-la-dee-dee
If you see the signs coming,
Can you red them to me?

She was a foolish girl
But she rocked my world
I'll never forget those little curls
But she's lost her looks, and gained some thighs,
Now she's looking like something you can't recognize,
But when she talks to me-
Boy golly gee-
I think of our nights and how they used to be!

I'm singing, "Oh-oh-oh-la-dee-doe!"
Where are they finding salvation now?
Nobody knows!
Oh-oh-oh-la-dee-dee
I wake up every night screaming
"What's wrong with me?"

>>6930981
Ew.

Desde el eterno beso bajo el arco
hasta la infinitud de nuestros deseos
he aquí la mujer que se ha rendido
a los cincuenta billones de cantos que se escuchan tras los iris del hombre,
la mujer con dedos de lava
no toca lo sagrado porque conoce las maldiciones
espera y espera
en el lago, con su vestido de barro
bajo las cuatro estaciones
siempre las cuatro
y sabe que su piel se agrietará
que el profuso amor se olvidará
Hay tanto dolor en ese metro sesenta y ocho
que los demonios lo consideran un lugar de descanso
y deben exorcizarla de cuando en cuando
es por eso que sólo deja tras de si
frases imperfectas sucias de arena
¡no la subyuguen mas!
que sólo anhelaba yacer de su mano en los bosques
hasta que sus cuerpos tuvieran raíces.


http://pastebin.com/6WN2WykX

So far, none of you has anything to write about. Your time would be best spent finding jobs.

>>6929940
very good, best in thread so far

may I suggest making the metre purely symmetric for rythmic purposes

All was calm and also, all was calming. Cyan text on the shining black surface, burning cold. Platitudes ran by at a framerate just high enough to not be distracting.

<roll>

....\o/........ I N S P I R E ..........\o/...
.\o/............ C R E A T E ..........\o/....
...\o/........ T E A M W 0 R K .........\o/..

</relax>

Another productive day. It was "Time For a Break"(tm*)

Then: a rectangular swimming pool, warm, and full of crushed ice. Chlorinated, refreshing, and with Perfect Waves on demand. Frosty currents swirling lazily like the genitals under xis swimsuit. Another press of the remote, and the surf consumed xer.

>>6928930
Well, you might be right about the rhyme scheme. I also think, that it is a little bit too predictable.
Thanks for pointing this out. Could you tell me, does this apply to this "work" of mine as well?:

Welch Gut tollt sich in meinem Blut
Das Mut mir zollt bei Gott genug
Doch lasterhaft wank ich daher
Was ich hier will? Ich weiß nicht mehr

Seh Sterne schein' bei Tageshell
Die Ferne blitzt mir ach zu grell
Wusst ich doch einst, was ich hier tu'
Ich weiß es nicht, ich such nur Ruh

Prompt denk' ich schnell: "Bin doch Rebell
und opfer' stolz mein Löwenfell?"
Doch komm nicht fort von diesem Ort
der abseits ist vom sich'ren Hort

>>6931237
focus on writing well instead of speewing off your agendajaculate over everyone

You are my A
I love you bae
Even if you died
I'd be the one who cried

Thinking deep
I dream of you in my sleep
Having a connection
You are my constant erection

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram
I follow you on all just like your nan
When you say let's take it slow
I just want to say YOLO

You sit next to me in class
Your my perfect hallway pass
Omg I love you bae
I can't believe we've been together 1 whole day

>>6931237
Really really like this, aside from use of 'platitudes', which seemed a bit clunky. I'd go for something more colloquial. Best in the thread so far though.

who left his trail and left no trace
silently, whilst quiet was off in haste
arduously, like the slug
he cannot feel without a face

blind but starry eyed
refined and plagiarised
he used to scratch his itch
with aggregations
or aggravate them
to do it for him
but now tiny is as tiny likes

like the droplet fell in isolation
above the sea, ripples crawl the ocean
does it make a sound?
run ripples run
he's too far gone to see his closure

>>6922153
Wrote this back in highschool when I didn't know the world enough to realize the sky isn't blue during a storm. In short, I'm retarded.

All to see on the front porch
In the back and all sides
Is blue torn two asunder
Man with woman, lost from the world
Left to die alongside her

Blue pecks their home
On a good time to fish
Grab bait and a spear
Lest the blue recedes, taking all with it
Leaving all lifeless in fear

After nights of blue teasing
And easing
Forever without a catch
Blue will come at through the front door
Blast it open with no match

For when the tides shy away
And let’s the tempest roll in
Man holds woman dear
Holding the only hope from falling
Into the deep and high blue
To look into her eyes
Same color as the sky,
But became lost in blue

>>6931248
glorious
a true masterpiece

>>6927302

>it may teach you to be a better person
>better than any litany of life lessons
>you've been provided thus far

but I love litanies?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imuz75-3-uo

the spaces between extend and yrself aren't quite the same as between yrself and elswhere

>from their slumbering assumptions
>that the web will fill itself.

witty, but hey let us have 'fun' here.

I'd like a guillotine to suddenly drop my head off my body

Your poem looks so ugly tho

I think I will remember your quote.
"slumbering assumption that the web will fill itself"

>>6931248

"Even if you died
I'd be the one who cried"

"Thinking deep
I dream of you in my sleep"

It's not a poem, but i'd still be curious what you think about this little passage I wrote:

... I had stretched out on my bed, with a book, in my room which sheltered, tremblingly, its transparent and fragile coolness from the afternoon sun, behind the almost closed blinds through which a glimmer of daylight had nevertheless managed to push its yellow wings, remaining motionless between the wood and the glass, in a corner, poised like a butterfly. It was hardly light enough to read, and the sensation of the light's splendor was given me only by the noise of my servant hammering dusty crates; resounding in the sonorous atmosphere that is peculiar to hot weather ....

>>6932982
Not bad. Sounds like you got an ear for decent writing. Keep at it.

>>6932982
, , , , ,

;

>>6932982
wrong, the ear thing, because rhythmically the punctuation is just wrong, which is to say, completely unnatural

>>6933001
do you think i am bad : (

>>6933016

No, I don't think you are a post, but I did not like it very much.

Keep at it nevertheless

Nirvana. A band or good karma? Maybe it's the same thing, divine on another plane written in a land unseen, clean, pristine and full of whatever it is that's the opposite of mean. Love? A white dove flying above what makes us human, failures and confusion conspire to break the illusion of pride. So you hide and abide by the tide of the lied side. Fight. If you don't they will. Kurt Cobain did and it's not like it got anyone kill...
Ok maybe Buddha would have been a better example.

>>6932862

Thanks. This ones for you

Ejaculation
The fate of a nation
Feeling all forlorn
The world gorges porn

a breakaway from ones pain
Semen droplets fall like rain
On the screen a replacement body
For the girl who looked at you oddly

All alone
In ones home
Boxers off, unplugged phone
A stroking talent you need to hone

Why not see the world outside
Possible children all just died
When you neglected to try your luck
With your neighbourhood slut

A rubber defense makes it posh
As it collects all yor slosh
Or why not try one full of danger
Shout for mum or for a stranger

One hand numb caress your staff
It's more fun than schoolwork; math
A waste of life accross the nation
Sitting at home, masturbation.

Not a reflection on your good self. Just what came to my mind, good sir.

Why do people talk? They do not have much to say. A snake on the trail I walk? If not then time is pay. Maybe a wolf that will stalk? But please do not waste my day. Perpetual balk.

>>6933083
>>6933585
>>6933714
why rhyme all the time?
it makes everything you write sound like cheesy love poems in my head.
how great you belive your message to be, if you rhyme walk/talk, danger/stranger and hide/abide/slide i just cant take you seriuosly. sry.
rainer maria rilke spoiled me i guess.

>>6933746

Is it such a crime to talk in rhyme? I find it to be sublime like hearing a musical chime.

>>6933746
>rilke spoiled me
sprichst du auch deutsch?

>>6933783
muttersprachlich
>>6933765
i had a poem fixed
a ready
to show
that my verses come steady
and trying to guide you
with eternal kindness
out of your infernal blindness.
put f5 i pressed
o gruesome world
and my work was lost
word for word.
so heed my advice
you poetry spoiling crook
give in to your vice
and write a childrens book.

for your rhymes stink.

>>6933796
i had a poem fixed
*and ready

>>6933746
What about haikus?
Or are they real cheesy too?
I sure do hope not.

What if you rhyme it?
With haikus how would that fit?
You don't need much wit.

Can I make up words?
Like bombellicosation?
Now that would be cool.

At my internship this summer I built the training version of an actuator.

This block of metal and little pipes, coming in and out like scaffolding, it makes adjustments to the main valve of the pump station in really subtle ways.

They had me put it together, so field technicians could come to our office and get practice.

Practice at making little adjustments, from 26% to infinity.

Practice at keeping oil flowing, the most singularly valuable black thing in their lives.

Even the new secretary - who we call an associate for politically correct reasons - feels inferior to me...everything she does is in some way to keep it profitable: that hidden pipe, buried Midwest of Discovery.

We never say it, but we're all feeding that rigid white cock, lazily thrusting it into the American Everyday.

The gestation for it is longer than you'd think, but from what I've heard, it's too late to pull-out. In a reverse 'have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too' scenario, we get to spill it all over her and still leave her irreparably fucked.

Maybe one day the child named Wasteland will grow old and die, but we've changed her: torn her labia and raised this bastard son into comfort, for the waking dead.

And it's on our hands, the yellow-black afterthoughts of that perpetual night.

We sleep, in that post-orgasmic ignorance.

Strangest Planet


I know who he is from the manner of his walk:
an extroverted three-time Evilest Smile winner.
He strides through the eyes of all the hearts he's won
with his feet pointed outward,

as opposed to the bowlegged ball
of social anxiety his good twin embodies.
Pinched completely over the straps of his sachet
are the removed lighter hoods

he's amassed over the years.
Bridges to him are for burning,
bad decisions for making
without a second thought.

Fact: he is our resident pyromaniac,
and for his sick satisfaction alone
will he whisper his last.
He stands with his friends at his wake,

arms crossed, thinking with pursed lips,
“These things pretty much run themselves.
I'm gonna find something better than
gushing and sobbing with the lot of you.”

>>6933857
aent haikus japanese?
translating them
means making pizza
without cheese.
and writing
in a lyrical form
that was intended
for another language
with another lyrical norm
makes me want to do you damage
in a capacity that can only be described
as enorm

>>6933869
first thing i read on here that did not somehow strike me as being written by a 15 y o

Man err day I'm hustlin'
Musclin' an' tusslin'
Musta' been my rustlin'
Covetin' my neighbor's pin
Cause y'see the hole I'm in
Christian rap should be a sin
Jesus Christ would weep within

Jai guru deva om

>>6933931
Don't inflate my 16 y.o. ego

>>6933975
10/10 would sag my pants to again

Here's a poem I wrote for a contest. Its a simple Haiku, theme was "emerge".
http://www.directtextbook.com/haiku/5963

Autism exorcism
Under tender mender
Taut thought wrought, though slow flow below
Incredual gradual ritual
Sleep deep
Incredual isn't a word

typing in the pad while i finish the blunt.

the kid driving the cab -- so sincere
grotesque but sincere.

his dad's a son-of-a-bitch and his mom lives on the cape
& he went to liberal arts school-- but didn't finish
& now he's hoping to go back for CS

we got cigarettes
and we're smoking weed
and he wants to make an app

"i can't tell you everything about it...
i used to talk about it all the time.
somebody told me not to do that."

he wants to make an app that helps people
become
what they want to be:

M-D-A-R -- MakeDreamsAReality.com

it will give you everything you want to know and don't know you need to know
to accomplish your dreams.. . .

there's no organizational plan,
some mention of choosing relevant youtube videos.. no UI.

there is nothing but a single idea:
"to build something where .. I don't live on.. but I am like Bill Gates or Steve Jobs,
where what I do really helps people, and it doesn't matter if i make any money. or who i am.
<<changed lives.>>"

so he was, like.... y'know- a fucking grungy kid driving cab on cape cod smoking weed with the passengers.
but he was fucking stoked to build an app!

The Dream (momentary?-->andihopenot) is to create something.
something relevant. and he's thinking relevantly, or in a relevant passion for the moment, right?
he said:
"i think we need to think about what we're doing. and we have to be aware of what we're doing."

and he could see it in his mind, the thing he wanted,
like Kissinger thinking up a total Discourse Control while chatting with Schmidt:
drooling over the power of it, wide-eyed & no real plan.

(Kiss: if you could just.. you know.. well... i can see it.)
(Schmidt: well if you knew how to do it, we'd hire you! :D!!! bummtiss)


i'm just glad he was thinking it.
9/10 chance this kid is "burning out."
there was a rant about how "everyone thinks i'm crazy, but i'm not."
which i think is way pre-post-post-edgy, and thus perhaps a bit tacky in Summer 2015.

>>6922153
fuck off you liberal faglord

:^)

he was sincere to the times we live in.
new Folk Heroes, not John Wayne.
he talked about language. how we all needed to learn to speak this universal language, code.

it was about communication. we needed a new _app_ _platform_ _whatever_ --
to communicate better
to understand ourselves better
to know the information that we need to know to accomplish our dreams we need to know who to talk to
& also what things we need to know but we don't know we need to know.. to accomplish our dreams.

it's everything we all want so desperately.

to communicate better.
to understand ourselves better.
to know who we need to know.
to know what we need to know.

and.. like.. the big dream is that we can build an app for that.
he won't do it, yah.. but he knows, or dreams, or hopes with real passion that there's an answer there.
he's not a technophile he's a techno-romantic.

someone who believes that hyperspace is a holy land,
& that the right cosmology just has to be imagined,
& then living would be a better experience for all of us,
& that we can do it *now*. just make it.

what righteous desire. i think that's beautiful.

so the brits, 1st drop-off, stiff him a tip even after he smokes us up.
i tip him large but he still lacks change, so he gives me a blunt and some weed.
and then i wrote this and i'm pretty stoned.

up the kike, up the kike
i ride my bike

>>6934974 (1/2)
>>6934982 (2/2)

fuck me up fam

>>6934993
What?
>>6934982
Too abstract and disconnected; try to make it a little clearer.
>>6934974
fun I guess
>>6934744
>>6934682
TRIM YOUR SHIT UP. Just because we live in a very saturated time doesn't mean every thought that comes into your head is gold. But I can tell you think you have something to say and you're not wholly wrong; keep trying.
>>6933975
no

>>6935022

they're the same poem nigga..

>>6934974 (1/2)
>>6934982 (2/2)

>>6933975
What?
>>6934682
Too disconnected, try to make it a little clearer in the scene/feeling you're trying to depict. Because I'm just getting nothing as it is; not thought, no image, no feeling, nuthin.
>>6934744
p fun I guess
>>6934974
>>6934982
TRIM YOUR SHIT UP. Just because we live in a very saturated time doesn't mean every thought that comes into your head is gold. But I can tell you think you have something to say and you're not wholly wrong and your style is ->in vogue rn <- so keep trying.
>>6934993
no

>>6935033
what are your strategies for trimming-the-bush?

i usually write when i'm fucked up, and when i go back i have trouble figuring out what i can cut.

even when i know a line is trash, i don't know if i can cut it without either
1. violating some pretentious notion of "authenticity", or
2. disrupting the whiskey-cultivated flow.

whatcha think i should do?
any practice exercises you know of?

idk just practice, tips and critique appreciated

I waste apart into strands
As colorless as desert wastes
Or an island of asphalt.
.....................................................
My shaking arms hold me
Above the toilet, where I wait
To throw-up my empty stomach.

>>6935074
idk bruh bruh I googled it and this is good advice:
http://magmapoetry.com/25-rules-for-editing-poems/

formless at the moment, but its a draft anyway

Each day marks a step down the sand-wrought paths
Of sea-glass sowed beaches
Water-starved valleys in spring
Desolate canyons and uncharted lakes
To take coarse the earthen steps
To wear down the soles and make peace
Searching for a new home between the pines
Where one might catch upon the triplet call of three-lettered-words
Spoken silent in the crested hills

Between the yellowed-grass speak the mountains and the sea
From time to time

Heard from the twilit sun
Whispered from the rotting wood
In flowers, flows, and trees
So tender
Their long hair flows in the breeze somewhere
No need to brush it from an eye
No need to hurry sight
Now there is no need to see more than wind can
It will cradle us in its gales tonight beneath the cliffs
Howling hymns from the sand
Peeling prayers from the waves
Tracing old stories in the dust
Memories and song from eons passed
Blown between every pine and oak
In bowing grace they listen
To hear and build her new again
Atop the theophanous skyline

in my head there's only brain and bone.
you say i look alive but really no one's home.

What goes up must come down
Hero once but now a clown
Only once was there a prayer

An antique time while in their prime
Remembered for a sweet sublime
Effervescence in the air

Yellow fevers, hungry beavers
Oriental pipe dream weavers
Until another nightmare
?

>>6935201
First line is flat and expressionless, the second is just cliches. You sound like a whiny Hallmark card. Nigga cease and desist.
>>6935303
First and last stanza are ridiculously corny and cliche-filled, but the second is actually kinda nice. Jettison the rest.

Gammy Ray Bursts & Other Light-hearted Matters

I fear not the villain that hides behind the shadows. Shivering,
as the child that struggles to sleep, for fear of the limbs
stretching from the closet frame. A father can exorcise
the threshold by turning on the lamp or plugging in some
cheap but colorful light right of the door's bottom hinge.
Faint luminance for $0.03/hour cast out such monsters.

I fear not the villain that isolates itself in darkness. Exploring
the wooded area around him, a boy scares away bogies by
clanging his armor of pans and cardboard like the son of
Quixote. Such forests are purified by pressure waves,
as the monsters find themselves paralyzed by the sonic
boom. Unable to move, they evaporate in the sunlight.

Sunlight floods the plains. Villains find far fewer places
to hide, as they sprint to caves or risk being enraptured.
I do not fear the ghost that is obliterated at dawn.
I fear the one who stays.
I fear the one, who says,
"I will ruin your life. I will fuck you in the sun."

fuck off to your negativity i have a life to live and theres no room for your middle school bull shit

--

There’s a parasite that crawls inside a fish’s mouth and chews off the tongue, drinking from the artery and becoming the fish’s new tongue. Fishermen yank this insect out before sending the fish to be filleted and eaten.

just as a louse
breaches a fishs gills
attaches to the tongue-base
drinks from the artery
replaces a dessicated muscle

air pressure demands the room flood with a chill
when the door opens for guests

The white man is going down
The whole world is turning brown.
Cucks and fags are running rampant
but /pol/s spirit cant be dampened.
"Can't stump the Trump" their battle cry,
all the while wondering why
Libs and Fems give sideways glances
At their honest, earnest advances.
If they succeed I guarantee
we'll get to witness World War III

Eloquent friend why do you depend on imitations? Irreverent hot wind is a limitation. What you need is magic. Voodoo. Witchery. Wouldn't it be tragic for a charmer to choose treachery? A victim of their own hoodoo. Is it true? Or is truth magician's clay? The tingle of an electrician. Electrocution. Watch the hair fray, mingle with fiction. Absolution. What would they say? A pearl from friction. Retribution.

bump

>>6929915
What's overwrought about the lines?

Still he is standing next to me --
Staring with his eyes,
A dull
Ignoring
Age of gaze,
Matte-reflecting with
His eyes
The window and light soaking the room.
He walks, on four legs, with no shortage
Of arthritic inertia:
Descending stairs like two toddlers
Conjoined at the sternum.
When he turns slowly on his legs,
Pitch-stuck tough-wise,
I see the window and the light
In his ancient, awful eyes
I have an old dog

>>6936401
oops, last line is not meant to be part of the poem, I'm too tired for formatting

Silly syllables dance on the window sill
kicking up canes with toe-tapping feet.
They rupture, rapture; interject and erupt
space as glass through air–
air-blown glass unmasked and bare;
lisping leaves leaving traces of trees
from other places; faces, spines;
Grace and disgraces; pleas; found erased.

Only of ten does one often offend
the other nine who lie sublime, behind.

>>6925164
Why do freaks like this come here

>>6925171
I like it

change literary to literal maybe would be funny

The azure waves are petty thieves
for they steal the shells away
Then hurry straight back out to sea
gathering more to bring to me.

Suddenly a salty wave
tumbled upon my feet.
The tide left a spiral shell,
with flecks of foam from the swell.

I embraced it with my ear,
to which it sung a melody.
It's rhythms phrased so delicately,
had this seashell instead found me?

You have forever been my fire
The one that I always got lost in desire
Oh the tide that shifted to bring us here
Ending only to bring us into this fear
I will love you till my days end
Like a feather drifting across the wind
I find you only now in my dreams
No longer in your love this ever seems
I feel my pain splitting my heart
As I think on why we are so far apart
I grab for the last few strands
Hoping and praying that I see your hands
But at last you are not anywhere to be found
Back into my sorrows I do drown

Hey, Bungalow Bill
Found a new thrill, Bungalow Bill?
Hey, Bungalow Bill
Found a new thrill, Bungalow Bill?

Got tired of tigers, now hunts his elephant for fun
After the accident with tribesmen and his mom
Lost his bullet-head and Saxon mother to Surya god of sun
All the children sing

Hey, Bungalow Bill
Found a new thrill, Bungalow Bill?
Hey, Bungalow Bill
Found a new thrill, Bungalow Bill?

He offered me a leaf like a hand with fingers.
I offered him a hand like a leaf with teeth.
He offered me a branch like an arm.
I offered him my arm like a branch.
He tipped his trunk towards me
like a shoulder.
I tipped my shoulder to him
like a knotted trunk.
I could hear his sap quicken, beating
like blood.
He could hear my blood slacken like rising sap.
I passed through him.
He passed through me.
I remained a solitary tree.
He
a solitary man.

Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.