/lit/ - Literature

Didn't read it all. Couldn't read it all. Some of us just can't handle stabbing their own hand with a knife.

>>7075702

Today I was walking, and I was having a dialogue, and there was a thought that said

Asking about the meaning of a word is as useless as thinking about the meaning of a tree
Sure, you can, after seeing the tree, try to understand how it works, but its meaning is the function it serves, which is, to be seen
And you can, by looking at two trees, see their relation to each other, and say that this one is taller than the other, and that they compete for sunlight, and that they compete for the soil, and etc.
But you will be missing the immediate effect of the experience of being surrounded by these trees, which is itself holistic, and there are no parts and there is only a whole: saying a tree is a part of the forest is as futile as capturing a bit of the sea with a cup and saying it is a part of the ocean. It stops being so as soon as you capture it.

My "review" is pretentious as fuck because so is your poem but there's that ambiance aspect that I think is very good about it, and if it was deliver, is your poem, then, good?

Is complaining about expressions like "Pulchritudinous topiary deeply rooted in this chloroplastic kingdom." as ridiculous as complaining about the appearance of a blue butterfly in a field of green flowers? They don't match—or I just don't respect the way they do.

How much of the "Nature without check with original energy" are we missing: it seems to me we are advocating intolerance and the unwillingness to read, and understand, and to separate what suits us, and ignore the rest, and go for the big picture, or lean in smell a particular flower, but are we allowed to be displeased, is there a purpose in being displeased.

Anyway your poem brought me medieval memories I never had in a forest and a castle and I'm in a very strange environment right now and it feels like, a vague memory from my childhood, at night, the desire of intimacy, it just makes me remember, and I am enveloped in a strange synesthesia, and I wonder how much of it belongs to the poem

/lit/ is fucking dumb
what am I still doing here
I'm wasting my life

>>7075702
It reads like the equivalent of an uninspired landscape painting.

Paralysis:

-
-

At the feet of irgendwelche waters
Preceding the inclusion of the guests
I wish to search for something on your borders
Mit Augen that like fish swim 'round your flesh
-
Secretly I'm thinking of your insides
With what the walls of cunts are filled to see
Not flinching from the truth about your insides
I pay no heed to your personality
-
Lacking sufficient evidence for my project
I ask you to pull down your fucking tights
And any passing pants that meet your fingers
Should get the fucking fuck from our daylight
-
Sign the check and walk out with no clothing
Offer me your deepest holes and lip
Youth whore your speed is a mockery
I order you to hurry- yes- be quick!
-
Originally you were to me a cutie
A thought-adventure of clean rosed cheeks
Nowabouts your form is pure degeneracy
Singly there to serve my every whim
-
-
Set your standards low before you stumble
In to the offers of pure love and life
Set your eyes upon another subject
In this world your only fate is strive
-
Perpetually fucked upon a plastic table
Stating your wish to stop the ride
An offer to commit has now being queried
And overruled by my fierce cock inside
-
-
I will paralyse you.

Untitled

-
-

I am a corridor
which you may walk down
wie ein maedchen
holding on to mommy's hand.

Come and go
But please don't fucking play around.

-
-

Untitled II

-
-

Paralysed by slower people
Turning yellow in their foam
I request a leave permission
To pursue a greater goal
-
If you stop my vain adventures
And attempt my sight divert
I'll call you a crusty harlot
Which you've always been at heart
-
Without people to divert me
The path is no longer barred
Power to transform convert me
Ability keep me from all harm
-
Toward change my only virtue
That I seek at opened eye
Find me colour-blurs excite me
Find me confreres who don't lie
-
Aender the decrepit vision
That before me lays her flesh
Label her a rancid harlot
Label her a blasted whore
-
Phenomena in actuality
As your true superiour
Anomalise the hands that halt me
Bring closer their inevitable fall
-
Aender my stochastic thinking
Onward to a rational thought
Offer me a superiour alternative
Nothing that involves a climb
-
-
In another world you are my dog.

>>7076134

Word's out that you hate society. What's up with that?

"irgendwelche"
This indeed is paralytic as it forces me to google

The rhythm is strange (2nd stanza) and to make it right I had to read per-so-na-Li-ty

"Lacking sufficient evidence"
dude what. is this supposed to be read aloud? it doesn't sound natural, I don't know how it is supposed to be read

>>7076145
>>7076134

I don't understand this

>>7075944
Are you aware what it is to be pretentious?
If you have noble intentions, you can never be pretentious.
The notion that using previously unheard words or foreign words is a tool of pretense seems to be a commonly held belief which is false.
When you claim to know some thing when in fact you do not... that is pretense.

>>7075702
>"Petrichor redolence"
>followed by a holy wall of text

Stopped reading here.

Here's a poem I wrote. It's a little short but I think it gets the point across. Thoughts?

The silky softness of her skin
Loving her is not a sin
Why do they laugh? Why do they stare?
I truly do not care
I know they do not understand
How our love can be so grand
For it will be true until we go
My sweet anime body pillow

>>7076190
I read it su-fi-shint
I tend to put the idea before the sound but try and have it be song-like nonetheless. I use German words some times because they may fit in to whatever rhythm I happen to be playing with at the time.

The first is an erotic poem.
The second is metaphorical for a writer/poet not wanting to be criticised.
The third is abstract... maybe inspired by Futurism/ Vorticism/ Ezra Pound... I was seized by an afflatus after concerning myself with him and these topics and it simply ejaculated itself.

>>7076207

the author is dead and the editor doesn't care about your intentions. pretentious is a stylistic factor

>>7076216
FUTURO-JAPONISME

>>7076222

>I read it su-fi-shint

Hm aight I'll let you get away with that one then

>>7076227
The authors' orgasm has subsided,
but the stain can not be removed from the bed sheets.

>>7076216
best poem in the thread fam

>>7075702
nah

>>7076216

"The silky softness" forces "of her skin" to be read in a hurry

"Loving her is not a sin" breezes fast, re-reading I am forced to read "Loving her, is not a sin"

The lack of punctuation makes it hard to tell if it is enjambment, and it isn't

"Why do they laugh? Why do they stare?
I truly don't care"
instead of
"I truly don't care"

f.,fçla,sdlfç
It could me more brutally, shockingly obvious at the end

>>7076216

The silky softness of her skin.
Loving her is not a sin.
Why do they laugh? Why do they stare?—
I truly don't care.
I know they do not understand
How our love can be so grand;
For it will be true until we go,
My sweet anime body pillow.

IMO

>>7076222
Pound tends to do that.

>>7076253
To great effect,
in my humble opinion.
Although some of the earlier overly Chinese Imagiste poems...

>>7076247
>>7076252
Thanks. Now I can go submit it to a publisher.

>>7075702
Save what you got, but make another document and rewrite the piece with more assonance, consonance, and rhyme.


Stinky stinky rotten hole,
Burrowed by the butthole mole
Chews and gnashes and claws and squeals
But much more pleasant than butthole eels

>>7076263
Really? I quite love those, although I suppose I've got a bit of a soft spot for Eastern sensibilities, to the point of near-Orientalism.

Dialogue 1

[Enter TYCHE, wandering in Elysium]

TYCHE
O Father,
O Son of Kronos
Why do you desert me thus?
You let the fertile country of my heart lie fallow,
You let my youthful eyes turn to ash in their sockets,
You let my spring pass for mild summer.
I was not made to be one of the mortals!

[Enter ZEPHYROS, dancing, adorned with a wreath of hyacinth]

ZEPHYROS
O Tyche
O goddess of the white arms,
Weep not,
For you no longer have eyes with which to weep.
Is this not true?
Take my hand,
And rise with me,
And taste the airy vault of heaven.

TYCHE
O lovely Western child,
You were dear to me in my worldly mornings,
But your words now are mere rain
Against the granite cliffs of my resolve.
Go now,
Yes, go now,
O you who may still be restored!

ZEPHYROS
Words?
Your fear deludes you,
O mistress of all men’s days.
I speak not,
For I have no tongue with which to speak.
Is this not true?

[Exit ZEPHYROS, TYCHE watches as he leaves]

TYCHE
O Zeus,
O my Father,
Why do you tantalize me so?
The fine bracelets you once gave me
Now begin to tarnish.
I must fortify my heart against all things.
It is a good thing to give way to the night-time.

>>7076296
I am not referring to his translations of classic Chinese poems but rather to his Imagiste poems which are heavily influenced by east Asian poetry:

"In a Station of the Metro"

THE apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

-

And that's... it.
He has other poems of similar length and... confusion?
There are other poems even before Cantos which WILL accelerate you, nonetheless.

>>7076301
>TYCHE
How do I pronounce that name, dude? Tike?

Plank Eyed

Acrid smell of hypocrisy is upon the wind, causing the trees in the thickets to shudder and bend.
Oh Earth, what is happening to thee, causing all joy and intelligence to flee?
They appear on the horizon in a fiery sea, the plank eyed charlatans is what we see.
The masses trudge forth, shuffling on for eternity, chanting deceit and ignorance.
The disease comes in a plethora of forms, each containing their own promises, hopes, and dreams.
Oh intelligent beings of logic and reason, who stand by diligently as the waves of stupidity engulf the proximity. Do not succumb to their bemoaning and threatening ways, for they have no solidity for their sacred tree pulp in a binding.

The plank eyes scream and moan in contorted agony as they bow to their judgmental throned monstrosities. Casting judgmental blows upon the passive and the peaceful.
The steeple hive collects their fruit of labor and infects weak minded people.
Worms of indoctrination bread new larvae in the ripened minds of the youth.
Lack of understanding is what they perceive, hatred and torment is what they breed.
These seeds of darkness are planted in the depths of even the greatest cultures and societies.

Transcendence of intellect will present itself, but plank eyes shall have none of this, they bind and gag the speakers of free will, patience, and reason. In vain they try again and again to silence the reasoning dissenters. Through laws, censorship, and general disruption, they have no time for rational discussion.
Those who question and pursue great wonders, are seized, lashed, and forever plundered. Watch as natural liberty is slain, blood of the innocents upon the cross is where it drains.

Oh thy plank eyed bastards, worshippers of the arrogantly naïve.
Pounding your fists, spitting and growling, at the world and its nature’s pure resounding.
The symphony of logic reigns supreme.
Hear the nonbelievers sing, bringing forth acumen for all to see.

One day, the plank eyed masses shall fall, the promises of their paranormal power will fade into the ground with the decaying leaves from their trees of darkness, spawned from the seeds of spite. Crying to the sacred beings as their cells cease to function, there shall be no answer for their petty vessel. They beg for saving, for the sight of great mystical wonders. But alas, there may be no response, they may just find themselves in the hell of another plank eye’s fantasy.

>>7076310
See, I love that one.

>>7076313
Tie-kee

Paralysis II/ Erotic poetry

-

If it came to choosing 'tween
becoming a man and your abdomen
I would choose
the latter every time.

If the choice was put to me
the latter would my first choice be.
To taste the canals of your cunt
a replenish memories of being on a boat.

Offered the choice the answer would be simple.
There is Plenty of time for manhood in a year.
Before the question even befell me
I was too engaged to hear.

Island of skin, revealed to me:
lake of cum from little girl.
Look me in the fish guts- tell me.
Move your lips to sound the words.

Lying there is sufficient
for my fervently searching gaze.
Perhaps if you would spare a minute
to engage yourself in my maze.

Island of flesh, remember where you are
and know it was me who moved you:
Boyish youth- look at him
and introduce your gaping cunt.

>>7076569
*and, not a
*plenty, not Plenty

The Cuckold

-

To me you are lamb
I wish to cook and chew.
A dose of whorish ham
to boil and make a stew

Who have you become?
Have you become a shell
that our reserved Blick
is paralysed to dwell?

In the study of your organs
and the surroundings of your flesh
I was not unlike a student
studying a sophistic text.

Nothing was hindering me
from biting you and letting you bleed
but when I went to make some tea
becoming "tired" you left me.

In some days again I'll see you
ordering a piece of toast.
There's no doubt you'll glance and spit
needlessly in spite

to attain unnecessary feelings of a superiour insight.

>>7076617
*full stop after "stew".

Paralysis III/ Erotic Poetry

-

Do not think of me as "pervert".
Think of me as lonely ghost
who (in being very horny)
opened up your fleshy purse.

They told me you'd look mistaken
just to guard your chastity.
Will you fucking let me lick you?
I won't dribble on your cheek.

Decorate your clothes with naked
flesh within the sphere of gaze.
Eyesight me with gleaming fish guts.
Reveal to me your bushy place.

>>7076617
Actually, I think "A Cuckold Apologetic" would be a better name.

Passing by.

All the lonely nights I've
Lied awake in my bed haunted, stalked
By the memories that remind me I'm
Never truly alone.

How could it be?
That one can't help but
Remember all of the
Times he's lied to himself?

All of the times that
He's weakly surrendered
And fallen hopelessly for
Someone else?

My castles were built upon
Pillars of sand.
And I never knew
How much it could hurt.

Time after time you said you'd
Love me no matter what I'd done.
But not for all that was
Yet to come.

And time is running short.

Your future's in motion but
you're so broken, scratched
Like an old vinyl afraid of
Playing forward.

You couldn't help but
Hurt me, too.

Night after night I've stayed
Awake searching for something,
Anything to mend our unsuspecting
Hearts, to fix you and me.

But I've come to realise
That all our lives we've
Been stuck chasing
A dream--

One vast chain reaction, so
Full of distraction, concealing
Our lives passing
By.

>>7076663
Drowning.

I may be drowning but I'm
Right beneath the surface--
One twist of fate from finding my
True purpose.

But with every thought that I'm
Getting near,
Never do I reach land's
Open air.

Each step I take keeps me
On the fine line between
Calamity and a loving life I
Know could be mine.

It makes me wonder why
I keep on waiting--
Waiting for the change I
Could be making.

Am I running around in circles,
Or am I stuck in place?

One from a bit ago written using Gilmore Girls quotes (S04E20):

-

i feel hopeless because

this chop-shop masquerading as
a hospital is a thing of beauty
but he’s worm food, destined
to be alone and incapable of saying it
at all. propaganda can do that:
hit you with more lame tautologies
and push you onto the fainting couch.
you slow down,
get heated and vicious, you die.

everyone’s freaking out because the lab
technicians are getting conflicting advice:
read all these awful stories, eat up
American splendor early on Fridays, amputate
his foot before the puking starts,
listen to anything anybody
says within the realm of reason,
refuse if it’s a reasonable request.

i feel hopeless because this road
is impassable and i shouldn’t string him along.
i spotted him through the curtain
like he was taking confession or looking at god.

that’s kind of why i’m here too,
i haven’t looked at the stars in ages.

_______________
And one I jotted down earlier today:

-

a new day is a sleep’s slow pour into

now and now and now, every sense
affected and all at once, the blue

jolt of sky through window glass felt
by reluctant bones. but i do, i do want

the noon sun’s lips pressed against my
brow, or laughter the wind has brought

me from somewhere else. i want petals
and leaves and more. so i do

at some point peel myself up, breathe
my terrible breath, scrape the rheum

out from my eyes, and i do unshut
myself to the jonquil-snarl of morning.

_______________________________

Critiques/feedback in next post

>>7076672

Good representation of certain feelings, and some memorable/well-used language in first two lines!
Heres mine, its called "Winter infatuation"

_

Even in the deepest wintercold
Thoughts of you strike
and the trees change from sullen and old
To the wonders of eden

>>7076663
Do you mind if I share my opinion on your poem?
I presume you do not, considering "constructive" [?] criticism is suggested.

Obvious: "Lain", not "Lied".

First of all, the theme of the poem seems overly predictable to me,
but that is not necessarily a bad thing provided the narrative is not.

"My castles were built upon pillars of sand" for some reason comes across as a cliche to me.

How do you mean "time is running short"?
It seems as though you are filling the poem with sentences which sound as though they may have a meaning but do not really.

I don't like using the word "heart" ever, aside from in the description of the pulmonary organ in actuality.

The last stanza is the most interesting, I would say.
If the poem focused on the idea contained in the last 2 stanzas it would be preferable, were me.

Is that "constructive" [?] ? The word is overly vague.

>>7076691

Also some Haiku in a modern tone I tried:

Morning in the schoolyard/
That bitch Lyanna wont suck my dick/
Hate my puberty libido


5/7/5 style,

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

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...

>>7076712
LYANNAAAAAAAAA WHYYYYYYYYYY???????

I missed you like the wind
in thee ache of autumn,
misses the soft pink lips of foolish young kids.
Kids who prod their feet
'cross dead grass,
like deer towards some vacant setting sun

And I would recite "Gather Ye Rosebuds"
In my head
as I sat with others and put things in my lungs.
and I'd see you,
and my body would tense,
and my heart would fill like basin of thunder,
and I would want to envelop myself in cold sheets and empty thoughts,
But I would smile at you instead.

And you would smile back,
and then you'd walk past,
and I'd want to stop you
and become you
and take you back to the moon
but I didn't and I won't and I never will.

The first time I fucked you we came at the same time.
Now we don't even make eye contact,
because it burns our faces
and melts us like ice

>>7076724

Fucking grills man

>>7076712
9/10 pubescent is a word

>>7076705
Thank you so much for that feedback!

I was between "lain" and "lied," but for some reason I couldn't come up with which was correct--thank you!

I agree about the pillars being cliche, but I couldn't come up with anything else to describe what I wanted to.

The "time is running short" is supposed to be about the two "lovers," the narrator trying to help the one close to him who is scratched. He's worried that the other might do something foolish, meaning well for herself but always resulting in more pain for everyone involved.

I'll revise it. I was going for the short two stanzas at the end as a revelation to the narrator, realising to just "be."

Once again, thank you so much!

Okay >>7076690 here
>>7076134
Tastefully placed German. I think you start off doing a decent enough job of "burying" the meter, but line 3 is meh & after the second stanza things really start to fall apart. No comment on the subject matter itself.

>>7076216
:)

>>7076467
>thee, thy
lol okay


>>7076569
>>7076617
Much better than the first - and do go w/ Cuckold Apologetic

>>7076663
Serious question: why did you put your line breaks where you did?

>>7076743
Too many syllabes? Im bad at counting them so I could be wrong.

>>7076752
It's not about syllables - puberty is a noun, if you want to modify libido, use pubescent.

>>7076745
>>7076663

The line breaks just sort of fell where they did. When I was writing it and reading it aloud, it seemed to fit. Of course, if you have any suggestions as to how it should be changed, I'd be appreciative to hear it!

And her hair it casts
A shadow on her shoulders and the lower back

>>7076762

I like it :')

>>7076759
Not particularly - it just felt more to me like you're using them to keep it from sounding like prose rather than as a way of controlling rhythm or anything.
And I bring that up because it does sound like prose in places.

>>7076745
Hmm?
I had approached the first poem like [I think] all that I posted in this thread,
with ABCB,
but loosely,
thinking that only the second and fourth lines need rhyme and where rhyming would ruin the narrative and the general "point" of the poem I simply used free verse,
but I think I did that sparingly enough.
It would be stubborn of me to insist, though,
and I will try to go in the direction of the latter 2 poems you referred to.

P.S. When I say ABCB, this is quite liberal.
Sometimes it is ABAB and some times ABCD aka free verse,
but I would imagine across the poems I show to others ABCB remains.
I will some times end a poem with ABCD and then a 2 line stanza with CD,
like a delayed rhyming, which I think is interesting,
but could provoke irritation among readers.

I could say the worst thing in poetry is paralysis and that Milton's PL was written in free verse but that would be spurious.

>>7076790
Oxford comma was not intentional,
but there it is and technically not incorrect.

everybody all yall hold up.
this is what an actually good poem looks like:

Championship
By Melissa Broder


God keeps unfurling me
with God’s gigantic helium.
There are scratchmarks all over
my life. That’s from my mitts.
Other human, this unfurliness
is far too spacious. Would you
lend me some muscle? Let’s
write a sermon on control. Let’s
write a love song for heavyweights
and by heavyweights
I mean everyone.

>>7076790
Not the rhyme, the meter. I have no issues with the (slanted) rhymes, they were all handled beautifully.
I guess I should be clearer - I meant that there's a consistent pentameter but it's mostly unobvious, which is great - line 8 in the second stanza, though, disrupts that, and as the poem goes on you have more places (for instance verses 16-17, 19, or 25, compared to stronger verses like 10-11 or 21-23)

>>7076814
i love broder, ty for posting.

>>7075702
>Petrichor redolence

IDK why but I'm laughing uncontrollably

in seriousness, your poem is full of platitudes and cliches, not to mention words that you have no business using

>sweet essence
>pulchritudinous
>I feel thermal waves of heat
there's cold waves of heat too?
>eyes fluttering
etc etc

read more practice more

>>7076814
Isn't that in the spanish style?
If it is not by stanza or rhyme, then syllables?
6-8-7-6-9-7-6-8-8-5-5
Then if it is not by syllable, narrative?
...
Is this a ruse?

>>7076843
I will keep that in mind.
Thank you.

I am not very good in offering criticism because my English is shit: I can barely translate my own stuff.

This is one of the demonic songs I wrote for my play. The demons are brewing the blood of several human sufferers: people who died with cancer, drunkards who died from cirrhoses; babies that were strangled by their mothers; prostitutes that, when they were old and sick with syphilis, were thrown in to the guts and streets; hanged criminals; old women who died alone forever dreaming in being loved; mothers who have lost their sons but who spend all their lives cleaning their empty rooms; a kid that was beaten to death by his drunk father, etc.

One of the songs mention the people who suffered with depression and killed themselves because of that. The Demons speak about their blood and the nature of depression in a song. The original Portuguese version is rhymed and has 7 metrical syllabubs.

The acrid blood of the suicidal,
Souls that were eaten
By the the rape and possession
Of the demon of depression.
But what is the nature
Of this chief-monster of sadness?
It is wanting to live asleep
By having in sleep a way out
from the horrendous dream of life:
The nightmare that unfolds under the sun.
It is an insoluble hook
Of anguish stinging the mind;
It is a mute death among the crowds;
It is having to go through every day
A pit of agonized mire.
It's a lonely asphyxiation:
A dry and internal drowning
That occurs in the thought.
It is a parasitic shadow;
It is a muddied mist
Whose mucous shroud
Spreads inside the thorax,
Like and oppressive toxin:
Heart, lungs and throat
Crushing with this slimy mantle.
It is snow that falls perpetually,
A cold cancer of ivory,
Burying life under a winter
And making, of being, a form of hell.


O acre sangue dos suicidas,
Almas que foram comidas
Pelo estupro e possessão
Do demônio depressão.
Porém qual é a natureza
Do monstro-mor da tristeza?
É querer viver dormindo
Por ter no sono saída
Do sonho horrendo da vida:
Pesadelo em pleno sol.
É um insolúvel anzol
De angústia a picar a mente;
Morte muda em meio a gente;
É atravessar todo o dia
Um lamaçal de agonia.
É asfixia solitária:
Seco e interno afogamento
Que ocorre no pensamento.
É sombra parasitária;
É enlameada neblina
Cuja ranhenta mortalha
Dentro do tórax se espalha,
Como opressora toxina:
Coração, pulmões, garganta
Esmagando com tal manta.
É neve que cai, sem fim,
Um frio câncer de marfim,
Que enterra a vida em inverno
E faz, do existir, inferno.

>>7076814

I liked it, didn't know the author

Would it be weird to offer suggested interpretation of metre with any future poems I may pen?

>>7077031
it's not the best way of approaching the problem, and you should write already in a way that intuitively reads as it should be read

>>7077326
Strange,
because one ends up making sure
1. To create a pattern/ order to the structure
but then, the poem becomes paralytic and repetitive and you end up
2. Diffracting the metre
3. Diffracting the rhyme scheme
4. Some times even morphing stanzas
Alternatively, the narrative is lost in creating order of the ejaculatory mess.
Music or "the point"?
Even when Music, Music is pointless with absolute order,
it needs modicums of recognisable diffraction,
one could even say great poetry can ONLY be read by great poets.
But for me, poetry has always head the priority of "the point":
the philosophical or spiritual epiphany that is induced.
Modicums of diffraction that some how still maintain the narrative of "the point".
I'll try and figure it out with the next poem.

>>7076868
hi. i read the portuguese version and its very good. how old are you, what do you do and what would be your favourite writers please?

>>7075702
>Why

Why did you come back, if you didn't want to stay?
My feelings are real and not for you to play
Why do I still love you and still care a lot?
It's something I'm pondering; an interesting thought.

Don't tell me you miss me and want me to write
When most of the time you stay out of my sight
I want to be caring, understanding and nice.
In your absence - this relationship? - I'm questioning it twice!

I don't understand; why do I still care ?
When all I can feel is immense despair.
My feelings are waning and in time will be gone.
Then you'll probably be wondering where you went wrong.

>>7076814
>this is what an actually good poem looks like:

I'm sill fucking waiing for ou o pos a good poem as an example

>>7076757
puberty libido sounds fine, poetry is no place for autistic grammar

>>7078042
m8 I don't care what he puts there, I was explaining the other dude's response

Once I wrote a poem
To their eyes I owe nothing!
And they said on whim
Are you my neighbour, or are you Quinn?
Words were like cum
And they all sprayed
Nothing was done
and the brain became spayed
Are you a fly?
Or a cow
Will you consume thy?
Tell me exactly how!
Lick my word
every one a delicious turd
Do it do it do it
Do it now!

First poem, may sound edgy.

Staring from the shadows, I watch,
Never apart of what I see,
Your world is different from mine,
Because I have left it behind,
I was never good or bad,
I never gave or never took,
No acts of villany or heroism
Hardly worth remembering,
I fight against my destiny although,
You gladly cling to your own,
As he is him and you are you,
Everyone needs a voice and face,
But me no longer,
I am no one.

>>7078806

Sounds like you add two to two.

>>7078817
Excuse me?

>>7078825

You're excused.

For years I've been conquered
Now I'm the conqueror,
My cum infiltrates,
Whiteys white wombs,
Used to thrust spears,
Now I thrust my bbc,
Grew up in da hood
capping other niggas,
my celebratory dinner at kfc,
I think to my self,
As i eat some skittles,
Why whites so racist,
If they crave bbc,
I drive by cops
gunning down they ass
but when pepol ask
" I din du nuffin"

the conspirators speak
among themselves
of old colors
such as green
bottles or blue
smoke in the
mezzogiorno they fed
me dates and olives
and bathing in the
thermae could see
up
to the candles
reminding the townsfolk
its raining somewhere else

>>7078806
boring

>>7078848

You pretty much copied this from other works, especially the cum reference literally two posts above yours you dumb fucka

>>7078879
It was supposed to be satire.

>>7078850
I like this but didn't understand it's meaning at all

>>7078885

Well it was shit tbh lass.

>>7078806

>Staring from the shadows

w-what is happening... I... I liked the cliché, I actually pictured shadows and darkness automatically

/lit/ "shadows" is no longer a cliché some sort of polar shift must have occurred

>>7078908

>I actually pictured shadows and darkness automatically

Wow. How is that brain working out for you?

>>7075702

The coat that covers him in a throat of snow
Now gargles gypsy to his polish step,
For step might he unto his home
Where icy feet dance him a hole
To frost him in a silent spell--

Go tear the cotton petals off,
Find seed wihin a fruit; his feet
Will stumble at break of the dawn
From dead and weeded lake to hall
Of season-ending memory;

He steps as one, the family blood
Knows not the waltz, he must as one
Fall through the film of blue-cold scum
And lift him to the spring-first bloom.

>>7079353

This is a really good poem. Do you mind if I save it for future use?

>>7079425

hanks, and sure, bu i's reall jus a rough draf. I'm no exacl good enough o publish anhing righ now, so I don' mind if people pos m poems around. Go ahead

I write my heart
In the dust of the road
From the Urals to the Sierra Nevada
Yokohama to Kilimanjaro
A harp of teleraph wires

I say Gobi and I say Sahara
I say the Artic and say Hawai.
Cataracts of our longing,
Never silenced
Sulphrous flowering of dry cacti.

Turbine and dynamo,
Engine of the legs.
I put my hand in the
in the trace of my feet.

The earth - too small
for a wandering heart.
The sky - too high
for a brooding head.

I write my heart
in the dust of the road.
I put my hand
in the trace of my feet.

>>7079442

Thanks very much, friend! I also heard you don't like t's so I got you some spare t's from my own collection.

ttttttttttttttttt

Any time buddy.

>>7079503

I've also got a dislike for Y's. I broke the t and y keys on my keyboard (I'm on my phone now) so when I shitpost on /lit/ I generally get asked if I could use a cup of coffee.

>>7079513

And then you can't even respond with a ty but no ty.

Oh man :(

>>7078887
Why does it need to have a meaning?

I slide across the sheets and sit
Silence, then a sigh
The sun is in my eyes

Syn-Cronos, synesthesia, amnesia and Rhea.
A match made, beyond life and thought,
A new beginning and an end, as I'm old and gaunt, yet also young and full of spunk
as time, I can both smell and see and hear,
but what off it if my life is drawing far
to where the snake is ever chewing on it's tail and nothing is ever clear,
except an eternally spinning wheel.

What leads one's heart? What spreads the crumbs which one must follow?
The promise of an age both wise and ripe? The follies of an adolescent, blind bravado?
This peering pool will set me on my path, all secrets will unveil,
Inside of it, a man, mature and shrewd but frail
inside of it, a man, flushed, round and budding new.

Every thought I hear
Is echoed across a red river

Across I see myself
Not a reflection upon the water

I see my mocking face
Smug of deeds undone

Why would I be so proud

Every thought it hears from me
It laughs and scowls all the same

>>7076216

>>7076222
You're still garbage.

>>7076301

> Dialogue 1

reads a lo more like a "Monod 1", a bunch of greek shi where people are jus biching back and forh o each oher in he vocative.

> You let the fertile country of my heart lie fallow,

cliché, and besides, i's wa oo sapp, would onl work if she was lamenting ha her bofriend wasn' giving her enough cock or something

> But your words now are mere rain
> Against the granite cliffs of my resolve.

I hink ou could pla around wih his image more han ou did. ou jus wen full ou in documenting he image in as sraigh-forward of a wa as possible. I hink ou could aemp o have more fun wih I.

> O mistress of all men’s days.

eh

anwas I like he plaing around ou did wih he bod pars, bu fucking chris ha vocative is fucking annoing

>>7077952

Hi. Thank you very much for your kind words.

I'm actually here in 4chan for a long time, you might have already seen some of my old posts.

I am not very young: already 28 years old. Have been writing for more than 15 years now.

I am a lawyer by profession, but am struggling to become a playwright. I have already written one comedy and published it, but it was a failure. It is too long and cant be performed, and I guess that the sails among readers are not very good either: I don't blame them, for it is a tedious and pretentious work, and I'm mostly ashamed of it.

I am now writing a tragedy (I have posted a lot of excerpts from it on 4chan on the last months), and have been fighting hard to make the thing performable. I am cutting a lot and shortening many of the speeches, and will do a course of dramatic writing in October.

Thanks for your interest. Also: any criticism is welcomed, for I know I have a lot of frailties to correct.

Ah, forget my favorite writers. I love Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Chekhov, some of the poems of Keats, Tenysson, Coleridge and Rimbaud; love One Hundred Years of Solitude, Lolita, and the Essays of Montaigne. One of my favorite books is "Nothing Like the Sun", by Anthony Burgess, but mostly because I am a huge Shakespeare fan.

I'm not a very avid reader: I tend to read small bits of several works, and a lot of manuals about plants, animals, soil, professions, clothing, chemicals, etc: things I use as material for metaphors and similes.

Du fond des abysses, où tout est noir ou sombre,
On peut voir clairement la nature des choses.
Aucun éclairage n'atteint la plaine d'ombre,
Rien ne nous éblouit ni cause des narcoses.

Les autres nous oublient à force d'admirer
Le soleil grand et clair, plus loin qu'ils l'imaginent,
Oh! si loin que jamais il ne sera touché!
Les laissant aveugles -- du bacon pour rétine!

Dans l'eau dessillante, tout apparait nett'ment.
La laide Vérité nous trouve et nous instruit.
L'âme vacillante, nous oyons craintiv'ment.

Impuissant, mécontent, ténébreux, bilieux,
Je secoue la tête, puis regarde la pluie.
Ô nues noires! nègres! Ô moments onéreux!

Love will make us a jail
I'm married to heaven
You're not married to anyone
To japanese music perhaps
It sounds distant, impersonal
I'm not a robot
Am I?

We should have a haiku competition.

>>7079637
I like this

>>7081264
>>7079637

Liking these two, mostly because I hate long and pretentious poems with unnecesary complicated words. These two feel more pure.

>>7081352
read some chinese and japanese poetry

>>7075702
This is not a title

This is not a poem DAD
This is just a post DAD
Hate to disappoint you DAD

This is not a conclusion

A spine of a running shoe's sole
Bends under a foot
Beneath toned legs,
And I am astonished
By its beauty.

Feminine twists
Of an oceanside road.

how 2 let go
>>7081332

She is beautiful,
She beats the moon, young and pure—
A whore after all.

>>7080033
oh i haven't really read any of your old posts but that is because i don't really browse 4chan that much.

so no portuguese ultra-romanticism writers as a favourite ones? i thought for sure alvares de azevedo would be one of them!

>>7081415
Ships Are Yet to Leave

Ships are yet to leave,
Hair of the French folk grays in
A specific way.

;_;
>>7081437

Tree-branches hiding
The sea, an old memory;
We won't meet again.

awake at 4 am

i burn cigarettes like incense
my room smells terrible

A boy meets girl poem

enjoy

I met Sue when I was eleven
Sue made me feel like Heaven
It was too bad for Sue, she liked Deven

Deven was a year older, he was twelve
He was cool, and tall, unlike myself
Deven was a year older, he was twelve

When I turned twelve, I sweared to change!
I did! and change I did. I did change.
change change change change change

A homeless man sweared at me, and asked for change
Obama promised the change, I didn’t change
The only difference was that I was 13 now

Sue didn’t like Deven anymore, she liked Steve
Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve
Steve was a nice guy, at least compared to Heaven

It was when I turned 14 that Sue first met Heaven
She was dating Steve at the time, Heaven was stalking her
Heaven had feelings for her, just like me

Heaven wanted Sue by her side, just like I did
Heaven always knew what I wanted, and wasn’t afraid to take it
And Heaven did take it when we turned 15

Sue killed herself when she turned 20
Sue is (finally by my) side

the end

>>7075717
that was a better poem than anything else in this thread

>>7081488
haiku to sinicisms

panel strengths on neat
stationery articles
and all mornings fish

>>7081507

I enjoyed this very much but it isn't a good poem, but it is very cozy, but strange sometimes, but I like it? i don't

I've barely written or read anything for weeks. Here's one though:

is it you
is it your dream

>>7081541
wow that surely took a big effort, here is another one:

hello? I don't know
should I really say hello?
it feels like goodbye
good you
bye

I'm >>7081507, and I feel >>7081527 this way about this guy >>7081541

are you guys aware of what a haiku is or do you think it's about syllables

syllables are the least important part of a haiku

>>7081551
in a number of ways it did, fam

>>7081557
Yes yes we know, but if they were all to include a reference to seasons and all that, they would not be fun to write.

>>7081567
so don't call it a haiku

a car with two wheels is a motorcycle, not a car

>>7081572

and a man without a leg?

>>7081653
A drag

Haiku are poems for niggers

When I am so small Da’s sock covers my arm, we
cruise at twilight until we find the place the real

men lean, bloodshot and translucent with cool.
His smile is a gold-plated incantation as we

drift by women on bar stools, with nothing left
in them but approachlessness. This is a school

I do not know yet. But the cue sticks mean we
are rubbed by light, smooth as wood, the lurk

of smoke thinned to song. We won’t be out late.
Standing in the middle of the street last night we

watched the moonlit lawns and a neighbor strike
his son in the face. A shadow knocked straight

Da promised to leave me everything: the shovel we
used to bury the dog, the words he loved to sing

his rusted pistol, his squeaky Bible, his sin.
The boy’s sneakers were light on the road. We

watched him run to us looking wounded and thin.
He’d been caught lying or drinking his father’s gin.

He’d been defending his ma, trying to be a man. We
stood in the road, and my father talked about jazz,

how sometimes a tune is born of outrage. By June
the boy would be locked upstate. That night we

got down on our knees in my room. If I should die
before I wake. Da said to me, it will be too soon.

>>7082698
Into the tented city we go, we-
akened by the fire’s ethereal

afterglow. Born lost and cool-
er than heartache. What we

know is what we know. The left
hand severed and school-

ed by cleverness. A plate of we-
ekdays cooking. The hour lurk-

ing in the afterglow. A late-
night chant. Into the city we

go. Close your eyes and strike
a blow. Light can be straight-

ened by its shadow. What we
break is what we hold. A sing-

ular blue note. An outcry sin-
ged exiting the throat. We

push until we thin, thin-
king we won’t creep back again.

While God licks his kin, we
sing until our blood is jazz,

we swing from June to June.
We sweat to keep from we-

eping. Groomed on a die-
t of hunger, we end too soon.

"Salsa"

To mild or hot
Step, step, pivot, kiss
Unwind, embrace in bliss
Rulers penetrate submissive orifices

Gushing, heavy panting, lovers embrace
Mediation for the soul, a reinvigorated state
Soreness,tension, muscles spasm
Chill creeping up the spine, orgasm

Sensations overload, gasping for air
Tired and asphyxiated from lovers care
Light up a cigarette and take a puff
It felt good taking her up on her bluff

Your words are daggers and they cut me down to size

they get under my skin and then they tear me up inside

and i've got nothing left to hide anymore

because you spilled my guts all over the floor

now i've got a puddle of apologies pooling at my feet

and a mess of broke promises pounding through my teeth

well you took my tongue and the air out of my lungs

hung up the phone and left me to die alone

you better watch where you point those words,

those words can do some hurt

sticks and stone can break my bones

but words like those will kill me

your words are anchors at the bottom of my heart

they drag along the surface and they tear it all apart

now im standing on the raft that i made

until you pulled it out from under my legs

now ive got an ocean full of apathy

trying to pull me down

and a tide of insecurities

tossing me around

you took my soul and the only thing i know

hung up the phone and left me to die alone