Poetry Critique Thread

[Anonymous No.10496082]

[Anonymous No.10497802]

It feels lonely, an inorganic plea for something, but I'm not sure what. Very interesting. Keep up the good work.

[Anonymous No.10497808]

Youth
The slumberlesless night
I at her pale face admire
a flower under my hand
the guillibe youth

[Anonymous No.10497820]

Slowly, stumbling through doors,
stepping over dead animals and
lighting a cigarret with my fire

wondering how night has passed me
night has indeed left me
and now I must weep

alone

[Anonymous No.10497834]

no chance in trying to erase me
my thoughts...
my sadness...
Evil

Shall last and build confusion
in your weak mind

[Anonymous No.10497851]

[Anonymous No.10497857]

It still early, love
you just started your meeting with life
and you are already putting it to an end?
Without knowing which way
you want to lead you onto
Listen to me, dear
Even though I know your mind is set
At each road fragments of your life are lost
In no time you won't recognize
the lady in the mirror

Listen me well, love
Our world is a windmill
it will crush your silly dreams
it shall reduce you illusions to dust
Don't ignore me,dear
From each lay, only cynicism shall be inherinted
When you notice, you''l be staring into the abyss
abyss...openend by your own two hands.

[Anonymous No.10497882]

Nothing aka the last day

Let me approach your little house
listen to the sound of your voice
ask about your lost

Let me follow you in your errs
Caress you in the morning
don't restrict me from that encounter

Let me rejoice this one moment
Before the day returns
when I, once again, will be nothing

[Anonymous No.10497890]

hen the last
of this charade subsides,
and when the last filament
sputters out and fades,

and when the cleverest
of all my asides
fails to deliver me-

when there's no time left
for niceties and costumes
for nicotine in archways,
ambition or ego,

at the junction of our tongues,
white plaster and paint-
when we catch the scent of formaldehyde
when we exchange condolences,

well remember me
as the me I was
when I climbed the hills.

And remember how I went
in search
of self and secrets-

In the name of new
but the spirit of old.
How I went in awe,
while lamenting physical law:

How effortless gold turns to lead,
how agonizingly lead turns to gold.

[Anonymous No.10497910]

Summer is nearly done
and with it
the hopes within my heart

in my garden I wander
with the knowledge that I
won't be capable of holding my cry
Alone with the roses, I ask
But to what effort?
The roses can't a sound or cry launch
and with just their odour
the perfume they stole from you
be not startled with my candour
Nor with my pale and sad complexion
as with you alone, balsam for my life,
my existence is meaningful.

[Anonymous No.10497919]

harshly did the ire cry
'neath such seldom midnight choir,
loosely clutched in untold psalm,
half-mouthed crutch that darkles tall
in tepid spire, tumescent fire

[Anonymous No.10497920]

quite impressed with the last three poems and the second

[Anonymous No.10498011]

>>10496082
Honestly, the double hath and disturbeth bits are real distracting.

>>10497802
Real potential, I wish I had context. It'd likely make me dig it much more.

>>10497808
Flowers and youth, it's been done to death.

[Anonymous No.10498019]

>>10497851
Pretty fucking good, anon.

>>10497882
Hope she was a good lay

>>10497910
Not bad

>>10497919
Good shit

[Anonymous No.10498027]

>>10498011
>wish I had context. It'd likely make me dig it much
Thanks
I was thinking about the metaphysical conflicts between the young and the old, and how our world is asome sort fever dream created by revolutions and yhe pursue of stability.

[Anonymous No.10498029]

>>10497890
I'm assuming it's suppose to be
>when the last

Really reminiscent of Eliot. Solid images, economic verses. Great poem, anon

[Anonymous No.10498031]

>>10496082
pretty amateur shit here fellas


If the moon sinks
Beyond all plumb reason
I care not to think
Of the madness evinced within me

Her white breasts bow in the night
Like a gasoline-soaked beauty
Whose burning habit weeps light
And scarcely covers her pale form

Above the moor she dances
The stars seem no more than distractions
From Diana’s romance
And a crescendo carried in the wind

But with my head bowed I shield my fears
And hide my thoughts from passing years

[Anonymous No.10498033]

>>10497890
Good, but everything is ruined in the fifth verse

[Anonymous No.10498037]

>>10498031
i mean my poem is amateur shit lol, the rest of these are pretty good actually :-)

[Anonymous No.10498053]

>>10497919
Really interesting use of the language

>>10497910
You provide some original imagery, very nice

[Anonymous No.10498064]

mind your likeness
to desert skin,
removed of all human qualities
except for the sly
movements of a tongue
so dripping with loathing
forgotten by beauty unadorned.
Who's angel hair falls out
with every nod,
who's cordovan wonder light
shines primer greygreenblue
through the mote in your two eyes.

So kneel so pray--
keep your built up lighthouse
tethered to the inside, not the outside.
So sit there and nod until
time's lullaby sings you pale
and the starlight searcher shines
no more.
Gone are the boats in your harbor,
lost in the rock emotion current,
tiny waves, the bodies break.
So kneel in your brown
cloud of string wasting
away on the sand,
and dream of the mote
that begins to fill my eyes

[Anonymous No.10498066]

My memories are tiny grains, like footprints on the beach
The waves come in and wash away the ones just out of reach
Slipping through my fingers no matter how I close my hand
I can't retain my memories, like tiny grains of sand

[Anonymous No.10498071]

>>10498031
Kinda good

>>10498064
Angel's hair noonono

>>10498066
Just bad

>>10497802
Very good

>>10497857
Very interesting

[Anonymous No.10498079]

The wait

Tire I rest
At the front sit
Waiting to emerge
The lake monster
YES he is Free
YeS

[Anonymous No.10498083]

I'm shackled to a heavy task, it chains me to the floor
There's no point in breaking free, I've tried and failed before
And failure's all I'm good at; Failure's all I've ever known
The scars left by my chafing cuffs, the cold and chiseled stone
I escape into my peaceful mind where I can find reprieve
Alas, too soon begins the hurt and once again I grieve
I'm tired from the torture and I wish that I were free
But it seems as though the dungeon's keep has other plans for me

[Anonymous No.10498095]

The creation

The uncaused moment that is this comma,
is the bough that for, but, a moment sways,
as only its motion relates the day,
beyond the bars that this sonnet infers,

as the mellifluous light of morning,
inters his eyes within this space of time,
without that joy, undeterred by this rhyme,
where he smiles in a way, just seeming,

to hint at a skull, which only relates
to his past, this poem finds so distractive,
unlike that bough which, for a moment, stays,

within its rhythm, or its beginning
to end. And it ends. And then there is life.
And the mellifluous light of evening.

[Anonymous No.10498112]

>>10498066
I like it, it reminds me of Shel Silverstein.

[Anonymous No.10498170]

This is a different style from my usual, I thought it may have been a bit too on the nose. What do you think?
>>10497802
>>10497851
I wrote these as well.
Thanks for the feedback so far.

[Anonymous No.10498270]

Wrote this drunk and in a hurry. Edited sober. Its a revolutionary idea, or so I'm told.

The Loner's Bar

Our eyes betray our stoic trance;
a sadness infiltrates, disguised
as quaint looks off to the distance —
a happiness again denied.

And though love won’t be coming in
we will try to drink a little.
Maybe tomorrow, we’ll again
steel our hearts to be less brittle

Teach ourselves lies that we’ll repeat
drifting in — off — alone to sleep

[Anonymous No.10498411]

I have a whole series in this theme. Let me know if it's shit or if anyone wants to see more.

Slovenly, bedshackled
and indifferent.
My matted mange clings
to the covers
in dowdy, mismatched socks;
I am the slothlord.

Stoicistic and dullen,
I reach for a cup of water
over the course
of several minutes.

[Anonymous No.10499305]

The rain! It scatters sputters
On a billowed white canvas.
Otherwise invisible without the backdrop
To evince its mood.

Not like the snow (fat and
cantankerous), nor like the Hail!
Shrapnel that rains down
From the angels' reign.

Zephyr bears n'ill will with
his guest (welcome nowhere),
but would this rain pass unnoticed
if not lucky enough to linger in Eliot's pools.

Boreas paints the world anew
Cascading cacophonies of directionless
Yet ever invasive pools in our souls
And worse yet, in our soles.

[Anonymous No.10499340]

[Anonymous No.10499360]

Reposting this bit of prose in french bc no one replied last time

"Encore un après-midi désert. Encore la pluie, qui voudrait bien dire quelque chose mais qui se contente de murmurer sur les vitres. Où que j’ailles dans la maison, c’est toujours le même chant lointain qui m’accompagne. Une incantation, qui roule contre le toit et qui se glisse dans toutes les pièces. Quand c’est comme ça et que je me retrouve toute seul, je reste longtemps sur mon lit. Je ferme les yeux et je laisse ma conscience se réveiller. Elle sort, timide, de sa torpeur – il lui faut du temps pour s’habituer au noir. Dans l’obscurité, je commence à distinguer des formes. C’est la pluie – qui est là et qui n’est pas là, comme sur une vielle photo. Des taches fuyantes, des traits - La noirceur immobile entre en mouvement. Bientôt, il n’y a plus que du noir et du blanc – les couleurs du silence. Mes pensées dansent avec la pluie. Elles épousent la trajectoire des gouttes, elles tombent avec elles, elles meurent sur les vitres. Mon esprit inonde tout le jardin et bientôt toute la ville – il arrose les passants et la terre sèche des bords de route. C’est le murmure de mes pensées que j’entends taper contre les vitres. Je suis cette pluie – qui glisse sur les choses et les gens sans jamais les saisir. Une seconde, je tombe, puis celle d’après je forme une flaque. Je suis cette pluie – se mouvant partout, toujours changeante, toujours fluide. Un instant se fige, je suis suspendue entre terre et ciel.
Je rouvre les yeux. Juste pour vérifier. Je les referme."

[Anonymous No.10499397]

Here is some garbage I vomited up in five minutes a few weeks back:

_____________

A poem never breathes or beats
its last| never, like a
Boltzmann heart, whose throb
is a thermodynamic necessity.

To selfness| selfishness, posing
an enemy| a foe, diffusing
the origin of Nile

- to throning looming in the azure of the sky -

an ocean atop a mountain peak,
a bubble ever bursting
ever pouring.

And from this vantage point
against a river, a swimmer
whose body - the height
Himalaya devoured|

or else he became a shower,
puddling its unlikely way
to the other - ocean.

A youth's feint of flamboyance
flame in his eyes, his hands,
haloing his head
to overcome;

the distance daunting| but so
is his irreverent heart strung
tu plunge.

And so he is dashed;
with the impossible wrath of
a scheduled departure|
his flame is forever|

never moving against the lines
of the composition.
Never against the caesuric embalmment.

[Anonymous No.10500863]

>>10499397
I like it man

the pace hits a height in the second last verse, I felt a sort of lyrical crescendo was being achieved and it is perhaps an underwhelming, though strongly written, ending.

still, a nice poem all around.

[Anonymous No.10500909]

>>10500863
It's closer to a "working poem" to be honest. It has imagery and all, but no beauty. Honestly, I am disappointed in myself that I still write preteenish stuff like this. But there is this thread to vent it anonymously, so that's nice I guess.

[Anonymous No.10501637]

>>10499360
Je déteste pas, c'est intéressant, et globalement en terme de rythme ça marche très bien. Les idées sont belles et percutantes, mais peut-être que la forme n'est pas idéale pour les exprimer - j'ai l'impression que quelque chose de plus condensé et en vers marcherait mieux, mais l'un n'empêche pas l'autre non plus. Bravo en tout cas.

[Anonymous No.10501795]

Of all the lists on Saint Nick’s Night,
Of all the gifts wrapped in delight,
To snow that we shove and snowball,
To ice that we skate and skim offal;
In warmth it may be that budding Night,
In all tongues and lands who bare Christ,
May winds will wishes and snows white,
Over a thousand lands of Christ.

[Anonymous No.10501818]

Wake

A whole night
thrown near
a massacred
companion
with his mouth
sneering
facing the whole moon
with the congestion
of his hands
penetrating
my silence
I have written
letters full of love

I have never been
attached to life
so much

[Anonymous No.10501835]

This mutilated tree gives
Me support, left in this pot-hole
It has the bitterness of a circus
Before or after the show.
I watch
The quiet passage of
Clouds over the moon.

This morning I stretched
Myself in an urn of water,
Like a relic, and rested.

The Isonzo scoured
Me like
One of its stones.

I pulled my four
limbs together,
And went, like an acrobat,
Over the water.

Crouched by my clothes
Fouled with war, I inclined
My head, like a Bedouin,
To receive the sun.

This is the Isonzo.
And it is there I
Most see myself
In the universe
A compliant
Thread.

My pain is
When I do not believe
Myself in harmony.

But those hidden
Hands give as they knead me
A rare joy.

I have relived
The stages of my life.

The Serchio: from
Which have drawn, perhaps
For two thousand years
My country people, my father,
My mother.

This is the Nile
That has seen me be born,
And grow
And burn in ignorance on
Extending plains.

This is the Seine; and I mingled
In that muddiness learning each
Part of all myself.

These are my rivers confluent
In the Isonzo.

This is my nostalgia
That in each
One shines through me, now
It is night, and my life seems
A budding
Off of shades.

[Anonymous No.10501977]

The problem with poetry is that no one who writes it wants to read it as is evidenced by this thread.

[Anonymous No.10502515]

>>10501977
No, I've read most of those posted. The better ones have been acknowledged already and it's no fun saying 'its bad' in a bunch of different ways which all boil down to 'keep trying and keep reading and keep studying form'. Most people who write poetry aren't going spit out anything great, only a few 'good' or ok poems or rap or pop verses--good as in not publishable but readable and tolerable. Few will make a great poem which has publish potential. And those who have inherent heart for the craft will create a or a few truly memorable poem(s) in their life.
But it's clear where there's a severe lack of talent or effort so it will and should be met with none in return.

[Anonymous No.10502527]

>>10501795
it's bad
>>10501818
it's bad
>>10501835
it's bad

[Anonymous No.10502533]

>>10502527
its bad

[Anonymous No.10502558]

>>10502533
He's right though.

[Anonymous No.10502752]

>>10502515

Better to know they suck than to keep writing bullshit

[Anonymous No.10502786]

>>10502752
Then don't dismiss "it's bad'

[Anonymous No.10502798]

Frail hands are kept floating
In a void of white.

They're reaching out to it,
What they're doing's not right.

They didn't win anything,
they'll lose what they'll take:
they draw a razor from their pocket;

What difference does it make?

Now space is coherent once again:

The only thing that broke
Gravity's winning streak
Was the contemplation
Of a cerulean sea.

Singularity and duality were kept in their sheath;
And the razor was probably
Never there to begin with.

[Anonymous No.10502819]

video day

i remember
when i first saw you
in the science video
i was in the 8th grade
on prozac
wondering if the nice man
explaining geomagnetic reversal
ever thought about killing himself
the keyboard was soothing
and they showed your pretty face
for no reason
it made no sense
you were standing near the ocean
everyone in the class saw you
and kept watching

[Anonymous No.10503012]

Work with me people. When you write poetry you're evoking raw imagery infused with thought and personality. As well, you're entering into a musical flow of language, or what is known as meter. The spectrum of the former is from esoteric to universal, and of course the latter is noise to harmonious time. In a 'shared' sense, the first of each these sets essentially equates to 'bad', and the second, 'better'.

Addressing meter, let's take a look at the phrase 'the sun is brighter than the moon'. As it is, there is nothing special about it. It reads, to put it simply. When beginning a thought, grasp the infletction (known as prosody) placed on the first word. Say you choose 'golden' as your first word. Now it's important to note that you should always develop a sense of direction before landing on something concrete. Brainstorm general ideas on where the ideas or images behind the language is going before selecting the language itself.

But returning to 'golden', note the raise in tone of 'goal' before the lowering of 'den'. In a general sense, when you have a raise in tone you have your stressed syllable, and lower tones are unstressed. This isn't exactly always true, as specific vowel and consonant sounds may confuddle one in this basic strategy of grasping metrical foot. A syllable structure of stressed then unstressed is known as a trochee. While that technical bit is helpful for knowing the term for the syllabic pattern, it's merely a placeholder in this lesson.

Once you've chosen where you're going to begin YOUR WORD CHOICE AFTER THIS MUST BE PRECISE. No ifs, ands, or buts.

'Golden light shines brighter than the silver moonlight.'

Here I've gone and taken the original idea and followed the syllabic pattern of stressed/unstressed. You cannot over think this step. Don't think of each words specific syllabic stressors but think of the phrases in their natural phrasing. Attempt to 'feel' the rise and fall of your prosody as the words are spoken in structure. At this point, it's easy to think some words are said or stressed(unstressed) in the way you want them or don't want them to be. It's very important to keep your phrases as naturally spoken as you can when coming up with them. Poetry is an art which can easily be over thought and butchered because of it.

Since the phrase has twelve syllables alternating in twos, I'd recommend following this syllabic (and metrical foot of trochaic (remember that stressed/unstressed is a trochee)) count strictly at first. Try generating another thought after mine following the exact footing and syllabic count. After some practice, you should be able to develop a sense of time in the language which allows you to hover around they syllabic count, as well as the exact footing and/or rhyme. But that's a bit more advanced and I wouldn't recommend it right now, only once you can generate consistent lines at a rate of about one every 30 seconds.

>tbc

[Anonymous No.10503032]

>>10503012
>To be, or not to be; that is the question

Doesn't follow your rules. You forgot about caesuras and pyrrhics. You can't show people the basics unless you follow with the exceptions and art strokes. Its like telling a kid he can paint with primary colors, but cannot mix them more than once.

[Anonymous No.10503082]

>>10503012
So, returning to my initial phrase, let's focus a little more on the prosody of the word structure. Sure, what was used follows the trochaic foot just fine, and is technically sound. But notice the repetition of light, and the inconsistent yet somewhat consecutive use of the hard 'i' sound. It's a little distracting from the foot and clarity of it's ability to be read. Let's try this:

'Golden rays beam brighter than the silver moonlight.'

Diving into a more developed sense of linguistics, notice how this creates more consistent repetitions of specific sounds through the yse of allertation as well as equal syllsbic spacing between the sounds. 'Beam brighter' repeats the 'b', than the repeats the 'th', but more technically, 'brighter than the silver' repeats 'er' on both an equal syllabic count of four within the count of twelve, as well as on unstressed syllables. Between all the similarities within the line, there's multiple levels of flow and structure being generated which helps both propel the piece forward smoothly and opens room for other patterns outside the baseline meter (trochaic) to be used to hold time as you continue.
------

Once you're in tune with your audibles, you must focus on your imagery. Poetry plays with language intimately and literally. This means many words fall incredibly flat in a poem because you evoke no raw thought imagery but simply the words implication. 'Abstractions' are incredibly common in common language, and so when transitioning to poetry, it's difficult to realize how much they take away from an image.

'Hellish hallucinations haunt my every thought' has a notable rhythm to it, but it leaves so much imagery to be desired. It's incredibly abstract because we see only what we may fill in to understand and progress through the piece. 'Hellish hounds evicserate my rodent mind'. Here, the imagery is raw, it's evocative, and it generates an idea behind the image. It says what it needs to say and more through it's metaphorical structure. This is how language must be used in poetry. You words should be pure, and thoughts bright and clear the mind of the reader. They should see the scenes and feel the music through your words. Otherwise no impression will ever be made. Only relation on the most basic sense.

Take into effect the ideas here and I promise you'll begin to notice an improvement in your poems as well as a reformation of your thought process when writing for the better, in all senses. It just takes time, practice, and the willingness to improve. I hope this will help someone.

>Tl;dr: advice to write poems with effect and interest rather than pitty or attempt

[Anonymous No.10503090]

>>10503032
Pyrrhic is a foot, and caesuras are definitely an advance technique to be used once you understand the effect your meter is having on the reader.

[Anonymous No.10503097]

>>10503032
Not to mention Shakespeare was a playwrite writing with poetics, which is a totally different approach to what is writing pure poetry. You can take any quote out of his many, many page long plays and say it does not follow the rules after many of the many lines already have. Oranges to apples.

[Anonymous No.10503108]

>>10503090
>I will show you fear in a handful of ash

Please scan this for me, because I always have trouble with it.

[Anonymous No.10503109]

>>10503082
>>10503012
i wouldn’t say the advice here is bad but based on i would bet you write bad poetry

[Anonymous No.10503119]

>>10503032
And lastly, no not every line must literally be raw image. But the poem will ultimately hinge upon the lines which are, and you should never make your most important lines your most vague. Shakespeare defined poetics, and is outside the realm of a beginner. 'Practice your ones and twos before you shoot your threes.'

[Anonymous No.10503122]

>>10503109
>>10503119

[Anonymous No.10503150]

>>10503108
Are you being rhetoric because eliot was established?, or do you wish for my interpretation of the line?, or my assessment of its technical structure?

[Anonymous No.10503157]

how's the beginning of my longer poem thingy?

>>10503082
the image should be the primary focus of a beginner, THEN people should write sonnets until free verse makes them uncomfortable again.

>>10502798
>in a void of white
white void sounds shaper and more natural

>Now space is coherent once again:
this almost sounds like stage directions, and not in a good way

>all in all
i have no idea what this is about desu, i feel like its trying too much to be about everything

[Anonymous No.10503158]

>>10503150
Rhetorical*, I'm drunk

[Anonymous No.10503179]

>>10503157
Do dillied up to crit, I'll come back when I've awoken with a lot a coffee. But,

>the image should be the primary focus of a beginner

Is technically correct, because I do believe conforming a developed sense of imagery into meter is (because I did so) and would be easier than the other way around. But then again most novice wtiters lack the ability to transcribe their imaginings and experiences with clarity, and that is usually the quitter's bar when it comes to a real writer and the person who's idealized writing. So, it's almost a natural progression to assume. But you never know.

[Anonymous No.10503200]

the snow is too hard to give way
unless you press your heel into it
then, it sinks a little

it glistened in the afternoon
and froze over again in evening.
the night is bare and mute

except for the sound of your heel
sinking into the snow
where you leave it to linger

as cradled as everything else
as cradled as the light of the street lamps
lounging everywhere at once

as cradled as the soft scrape
of your heel
sinking into the snow.

[Anonymous No.10503960]

A dumpster more for this dying thread:
____
Not-oddyseus

Who are we in the fires?
Whose is this figure afoot upon
a river that wont bear a water-strider
whether moon or sun be within the fog?
The world is filthy with the bough-wet sheen
of cold alchemically distilled from stones
and bark and winter harvests yet unreaped,
and yet the scornful feet eschew the land
the same as hands shy from a splendid ember:
a fill of heat in a film of injury.

There will be no poet blind with uttered names,
no firstborn to cradle starbound infants
in bindings in eldritch letter, script and blood
in none of feathers, coals nor clay nor throats.

If after this thawing the body is found
afloat in a river past many its names,
of his will have only become unorphean silt.

[Anonymous No.10504323]

>>10503157
Whats your meteric structure here?

[Anonymous No.10504343]

>>10503200
Imagery wise, this very lovely, it embodies well the 'dark, quiet, streetlit snow covered evening' and is just as gentle. Meter wise there's a lot to be desired and it really hinges only on some rhyme and intermittent footings.

[Anonymous No.10504368]

>>10503960
There's some imagery here, and I'm sure this is filled with allusion. But in my mind it leaves much to be desired to be seen with greater clarity, and while you have a relatively consistent meter, you fall in and out of it with extra, unnecessary words cluttering both your language and your meter. Try a few rounds of edits and keep working on this and other poems, you'll get there.

[Anonymous No.10504610]

>>10504368
There isnt really any allusions, beside the absolutely obvious like "blind poet". I kind of just wanted somebody to agree this was kind of rubbish so I could drop it and move on. And I guess I felt like not even showing it to anybody would have been a waste.

Still, I would like to know which words you felt were unnecessary. I didnt really metre this rigorously, so just for language economy's sake.

[Anonymous No.10504808]

Lights

The lights make me drawn to them
But they do not always hurt me
They help me see ahead
But some lights are too bright
Blocking out all other vision this dark winter night
The ground is slippery im losing my grip
But the light is there, beckoning me to come quick
As they draw near, I feel its pull
But the car passes me, on this dark winter road

[Anonymous No.10504862]

>>10504368
Just a quick sample, L4 remove with and note the jar in meter in L9 once you hit shy, then it's total drop in the following line

[Anonymous No.10504867]

>>10504862
is meant for you
>>10504610

[Anonymous No.10504868]

>>10504808
Bad, my man. It's no bueno

[Anonymous No.10504875]

>>10504862
You missed the point of my question. I did not metre this rigorously, I wanted to know what words were redundant, not where my metre irregularities were.

[Anonymous No.10504876]

What a calamity that you who are made
for beautiful achievements and renowed,
should always be, through your hard fate, denied
occasion and success; that you should always
be hindered by the mean observances,
the littlenesses, and indifferences.
And how unblest the day when you give in
(when you have lost yourself, and you give in),
and you depart, a wayfarer for Susa,
and come before the monarch Artaxerxes
who welcomes you with favour at his Court,
offering you satrapies and things akin.
And you, despairing, you accept those honours,
those that are not the honours you desire.
Your soul is hungering for other things:
the praises of the Demos and the Sophists, —
the difficult, invaluable “Well done”;
the Agora, the Theatre, the bays.
These — how should Artaxerxes ever give,
how should you ever find in satrapies;
and what a life will yours be now, without them.

[Anonymous No.10504893]

>>10504875
Redundant in meter my man. Otherwise you can use whatever words you want and call it poetry. I gave you an example of a useless word in both image and meter, and an unfit word metrically. Don't tell me I missed the point of your question when you missed the point of writing poetry.

[Anonymous No.10504900]

>>10504893
why is there always someone like this in every critique thread? every critique is just “muh meter” just over and over and over. i bet you are bad at writing in meter anyway, and you don’t understand poetry

[Anonymous No.10504937]

>>10504900
I can bet I write in form with way more skill than you. For me it's somewhat secondhand in nature. Once the ball has started rolling I can keep it going. But you let your ball stop, then you blame it all on me.

[Anonymous No.10504988]

>>10504893
You didnt give me much of an example of either desu. Having an extra unstressed syllable in a iambic line is not a metric fault anyways. You find things like that even in old sonnets all the time. I am like you, a purist, often appalled by what passes for Iambic pentameter with some readers, but if I say I did not write in any particular fixed metre, there is no point trying to bitch to me about it. Thats like reviewing the imagery of my shopping list.

[Anonymous No.10504990]

>>10504937
post your poetry

[Anonymous No.10505019]

Reposting from last thread since no (you)s
____

The pristine cot is cool with novel sheets
known to many beds and many nights, cursory
in the cursives kept in pages 'pon pages, each
a set, which, paired as dancers met 'til the next piece,
extinguish little of the singe the hand feels through
their elmwood-ashes rough of paper-linen fibres.

The meagre cushion feigns hospitality,
its iodine imprint is a mâché ring of hell
or else an other burial site of pluméd things,
whose reddish earth would hide a bloodstain easily.

The treacherous give of the matress bears through hours
a self-sustaining wake that must remain undiscovered.

[Anonymous No.10505076]

>>10504990
Don't much reason to.

[Anonymous No.10505365]

>>10504323
It's free verse, but I think I succeed in some interesting rhythms at the least.

[Anonymous No.10505473]

>>10498066
Terrible, like grade school shit

These threads have really gone downhill.

[Anonymous No.10505716]

>>10505473
they have been bad with occaisional ok stuff for the last 5 years at least

[Anonymous No.10505903]

I remember how good it felt back then
but now with pages scattered, paper tattered
and butterflies so flat with only ink blots flatter
the joys of ripping tearing yelling swearing feel like they don't matter

[Anonymous No.10506002]

>>10497802
This is good anon, gotta tweak some of that rythm though, it flows great but some lines have a little too many syllables and it ruins the silky flow.

[Anonymous No.10506308]

and lo

the fountain whispers on all keyboards
like a new rent or a downpayment on furniture

i ate my breakfast with the wind which
led me to a new dimension

something unusual made me stay inside the womb
or something sexual like a neutral gear
i never learnt how to drive except with my tippytoes

i wrote in all accordance with the
quality of this imageboard
welcome to all freewriting on bullshit
i wrote this on my macbook will
you hate me or not

i bet you feel very flowery
when you shout faggot on the internet
a fat cat and the number 482
i was in jail once but now i'm in a monsoon
if you honk and let all lie
more than me will pass thee by
peennial code
milennial rode
the nut to all the buttttttttt

and all is all and all is all and here i am
go fuck yourself , budday

[Anonymous No.10506336]

poetic nothing and twitter is too
but 140 characters to say fuck you
made my bed yesterday
believe it or not i'm awake still

got some work to do but yo
i'm jizzin on t' keyboard
i wish i had an
azzhole to suck
cuz i like putting my thumb in her
ass as i fuck'er

[Anonymous No.10506410]

One of my first attempts at poetry, in German :

Am Anfang der Zeit jeglichen Seins war die Nacht
Sie, alleinstehend, war das Mass aller Dinge
Unendlich wäre die Zeit die dahinginge
Am Anfang des Anfanges war das hellste Licht

Doch ein dunkles Licht war dieses Schattenlose
Farblos wie die Nacht war es in seinem Lose

Einsam war es denn auch bis eines Zeitalters,
Wodann helle Nacht auf dunklem Tage einbrach
Es wurde Schatten und Licht, Welt kam nach und nach
Eine Welt der vielen Farben des erstn' Malers

[Anonymous No.10506414]

Lame poem that needs refining. Wrote it today after being rejected for the millionth time.

An endless corridor is home
to him, a boy, who waits and waits—
Waits for one to call his number:
One thousand six hundred and eight

And he grows old
His fingers, cold
His heart, more bold
or so he's told

In adjunct rooms he goes when called
to answer questionnaires or facts
while faceless voices scrutinized
his life and all the things he lacked

so soft he sings
his words, and clings
to hope that brings
peace to being

A joyous day had come at last!
the boy, alone, for them to judge
If he deserves a chance at all—
a chance at life in which he's loved

"The records say youre not a match.
We can be friends...." The boy walks back.

His lonely tears—
Like gasoline.
He waits for fire—
Finds only rain

[Anonymous No.10507124]

>>10502819

[Anonymous No.10508023]

you needed a cherry pie and so you ordered one

mama spooks had to throw out the old processor because it began inventing new colors. individuals sending smells as attachments. pal derby walking in circles chanting “the stoned guardian angel flowers on.” man. another day another world. cobweb killer my throat is the enemy of 40 nude baristas. london brother your hair is covering the mantras of tuesday acorns. la-doo. crumbling band-aid brain winds up discovering the pixelated beaches of californ-aye-ay. klingon secretary for short times my evening blossoms toward you. doo-la-lee. lily trundled to the best spot we got we got the best spot we got. billiard bubba blow my french silk balls when you can. “politely,” i plea; “politely,” i plea. apply leeway safely to the lever that struggles you up without failing. porta potty princess my lisp welcomes you home. yes my vest vexes me. minty monday leavin’ it up to drew barrymore. winter of suckitup monuments. lit candied drugs you errored there. live me again and again. song to song freed me into a good time with a real brother man tomorrow i will scoop the grass all finger-fed green. everyone in jumanji had hazel eyes. eradicate this indecision silas of the sovereign hills. who said to me “cherry pie grave digs the most ludicrous appetites.” minion of the yellow river you want it and you want it gone. i do things, making a simple offering. simplicity is blue, you know. it rains in front of me sometimes. surround sound meteor. pour me a churning rhythm over that plangent little sock.

[Anonymous No.10508025]

>>10508023
frocked we run amok. who cares to take stock anymore. keep on whispering “someone’s gotta do it.” see where that gets ya. the jubilee man frowns in yesterday time. nantucket! i knew i put my...yes the million machine. landis port sings in swims of softly gauze. no one knows what to do when the blue whale chirps. god tried to make a world in my stomach. gods do that. sometimes you prescribe a certain amount of staring to your routine. rudy farmweather samurais himself into the oblivion of just one good night, finally. reggae bobs and apple blossoms. until now there has never been mouse clicking in the persian islands. crestfallen lithium froth wave storming into the empty denny’s demanding pink lemonade. i won’t be serving my purpose until i create children. FLIP/FLOP. orange peels in profile descending under starlit ufo’s. morbid jungians tessellate a game or two before losing their bodies in a bet with horus. blanket statement puzzle gaming into the silvery mist that befuddles the pathologers. mondo filming grey bricks because why not. okay look. there are a few dynasties left in the bucket. what i’m going to do is take one out, soak it in warm butter throw it down the bowling alley. is that okay with everyone? i’ve announced what i am going to do and i plan on doing it okay? i’m doing it now. alright alright. calm down. this is what you wanted. yes. i still need you.

[Anonymous No.10508911]

This is a poem I just wrote.

>>10497820
Overall interesting but I felt like the motivation behind your sorrow is left too unknown.

>>10506414
Brutal. What does 1608 mean? I love how the second-to-last stanza is only two lines - it feels as if the first five stanzas are universal and from an abstract thought you bring me into a single moment that ends so fast without me even expecting it! The motif of being rejected by a girl is a bit uninteresting to me, but the last stanza kind of redeems it. The meter is great, and rhyming is nice too. Good job, anon.

[Anonymous No.10508920]

>>10507124
But hentai, antidepressants and vaporwave is the exact opposite of sex, drugs and rock n roll

[Anonymous No.10508921]

>>10501835
>>10501818
>>10504876
>No one noticed Ungaretti and Kavafis
This board is full of sophomores

[Anonymous No.10508991]

Raze the Earth
Extinguish the stars
Shatter the Moon
Drench us in tars

Our world is of creation
By something unmet
An entity hallowed
Who we must not forget

The eyes of His presence
Remains in the air
So when you roam out
Stay calm and beware

Hiding exposes
Prayer imprisons
For when on one’s knees
Who is it that listens?

So heed you my warning
Do not go unrest
Ignore all He does
And trust I know best

My witnessing subject
Do not carry fear
His might shall not conquer
His thrust shall not bear

But keep you in mind
The reason we’re here
Is not for He loves us
Is not for He’s kind
Is not for His might
And not His endear

The reason Earth remains
The reason it still is
The reason we stay
Is for He does not notice

[Anonymous No.10508997]

>>10503082
"Hellish hounds evicserate my rodent mind" is pure garbage, if I read that in a poem I would probably giggle. Also:


>Tl;dr: advice to write poems with effect and interest rather than pitty or attempt

Are you ESL? Because I don't think words mean what you think they mean.

[Anonymous No.10509025]

>>10508911
No real meaning behind 1608, but I needed a number that was large enough to convey a long period of time, like one has to endure at the DMV. I was going for a bit of kafka when I wrote it. I changed it to 1108 to give three instances of the word one in the first line

[Anonymous No.10509034]

Violets are blue
Violets are blue
Violets are really blue
Very blue

[Anonymous No.10509051]

>>10508997
Happens all the time on this board desu. Most of the time you get critiques that are almost as word-salad-y as some of the poetry posted. I wouldn't count on the guy being "ESL" (how does that work as a noun?) though, I have been to writing workshops where people who had never even encountered somebody who wasnt a native English speaker would produce sentences that were apparently meaningless.

[Anonymous No.10509053]

>>10508997
It was an imagery example, and I meant affect instead of effect, I was drunk. Everything else makes perfect sense Take the advice or don't.

[Anonymous No.10509396]

bump i love poetry post moar

[Anonymous No.10509430]

Wrote this one when I worked for two guys and a truck:

I like to move it,
I like to move it move it,
We like to move it
Move it?

[Anonymous No.10509459]

Waywardly we walked on and on
Exhausting etcetera's
Watching you from far away
Eating your shrimp Tempura
Rather, slurping, you minded my gaze,
So you spoke up and said,
"Can I help you?"
Averting my gaze from your lilac skin, I spill forth Italian noodles wrapped in purple prose,
"The course of true love never did run smooth."
Or so I would have said, had I not run from you.

[Anonymous No.10509995]

We sat on the boat rocks
With plum wine and we'd watch
The fog roll in, swallow the bridge on the bay
I thought I could live here
But I'm still in high-gear
And sweating and freezing three-thousand away

O Pennsyltucky, your three mile islands
The coal fires buckle the Miners' highway
I'd love just to leave you but its good to see you
in Old Filthadelph , Hostile city, PA

Where we all come from
Most died of the Black Lung
Another, a browbeater, boxer, and saint
When he finally got caught
The cops made a few calls
They opened his cell, never fought him again

O Pennsyltucky, your three mile islands
The coal fires buckle the Miners' highway
I'd love just to leave you but its great to see you
in Old Filthadelph , Hostile city, PA

Wake me when steel city's
Road work signs shine in my face
Was that a peepshow
With drive-thru windows?
The gun show’s got carousels and funnel cakes
It says “Church” in neon
And asks me what’s beyond
If I had to guess, I’d say more of the same

in old Pennsyltucky, your three mile islands
The coal fires buckle the Miners' highway
I'd love just to leave you, but it good to see you
And Old Filthadelph , Hostile city, PA

O Pennsyltucky!
How your coal fires rumble!
I'd love just to leave you
But its great to see you
And old Filthadelph, hostile city, PA

[Anonymous No.10510139]

>>10509396
You didnt even review mine :(

[Anonymous No.10510279]

>>10509459
It's awful and trash but I giggled anyways. Good job.

[Anonymous No.10510288]

>>10508991
Fix your meter, it's sloppy. Rhymes are clever but this poem yearns for proper rhythm. 3/10 until you fix it.

[Anonymous No.10510383]

>>10497808
>I at
I think that does not flow well but maybe that is what you intended.

-------

Prayer of the Spitters

Our glands which art in mouth
Swallowed be thy seed.
Digestion come, thy will be done
In the small and large intestines
Gives us this spit, our daily drink
and forgive us our dry mouths
as we forgive those who dry out our mouths
and lead us not to dryness
but deliver us to salivation
For thine is the wetness and the swallowing and the digestion
for ever and ever. Amen.

[Anonymous No.10510482]

It was supposed to be a sonnet, but I ended up needing two more verses. So a sonnet + 2 Original is in Portuguese (sorry for bad english in the translation)

The Loneliness of Time

His loneliness is a sea, the others are only bubbles.
He, who has in his breath a cosmic shroud,
Who blinds eagles and suns, dries souls and leaves,
Castrates mating-heats and volcanoes, silences the wind and the canary,

Gnaws the pans and the pyramids, muzzles the waltz
Of the clock and the galaxy, sour wine and veins,
He, Time, is a tyrant of false wickedness
That, without hate or pleasure, unravel our webs.

He loves creation, from the simple to the complex,
However his biography is a book of extinctions
That will ultimately make the cosmos a mirror without a reflection
Since Death rides upon his pulsations.

But when Death at last devours itself
Alone, surrounded by darkness, Time shall sit down
Without even Death withhim to hold his hand:
His is the most sad of all incarnations of solitude.

The original

A Solidão do Tempo

Sua solidão é um mar, as outras são só bolhas.
Ele, que tem no alento um cósmico sudário,
Que cega águias e sóis, resseca almas e folhas,
Castra cios e vulcões, cala vento e canário,

Rói panela e pirâmide, amordaça a valsa
De relógio e galáxia, azeda vinho e veias,
Ele, o Tempo, é um tirano de maldade falsa
Que, sem ódio ou prazer, desmancha nossas teias.

Ele ama a criação, do simples ao complexo,
Porém sua biografia é um livro de extinções
Que enfim fará do cosmo espelho sem reflexo
Já que a Morte cavalga as suas pulsações.

Mas quanto a Morte por fim auto devorar-se
Sozinho, em meio ao breu, o Tempo há de sentar-se
Sem mesmo a morte para segurar-lhe a mão:
É a sua a mais triste encarnação da solidão.

[Anonymous No.10510526]

Critique my childhood poetry, I wrote this in 2nd grade

[Anonymous No.10510584]

>>10510526
holy shit this is very beautiful my f.am!
Do you have any other poems to share?

[Anonymous No.10510736]

>>10496082
A double-post, please be patient I have autism. The one below is taken from lines of Darwin's The Descent of Man.

Of Man, there is generally a
passage, sometimes developed
by bone, completed by
peculiarity. As it has
occurred in a father, and in
his children. The great
invariably passes, and this
is of animals, of skeletons.
But in Man, it is a
return to a very ancient state
in the Higher.
There is present in Man which
may be likewise of animals. It is
remarkable. This seems to have been
present in man more, during ancient times.
A sort of ‘family vault’ of bones,
in the caves of the Valley,
belonging to the ancient races,
of animals. One chief to the
ancient races, in the long line
of descent to animal-like Man.
At an early period it is free, and projects
beyond, as may be seen in the drawing
of a human. It has been known to
form a repetition of a muscle which
Man extends as far downwards as
the canal, and even along The Upper.
But The Lower consists merely of
the fact, for I am also indebted to
the true animals.
Convoluted body, continuous with
rudimentary structures. We are
not the vestige of a belief of
Creation.

[Anonymous No.10510972]

you cum
you son of a mother's cum
I cum believe you
I cum believe this
why are you so cum
why are you so cum all the time
I'll tell you who's cum
you're cum
and I'm cum
I am cum
you giant cum
you goats cum
you big glass of cum
you soggy cardboard box of cum
you pint of cum
you sandbox of cum
why are you so cum
why so cum
why are you so cum all the time
maybe a mix of you're cum
and my cum
and Gerald from next door's cum
you cummie son of a cum
you cum filled burger
I ordered a burger the other day
it came full of cum
it was called the you burger
you cum piece of shit.
little car driving beep, beep, get out of the way it's me
mr. cum
you cup full o’ cum
yum, yum, yum, yum, yum I drink you up
you frictionless piece of cum
walking around covered in cum
you cum son of a cum
and guess what else
cum
and I can't believe you don't wanna have a baby with me
you said two years ago we would try for a child
it's been two years since then and I can't even get you to look at me
why don't you love me
I am cum
me cum
I am the cummiest cum in the cum
but you are even more cum than me
you cum

[Anonymous No.10511032]

>>10509995
I like this a lot, seems more lyrical than poetry though.
Reminds me of Sufjan, which is always a compliment.

[Anonymous No.10511052]

>>10511032
woops forgot this

California fucked your nothing
Laugh with me a lot my
lithe and loving little asp as
strolling down the street will
never feel like you're among the blades
that creep along the grass.
But you will slither solemnly regardless;
Sad sacks tug too much upon the tresses of the starlings
And kestrels feast on hesitance.

>pls gib thoughts

[Anonymous No.10511136]

>>10511032
Its song lyrics to a mischief brew song =\

[Anonymous No.10511850]

My dog slept.
I should not disturb,
but petting feels good,
more for me than him.
A soft desire, to be fed;
he bit me in the face,
and I bled.

[Anonymous No.10513392]

Bump

[Anonymous No.10513566]

[Anonymous No.10513674]

>>10510482

Can I have a look at this...I feel it lacks something

[Anonymous No.10514479]

>>10496082

Ayrton Senna

Black serpents suffocating his mind
The untamed speedways, hypnotic mermaids
Clamoring for the caresses of the shooting star
Of his car; in his heart the despotic prayers

From the phoenix of conquest that, once hunted,
Disappeared, to be reborn on the horizon, in the distance.
More than lovers, than family and friends, he loved
The craving of going beyond. Like God to the monk

This centaur with metal bowels
Had as his goal the highest peak of the mountain.
There are those who think they are great and open champagne
By climbing hills, he sought what was fatal:

He merged to the summit, made himself one with the victory
In an alchemy of steel, asphalt, blood, and glory.


Ayrton Senna

Negras serpentes sufocando sua mente
As pistas não domadas, sereias hipnóticas
Clamando por carícias da estrela cadente
De seu carro; em seu peito as orações despóticas

Da fênix da conquista que, uma vez caçada,
Sumia, renascendo no horizonte, ao longe.
Mais que amantes, senpaiília e amigos, foi amada
Por ele a ânsia de ir além. Qual Deus ao monge

Esse centauro com entranhas de metal
Tinha por meta o pico mais alto da montanha.
Há aqueles que se creem grandes e abrem champanha
Por subir morros, ele buscou o fatal:

Fundiu-se ao cume, fez-se um só com a vitória
Numa alquimia de aço, asfalto, sangue e glória.

[Anonymous No.10514535]

You throw yourself into a hole so you can see how many people come when you call for help.

Strangers, friends, family, it could be five times what you expected and never be enough.

I bring you a rope, you tell me you dont need it.

You call out.

I bring you food, and water, you tell me you dont need my help.

You call again.

Why do I answer when you just wanted me to know youre miserable and theres nothing I can do about it.

Go fuck yourself.

[Anonymous No.10515278]

You will drop onto your dick when you hold your dick up high. Wherever the philosophy of it Knowing it. Let them decide who you are.

[Anonymous No.10515371]

>>10496082
>hath
>disturbeth

the fuck is wrong with u ?

[Anonymous No.10515507]

>>10498064
good rhythm desu, and I like imagery in the last stanzas
>>10498079
I laffed
>>10498411
Stop using words that describe the imagery your poem sets out to illustrate like "slovenly", "slothlord"
>>10508991
reads like lil ugly mane, not that bad of verse, but kinda corny in content
>>10513566
you're reading way too much Keats but this is very technically sound

here's mine:

the one I thought was the one is gone let me out
said thoughts I think when I was drunk.
words bled teeth and you stood near toothless
in front of me. Some nights I was staid up listening to myself from that past time, breathing, halting, exhaling. Truthf'lly,
god grant me the strength to empty my veins out.
Water cascaded, and I held the razor to me,
my face bluing. Trembling and pussy out.

[Anonymous No.10515517]

>>10515507
fucked my formatting up:

the one I thought was the one is gone let me out
said thoughts I think when I was drunk.
words bled teeth and you stood near toothless
in front of me. Some nights I was staid up listening to myself from that past time,
breathing, halting, exhaling. Truthf'lly,
god grant me the strength to empty my veins out.
Water cascaded, and I held the razor to me,
my face bluing. Trembling and pussy out.

[Anonymous No.10515635]

I will meet you on some sort of dating website or classroom
and we will meet up in person and try to do dating things
like go to movies go to bars go get food and tell
eachother all our histories
and how our exes all suck
and how our families don't get us

and during this I will think:
"wow I'm really starting to like this person"

and then we will have sex
and then I will try my best
and then you will whisper in my ear that you loved it
and then we will dress ourselves back up
and then I will drive you home
and then you will text me that you can't see me anymore

and then we will write poetry about how
the number of people we have had sex with
has increased by
one

[Anonymous No.10515705]

Po.et:

Po.et
Poe-ayt
So
Shit
Shitcoin
Jeetcoin
Running over bustling hills
Not towards the moon
But
To Hell

—Author unknown

I wrote this about the cryptocurrency known as Po.et.

[Anonymous No.10515738]

>>10499397
fuck off seth

[Anonymous No.10515745]

>>10515705
https://vocaroo.com/i/s1ofTEjSAmXB
Here's my rendition as well.

[Anonymous No.10515907]

>>10515507
I have never read Keats but thank you desufam. That poem is inspired by the scientific work of Wilhelm Reich. I liked yours as well.

[Anonymous No.10516386]

why did you cry
why did you cry
that night I saw you again
I saw your blue eyes
weep tears upon the pavement
you looked me in the eye
and saw a ghost
and ran away
afraid of memory
did you love me
once upon a time
pretty girl?
why did you run away
and hurt me so
what was it you saw that night
a man or a ghost?

[Anonymous No.10516405]

>>10516386
don't you know I've never forgotten you?
I knew you once
but I didn't really
I touched your skin
but never got farther
than skin deep
what ice flows in your veins
never warmed the surface
of your moonlit breast
what could I say to you
that hasn't already been said
and will never be again
what more could I add
to the pain we shared
and never forgot
I forgot you
but I didn't really
I never really did
you've been with me these long years
in poignant memory
of sheer evaporation
the fragrant incense
of what we were
burned up like smoke
the memory
of time gone by
of moments shared and gone
of reality now mist
haunts me still
I dreamed of you for some time
I screamed at you to hear me
and you never replied
only stared at me
with sullen eyes of blue
you said nothing
but a solemn glare
I saw you again
and I never should have
I should have left with dignity
but I did not
I looked upon you again
and you fled
blue eyes filled with tears
why did you cry?
why were you sad to see me again?
did you love me
blue eyed girl?
I missed you so
and I've never forgotten
how much it hurt
to see you sad
I cried that night too
nothing soothed me
no solace did I find
in green smoke
I hurt
and I hurt still
why do I think of you
even now
when it hurts me so
I could not bear to sleep
in the same room
that we shared
ever again
plagued with memory
I fled
my dear girl
I hope you are well
but not so well
that you've forgotten
the pang of fragrant memory
and time gone by

[Anonymous No.10516406]

into my heart an air that kills
from yon far country blows
what are those blue remembered hills,
what spires, what farms are those?

that is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
the happy highways where I went
and cannot come again.

[Anonymous No.10516431]

>>10516405
moon in the window
lonely and cold
from my eyes only
why is the sky blue
but you are so far away
from me
why do trees grow
green with envy
from muck and mire
what soil is it
that feeds the trodden heart
what weary footsteps
beckon yonder
towards hills unknown
my dear
tell me you know me
tell me my hands upon you
are too rough
and not gentle
tell me what I want to hear
and don't spare me the pain
that feels good
don't lie to me
you know I could never
hold you softly
you know I could only
hold you tight
as the sun
upon the sky
in the midst of summer

[Anonymous No.10516482]

Last night I had a cream dream;
Hot fluid rolled down my leg
Like a warm, fat boy rolling down a hill.
I could feel him breathing heavily.

[Anonymous No.10516593]

>>10497857
Chuckle.
>>10497882
Begging for something we don't see, begging to hear muh feels.
>>10497890
Ha!
>>10497910
Leisure suit hung on a close-line because my laughter erupted golden and yet blotched, formless.
>>10498083
camp is fun, not a place for torture though
>>10502515
until the arbiters of taste get to eating ass, and then we'll all up for awards friends!
>>10503012
I like what you're doing.

---

I too tired for any more.

[Anonymous No.10516634]

Abraham was promised descendants as many as the stars, yet in the city, I see none.
God is dead, of course; we can’t see beyond our own light. Were it the the screen that killed form and function?
The best you can do now is simulation, in simulation, integration, dwindling down forever.
A message, the fiction, a story, the tale; slay one, hydra-headed, and find another, perennial burning light where night once bedded.
Persuasion, sophistry; marketing, fulfilling, a need after need after a jet black bleed, static in stasis, wilting, withering realization.
Switch back on, all along you knew the way, from another room a willful sigh; she is wrapped in opaque lies, spider-silk projections in which to hide.
She is so far along the path, she dare not turn to see, and become that pillar of salt;
But soft you now, and stay, become bundled, packaged, rendered down to that modern gold,
Bones of scintillating power, ashes of that which is and which is not, formless void avoiding form.
Absurdity of absurdities, all is absurdity.

[Anonymous No.10516704]

>>10516431
wind blows
trees fall down
upon rooftops
rain falls to earth
why do we need each other
what solace do we find
in words and gestures
what peace do we find
in touch of flesh
in hair brushed aside
and lips embraced
we fall into each other
and emerge again

one man arrives
from long travel
he greets the sun
bold in blue skies
as another departs
towards starry night
yet unseen
beyond shadowed figure

my dear
what do I want from you
that I don't need
what solace
do I hope to find
save God's own peace
which you cannot give me
and I cannot give myself
and is only freely given
as a kiss upon a cheek

you walk in green meadows
filled with flowers
that match the shade
of your hair
your gaze wanders
blue as the endless sky
why wonder why
the wind blows
when it blows
where it will

[Anonymous No.10516735]

>>10516634
None say the rhythm of absurdity goes quickly between, flows strictly one scene to all oblivion; some play atop the water behind a breaker, watching currents, sensing the season's shift coupled with the sense of hunger for what is out there in the depths.

Absurdities as we know them now are bracketed, collected, catalogued, and then repackaged in fine boxes in which we can take pleasure from without having to look inside.

[Anonymous No.10516921]

Work in progress.

A poet learns how best to name the earth,
the sea, the sky, and all the things within it
if hate had come from their tormented birth
and gave them energy to write their sonnets

adhesure strict to form and careful ear
becomes their life and their companion
assured that strife will always hold them dear
while lovers, family, and friends abandon

And once you've started on in this career
begin destroying all of your affections
until your hate begins to draw you near
to that ascended state of lamentations

you spend your life unlearning how to live
until your words are all that you can give

[Anonymous No.10516984]

A poet learns how best to name the earth,
the sea, the sky and all the things within it
if hate had sprung from their tormented birth
and gave them energy to write their sonnets

adhesure strict to form and careful ear
becomes their life, their love, and close companion
assured that strife will always hold them dear
while lovers, family and friends abandon

And once you've started well in this career
begin destroying all of your affections
until your pain begins to draw you near
to that ascended state of lamentation

you'll spend your days unlearning how to live
until your words are all that you can give

[Anonymous No.10517115]

>>10515738
Erm, what?

[Anonymous No.10517273]

Dundiggory
Hootons and croutons, a yellow fellow underbelly,
who hatheth seeneth thou, dearest sweet deatheth?
O, not me
ShO yourself, or be the victim of the ensuing encumberment of non-boredom

[Anonymous No.10517288]

>>10496082
Because of the morning bird singing,
song will persist inside me.
Because of the sound of traffic,
I will always wonder,
and I shall be troubled at what remains
Unknown. But I shall hope. And because of the mailbox,
and the road, and the tree. It is hard to despair
because of the tree. Slowly, we turn toward love.

[Anonymous No.10517293]

IF IT DOESN'T RHYME, IT'S NOT POETRY

[Anonymous No.10517497]

>>10517293
The greeks would like a word with you, anon.

[Anonymous No.10518396]

Can I have some analysis of those two poems, please?

>>10510482
>>10514479

It can have all the razors and blizzard-breath of disaffected honesty.

[Anonymous No.10518720]

>>10518396
No. This is /lit/, so TL;DR

[Anonymous No.10518885]

>>10517497

Shakespeare is also in the waiting room expecting audience

>What is thou problem with my blank verse, my young fellow?

[Anonymous No.10518908]

I am growing kinda weary
about jim carrey
In the media
his ideas are crazy
but so are his minions'
This is my opionion
/fit/ likes to eat onions.

[Anonymous No.10519670]

This is a poem about my sense of isolation, depression and depersonalization and derealization.

It goes with a beat like: X / X / X but sometimes with an extra / X piece in some places.

It is 12 AM at night
I am sitting in a chair
I cannot standup at all
My feet aren't even there

I'm looking in a mirror
But I do not have a face
My image looks towards me
I am in no place

I feel a stabbing torture
digging in my vein
I must have no flesh
I cannot feel pain

Desire is burning through me
Tearing me apart
If I feel nothing
How then can I have a heart?

Words come out of me
No audience to hear
Ripping out my throat
I must disappear

[Anonymous No.10519692]

>>10519670
You have a rhythm but you've lost the focus on the subject of the poem, your feelings, and placed it on yourself. Try to write a poem about the emotions themselves as qualities without using possessive pronouns, or "I." That would be much more poetic and interesting.

[Anonymous No.10519818]

There, near the rear
Behind the streetlights's glare,
You dropped a few coins
But you don't care
The shadow you see
You've seen that before.
A nose that long
Can only belong
To a stinky Jew
but 'chyu know that.

[Anonymous No.10519921]

>>10498066

I liked it desu, keep at it

[Anonymous No.10520256]

>>10519692
I am not quite clear what you mean by this. I hardly think that the "I" pronoun obscures anything. Removing the "I" pronoun just makes the poem harder to read.

[Anonymous No.10520393]

I'm actually an antitheist but I find Taoist and Buddist philosophy very interesting so I wrote a poem about that stuff.

A cause uncaused and timeless
And craft with perfect finesse

Only naught might not desist
Death does cause me to exist

How you may blow out a fire
The uncreated I admire

Ones own presence I sustain
The dream ends and I remain

The nameless name is my name
Snuff it out,
ignite a different flame

[Anonymous No.10520410]

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

[Anonymous No.10520720]

>>10520256
Bait or legit cringe

[Anonymous No.10520822]

Seven hells' consuming flame
Couldn't hope to match the pain
Suffering laid bare and plain
Screaming, burning pitch still sings

Weary, weary, ask of me
Ask me how it came to be
Arms thrown yonder to the sea
Death must never come to them

Screams erupting from the west
I think my mother tells it best
How they fell at my behest
Fountains flow forevermore

Tidal waves and shock and awe
Drag me down into your maw
Rend my mind but find no flaw
Far beneath the marking mound

Scurrilous and scandalous
Primitive and thunderous
God hath given unto us
Hallow, sacred, hollow death

I will never, growing old
Suffer eyes, to thee, behold
Story mine, tell it bold
I am Holy, Satan king

[Anonymous No.10520906]

>>10520256
What I mean is that you're focusing too much on yourself, your own experience of feeling these feelings. I think examining the feelings themselves as abject qualities is far more interesting. Show, don't tell, as they say. For example, let's consider your stanza,

"I feel a stabbing torture
digging in my vein
I must have no flesh
I cannot feel pain"

Why say you feel the stabbing torture? Consider that your audience has also felt tortured. Think bigger than yourself, think of the feeling as an archetypal feeling of human experience. This isn't an absolute imperative against the use of, "I," or first person narrative, just an inclination towards thinking bigger. You might write,

"stabbing torture cuts deep
to draw blood from veins
absent warmth of flesh
and pain's sweet remorse"

By doing so, you examine your own experience, but place it within the realm of the broader human experience in a way that relates to the reader, and doesn't seem so insufferably self indulgent. It breaks you out of the "muh feels muh poetry" amateurism.

Do know that this is very much my own critique on a sheerly personal level. I claim no authority in matters of poetry. I simply find most poems I've seen here to be either disengenously derivative of more famous and talented poets, or too heavily oriented towards the poets own first person narrative. I wrote this series,
>>10516704
so critique me as well. That's only fair.

[Anonymous No.10520926]

>>10520393
>I'm actually an antitheist

[Anonymous No.10521167]

>>10516704
I still don't get what you mean.

I'll crtique you back though. Personally, I recognize poetry is subjective so when criticizing I focus on how the poem can easier communicate.

First consider using more punctuation and capitals and avoiding enjambment. It makes reading easier and the goal of poetry is to communicate after all.

>wind blows
>trees fall down
>upon rooftops
>rain falls to earth

Is it important to spread this out so much? Really all you are saying is "It was a rainy and windy day."

>why do we need each other
>what solace do we find
>in words and gestures
>what peace do we find
>in touch of flesh
>in hair brushed aside
>and lips embraced
>we fall into each other
>and emerge again

We all know what sex is. You can simplify to something like:

>what solace do we find
>in words and touch of flesh

>one man arrives
>from long travel
>he greets the sun
>bold in blue skies
>as another departs
>towards starry night
>yet unseen
>beyond shadowed figure

Not sure what you mean here. The point of poetry is communication and if readers can't understand your metaphors then you aren't going to communicate your feelings well. Unless it is a targeted to a specific audience like a cultural group or a specific person.

>my dear
>what do I want from you
>that I don't need
>what solace
>do I hope to find
>save God's own peace
>which you cannot give me
>and I cannot give myself
>and is only freely given
>as a kiss upon a cheek

Simplify:

>what do I want from you
>save God's own peace
>which you cannot give me
>and I cannot give myself
>and is only freely given
>as a kiss upon a cheek

Not sure what you mean with the last bit.

[Anonymous No.10521283]

>>10521167
Thank you for your critique. I like your advice to simplify things. Pare them down. These are indeed quite rough and unpolished. Yet, I don't necessarily agree that the point of poetry is to communicate, if by that you mean to communicate in clear terms. I think that's where we're missing each other in general. My metaphors are often purposely ambiguous, and I want them to be felt that way, without being perceived clearly, like a dream. The poems I replied to in that one are also mine, they're mostly sad things I wrote on my phone, not very polished

[Anonymous No.10521290]

>>10518396
How to judge a translated poem....? Better if I were trudging over foreign land to your home before I condemn the prose. Or suppose that I were to find only overt abstraction and it left me with a surface like a glass walkway that was dirt underneath.

[Anonymous No.10521311]

>>10510972
tragic.

[Anonymous No.10521346]

>>10511052
Scientology was here. And I invaded it with control. For one does relish certain gifts given well beyond praise. Hark, the angel sings silence into thought! Which wave crashes with which breath? Which of this do you choose, to plan, to me or I or another (you) and that all, that is all.

[Anonymous No.10521358]

>>10514535
The conversationalist, everybody.

How's your day been?

[Anonymous No.10521375]

>>10515635
This is best thing I've read in a while. It's sad that I enjoy it so much just because you're barely trying, but maybe that's what makes it great. I wonder sometimes how easy it would be copy this style. Anyhow, you've made my day.

[Anonymous No.10521379]

Young Nigga came threw
Looking clean
Young Nigga came threw
blood diamonds on his neck
Young Nigga came threw
and you know he got that tec
Young Nigga came threw
Lookin clean
Ya'll know all the bitches won't a
Young Nigga

[Anonymous No.10521385]

>>10516406
Aw, but it's nice there. Don't go doing that. It might be just fun, like cryptic letter cast by these here.

[Anonymous No.10521404]

life and death
are gay and queer
stop making shitty poems
while i shitpost here

[Anonymous No.10521410]

>>10520410
Too wordy. Shared no delight, nor cared for allusions, being such a garbled product of an insensitive feeling, here, in this moment soon to be lost to us all.

[Anonymous No.10521434]

hark thee i am gay
i have no fear
and that is okay
for i am queer
a female is a male with two extra letters
why, a feminine dick would be even better!

[Anonymous No.10521467]

This whole medium is airy and whimsical to a fault

All about nature and feelings and shit

I guess it would be alright without the flowery, figurative caca

Its too difficult to keep up that euphony most poems tends to be teeming with

Harsh sounds hold rhythm better anyways

[Anonymous No.10521496]

>>10520822
Any thoughts on this? I'm trying hard to improve my imagery and was feeling whimsical.

[Anonymous No.10521535]

>>10521496
It is far too ambiguous and purple prosy. Be clear and concise.

[Anonymous No.10521571]

>>10521535
How can I be more precise? I don't even really know what that means in this context. I'm trying to conjure images of a god-king drunk with power overrunning the land with his barbaric hordes and dark magic. What can I do to make this more "precise"?

[Anonymous No.10521620]

>>10516984
revised a few lines

A poet learns how best to name the earth,
the sea, the sky and all the beasts within it
if misery had followed from their birth
and gave the inspiration for their sonnets

adhesure strict to form and careful ear
becomes their life, their love, and close companion
assured that strife will always hold them dear
while lovers, family and friends abandon

And once you've started well in this career
begin destroying all of your affections
accrue egregious pain that draws you near
to that ascended state of lamentation

you'll spend your days unlearning how to live
until your words are all that you can give

[Anonymous No.10521651]

>>10521620
>near to that

It would sound better as "near that", and the ending could be better, besides those things I think it's amazing

[Anonymous No.10521713]

This body heavy with itself
lends no hand to haul itself.
Passerbys, they wave hello
and I tell them he's just asleep.
They laugh and say they won't disturb,
so I just a wave his lifeless limb.
To his grave is where I go,
yet I don't know where it may be.
So I carry-on this body
to the heavens or the grave,
or wherever I may lie,
and simply say that I've arrived.

[Anonymous No.10521742]

>>10521620
A poet knows how best to name the earth,
the sea, the sky, their beasts
if pain has followed from their birth
and gave the light for all their words.

Adherence, with a careful ear,
becomes their life, their love, a friend,
assured their strife will always hold them
while their lovers, family, friends abandon

And once you've started this career,
begin destroying your affections;
accrue egregious pain which draws
near that ascended lamentation

you'll spend your days unlearning living
til your words are all you've given


*Just so you can understand how your meter is off

[Anonymous No.10521775]

>>10521713
That a in L6 snuck itself in there and idk what it thinks its doing, but it's wrong and I'm not happy about it.

[Anonymous No.10522744]

>>10521742
This ruined the poem holy shit. Your metering is worse than the original, and you changed it from a shapesoearean sonnet to something that doesn't have a name.

[Anonymous No.10523343]

>>10522744
Alright. L8 just needs to lose family and L12 needs to lose that. Otherwise it's mich tighter. Everybody has written a sonnet. Get a grasp a a new form and find your ground. But first get a grip on meter and understand that poems shouldn't be read line by line but as any other literature.

[Anonymous No.10523354]

>>10521742
>>10522744

>A poet knows how best to name the earth,
this is iambic pentameter so its fine. wasn't changed
>the sea, the sky, their beasts
trimeter? why? for conciseness? at least its still in iambic

>if pain has followed from their birth
you're misusing the present-perfect tense. "birth" is in the past and so, we must used past-perfect tense. also, why the fuck is this tetrameter? pick one and stick to it.

>and gave the light for all their words.
light is terrible word choice here. We just described the speaker as having had pain throughout their entire life, and you want to say this is giving them light for their words? nonsense. tetrameter


>Adherence, with a careful ear,
decent. tetrameter

>becomes their life, their love, a friend,
decent. could use a caesura between love and friend. this is the most problematic line in the original too, since we've now called this misery "a love, a friend" which doesn't fit as well.

>assured their strife will always hold them
tetrameter with a weak ending is fine.

>while their lovers, family, friends abandon
family is three syllables, it doesn't flow as good as the original. in fact, it creates a caseura where one isn't needed. just a really bad edit

>And once you've started this career,
tetrameter, fine

>begin destroying your affections;
tetrameter, fine

>accrue egregious pain which draws
tetrameter, fine

>near that ascended lamentation
tetrameter, fine. follows weak ending as affections and keeps the rhyme

>you'll spend your days unlearning living
this is just a fucking awful edit holy shit

>til your words are all you've given
trochaic because?

So you ruined the rhyme scheme, changed it from pentameter to tetrameter but screwed up a few times in regard to the metering, and then passed it off as if you're teaching this guy how to "fix his metering"

(you)

[Anonymous No.10523478]

>>10523354
It was written in 'pentameter' with which only occasionally held a real footing and relied entirely on being read line by line and rhyme. If you want to be an academic poet then by all means attempt to copy and paste ancient forms. I'm not saying it's wrong, but if you have no ear for footing and prosody you're just going to churn out ten syllable lines with end rhymes and that's not fucking poetry thats a shoddy coloring job in a coloring book. No mine wasn't perfect because I didn't want to spend thirty minutes getting it exact and rewriting their poem for them, it wasn't my point. Certain words take more or less time to say based on their sonic structure, so not every line must have ten syllables for the poem to remain in time. It can, but unless you know your words very well and use them precisely, there's nothing wrong with hovering around a meteric form as long as the footing is consistent and flowing. Some of the best poems don't use exact syllable counts for each line (and some do), but if your language is shit it all sounds shit.

[Anonymous No.10523507]

>>10523478
>ancient forms are bad

[Anonymous No.10523590]

>>10523507
>missing where I said they're bad if you don't already have an ear for poetry

[Anonymous No.10523611]

>>10523590
>adhesure strict to form and careful ear

you played yourself.

[Anonymous No.10523653]

>>10523478
I bet you couldn't name at least 8 feet without looking them up.

[Anonymous No.10523656]

>>10523478
It was in perfect iambic pentameter, what are you smoking?

[Anonymous No.10523661]

>>10523653
You'd never know, but I literally keep this for reference

[Anonymous No.10523674]

>>10523656
>Adhesure strict to form
>Perfect iambic

Pick one

[Anonymous No.10523699]

>>10523674
Adhesure is a amphibrach.
ad-HES-ure

[Anonymous No.10523714]

>>10523699
Which means it works as an iamb if followed by a trochee.

(Samefag)

[Anonymous No.10524951]

>>10496082
Archaic language has no place in modern poetry. Try harder, faggot.