/lit/ - Literature

this is like my first time posting this but no one has said anything about it yet

>>7255205
I find it too cryptic OP.

>>7255228
I like it. Broken heart?

>>7255238
>Broken heart?

Kind of. It's better for me now personally. The poem was written right after. I suppose it expresses broken-heartedness, but more wistfulness/remorse. The image of the seed not taking root is what got me writing it, a metaphor for a relationship that never flourished. I wrote it in a few minutes

>>7255228
>this is like my first time posting this

>>7255245
Ever tried making a tie-in, after time passed? You know, a more fresh, mature approach?

Also, what's so cryptic about my poem? I find it pretty straight-forward - Death.

>>7255250
I meant third, sorry

>>7255251
I didn't see death there.
Everybody being asleep is everybody being dead?

>>7255265
Nah, they're just asleep. Death comes with putting out the smoldering flame. You know, 'Life faded from him".

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B0WRgczvQg8OekU3S3EzOER0ajg/view

still looking for more critique on this. i put it together to learn some latex, so if anyone has advice on formatting or on the poems that would be great

>>7255862
also if anyone wants to make me a better cover then god bless

>>7255228
>rain "washing away" memories

>"covered" in mist

>river is "too polluted"

>"What I wouldn't give to see x"

Also, who has ever done something "under" a curtain?

>"you are no longer with me"

>the half-baked pseudo-imagist finish

Scrap the whole thing, honestly. Nothing in this is good. All of your images are stale.

Try writing smaller—just thinking up better epithets—or try writing some pictorial prose bits just to get into the habit of thinking in a fresh way. Or, if you want to practice making poetry, try doing something in meter, at least. Right now you're writing neither poetry nor prose. You're just typing and making line breaks. Try putting a little more effort into it.

2 haikus:

"Who do you guys know here?"
Said Priam to Greek soldiers,
"Are you guys freshmen?"

"Pardon me, teacher,"
Asked Plato of Socrates,
"Can I vape in here?"

>>7256752
This. Riddled with cliches. Challenge yourself.

>>7256771
Might even say 'polluted' with them

>>7256786
The poem's meaning: obfuscated under a dark veil of stale language.
Its washed away like tears in rain,
Burns away like a lit cigarette,
Into the loud, stale, humdrum city air,
As stark as the Winter,
How I long for a warm, cliche-free Summer
In which to rest
Like an infant in the womb.

>>7255205
Sounds like cheap erotica.

Gonna derail the thread for a few moments if you'll allow me

When did poetry become associated with being a "faggot"? Was it the advent of brooding edgelord teens finally being given an outlet for shitty poetry with the advent of Myspace and the like? Or did it happen long before?

>>7256949
definitely started before

and homosexuals/bisexuals are definitely disproportionately represented in the body of canonical poets

I was born in the town of Paisley in early 1960
And placed in the care of an old eternal bachelor
A strict disciplinarian, a passionate antiquarian
His collection of myths and legends was spectacular

As a younger man he'd been to see Japan
Where a master in a white kimono taught him
In a shining moment the myth of the bishonen
The youthful hero doomed to fall like blossom

And how could I forgive the ugly fugitive
Who brought me up according to a fantasy?
For when the old man stared at me
He drowned in evil beauty
Thinking of the early death in store for me

He taught me to be good with words, he bought me ceremonial swords
And in this way came grace and expertise
The words were to cut down and to kill the muscle-bound
The swords to fell my intellectual enemies

>>7257438
second part
And women should be hated but first impersonated
Charm, he said, is essential to misogyny
He taught me how to woo the girls in order to outdo the girls
And the fun would come when I'd got them to love me

And how could I resist the old misogynist
Who brought me up according to a fantasy?
My softness and fragility
My feminine grace and delicacy
Made death himself afraid for me

And so in time I grew to be blond and beautiful
Pale and frail, with many male admirers
I was promised by my father a retainer for a partner
So loyal that nothing could divide us

Shocked by my suggestion that I'd rather have a woman
My stepfather replied I had no choice
This man would cut his entrails open protecting his bishonen
He informed me in a solemn, trembling voice

How could I disobey that surreptitious gay
Who brought me up according to a fantasy?
For when the old man stared at me
He drowned in evil beauty
Thinking of the early death in store for me

So me and my retainer encountered many dangers
On travels through the North and through the South
We ripped open the bellies of many famous bullies
And our reputation spread by word of mouth

In the mountains of Morocco we stopped and shared a bottle
With a blind old man with a bearded, bandaged face
And though the sun had sunk and the man was very drunk
He seemed to speak with my stepfather's voice

Saying "How could you forget the ageing martinet
Who brought you up according to a fantasy?
Your softness and fragility
Your feminine grace and delicacy
Will be the death of me"

Surprised at 28 to find myself so late
Changing from a boy into a man
I'm starting to feel guilty that nobody has killed me
Early as my stepfather had planned

I've found myself a girl and stopped roaming the world
My retainer's gone to be a mercenary
Now I work in a merchant bank, I'm well-liked by the senior ranks
Though behind my back the juniors call me fairy

And how can I placate the ugly reprobate
Who brought me up according to a fantasy?
For when the old man stared at me
He drowned in evil beauty
Thinking of the early death in store for me

I stay awake some nights when my wife turns off the lights
And starts breathing regularly next to me
And I think of fallen petals and bodies pierced by metal
And how I'll never now fulfil my destiny

Father spare my shame, let me pass my name
To a boy with greater beauty and more bravery
For if I have a son I'm going to raise him to die young
And lay him in the grave that you prepared for me

Night's lose-hope knows no limits
A half-earth's length afar and forlorn
A storm says the year's glow is not gone
No quiet heart's small-words or quelled lust

Far from the day I make the motions that deaden length
Few and far between for fear of fallowed love
Hallowed dust I'll kick with heels digging away
Chipping time like bricks' corners with heavy kicks
And making crack-laden a love's load lessened

Let this bitter cold chase me to her bosom's warmth
Let me not see this moon again
Let these days rise and fall like men
Let me remember how sweet a woman

(and let me be surprised in five year's time
that all my heart's weight is its own indeed
that youth is beautiful only because it is dying
that flowers sway beautifully in the wind but crumble in our hands)

There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose thing was so long he could suck it.
He said, with a grin as he wiped off his chin,
"If my ear was a pussy, I'd fuck it!"

>>7257622

Every single time one of these threads is made someone thinks they're going to be terribly clever and write some stupid couplets like this. Go away

If it is to change you
You will not remember the crash
By the moments during or before.
Your death is not about you,
But everyone else
And what they learn in your absence.
Like your quiet father who
Goes to church but never prays
Begging God, “Take me, instead.”
Or your hopeful mother who
Always believed in the value of
Hard work.
A car with no gas is pushed further
Than one with a full tank.
You wake with a damaged body
That hates your old one even more.
But it is forgiven.
I-85 is still dense with moving lights
That cut through your field of vision and
Fade quickly into nothingness.You are no longer one of them
And pull off across the median.
It’s only a gambling problem if you lose
And you’ve been given back years
To burn.
If angels taught you how to hate
The devil showed you how to love.
You wish you remembered why.
You think about how easy it would have
Been, and what it means that
Your brother has seen a decade’s worth of
Old movies more than you.

You think a lot
About what got broken, how everyone says
They’re fucked, and
The one person who thinks they’re fine
Maybe isn’t.
You like hearing voices over the phone
The way they are forced to be honest
Instead of hiding the truth in their faces
Like a white-printed riddle.
Your second-to-last cigarette burns out
But you decide to quit early.
It’s funny.
They would kill you if they knew
That sometimes you wish they didn’t pray
Or that you’re far too old to smoke with
Your cousin.
She conjures up images like
A chemical imbalance would after you
Inhale a ratio you didn’t expect.
But it’s too late, and the drug filters through
Your lungs and the parts of your body that
God touched.
So, you hold it in.
She smiles.
Exhale.
The reality of it all pours from your chest and
Caresses her silhouette
Like a familiar shadow that’s followed you
Into every smokey bar on the block.
You can’t tell left from right, or
Right from wrong, and
You try not to think about it,
How small you must seem.
Instead, you think about space travel
and how you’d like to pass in zero gravity,
Drifting through the black, faced with
The majesty of some distant star, wondering
Which atoms you share, and how even the supermassive
Seems so very small from the safety of
The lonely ground.

What we do in the shadows-

The night was littered with shadows, liberated from the shackles that bind them to their hosts during day-
They revel in the freedom from their daytime routine.
The shadows of the reserved man, precariously sits atop of the towering oak tree.
The shadow of the gregarious man, seeks solace in the furthest corner of the world.
The shadow of the violent man immerses himself in the serenity of the night garden.
The shadow of the gay man broods in the gloom of a dark cave.
All this while their hosts lay asleep, oblivious to the deeds of the dark.

>>7257695

It's good prose broken into awkward lines. Just write prose if you're writing prose, please!

>>7257721
>being this stupid

new to poetry, fam?

>>7255205
>She arrived suddenly
>when everyone was already asleep
>and approached the weary old man
>who only whispered- "make yourself comfortable"
>as he put out the poorly smoldering flame

The weary old man faces some temptation out of the blue while all other temptations had been put to rest. He feels its presence but welcomes it to fuck off.

>>7257870

Oh fuck off, why are you posting in a critique thread if you're planning on getting butt hurt?

I've read enough poetry to know dactyls and spondees, iambic pentameter, free verse, sestinas, terza rima bla bla bla.

It's fucking prose with line-breaks to make it look like poetry. The prose is GOOD. It's absolutely not poetry though.

>>7257870

>>7257885
kek, rekt him tbh fam

Whats with all 2deep4u aspiring poets and a flaming hatred for rhyme?
Its like you make sure things dont even incidentally sound rhythmical.

>>7257971

I think you're the one with a flaming hatred for non-rhyme.

What do you think of this one?:

>>7257608

>>7257980
I think it doesnt rhyme. Honestly, its just prose written to look like poetry.

Then again, I am just a pleb who expects rhythm in my poetry.

>>7257985

Methinks poetry is not for you, friend.

>>7255205
Please go ahead and break me. I'll thank you in the end if I'm sore enough

Passenger seats, eyes upturned
and streetlights, streetlights, streetlights
you say to me, we are really no one
that we are more free than free allows
but this is only a fiction
and i've never learned anything anyhow
I've just started reading poetry, and have started studying the intricacies of it today. I wrote this last week as a sort of starting point to gauge progress, what do you guys think?

She squeezed a dried orange
and only got oil.
The kids waited in line active
lost in rabid toil.
A wall chip fell and Marjorie yelled:
"abortion is murder!"
The undead exhumed, came with bibles
and died by fallen girders.
A janitor licked his spatula–called his wife,
cleaning the floors.
A bee buzzed from the intercom humming
"phenomenal scores."
Superman turned into a bell and rang,
accentuating his curves.
Paper-slap, map-tap, subtle quip, hop–skip:
electric numbing of nerves.
Hum drum: stretching, sprinting the line,
the sky line drowns
In the violent red ocean where smiles gaze
at heavenly new grounds.
Tomorrow, the cocoon will begin to crack.
And we'll never be able to look back.

When I was younger
before beginning to see
I had a punk-rock band
called Jizz Tissue and Apple Core.

There were three of us
including me
and we sang without singing
which means we screamed.

We wanted people to hear us
regardless of how;
we didn't care what they'd think
nor do I now.

One night in Darryl's Dad's
garage
we hit on something important
that at first seemed a mirage.

We found our first tune
which sounded like this:
Doo doo-doo, doo doo doo,
now bend over granny
here's my fist!

The door grumbled with paternity
as we licked the sole of eternity
in the midst of a magical fraternity
that said fuck you to rules.

My life is like a VHS–
lo-fi and gritty–
so let's fast forward that one part
that isn't shitty.

It was October 31st–
Day of the Dead–
and also the talent show
(we peed red).

We stood on the stage–
a high-wire–
as tensions ran high like prey
and our nerves higher.

At the drop of a high-hat
the chords began.
The moment melted and shots fired,
we were in Iran.

The summit seemed so beautiful
as lower peeks transfixed
and our lyrics met merry mouths:
"fondle more chicks with dicks!"

Mid performance, I decided to present
my favorite doll–
dressed up as a Anne Frank's pursuer–
the third of my balls.

I made him dance and prance and swing–
sin innuendo–
before putting him back in my pants
by crescendo.

The last note flew like a dove
and the lights came from above
we could all sense it: the love
until we felt our principle judge.

Yeah, I'm xpelled.
[sic] misspelled.

Mod
era
ted.

Dad,
ore
met.

Det
are
dom.

When I was younger
before beginning to see
I had a punk-rock band
called Jizz Tissue and Apple Core.

There were three of us
including me
and we sang without singing
which means we screamed.

We wanted people to hear us
regardless of how;
we didn't care what they'd think
nor do I now.

One night in Darryl's Dad's
dark damp garage
we hit on something important,
evidently a mirage.

We found our first tune
which sounded like this:
Doo doo-doo, doo doo doo,
now bend over granny
eat my fist!

The door grumbled with paternity
as we licked the sole of eternity
in the midst of a magical fraternity
that said fuck you to rules.

But my life is like a VHS–
lo-fi and gritty–
so let's fast forward that one part
that isn't shitty.

It was October 31st–
Day of the Dead–
and also the talent show
(when we peed red).

We stood on the stage–
a high-wire–
as tensions ran high
and our nerves higher.

At the drop of a high-hat
the chords began.
The moment melted, shots fired:
we were in Iran.

The sweet summit swept through us
as lower peeks transfixed,
and our lyrics met merry mouths:
"fondle fat chicks with dicks!"

Mid-show, I decided to present to the crowd
my favorite doll–
dressed as a German president–
my third ball.

I made him dance and prance and swing–
sin innuendo–
before putting him back in my pants
come crescendo.

The last note flew like a dove
and the lights came from above
we could all sense it: the love
until we felt our principle’s nudge.

Yeah, we were xpelled [sic].
But for more
check out our new Bandcamp page
/Jizz-Tissue-and-Apple-Core.

When I was younger
before beginning to see
I had a punk-rock band
called Jizz Tissue and Apple Core.

There were three of us
including me
and we sang without singing
which means that we screamed.

We wanted people to hear us
regardless of how;
we didn't care what they'd think
nor do I now.

One night in Darryl's Dad's
damp garage
we hit on something big,
evidently a mirage.

We found our first tune
which sounded like this:
Doo doo-doo, doo doo doo,
now bend over granny
–––––––––––and eat my fist!

The door grumbled with paternity
as we licked the sole of eternity
in the midst of a magical fraternity
that said fuck you to rules.

But my life is like a VHS–
lo-fi and gritty–
so let's fast forward that one part
that isn't really shitty.

It was October 31st–
Day of the Dead–
and also the talent show
(when we peed red).

We stood on the stage–
a super high-wire–
as tensions ran high
and our nerves even higher.

At the drop of a high-hat
the chords began.
Moments melted and shots fired:
we were in Iran.

The sweet summit swept through us
as lower peeks transfixed,
our lyrics met many merry mouths:
"fondle fat chicks with dicks!"

Mid-show, I decided to present to the crowd
my favorite doll–
dressed as a German president–
my third ball.

I made him dance and prance and swing–
sin innuendo–
before putting him back in my pants
come crescendo.

The last note flew like a dove
and the lights came from above
we could all sense it: the love
until we felt our principle’s nudge.

Yeah, we were xpelled [sic].
But for more
check out our new Bandcamp
/Jizz-Tissue-and-Apple-Core.
or Datpiff.
*sniff*

>>7257622

Thief.

>>7257630

And you're stupid. This is a snip-bit from a famously dirty rendition of a very well known poem called "There Once was a Man from Nantucket." It's actually quite funny.

The scene is set by singing words
and the syllables dance with birds;
an audience poised bends at the knee
and offers their ears so they may see.

I can't deny myself any form of denial
else my tears run rapids into the Nile.
Cicadas and biblical terms swarm about
as nutrients drain from our souls to gout.

I've seen the paintings our ancestors scrawled
depicting their fire and the beasts they mauled,
but I've yet to see a beauty pageants' dream come to fruition–
but perhaps I lack the intuition.

Squash and racquetball and table tennis too:
if it takes two to tango I just want to tango with you.
Games are spoken and speech is gamed,
my skin crawls inches when smiles are feigned.

My house is built on stilted stilts and no foundation
so when it crumble down under its own creation
please don't cry or whine or shout in frustration.
Such is the nature of all things and their destination.

holy shit you faggots learn to write in verse before you try to do your own poetry free of metrical standards

How foolish was that power,
that gave so great a power,
to so young, and so naïve, a child.

In him no reason lies, nor
grand encompassed scheme,
but chaos reigns on high, supreme

His poison arrows dart their course,
into some strange bewildered breast
to strike the soul into a transfixed melancholy dream

But why, poor humans ask hate seeming Fate,
must we suffer at the hands of such a senseless babe?
To whom the god replies:

“Is it not just that love in time strikes all?
Though some in fear and others ecstasy,
Cry not the choice of passions given way,
But act what course, at time, seems best.”

So back the people turned,
enraptured by the words,
of all-wise seeming fate.

Yet still, forever on, like violent sea born wind
Do cupid’s arrows fly, and cause destruction in their wake,
to torture every tender heart,
that suffers at the path their endless passions take.


r8 me

bump

>>7260563
Would be better with more consistent rhyme scheme. Not a fan of first three stanzas but I like the ideas presented.

>>7260659
What would you suggest to change the first three stanzas?

>>7260685
Those are just the ones that stand out to me as not flowing very well

How stupid is not effective
We do not give it a lot of trouble
Small and activities for children.

His joy, or
By large system
Kaos decision

Darts cause serious,
Some of the mixing valve
Download dark night club life

Poor plague, calling people to hate
To deceive us?
But God's answer:

"I'm sorry, did I?
Although some of the fears and predictions
Great choice, sitting there crying volumes
Work, of course, but it looks like the best. "

Again, the people will rise,
This love,
A bright future.

In addition, since the violence instead of peace
Cupid arrow fly there
All the dead delicate,
Desire is an agreement, it does not end there.

she zooms to my home
all things are okay
when she brakes
before a walker,
some body walking
her baby,
her car stopping
her cup from tipping
using gyroscopes

>>7260731
I like when poems sound like they're made by a Markov generator

First extension
Your welcome.
closed
Walker continues
sometimes
His son,
bollards
Butterfly Cup
Use Gayaroskopa

veculent chigger hater
die throating in mossy woodlands
combinate the hesmic dinosphere
in death's callows not whispered for Nini Moore
Harp!
Commonly
Hipster Runoff is chigger hating
I'am l'chaim for whites afraid of niggers
on hoverboards.
It hasn't the runoff to throw you running
Bismarck's bismuth of letters in Nini Moore

Word reading
His game birds and parts;
Audience was bent knee
They need to hear.

I can not deny all kinds of litter
My eyes, the river quickly.
Kīkihitar and relevant Bible
Such foods, like gout to life.

I saw a party of raruater
He declared a tiger
But Miss "to see the dream realized
But maybe not my specialty.

Squash and racquetball and ping-pong;
Two Tango, I just want to share with you.
Tricks and Games
When my skin crawl inch screen illusion.

I shacks built on the base of a column
If not, then
Complaints, screaming, noise, or spirit.
Political and personal goals.

chips and compost
One of Steve Jobs death
Dynasphere meeting rooms
Moore awaits death
Wrong!
general
Experts in the worst flooding in mite
Instead of black members Heim
hoverboard.
Fillers can be treated
Moore flash deadline bismuth

>>7255862

I
exhale is a verb, try 'exhalation of the sun' or something; otherwise I quite like this. Good colours especially
II
I don't like the repetition of 'sink(in)' though I know it must be intentional; otherwise again it's really pretty good
III
shows a nice whimsy but kinda clunky and cliché
IV
awkward
V
pretty good rhythm; I don't like 'opposite'
Seems Japanese in style, kinda adds depth to I and II (everything in between falling below the standard)
VI
Just okay, but again fairly interesting, the perspective shift is nice beside the other poems. Other than that though just boring and a little dismissive of the sun god, our saviour and lord in the heavens
VII
Is 'breath' an American verb? Does that mean 'exhale' is an American noun? Is this how the fellow felt about 'impact'? The verb is breathe for me.
Anyways great first line to this one but I'm sorry man the rest just seems like a trainwreck to me
VIII
Hey this one's pretty fun! I like it, but despite it signaling the end of the season it doesn't signal a very powerful end of the collection ... Whimsical I suppose if that's what you're going for

>>7257441
>fallen petals and bodies pierced by metal

I like this, and the poem overall.

>We ripped open the bellies of many famous bullies
>bullies

I don't like that word choice. But what do I know?

Eyebrows Stack Exchange
and charge my crystals in chill autumn
and smoke Dee Em Tee in a chillum
in the Kinesthesiology Department bathroom.
I've seen every Batman movie and
you wouldn't know it to look at me
but I have a knack for freestyling
if you put a few Dogfish heads in me,
although I'm sober now.

When I was a child
I listened to a lot of stand up comedy
and once offended my mother
by repeating a joke about dyslexia.
This is almost when I knew I was gay I put a screwdriver in my ass in the shower in 8th grade although I'm straight now,
lord willing (for all you Jesus freaks out there:

I am what I am and you can take a hike
if you don't like it, xoxo). Wow,
isn't it something a screwdriver
from my father's masculine tool area of the house
with plastic saran wrap on it
Also the last time my father played catch with me
he knocked the wind out of me on accident
it would be years later
I'd put his screwdriver in my ass

What Young
Before you begin to look for
We have a rock punk
This is called the basic elements of food and apple.
Our 3
Victory
The fact that we still have to hear the voice
It means to cry.
We the people you want to hear
No;
You can tell me some thoughts
Do not push me.
Father Darryl Knights
Wet Tunnel
It is important to
In fact, infected.
You can find the first track
The following.
Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo
He trusted
----------- Therefore deliver!
Charm's mother answered the door
As silver leefaan
Magic Staff
You, and many rules.
VHS model life
The text and gritty-
Fast forward
It is not bad.
October 31st-
Now, dry
When Homes exhibition
(What is red in the morning).
Our situation
Super Wireless
Tensions rise
We are a high risk.
Autumn Hat
Business was officially opened.
Water:
However, Iran.
Our ice
The small informal
I met a lot of joy in the mouth:
"Fat chicks rusks!"
The program, I decided to offer the public
My favorite doll-
German President Clothing
The purpose of the third.
France, with add dance
innuendo-
Front pants
I am going back.
The first flight of doves urges
Light,
I felt love for all
I also saw a little effort.
Yes, we are open to [rumors].
Add
The camp of the new-look band
/ Not to remove the spray apple.
Or Datpiff.
* Self

>>7257870
He's right.

I poop
Then wipe, seeing blood again
-it Reminds me of her-
I stand and drop my phone
In the middle of my poem
And in the stinky miasma
I see the ghost of Blake
Who tells me I should chew better
And he points
At the spaghetti swimming
In the bowl.

>>7255862
Oh yeah do you program? Would you recommend latex? Some of your poems had some nice formatting (forgot to mention that, V is tasteful particularly) do you think that sort of thing is easier on latex?

Would e.e. cummings use latex if he were writing today?

Stack Exchange front
My autumn will bring cold glass
EM and Dee Dog T-shirt, Chillum
Kinesthesiology bad place.
I find Batman film
Do you know me
There is a free PR trick
If you head shark,
I was cool.

When I was a child
I stood listening to a lot of comedy
Mother doubt after
Dyslexia regularly through humor.
It is now almost wet my ass, I was in the eighth grade with a wrench set, I knew it was a warm and
Both Mr. Jesus freaks ready for (among other things:

I raise the interest rate, which I
I KIA). wow
No screwdriver
My father is the formation of electrical household appliances
plastic sheet
He hit the last fish
Wind sensation accident
After this year
My ass is the key

I can remember writing fantasy
in bed at the age of eleven
as a means of feeling individual
if nothing comes to mind lately
I used vaseline for the screwdriver because given the way the saran wrap wrinkled sharply no other lubricant could prevent bleeding

Heres a shitty Narrative Poem I wrote called Napoleon in the Kremlin

Swerve me? What frigate could swerve the leviathan? When Europe's emperor brings his feet to Moscow's Welcome Mat, the czar is obliged to bring the bronze key. What type of czar, leader of men, defies our rules of war? What leader of men abandons vast Russia's holy citadel?
I wish to believe in a dream, this reality insults the depths of my being.

Swerve me? How does a city swerve a marching wave of one million European boots? The Russian Devils departed here with fire at their feet. Cowards setting blaze to the billows, with flames for her florists. If an army marches on it's stomach, then the czar is now putting good men to crawl. How was Laverre and Quentin Chauvat to watch as a lame Mongol like man razed a barn of grain? God's curses on the Russian beast, not even the fiercest violence could soothe my hot soul.

Here at the holy capital of the largest country of the melancholy globe, I long for Parisian stars. If there could be a Moscow star for every man left behind in this Hell, then my nights shall be filled with light only for the coming days. My force here is the Great Oak, and I would give all it's foreign branches to see the czar. To lay mine eyes upon him, to place a slender glove over his neck... Lord God, what must I give for this?

What a moment we are in now. By what divine movement has Napoleon found himself, selflessly leading the best of men. Curse the invisible hand, the one that thrusted me to the reins! Moscow burns, my lions hunt rats now! They look to me with wandering eyes to the East, seeing white Hell to the West. Aye, why to me? Even in this day I am stoven down by the frigid Russian atmosphere. I am the butt of this grand cosmic joke.

To leave this place indeed. Here I stand in the Kremlin, in the holy capital in the largest country of this melancholy Earth. It is time to go home, truly. The retreat... Oh the retreat will take two months, and Winter watches us now like a Hawk on a steeple. I will not be the messenger on this one. The shame of this development is too great, but there is no use now to dwell on past defeats. Who am I? I am still the Emperor of Europe. The Revolution lives forever. There is no shame in failure, only when a man refuses to fight for justice.

Ali and I DH
However, blood red look
In memory of the village
I stood up, I dropped the phone
In this song I
The miasma official announcement soon
I see the spirit of Blake,
Who can say that I am not a good Mel
performance
pasta water
Level.

Autumn on Stack Exchange
Ee Em Tees rush to my house
in "Chill Bro" T-shirts
to resuscitate me from a bedwetting tantrum
And take photos of my writhing gay body
for a viral marketing campaign for Hitachi Drills

In the fall during football season my father attached a football to a Hitachi Drill and without his permission I used it on my young anus

In New Hampshire we balanced the budget
for three straight years
and brought unemployment down
from 10% to only 2%

Wind sensations drift over Occupy Wall Streetwalkers
and homeless of our Nation's capital
Washing Machine's using DC current create
the most orgasmic rumbles, Dad always said

>>7259595
Honestly really killer first line and the whole thing is very musical.
Second line sucks, 'barren crags' feels cliché and the whole line stretches the first one out when it should just be left alone.
'Slowed down the fated stride' is broken rhythm, 'slowing' for example would fix it. Alternatively a comma after down would improve the line imo.
I actually like it

Napoleon to Russia's integration
Do you want to open? This is a hands-on with the war? Pete King, celebrated as the European leaders in Moscow, and promised in a large bowl. King is the head of those who do not ignore the rules of war? The leaders of Russia, the holy land, and walk?
I hope I can always dream QOOK curse.
Do you want to open? € 10,000 for the opening of the education sector? Satan and defeated Russia. In addition to the fire, fire flowers and waves. Now in the position of the head. People Quentin economic Pentecost warned visitors to Mongolia? Violence summer Saul Russia dishonor.
Many of Pakistan, and I try to make God into the world. Moscow managed to become a star, which accounts for a few days is enough light Welty. As the flagship of the board, I have given all the facilities to be king. Strip off ... But the question my Bible?
But now we know. Cutting by Napoleon raliste not seem to have any time. I secretly curse! But in Moscow, with a lion chasing a mouse! Well, I was looking left and right to change. Well, that's what? Russia, I think that in the winter. I laugh like a big game.
You do not want to leave here. Here in the capital, said the Russian government at the time. In fact, it is when they get home. ... February trip, but the basis for the eagle. Our mission. Shame is very poor, but he said that the lack of people. I am? Professor of European Union (EU). Beyond the changes. So do not be shy to fight in court.

>>7260899
Hogwash

>>7260885
See a therapist

>>7260884
Just because it doesn't make sense doesn't make it good

>>7260870
Best shit I've seen yet. Had a kekkle

>>7260862
>Ill just list as much random shit as I can think of

>>7260861
This is the best version of this poem. Nice self portrait.

NOW here is mine. Do your worst plz.


My Shot Heard Round the World

was the smack of your body, in trajectory of a car speeding

into you at 85 in a 40, crushed

like me crushing on your big sister Anna

in grade school

and especially on days where I crushed you in Yu-Gi-Oh.

I arrived on foot, found hysterical

ladies around you, wailing bodies.

They said the Honda tackled you hard.

Your shirt fused with Udall Road

and I see the skin of your legs disintegrated,

pebbles embedded

reminded me of when I tackled you too zealously

and you wailed. It wasn't that bad Tommy. It was football.

Remember when someone boosted your watch from Anna's

locker and I was blamed, as her neighbor.

I had nothing convincing enough for you

but I could convince the wailing ladies

to sit down

but your body twisted as a straw hat

was immune to persuasion. I saw you got your watch back.

I did not see your face again until Mrs. Labetti called me

ravished with a need to feed her obsession.

Would you have rathered a fabricated goodbye? Seriously though.

I gave her the truth, you had nothing left

to give her.

She made a guttural noise

it sounded like your lungs decompressing

when I rolled you onto your side

and your rib was esposed, and your nipple was gone!

That was a good one Tommy.

Clay race
All electric emties
Rest, T-shirts, "a brother."
Let me, urine Mafia
I love snakes and homosexuality
Hitachi bactericidal activity.
This is a good thing, because the football season was used Hitachi to reduce child.
New Hampshire balance budget
three years
reduce unemployment
10% 2%
Moral calm Wall Street
shortage
From Wash DC
Granville enough noise

>>7260930
Haha bravisimo my friend, I like your style. Are you on any drugs? Or just inspired? Will you turn this into poetry?

>>7260953
I really like it. I'd only ask for the format changed but it's quite nice

I found the history of the world!
Fast Track Body
85 and 40 and love
I slept like a flower and sister
Elementary School
In particular, the United States - UK - GE Well, then, broke it.
I went funny
Now, after the body of a woman, crying.
They say it is difficult to say it is a Honda.
All UK transmit radar Mix
I looked at his feet, and skin-friendly
Important sand
I think we mentioned before, fraud
The right. Not bad, Tommy. This is football.
Anna Hoi Damudamu and shooting trial
Be a friend, I will not be offended.
It is not enough for you,
I hugged crying woman
To
However, a cover
Company lungs. I was in the back of the eye.
But he could see his face, and his mother called Labet
Prices of food, it is his.
I wonder Rathered good? However, this is difficult.
Not sure I want to, and all that is left
A
They made it sound hoarse voice
After the long form
We stand apart
Esposed many of the world!
This is Tommy.

>>7260870
Thank you kind anon!

Still polishing

The worker toils, and labours, and performs, their wright.
The priest preforms, and displays, and declares, their rite.
The Judge declares what is, what isn't, what will be right.
Meanwhile I write. And write. And write.

>>7260992
yikes

I remember writing Fiction
ten
The only way to
To be out
I sharpened screwdriver blood fat Logo plastic wrap that can be done to prevent looga, Vaseline

>>7260982
nice collab bruh

Labour, daytime running lights.
Pastor beam blanks and displays.
I told the truth to the court.
On the other hand, he said. Then he wrote. Then he wrote.

only
Law Court of the respiratory function. "When my breath," Yes, I love you. Although the country.
two
It is better, because you "break (middle). He said:" I know, because I did not want to return.
three
Ugamu good food, but it's hard.
four
Bank
to
Top Rated Me "security" does not want.
Japan first and second (points) and depth control for example.
six
Even a good thing, a very interesting and there are some changes to look a little sad song, but not the God of heaven, and save lives.
seven
The word "book" in the resolution that the United States "because" it means that he knows that "I" to do? The fighting words
However, it is certain, and I was sad to leave trainwreck.
eight
Hey, great. But ...... Do not worry about the end of gaadhsiis, I think a lot of us, the end of the season, so I will not.

This thread is bad and most of you should feel bad.

Good poems:
>>7260950
>>7260892
>>7260870
>>7259595


Everything else is madness

>>7261116
Yes, Boris, I ...... some of my favorite books, I, many organizations, including the option to not be able to think, but I do not get a lot of red you've learned in my Dronia. Beautiful stone fat, I can not control. However, following the floods and depression ... I can not say, and what you've read.

I just fapped and forgot how to love

a darling I have seen a while ago
on a subway train headed
to somewhere I don't know
I have bumped into her;
and with soft bend she bled a beam
that said the sweetest sorry
and I smiled, too and lay awake
a while before trying to dream
eyes casts beauty under their peel
detailed divine turn abase on her kneel,
innocent subtlety shift to something obscene
as restless beats peaked and receded serene
and with a heart delayed and brood set free
resolved all the planned intimacy
it's all mutual in my reverie
as sullied beauty is enough love for me

Note: Please fix

My dear, I was more pop, it does not forget.
I found a finally my love.
Follow the instructions
I DO NOT KNOW
Manufacturing
No, it is soft, light and.
Unfortunately, it was very good.
He smiled in the market.
I had a dream in court.
about
For more information about smoking in bed,
Good value in two sexy.
It will promote the basic economic development.
Please do not forget to work.
The program is very easy to fix.
Perle money.
I beautiful love

We. To be halfway betwixt Love and Hate,
To such radiant Peace do we behold,
In dreams do we see that which we call Fate,
The sweetest sounds of Yesterday being told.

Like virtuous Hamlet are we made to move,
Unable to will the Desires of our mind.
A fury that Eros herself could not soothe,
Upon those sick hearts Thanatos we find.

But Tragedy for one is not for all;
As players upon a Stage do we act,
Stubborn prisoners of heart and Wind's call
As we struggle to keep Ourselves intact.

And weep not for great and poor Orpheus
For he resides in each and every one of us.

>>7260320
I enjoy the contents and imagery of the poem but it seems like the meter is off if you were going for any. The first stanza was pretty much Iambic Tetrameter but that doesn't follow throughout the poem.

Aspiring classical music composer here. I've always been interested in art songs (poems set to music, usually singer and piano accompaniment). What's a good book to learn about writing poetry?

>>7255205

Rest in peace Opa.

I have this mental scene that I imagine when I'm trying to fall asleep, to help me relax and clear my mind. I wanted to try to describe it with poetry, but I've never really written anything before. Please be as harsh or gentle as you want with it, I'd really like to turn it into something good.

Deep within the jade forest,
Wind the steep and perilous
Eternal Steps, endless road,
Pathway to Enlightenment.

A solemn monk walks alone.
Prayer scrolls in hand, beads rattle.
A thousand years crease his face.
Searching for Enlightenment.

The forest is so peaceful.
The pleasant trickle of streams,
The soothing sigh of the wind.
Surely wisdom resides here.

The chime of a single bell
Resonates through bamboo trees.
A pure, high note rings softly.
Wisdom comes to all who hear.

The monk stops for a moment
To rest. There is no hurry;
He has searched for many years.
Samsara, timeless yearning.

I decided to just write whatever came to mind, so there's no real structure to it. Thoughts?

Somewhere Steve Jobs is rolling in his grave
And each revolution is the turn of the earth
"Black turtlekneck and jeans is my brand"
I announce proudly to the howling void
And the void gazes into me but I'm Steve Motherfucking Jobs

A lifetime of selling this shit
These slabs of aluminum and plastic and all
the fucking tiny little circuits (there's so damn many)
Thank you Moore you son of a bitch
But it wasn't too bad, all things considered

Turns out that Hell runs on a bunch of Mac Minis from 2007
And now I'm selling all that aforementioned shit to the Lord of Darkness
You had better believe I'm charging him a hefty premium
And just like the earth Hell slowly begins to rotate around my bloated ego
I mean, you can calculate the fucking angular momentum of my id

I'm Steve Motherfucking Jobs, what did you expect?
That I'd be sucking Satan's 2-inch cactus cock for all eternity?
Steve Motherfucking Jobs has people to do that for him
Egyptian pharohs killed their slaves to take them to the afterlife
And I'm not saying I'm a murderer, but it's hard to find good help these days

>>7255205
I'm not a poet, but some of the word choices are unimaginative. Suddenly, weary, poorly. Also, struggling to find much meaning or confluence in the rhythm.

I'm curious to hear people's interpretations of this poem. I had something specific in mind while writing it and I'm curious how obvious it is.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pw_KPAFc3u-foqq_JCyNM9ON7B-6YT_Z8oJfyeFy9p8/edit?usp=docslist_api

ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
IF YOU READ THIS
YOU'RE A CUCK-UE

>>7260854
thanks for the critique.

>exhale is a verb, try 'exhalation of the sun' or something; otherwise I quite like this. Good colours especially
exhale can be a noun at least in america. i might try out exhalation of the sun though

>I don't like the repetition of 'sink(in)' though I know it must be intentional; otherwise again it's really pretty good
i might change that. you're probably right that it's not worth the shock because the repetition really doesn't add much. what do you think of "As the rusting sun/descends below..."?

>shows a nice whimsy but kinda clunky and cliché
i kind of like this poem but if you find it clunky ill definitely have to look at it again. i at least like its tone.

>pretty good rhythm; I don't like 'opposite'
i don't really like it either. currently searching for a better way to write the line.

> Is 'breath' an American verb? Does that mean 'exhale' is an American noun?
i think exhale is correct in america, but i meant breathe.

>Anyways great first line to this one but I'm sorry man the rest just seems like a trainwreck to me
i agree, i think that's the worst one. it was definitely the least inspired of the bunch. it's really forced. im probably going to scrap it entirely. it also falls into this trap of pretentiousness that i was deliberately trying to avoid by writing more whimsical stuff. i included it because i think it's a nice change of pace in the collection but you're right, it's not good.

>Hey this one's pretty fun! I like it, but despite it signaling the end of the season it doesn't signal a very powerful end of the collection ... Whimsical I suppose if that's what you're going for
i agree there could be a better end, i just need to write more poems. i like this poem as a kind of outro but it needs a stronger poem preceding it.

>Oh yeah do you program? Would you recommend latex? Some of your poems had some nice formatting (forgot to mention that, V is tasteful particularly) do you think that sort of thing is easier on latex?
yeah, i program (cs and english double major). latex pretty much makes stuff look nice for you if you know how to give it some basic stuff. i'd definitely recommend it if you're willing to put in the time to just fuck around with it for a bit. making that wasn't too hard, but it was still more work than just typing stuff into notepad or something.

>>7262367
and again, thanks. that was pretty helpful.

The room warps
from self; us together
in sound only
lonely sounds swallowing us
from lapse

Outspoken buttocks in pink beads
Invite the necessary cloudy clinch
Of bandy eyes…. No extra mufflings here:
The world’s one flagrant, sweating cinch.

And while legs waken salads in the brain
You pick your blonde out neatly through the smoke.
Always you wait for someone else though, always—

(Then rush the nearest exit through the smoke).

Always and last, before the final ring
When all the fireworks blare, begins
A tom-tom scrimmage with a somewhere violin,
Some cheapest echo of them all—begins.

And shall we call her whiter than the snow?
Sprayed first with ruby, then with emerald sheen—
Least tearful and least glad (who knows her smile?)
A caught slide shows her sandstone grey between.

Her eyes exist in swivellings of her teats,
Pearls whip her hips, a drench of whirling strands.
Her silly snake rings begin to mount, surmount
Each other—turquoise fakes on tinselled hands.

We wait that writhing pool, her pearls collapsed,
—All but her belly buried in the floor;
And the lewd trounce of a final muted beat!
We flee her spasm through a fleshless door….

Yet, to the empty trapeze of your flesh,
O Magdalene, each comes back to die alone.
Then you, the burlesque of our lust—and faith,
Lug us back lifeward—bone by infant bone.

>>7262097
http://pastebin.com/cBZknniE

No, listen, for this I tell
Till song becomes my home.
This drop no man descends
To death or depth of meaning if there's day.

His gouged initials fixed in stone and bone
Make up no allegory.
He has no prophecy
To hatch or harass your mind.

Clouds he can recognise
As hair of children dead
And kept alive in air
To make committees of eternal peace.

The air winds round his wheels
And all the creatures know
How I the pirate come
And stand inside his cylinder to watch.

God as the day is good can tell no fraud.
I let my hat go sly
As I see my day keel
To the fall of peace and pleasure.

The sky holds stars and lice
In the disk of the chimney eye.
They have no prophecy
To hatch or harass your mind.

We fall down darkness in a line of words.

I wish tonight would just end
and i could be in my own band
and write these words with my own brain
i'll go to sleep too late again
and wake up tired, i cannot think
wash an apple in the sink
sit alone and play guitar
all of my friends seem so far
but my friends, they all changed
the supermarket's been rearranged
and my mum, and my dad
and my brother make me feel so sad

here is my poem I hope, you like it

*F: Fuck this life
*U: Undo my fucking life
*C: Cut deep into my flesh
*K: Kill me
*I: I want to die every day
*N: Night is my veil
*G: God smite me off this fucking earth

I wrote a haiku when I was drunk last night.
"A room, slowly bare.
The imprints on the carpet
Recede, hushed therein."
Guess where I passed out.

>>7260099
this is actually pretty great

>>7259862
almost great

>>7261116
I pray thee good sir. From where dost thou acquire the bare rights upon which to lay such outlandish claims such as these?

>>7263584
On the floor?

“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

Computer blue, computer blow
Jobs for lonely pining men
Once linked in cartridge fantasy,
Now dangerously alone.

Take this, the old man intoned.
Nine, ten, do diodes send
A blinking, blocked tapestry
Blankets with cathode glow.

>>7263771
You got it.
My house is being moved out of as well and I'm by myself.

>>7255205

Template

>>7262367
nigger, exhale isn't used as a noun ever, lived in america my whole life, not once have I heard it that way unless it was a mistake

>>7263795
The first stanza is kind of eh but that second one is really good. Good job anon.

>>7264024
Nice one, I like it.

when you cut my arms and legs off
i was for days unable to think
consumed by that phantom pain
something gone
now i just wonder
maybe if i never was
would this have been
or would it be someone else
some other leech boy cut off
replaced by a girl
they are oh so much greater
like that angel who smiled at you in the mall
and i
just that
sad little boy
and you couldn't stomach my flesh
so you gutted me
and i am still covered in some pains
when your eye color changed
when your vocal inflections and mannerisms
became jokes and you mocked and mocked
yourself mocking yourself to show
all the others
what it looked like to mock themselves
on that vomit ridden pale blue soon to be geocity
when this was seen
my eyes bled
my stomach churned
a sick joke
a joke
a joke
a joke
and i saw i was a joke

I made this for the thread, so it sucks shit, I just wanted a reason to write I guess

1/2 (Not mine)
Winter begins like a day with heavy eyes, slow to wake, crusted in frost. Blink once, and the sky is myriad grey and white, cold, faraway; it weeps, aches with emptiness. Blink twice, and my hands are compasses, and they point to the sky. Tell me everything.

We first met in a empty cold metal garage, our pockets full of fists and our hearts full of bitter battery acid. Imagine this: two men, red cheeks, breaths puffing in plumes of vapor. Imagine this: two men, one bruise, five cuts, eighty million shards of glass. Or imagine this: two men with red cheeks and bloody noses and
puffy lips in their varsity jackets, their hearts full of battery acid and their knuckles of bone, their faces pure agony and their hearts aching tremors. They want to hurt each other. They want to love each other. (They cannot.) The battery acid in their hearts churns like the sea. We don't have to be like this. It doesn't have to
be like this.

Remember the daze. Remember how we dived into the warm pinks and oranges
of the sun warming beyond our closed eyelids. Remember how we laughed at
the manicured streets and the neon lights, how we marched under the billboards
selling Niké and Pepsi and waded in the puddles, remember how we lay down on
the hills that stretch to the sun and our tears ran into our smiles. All good things
end, but I'll keep this thought, just for once.

Let's talk about politics. Let's talk about global warming. Let's talk about the animals. Let's talk about the children and the mothers and the fathers of this good green earth. Let's talk about the toxic spill of our muddy feet into the earth's
crevices. Let's not do this. Let's not do it like this. We are entangled in our own
arms and limbs and scabs and let's not talk about this. Imagine: two guys in a
cold metal garage, rough leather hands on chapped lips, on diaphragms, on the
throat that spits hard phlegm. They don't want to do this.

2/2
l am not a psychology book. Emotion is the result of cognitive appraisal. Is this
situation relevant to my goals? Is this situation favorable to my goals? Who is
accountable here? My stomach is lined like the stones of a well, and someone is
diving to the bottom. My heart is at the bottom of an abyss and I've lost it. Give
me the flashlight. Give me sadness, give me grief, give me guilt. Anything but
this.

Eyes are the windows to someone's soul but I keep diving and I can't stop. We're
at the bottom of the well now, and one guy is weeping, and another guy is dying.
We've reached the end of the road but what am I saying, love isn't poetry, love is
ugly. Let's call this love. We're at the bottom of a well, and the water is slipping
through my fingers, and we keep diving.

Two guys in a cold metal garage. I'm the guy with the bruise and you're the guy
who's weeping. You are the guy with the bruise and I'm the one who's weeping.
Doesn't matter. Punch me. Kick me. Kill me. I don't know what this feeling is, and
I don't know how to say this, but I wish I could hold on to this forever, even
though it's just a good thing, and we are both dead. Meet me at the bottom of the
well. I hear the water is calm there.

>>7264100
this

My love in the still
of night. For the weak
men to lose their will.
Touch of burning flame
set beneath the meek.
Learn to love untame,
from lips to hips, to swill.
The touch all men seek,
our love in a still.

Amusing for something I wrote at midnight on a worknight.

Have a look at these gems, inspired by a collective love for some racist midget.

>>7268241

>>7268247
My eyes could water a desert at this point.

city scene and secrecy
riding high right by your side
stolen away. then, like now
in memory. at least it seems
we'd shared distinct realities

unburdened now under indulged
in nostalgic infused delirium
a swig, a sight, a pang, and back
if neither then and certain not now
have we met and been at once

reluctantly revived the rite
by which now might I imbibe
and so ignite with pain the life
then naively to you delivered
and there it rests until I do.

Caffeine blur and Camel haze
Rise silent to the sky.
I awake from mushroom clouds
To a clammy gray dawn.

Sitting in a dew-soaked chair
I listen as the watchdogs
bay at fenced out threats.

The newsboy's muffler,
still broken and groaning
Extra with monoxide growl,
rises and falls,
through cul-de-sacs.

The psilocybin dulls,
Abilified and neutered,
lingering but quelled
to pink noise.

The fog drifts westward
As the sun rises east.

>>7270630
I don't know why, but mention of coffee and cigarettes in art always creates a superficial tone.

>>7270687
I think it's trite simply because it's such a common diet.

future crimes
feels so real
a leaf rests
later, upset
towards home
lights lights

and they'll always be there

lmk what u think

It was a perfect time I see
To put an end to you and me
We looked at you, you didn't smile
You were expected for a while

Some drank their tea, some prayed to Lord
Some kneeled and cried, some raised their sword
Some looked behind them to their past
You did not even look at us

I wish you waited few more years
A bit more to comfront my fears
To reach my dreams, to show my wit
To feel I mattered just a bit

Alas, you know it all much better
You are a star, I'm just a beggar
I thank you for the life I lived
In fact, I think, I am relieved

>>7270687
>>7270712
it's very cliche tbh

My inability to get an erection
Is part of my "perfection"
Sorry I just quoted my mom
This job interview's gonna bomb
Something's gotta get me away
From all these hours of waste
I feel the walls closing in
Much to my growing chagrin

>>7271014
Beautiful.

>>7255205
Ah I always wanted to write a poem. Not really sure how to but lemme try.

There you were
a message away.
A glimmer of light
that shined my way

So I went for it,
sent a simple "Hi."
Little did I know
How much everyone would cry.

We messaged for hour
and I fell in love.
a few months time you'd reminisce
on how well you fit that glove

Weeks went by,
My demons returned.
A plot to celebrate you,
your ego had churned.

You took the rope
and worked the bellow.
"how easy it would be
to smite this fellow."

Day by day
and not a single wince.
I should have noticed
those subtle hints.

I suggested we die
like Romeo and Juliet.
You worried more:
"is everything set?"

My hesitations

I don't feel like finishing this. I was trying to write about what I read in the news the other day. Some 17 year old girl convinced her boyfriend to an hero so she could get famous or some shit. I read the court document and it was pretty disgusting what she was doing. That gives me some ideas though. The news is a wonderful source of inspiration though. I could probably use it to improve my writing or not. I'd rather suck a dick, $20 for a blowy? (20)(breakfast/lunch/dinner)(7days)(4weeks)= $1680. Probably pays better than writing. I'll keep a dick sucking diary hoping for a publisher sponsored Christmas bonus.

>>7271621
It returns
That uncomfortable itch
Are you that same
facetious bitch?

The one I had loved
then cast away
"There are plenty of fish"
To my insipid dismay

Time marched on
as it tends to do
I thought you were mine
but those thoughts were untrue

Silence is golden
Midas, my queen
I am no king,
but men sure can dream.

*drops fedora*

>>7271838
Top Kek
>*drops fedora*
Oh my lord what a kek injection

I need help stirring the tea. Please help

I dump milk into my tea,
and looking down
on the clouds, I feel strong—
a god of this ceramic hemisphere.

The stretch of a fisheye lens against
the bump map of dew
lays the texture of the day. The world
shrink wrapped tightly. Plastic shining
in response to a yellow sun, which
serves as the axis of this polaroid,
tilting forward as they walk
so close together.
Their feet drag through the thick grass
like the finger of a bored child on a velvet
pew, painting in shades of wet green.
Soft earth (clay?) molds to arches in feet. Soft
hair gathers to tied ribbon, bow arching overhead.
Overhead a prominence arches in its
own vastness, trembling, deviating from the Z.
Universe is sketched in semi-circles.
The milk slung into the air puffs and diffuses,
hiding the theatrics of the corona.

>>7257622
Thats supposed to be a limerick you retard

>>7257985
Poetry can stil be rhythmical and in meter without rhyming, brone. Ever heard of blank verse?