/lit/ - Literature

>>7004717
The well-adjusted cabal of
well respected peoples
chants' and screams' and laughs'
daily haunts me deeper

living their nine-to-fivey lifes
caressing their boring soccer wifes
to the ripe old age of seventy five
while I'm growing mold
as I'm growing old
webs spun as anchors all around
distractions all abound
I can't seem to move on or away
it seems more inevitable, day to day
that there is no way out
but to be resilient and stout
taking the bitter pill
of meaning oneself ill

The well-adjusted cabal of
well respected people
grin and smirk and laugh
talking to me, the leper
saying "'tis not an option!"
saying "'tis not a way out!"
but what is that about?
is there for adoption
another policy?

What kind of decisions
can you offer
instead of derisions
or delusions?
I have accepted that I will not
live a life worthy of living;
that forever I will rot
in this place and rank I'm given

"Tis not an option, suicide"
then give me, then give me
oh just give me, oh give me
please give me, only give me
a place to hide
instead of refusing

What virtuous life is left,
but the one ending in death
brought by my own hand
if you dont have one to lend?

What really is not a solution
is a response from confusion
like denying any other path
and stating the last one
is none.

I wrote this for the Qixi Festival today. Tanabata, if you prefer Japanese. How good/bad is it?

When to the seventh night they flock,
Joy-birds across the silver stream
With wings like glockenspiels that beat
And ford the waters, dock to dock,
Allowing us to meet—

Your sunset clouds signal to me
Anticipation, in their weave
Of colour threaded through with heat
Beneath their studied lethargy,
As ev'ning airs blow sweet—

And till the morning you'll be real
No bright star, distant: human warmth
In hands, cheeks, eyelashes adorn,
Beauty to see, your pulse to feel.
I'll hold you till the morn.

So when tonight the bridge is born
Allowing us at last to meet
I'll come, as ev'ning airs blow sweet:
I'll come to hold you till the morn.

>>7005226
I want you to start paying attention to the meter, and writing very slowly to develop a fleshed-out meter.
Also please don't to rhyme every single line, at least do abab cdcd or really anything else

>What really is not a solution is a response from confusion like denying any other path and stating the last one is none.
come on man. that doesn't even make sense.

you can do better than this. I know I'm being harsh but still.

>>7005226
Your content borders on edgy meme-tier, but judging by the effort you put into the sounds of the poem you probably weren't just looking for a quick memey lark. The sounds are very good. I love the rhymes. >>7005576 does have a point that your meter is irregular, but I thought that worked well in expressing your narrator's defiant voice. Just a couple of things:

>while I'm growing mold
>as I'm growing old
These two lines felt extraneous

>I have accepted that I will not
>live a life worthy of living
These two lines felt very prose-y

Also, I'm >>7005551. Depending on the quality of my poetry feel free to listen or to completely ignore my critique.

>>7004717
Midnight past ten.

A dying engineer
has a moment of weakness.
The next second he's born again
in an entrepreneurial suit.

I used to think that with good boots
no trail could withstand my fury
I used to think that a good loot
at the top was waiting for me.

I see now from time to time, my foolishness in younger eyes
somes faces in wich I stare hold the darkness I recognize.

The little I've acquired, how could I simply share it ?
What has come to be mine is tightly knit in my hearing.

Midnight past ten.
My spine is weak and corroded.
The next second I'm born again.
The next second I'm forgotten.

>>7005576
I want you......to want ME.....
Feeling all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dying. I'm begging you...

>>7005551
Doze m-dashes: spot on! 'That beat like glockenspiels.' If you HAVE to use that word. YEAH YEAH yr rhymes!!—but poetry is gaY—& when tn I cross the bridge to sleep allowing us at last to meet I'll come all over yr tits again now that ye stopping fuckin other men—

>>7005226
This array of symbols, mesmerizingly in one place, are like some lexical nerve-line for metempsychosis. For a long moment ye had my heart beating in reverse. Consider the clacking of my keyboard the sound of applause.

>>7005628
With clarity of a stemistic and broken lex ye are clearly an example, ye—not the poem, are the owner of the face that is being stamped on—forever. t r a n s c e n d or ye'll end up cruising back allies for t r a n n i e s like yr dad did b4 he dumped that load (that contained an essential part of ye) into yr ma.

In January the time was nigh
for the baking of a Cherry Pie
I searched for cherries about my home,
but found they'd left-- with the garden gnome.

Dean stood naked in his living room, waiting for the coffee to brew, scratching his left nut, and watching certain pieces of the early morning skyline glitter and then grow dull and then glitter again synchronously with the passing of clouds in front of the sun, which was behind him. The ocean behind the buildings, meanwhile, glittered as well, but more constantly because of its distance and size, and the whole scene was a nice contrast of steely, architectonic blues, set gently against the same orange fire that provided the backdrop and periodically seeped through the event horizon, setting the foreground alight: all the universe, it seemed to Dean in a moment of hungover sophistry, was change, and only occasionally did humans find cause to slow things down, to cool them off, and to hammer them blithely into forms, shapes, and even, most audaciously, into words. Words seemed cool to Dean, but ideas seemed hot.

>>7006322
C o l l o c a t i o n s :
Living room
Left nut
Glittering skyline
Whole scene
'Synchronously' is a garbage word: defenestrate it. Also 'architectonic'. And 'sophistry'. And 'audaciously'. And 'blithely'.

'All the universe' + 'was change' are needlessly split. No comma after 'change'.

Ye overused glitter—get w/the pROGET.

Apparently 'Dean stood naked' is a collocation too. Check for yrself...

>>7006521
>collocations
>bad

so i should write like an iranian exchange student? come off it

>garbage words
ok ked

>needlessly split

fair

>overused glitter
fair

>>7006582
They be bad when ye do adj + n combos that are staler than a blue collar buttcrack.

>>7006053
Has anyone ever told you that your feedback is hard to take seriously?

For what it's worth, though, thanks for the critique.

In a crowded beach, the woman clothed with the sun bathes.

Red-eyed desires, glances and lusts send themselves at light-speed
Blasting her every body part in glorious, outrageous furious silence.

O, a whore a here, O, a lover's sphere, O, she is inundated in air-floating
Hearts, a loving lurking groping lustful libido, a great red beast multiplied
And shared, spread evenly in a wave of fifty male body consciousnesses
Attracted like electrons to a grand nucleus, fixed and majestic: O, the sun!

And what power art thou! And what eternal r-r-r-r-r-r-r, what grinding teeth!
And all this happening in the lolling-about of the unconscious, an invisible orgy!

Some imagine her body in their own beds, some would fuck her on the sand,
Some would—hold me—rape her in a dark alley, and some marvel at the feast
Already happening: and they are all one and the same, the great Adam, multiplied;
He is Romeo and he is Casanova, he is Tristan and he is Here Cums Everybod—

But she faces the horizon.

Inside the mind of the woman clothed with the sun resides the image of a gentle man.
He is blind and caring, and he loves her truly.

My chains are paper thin and they're welded with ink
Sealed inside a legal trap, so tight that blood don't leak
A contract with a devil, for a life of disdain
See me in the limelight, an indentured slave
I blame myself

God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!

Choke another product for the mass to consume
The flocks of mindless sheep that have corporately groomed
Ignorance through apathy, like drones in the hive
A slave on the payer wheel in conformed disguise
I blame myself

I sold my soul, I sold my soul...

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Is there like a Literary Criticism 101 guide or something I have no idea how to approach your work but I'd like to

>>7004717
I sit and think and dream and think and sit
About the time that I've wasted on /lit/.
I've even stooped to writing poetry-
It's time for me to commit bukakke.

>>7007068
Oh wow bucktooth! Devoutly star thrift: Thriftier, honest quack.

As diseasedly thorny: freakier: nauseate...

Hooray!

>>7007329
:braindamage mostly

>>7007365

Why dyou bother then

¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯\_(ツ)_/¯

>>7007329
I went to college and was taught how to write, it's the same for helping others.
all you really need is someone to rip your work to peices then rewrite and you improve

This is from the play that I am writing. The characters that are speaking are demonic ghosts, and they are taking pleasure in nothing that a gigantic storm is going to strike the land and kill several people. They’re verses, in the Portuguese original, are all rhymed couplets, like: AA, BB, CC, DD, etc.

Sorry for the bad translation, and once again: original is in Portuguese, and rhymed.

Ghost of a Girl (To the ghost of the bloody young woman): And you, my sister, and you: where were you?

Ghost of bloody young woman: Walking inside the clouds of the tempest,
Upon the mists and the dark of the scabby
Storm that invades the heavens with gall.
This sky-coma eats with its muddy veils
The galaxies: the brain of heaven;
Nightmares grease with oily demons
The infinite and the stars, their neurons.

Ghost of a Girl: And she will give birth, she will give birth?

Ghost of bloody young woman: Yes. I wandered inside it’s collied placenta
And I saw that she was pregnant with pepper:
The embryos of the thunder narrated to me,
The tadpoles of lightning told me
That future days will create claws and teeth:
They will be panthers roaring shooting torches;
Suns of petroleum will wander in the winds,
The clouds will have typhoons as offspring,
The thunders will swoop (blond hawks),
Cumulus will rip shatter their lungs
And crush the vitreous grapes of their alveoli
In a wine made of hail, ice and rain.
The nights will scream like owls,
And the cold mists, dirty-water wandering fairies,
Will step the dusty roads in muddy swamps;
The pastures and the grass will dissolve in mucus
And, as dead and moldy wood-trunks,
The cattle, marooned and wet, will be devoured
By termites, bed-bugs and beetles.
The chaos will lay the eggs of its vile treasures:
The atmosphere will be invaded by a fiery hornet's nest,
The soil by slime, snow and mist.
The flu and cough will gnaw the chests,
The fever will hover like fog over the beds.
Rain, winds, lightning, tornadoes,
They will prey upon woods, meadows and villages:
Death will establish its empire upon Earth
And cloud the land under a snowy cemetery
As the spider, that in a white and silent end,
Drowns the moth within its satin cloth.

>>7007650

This is the original

Menina (Para a jovem ensanguentada): E tu, minha irmã, e tu: onde estavas?

Jovem ensanguentada: Caminhando nas nuvens da tormenta,
Sobre as névoas e as trevas da sarnenta
Tempestade que os céus com fel invade.
O coma come com lodosos véus
As galáxias: o cérebro dos céus;
Pesadelos engraxam com demônios
O infinito e as estrelas, seus neurônios.

Menina: E ela vai parir, ela vai parir?

Jovem ensanguentada: Sim. Vaguei dentro da escura placenta
E vi que estava prenha de pimenta:
Embriões de trovões a mim narraram,
Os girinos dos raios me contaram
Que os dias vão criar garras e dentes:
Panteras a rugir tochas cadentes;
Sóis de petróleo vão vagar nos ventos,
Nuvens terão tufões como rebentos,
Trovões vão mergulhar (loiros falcões),
Cúmulos vão rasgar os seus pulmões
E esmagar seus alvéolos (vítreas uvas)
Num vinho de granizo, gelo e chuvas.
As noites vão gritar como as corujas,
E as frias névoas, fadas de águas sujas,
O pó da estrada vão pisar em lama;
Em muco irá solver-se o pasto e a grama
E, como troncos mortos e mofados,
Os bois, ilhados, vão ser devorados
Por cupins, percevejos e besouros.
O caos vai desovar seus vis tesouros:
Na atmosfera o incêndio de um vespeiro,
No solo lodo, neve e nevoeiro.
A gripe e a tosse vão roer os peitos,
A febre há de pairar por sobre os leitos.
Chuva, ventos, relâmpagos, tornados,
Vão tomar bosques, prados, povoados:
A morte há de instaurar na Terra império
E a nublar num nevado cemitério,
Como a aranha que, em branco e mudo fim,
Afoga a mariposa com cetim.

>>7007650
>>7007655

Mangíficos versos, meu amigo hue hue.

And the dubs confirm this as great poetry:>>7007655

>>7004717
My time at school was an unhappy time
Tumult and turmoil I shall convey with rhyme.
Dear reader, heed this tale of regret
And use it to your own success beget.

What is school but a cage to house the young,
Before they bend to world's will? Feces are flung,
As children jest as wild beasts or apes;
The expense of others are their japes.

The cruelest minds belong to those
Who do not write with prose, appreciate the smell of rose,
Or any other flower. Who heed not nature's laws,
And do not question society's flaws.

Such are the young. And as they roam the Earth
Naive and infant in their tribal mirth
They suffice to the basest of desires:
Vindictive vengeance, self-service. All are liars

With above all else a need to rule, to dominate,
To wreak havoc upon the objects of their hate
Which they do with strength of arm and blow of fist
Under the fury of the crimson mist.

I found myself involved in such a fight
One day, and to resolve my plight
I summoned forth such strength I knew not I had:
I fought with fury as a demon mad.

Afterwards my mother to me spoke,
And listed all the bones which my foe broke.
And from the step of punishment my mind roamed free
As I reveled in some ruthless glee.

I told her from that step that I cared not,
And that it was a punishment ought not forgot.
And so my doom was laid upon me from the stair
She said 'You're moving to your auntie and your uncle's in Bel Air.'

I whistled for a cab, and when it came near
I saw the license plate said 'Fresh'; there was a dice in the mirror.
If anything, I'd have said that this cab was rare,
But I thought 'nah, forget it. Yo homes- to Bel Air!'

I pulled up to a house about seven or eight,
And I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes- smell ya later!'
I looked at my kingdom: I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.

>>7007655
Não chega.

Tens de editar, rever, modificar, cortar.
Está mais ou menos bom e tem potencial, mas não pode ser esa a tua versão final.
Considera retirar algumas vírgulas (não necessitas de tantas com estrofes tão pequenas) e mudar algumas rimas; não forces muito, pois arriscas-te a criar imagens confusas e conceptualmente vazias.
Parece-me também que estás a perder o fio à meada da mensagem. foca-te.

Editar é tão importante quanto escrever. Tens que editar, rever e, sobretudo, cortar. o que tens aí pode melhorar dois pontos mais, pelo menos, com uma edição cuidada.