New Critique Thread: Not started by a retard edition

[Anonymous No.10579608]

Postem below

[Anonymous No.10579631]

>>10579608
OK, I'll ask here then...
Can I post erotica for critique on this board? Or is it supposed to be strictly SFW?

[Anonymous No.10579633]

>>10579631
You can post whatever you like senpai

[Anonymous No.10579646]

>>10579631
Yes, it obviously only applies to actual pornography

[Anonymous No.10579662]

Times of limbering spirits, we creek as the dazing wind of old timber forests, where leaves have been lost, but not forgotten.
We play with our own meditations, finding muse as gay, we still wonder what is our pay. The kingdoms are built of the forests we dispute, the places we say the beasts frolic, but they are the ones who build our walls, they listen to the ones who call. At first is starts but as a trickle, the long lost call. words of rising action, give us supper from the bloomed fruit, the vine, green with the changing times, is were we lean to dine, with just words of time. We inspect, and digest the meaning in two, in duals and rationality, we come to this non-duality. We look to our waters, and find the scars we have our mother bare, under the changing tides, in the bounty in the sound, life is strife, as the coral in the ocean.
Between the sun and the earth, we find the distance of the moon, who dictates the way we move in this low tide bay.
White, with our suns still light, it creeps, at our only stay, it is our lonely inner fight, our palace of outer sight, in the space we want to play.

[Anonymous No.10579671]

Repost, I guess:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SGI7e7XnNGkq9sJJXmpYL5zzSYIB4HWi1og7u1eMwQs

[Anonymous No.10579705]

>>10579646
I've found that the rule only gets enforced if you post images or lewd (and off-topic) text in your post.
A link to a gdoc ain't gonna get no one in trouble.

[Anonymous No.10579983]

>>10579633
>>10579646
>>10579705
OK here we go
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ihjp_Go7nEQuECE2BO07NCzcZrvU6TOxNwLFIkt7gw0/edit?usp=sharing
Let me know if you can view it.

[Anonymous No.10580408]

She had lovely blue pupils; her irises expanded at important times; she had a cat whose name was also Emma with rare golden fur which was the color of her hair.

And he realized that he had never seen the two together. And perhaps those magic realist poets were not as fabulous or as fantastical as they had always seemed-

Perhaps an office worker could awaken from uneasy dreams to find himself transformed into an insect; perhaps a jilted girl's unhappiness could flood the world with tears.

Maybe it was as they'd always known, deep down: the world could change and fall into accordance with an inner truth.

And perhaps the one you loved could change into another form and could reveal her inner nature on a cloudless night whose moon watched over you as calmly as a spectator in a drama who at any moment could begin to sing and flood the world with sound. Their favorite song was playing, reaching a crescendo when Emma padded over to him; her irises were glowing with the illumination of a secret knowledge.

He undid his jeans and he was overcome with music.

Her tongue was sandier than usual; for a moment there was nothing to disturb him but a light little knocking at the door and the sound of Emma saying that she'd left her keys inside and could you let me in?

[Anonymous No.10580482]

>>10579662
>old timber forests
Don't think that's a thing. Timber is the material taken from the trees in beams and boards.

[Anonymous No.10580739]

Der letzte Tag, ein Samstag, brach um sieben Uhr fünfunddreißig an, als N.M. klingelte. Die Augen unseres Helden, D.F., bewegten sich rapide hinter seinen zugezogenen Lidern, Wasser mag doch jeder, das Klingeln dingdongdingdong dingdongdingdong dingdongdingdong vermochte ihn erst beim dritten - aber nicht letzten - Läuten zu wecken, dummer Hurensohn, dummer Bastard, und er verließ das Bett (lechzte, lechzte, lechzte), noch im Gestern verfangen, das erst um vier Uhr vier erloschen war, mit einer Bewegung, einer Rührung, die die allerletzte dieser Art bleiben sollte. Ein Mann wächst nur bis zu einem bestimmten Punkt, das Namensschild an seiner Tür, der Türrahmen. Kleiner Hurensohn, nichtsnutzig, albern. Ein Blick aus dem Fenster, schlagartig wach, als hätte er noch nie geschlafen: Ein grauer VW Polo auf dem Parkplatz - ach was - der Zahnarztpraxis. Dort stand er zuerst im Sommer zweitausendsechzehn, zuletzt vor einem Jahr. Also, dingdongdingdongdingdongdingdong, kein Vogel war zu hören, keiner, öffnete D.F. seinen Schrank, eine Flasche fiel um, anlasslos, derweil N.M. vor der Tür stand, warum - er wollte ihn ermorden - wusste nur er, allein, einsam, keiner sonst, auch wenn D.F. es hätte wissen müssen; vor 15 Jahren schon, gottloses Stück Scheiße, hätte er es wissen müssen, kétségtelenül. Er trat auf eine Plastikflasche, er war schon angezogen. Gestern Nacht hat er wunderschön gekotzt, ist auf seinen Magen gefallen, mehrmals, immer wieder. Heute Morgen: Nicht einmal Vögel hört man, dingdong dingdong dingdong. Er ging die Treppe runter, wie jeden Tag. Die Tür ging auf. Er hat wunderschön gekotzt, gestern noch, ist auf seinen Magen gefallen, ja, jetzt ist alles dumm, jetzt ist alles blöd, kein Vogelgezwitscher vernahm er. N.M. stand vor ihm, wie ein Baum, hinter ihm war der Rest, die Sonne fiel auf seinen Nacken, unverändert. Der Rest: Sein Auto, die Straße, die Zahnarztpraxis, weiter rechts das Tanzstudio. Er, N.M., versuchte sein Grinsen - er grinste wie ein Schwertfisch -, wie immer zu unterdrücken, meistens gelang es nicht. --Sag auch, warum du lachst, D.F. fragend, selber lachend, er musste nach oben gucken, seinen Kopf heben, um in sein Gesicht zu gucken, sein Rücken tat weh, seit Jahren schon tat er weh, trotzdem hob er seinen Kopf, um in sein Gesicht zu gucken, entwürdigend war das, sieben Uhr siebenunddreißig war es. Das wusste er nicht, konnte es nicht wissen.
--Hat seine Gründe, immer noch wie ein Schwertfisch.
--Seit wann bist du in S.?
--Seit ... Er schloss seinen Mund, musterte das Vorzimmer, als wäre D.F. nicht anwesend. Seine Augen, sie waren schwarz, durchliefen den Raum, rastlos nach Veränderungen suchend, fanden nichts. Alles war gleich. Nichts, seit A.L. gestorben war, die Ananas die kann was, hatte sich verändert. Nichts: der Boden, die Wände, die Decke - alles war gleich, an Ort und Stelle geblieben. Auch das Bild, in Front vor ihm, hing noch an seinem Platz, unverschämterweise.

[Anonymous No.10581040]

Dusk hangs thick in violet air.
Laying on dead grass, alone,
I recall your wiry hair,
Coarse as weeds on garden stones.

You and I in hands embrace,
Eye to eye and soul to skin.
You touch your nose to my face,
And my blood runs quick and thin.

Every leaf now hanging dead,
Autumn yields to dark and frost.
I think of all left unsaid,
From that time, now ever lost.

[Anonymous No.10581056]

>>10580408
I unironically read the beggining as "she had lovely blue pills" fuck i don't even go on /pol/

[Anonymous No.10581360]

>>10580739
Stop posting this shit!

[Anonymous No.10581394]

A Black Bull Rhino with the H&H Double Rifle

At noon my father took the rhinoceros in his sights, a bull that stood as still as a boulder at the center of the thatching-grass veld. Across the rhino’s back a string of shrikes was perched, chattering in voices like the ringing of chisels on stone. The African sun was overhead and sweat ran into our eyes. Do not take him too soon, father, I whispered. I won’t take him too soon, Kermit, my father answered. What I will do is wait for him to take a step with that foreleg, then I will blast a hole in his great heart.

The sirocco sang through the cattails and our game did not move. I licked salt off my lip. The rhino stood in grass up to his chest, his nostrils breathing the wind and his eyes full of stupid glory, while my father watched his prey with naked lust. His spectacles gleamed; his mustache bristled; his teeth bared ivory-bright under the sun. We crouched in a swale ninety meters away. Our Swahili porter lurked beneath a fever tree, his skin of the same taupe richness as the rhino’s.

There was an eternity in that moment of anticipation: My father squinting along the sight, his finger on the trigger, while I watched him and the beast, my heart quickening with the nearness of death. When the sirocco calmed the shrikes would alight from the rhino’s back to turn circles through the air, spilling music, hunting dung-flies. All else was stillness, heat.

Then the rhino shifted its leg and a crack of thunder shook the veld. Through the gunsmoke I saw the birds take flight as a beautiful arc of blood sprang from the rhino’s chest. The brute emitted a low groan, what seemed to me a grateful sigh of release, then its knees buckled as it folded itself into the golden Kapiti sea and died there.

Fetch the Smithsonians, my father shouted to our porter, his face blazing with joy. He split his rifle at the breach and hung it over his arm. Together we walked toward the carcass, the smell of fresh gore carried toward us on the wind. Do you know that’s just how it was in Cuba, Kermit, my father laughed over his shoulder as I followed, when I doubled up that Spaniard boy. Shot him in the gut and he laid himself down just as gently. I believe this will be a fine expedition. I think this continent will be the theater of great doings for us.

I agreed, while our porter sprinted fast as a sable antelope through the grass, carrying the word of my father, the President of the United States. I agreed, having seen firsthand the power of the place. We had not been in Africa a month, and already he had grown a foot taller.

Why then shouldn’t I believe that those wilds could cure my sickness. My bad conscience, as my father called it. The fading warmth of my soul.

[Anonymous No.10581436]

Recall the clustered stars at night
where elk get rest beneath the light.
Some crows will roost in sunless streets
and gutters of communities,
but soft dirt never makes hard feet.

The hipsters pay to park their cars
outside of bougie café bars
while pidgens coo and pick at scraps
the bums had left beside their camps,
but soft dirt never makes hard feet.

Somewhere beneath Pacific seas,
a sailor drinks his grog while he's
still thinking of his surface love--
she left him, on the pier above.
But soft dirt never makes hard feet.

And poppies grow where soldiers rest;
a time when pride had slain our best—
"We'd march once more into war's shame
so that new youth can do the same"
but soft dirt never makes hard feet

—so we've covered it with concrete.

[Anonymous No.10581481]

>>10581040
Not sure I like the ending line. Your rythm and structure are solid, message is passable, the nature setting is always a good choice to use for a love poem.

Good:
L: 1, 4 6, 8, 9

Needs work:
L2 (does grass die in winter and Autumn? I thought it was summer when grasses died. Either way, this like doesn't do much for me)

L5 (clunky language)

L11/12 (message is just too boring and cliche. The purpose of poetry is to eliminate cliches.)

[Anonymous No.10581848]

>>10581481
Thanks m8, good advice.

[Anonymous No.10581935]

this is a song
A weight on his head
dragging his tread
answers only with one word
but it sound like a chord
of a sad sad song

Chorus
if you ask him
he'll say
that he's okay
but he wishes only to fade
away (hold)

he dreams of the day
of that white walled tomb
how his shadow would loom
over the dour policemen
their face so grim

chorus

every failure is the last
every word is eulogy
he wish he could plea
to deaf ears
black book passim


chorus

[Anonymous No.10582028]

>>10579608
What do you mean "not started by a retard"?

[Anonymous No.10582037]

>>10581481
>(message is just too boring and cliche. The purpose of poetry is to eliminate cliches.)

Au contraire. It's to elevate them.

[Anonymous No.10582075]

>>10579662
What are you trying to say?

[Anonymous No.10582120]

>>10581394
It was interesting because I thought you were writing the story of a young South African, then you turned it into some gay fanfiction about the presidents kid.

>Do you know that’s just how it was in Cuba, Kermit, my father laughed over his shoulder as I followed, when I doubled up that Spaniard boy. Shot him in the gut and he laid himself down just as gently. I believe this will be a fine expedition. I think this continent will be the theater of great doings for us.
terrible.

[Anonymous No.10582167]

>>10582120
You dumb as fuck if you thought Kermit was the name of a South African

[Anonymous No.10582191]

>>10582167
Are you a fucking idiot? Why wouldn't one of the Anglos on South Africa name their kid Kermit. It could have been a nickname too. You are a faggot.

[Anonymous No.10582202]

I have a terrible idea for a sci-fi novella. I will greentext it and need thoughts on if it is retarded:
>humanity has, using sub-light speed travel (with a max speed of around .2 the speed of light), populated the local cluster of solar systems
>instantaneous communication is impossible, as is full body cryostasis, and the civilization is unable or unwilling to use AIs
>in this age because traveling from one solar system to another can take up to 50 years conventional travel between them is highly impractical even with the average human lifespan topping 200 years
>conflicts between human civilizations in this age are almost entirely driven by ideology, and because of the amount of time it takes to travel between them conflict has lengthened to decades or centuries of years of policy
>sending soldiers is impractical because they will arrive 20 years older minimum (for the shortest distance between Sol and Alpha Centauri)
>simply sending missiles is often impractical as you often want to do something requiring more finesse than a sledge hammer
>instead what are sent are tiny ark ships containing frozen sperm/eggs and artificial wombs
>the ark unfreezes the egg/sperm a little over 20 years from their destination
>enroute the vats will grow and give birth to several dozen humans, one slightly before the others to create an older caste of commanders
>these vat grown humans are indoctrinated with all their personal media outlets entirely controlled by the ship (essentially on a 24/7 propaganda diet)
>they are trained to be soldiers
>these humans are augmented to be superior soldiers to the norm, but not so much so that they appear in any way non-human, merely physical exemplars
>they spend their entire childhoods/young lives in deep space fed on a single diet of propaganda and training
>the commander caste is giving a little bit of a wider view of the world so they can make decisions, but by no means are they aware of their home for what it really is

The novella would follow one of these vat grown soldiers through his life and end at the arrival at the enemy, only to find their civilization had collapsed due to severe internal strife (this would be arks launched from Sol to Gliese 876, so a 80 year journey), and what was left was petty nations fighting over ashes. Their particular Ark has essentially be left because recalling them had no purpose, the humans onboard were military hardware.

[Anonymous No.10582226]

>>10582191
The word you're looking for is Africander you fucking cockweasel.

[Anonymous No.10582247]

>>10582226
Lol it's Afrikaner you dumb faggot, and that has obvious linguistic implications of being descendant of Dutch. Write what you know, instead of your gay pseudo travelogue.

[Anonymous No.10582267]

>>10582247
Alright man fair enough. Though I'm 95% that Afrikander is a kind of cow and the only term that refers specifically to Dutch settlers is Boers. Anyway fuck you.

[Anonymous No.10582283]

>>10582202
Read Philip K. Dick, sci-fi should be used to express human emotions, don't goon about all the world shit and instead write something about human emotions. Your idea for a character seeing the world for what it "really is" or whatever is very unoriginal and has been done a million times before. I don't mean this in an insulting way, I'm just dishing out criticism. What could make your story different? What would make it relevant? The sci-fi part should just be a backdrop for good characters and intelligent themes, which are not present in your idea.

[Anonymous No.10582290]

When I say that I was visiting old friends, friends from whom my life and my sense of life had diverged, I am not trying to set myself apart. Marta and Eli had lived in Los Angeles for a number of years—long enough, I suppose, that whatever logic connected immediate impulse to long-term goal to life plan to identity had slipped below conscious awareness and become simply a part of them. I was by no means innocent, either, of the slow supplanting drift by which the means to our most cherished and noble ends become the ends themselves—so that, for instance, writing something to change the world becomes writing something that matters to you becomes publishing something halfway decent becomes writing something publishable; or, to give another arbitrary example, finding everlasting love becomes finding somewhat lasting love becomes finding a reasonable mix of tolerance and lust becomes finding a sensible social teammate. And, of course, with each recalibration you think not that you are trading down or betraying your values but that you are becoming more mature. And maybe you are.
In any case I was writing a book, one that I hoped would make my contemporaries see how petty and misguided their lives were, how worthwhile my sacrifices, how refreshing my repudiations, how heroic my stubbornness, etc.
Eli and Marta, for their part, were trying to have a baby. They would spend the ensuing year attempting to get pregnant, and eventually they would, and later this baby, and their second baby, would grant them some reprieve from the confusion we were all afflicted by in those years. But before they had their baby, during the week when this story takes place, they had decided to do every last thing that a baby precludes, every last irresponsible thing, so as, I guess, to be able to say, Yes, I have lived, I have done the things that mean you have lived, brushed shoulders with the lurid genie Dionysus, who counsels recklessness and abandon, decadence, self-destruction, and waste. The Baby Bucket List, they were calling it.
And I was game. Though I was not planning to have a child anytime soon, I thought we could all stand to chemically unfasten our fingers from their death grips on our careers and wardrobes and topiarian social lives and ne-plus-ultra __vacations in tropical Asia. The words “we” and “our” are somewhat figurative here; I remain unsure whether I rounded out our group’s eclecticism or stood in contrast to it. But we were, in any case, a particular sort of modern hustler: filmmakers and writers (screen, Web, magazine), who periodically worked as narrative consultants on ad campaigns, sustainability experts, P.R. lifers, designers or design consultants, social entrepreneurs, and that strange species of human being who has invented an app. We rubbed elbows with media moguls and Hollywood actors and the lesser-known but still powerful strata that include producers and directors, and C.F.O.s.

[Anonymous No.10582309]

>>10582283
The main character is not the one who sees the world for what it really is, and in fact the main character never sees what the truth of the matter is. It’s supposed to be about the warping effects of propaganda and indoctrination over the course of one’s life. Also the blurred line of if these individuals are in fact self-realized or property.

The ‘seeing the world for what it is’ would only be the commander who would not be a perspective the novella would be told from. Instead the main character would only ever see the struggles the commander goes through in a detached manner.

It is supposed to be about indoctrination more or less.

[Anonymous No.10582332]

>>10582309
That could be interesting, but that would take a lot of knowledge about humans, propaganda, and the ability to express something you have probably never felt. I would try writing something simpler, something you are familiar with before getting into something like that. I'd also scratch sci-fi, its mostly a trash genre desu.

[Anonymous No.10582343]

>>10582309
but if you do write about propaganda read this book first

[Anonymous No.10582364]

>>10582332
The complete isolation of an ark ship and the fact that the children within the ark ship have no human contact except each other is a large part of the idea. Isolation and complete media control.

You may be right though I need to do more research.

>>10582343
I will give it a look.

[Anonymous No.10582375]

>>10582290
Interesting, makes me want to read more, especially the stuff about the baby bucket list. Sounds degenerate.

[Anonymous No.10582417]

>>10582037
Cliches in the language, I meant.

Her eyes were as blue as the sea--too cliche

(Improv example) her eyes were a blue raspberry jolly rancher on the tongue, all sparkling and sweet.

[Anonymous No.10582484]

The boy’s father looked like he had some money, so Evan chose him to be the one to dump chum in the water. He reached into the cooler at the back of the boat and dragged out an orange bucket full of bloody slop, a puree of various baitfish that they’d caught over the last week and ground up that morning at 5 a.m. Evan gave the bucket a slosh to wake the gutty tang then moved toward the boy. The kid, maybe eleven, as white as anything, wore a blue T-shirt with a Hammerhead on the front and was afraid of him, afraid of whatever in the bucket was releasing that smell. He just wanted to see some sharks. He didn’t know this would be part of the deal. Seven miles off the coast of Galveston in an ancient walk-around with dried blood under the rivets, their guide a freak with his face carved up in strips, their skipper a shadowy bulk behind the bridge window.
Evan Slusser saw himself clearly through the boy’s eyes, caught his reflection in the revulsion that registered there. He looked over at the kid’s mother, sitting behind him with her hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, her sulky face behind a pair of those big sepia sunglasses. Evan could hear her thoughts. She sat there, thinking, this was supposed to be a nice simple fun family vay-cay and now here’s this fucking ghoul coming at my dearest boy with his mincemeat face and a bucket full of carnage, saying, “Alright buddy, you go ahead ring the dinner bell for ‘em.” Well, if his parents had just grabbed the pamphlet two to the right on the rack at the hotel they’d be at this very moment on a double-decker catamaran with a see-through bottom and a snack bar being told about the gulf’s ecology by a marine biology student with a ponytail and a perky ass in stretch khaki chinos. Instead, here they were with Evan, at fifty bucks a head, and “Here’s the bucket, sailor.” The boy stepped back against his mother’s knees. The father winced slightly, moving forward to take the bucket himself. But Evan waved him off and smiled, a sight he knew to be distressing. He worked his face like a puppet, felt his lips split at the seams where the Mako’s teeth had torn through. He took the bucket over to the edge of the boat and upended its contents into the waters of the gulf.
Evan struck the bottom of the pail with his palm as the gory paste sloughed into the sea. The kid whispered to his mother that he wanted to go back to the hotel and Evan heard a sound from inside the bridge that only he could identify as his cousin Bobby’s laughter. To anybody else it would just sound like the outboard gurgling.

[Anonymous No.10582516]

>>10580408
>And perhaps the one you loved could change into another form and could reveal her inner nature on a cloudless night whose moon watched over you as calmly as a spectator in a drama who at any moment could begin to sing and flood the world with sound.

This feels breathless and tiring, I don't think it works as one long sentence. Or you could replace some "and"s.

[Anonymous No.10582530]

Fucking SMILE, you miserable cunt.

[Anonymous No.10582780]

Tfw type out novel idea but end up writing the whole book.

[Anonymous No.10582792]

Need help with this.

She's got eyes like those green jolly ranchers
that've been chewed and spat out, whole lot sadder
than any other felluhs eyes I've know
full o' want fer a place to call a home

I seen her walking along Main last week,
with a little bit of dirt round her cheek—
Must've been that sunovabitch husband
of hers; slinging scripts from across Old Dan's.

How do I finish it anons? This was my crit >>10581481

[Anonymous No.10582818]

>>10582792
You seem to have made it pretty unmelodic on purpose, things like
>spat out, whole lot sadder
just break the rhythm of the poem so much, in my opinion.

It's modest and the idea is cute, but it just sort of runs out of steam. What are you plans for the ending, just generally?

[Anonymous No.10582831]

Does anyone know how deep plagiarism checkers can penetrate on 4chan? I want to share a poem, but I don't want my professor finding out that I browse this place.

[Anonymous No.10582844]

>>10582831
silly paranoia
just share it
t. your professor

[Anonymous No.10582850]

>>10582818
Third stanza introducing the speaker as an old guy who knew her when she was young

Final couplet turning it into a condemnation of the idea that leaving a small town is necessary for happiness since the girl in the poem will have experienced life outside of the town, and had to come back, though now damaged by her experiences and led her to be abused by her husband and living the slummy life.

[Anonymous No.10582869]

>>10582831
Share it and then let your professor know you browse 4chan. It's not a big deal. Use a trip code if necessary to prove it and provide yourself some sort of proof with like your initials in the name field.

[Anonymous No.10582885]

>>10582850
Very ambitious for the final couplet, but I like the idea a lot.
Can't really give any advice, there's obviously a very specific style that you're aiming for. But keep at it. The poem in it's current form is intriguing for its style but forgettable overall, with what you have in mind, it could be very memorable

[Anonymous No.10582896]

>>10582869
devious

[Anonymous No.10582933]

I'm hoping that some of you with more short story experience might be able to help me out here. I find that whenever I'm given a somewhat generous but still strict limit to write within, I struggle.

Setting out from the beginning to write a very brief one-off usually results in a fine if not unremarkable short story, but when my "cap" is expanded a bit more I can't help but start drifting into more in-depth prompts or ideas. The more I indulge in ideas that I would probably save for a larger story, the more it feels like the narrative suffers due to this cramming in of both story and setting that I can't ever get the right balance of.

How can I get better at discerning whether or not a story idea is appropriate for a short story? Are there better ways to weed out ideas that I probably can't tackle in a set length before I find myself halfway through a piece that I realize probably won't work?

[Anonymous No.10582989]

>>10582933
Just wiggle your dick around some

[Anonymous No.10582997]

>>10582075
Absolutely nothing, I was exploring word for fun

[Anonymous No.10583043]

>>10582792
>She
>other felluhs
what are you implying

[Anonymous No.10583055]

>>10582885
She's got eyes like those green jolly ranchers
that've been chewed and spat out, whole lot sadder
than any other felluhs eyes I've know
full o' want fer a place to call a home

I seen her walking along Main last week,
with a little bit of dirt round her cheek—
Must've been that sunovabitch husband
of hers; slinging scripts from across Old Dan's.

She came in my shop 'bout one day prior
bought a scratch ticket, gum for her daughter
who'd looked like her mum, come to think of it,
back when she was Mary's young girl—Dammit,

dear Lord, I wish I knew the words to say
the day her dad, my best friend, passed away

Thoughts?

[Anonymous No.10583070]

>>10583055
the accent is weird, what's it supposed to be, some sort of Southerner?
>slinging scripts from across Old Dan's.
what does this phrase mean? Slinging scripts?

[Anonymous No.10583072]

You filthy fucking whore, I swear to God
Lured in those silky sheets but I a lamb
To be slaughtered, again as we cum in sin
Who are you, she devil, and what is this trouble, i tremble in your sheets, I hear you speak

I hear your cry
I hear you moan
In my ear, as I caress your rear

Fuck
Again
You lonely misstress, my only temptress
Why do I
Why do I
Want inbetween your thigh?

Oh who am I
But a lost, lonely guy

[Anonymous No.10583086]

>>10583070
Dealing prescription drugs like Percocet and Vicodin. A lot of small town nobodies resort to dealing drugs because the jobs don't pay well.

[Anonymous No.10583097]

>>10583070
Not southerner--small town, bit older. They have a lazier, easy way of speaking. Think Montana rancher style.

[Anonymous No.10583098]

>>10583055
I'm not sure about the third stanza, it does the job of setting up the fourth, but not much more. Asking "who's Mary?" feels stupid because the narrator obviously wouldn't specify that, but
The Idea of a short, rhyming stanza to finish is great, both to finish in rhythm and to reveal to us that the narrator is an old man and not a young admirer.

However,
>the day her dad, my best friend, passed away
sounds laboured.
I would take another look at that at least. Overall thought I felt an immediate connection with the style and the thoughts of the narrator, good work.

[Anonymous No.10583112]

>>10583098
The day that're dad, my best friend, passed away

is how it should sound sonically.

[Anonymous No.10583114]

>>10583097
hmm, I've never heard anybody talk that heavy here in the Midwest, although I've never been to Montana.

>>10583098
I just figured Mary was the daughter.

[Anonymous No.10583148]

>>10583098
>Back when she was Mary's young girl
Mary is the grandmother of the daughter. It makes more sense that the narrator knows her parents more intimately. Its a small town. I fixed the accent in subsequent poems so its not as heavy, as per >>10583114

[Anonymous No.10583155]

The fan spun faster and faster
Until it became a disaster
The man tried to turn it off
But it simply blew him off

[Anonymous No.10583180]

>>10583155
shit ironically and unironically

[Anonymous No.10583209]

>>10583180
Well I think it's JUST FABULOUS

[Anonymous No.10583220]

>>10582028
The last one was started by a retard

[Anonymous No.10583263]

>>10583114
>>10583098
>>10583070
>>10583043
>>10582885
Thanks for the help guys.

She's got eyes like those green jolly ranchers
that've been chewed and spat out, whole lot sadder
than any other fellas eyes I've known;
full of want for a place to call a home

And I'd seen her walk along Main last week,
with a little bit of dirt round her cheek—
Must've been that sunovabitch husband
of hers; slinging scripts from across Old Dan's.

She came in my shop 'bout one day prior,
bought scratch tickets and gum for her daughter
who'd looked like her mum, come to think of it,
back when she was Mary's young girl—Dammit,
good God, I wish I'd known the words to say
the day that her dad, my best friend, passed away

[Anonymous No.10583275]

>>10583220
Why do you say he(I) was a retard?

[Anonymous No.10583279]

>>10583180
I take it you aren't a fan?

[Anonymous No.10583330]

>>10579662
Learn what timber is before using the word.
>We play with our own meditations
You do? How? You don't play with them. "Our own" is meaningless.
>is were we lean to dine
What?

This is boring and tasteless. We know there is space between the earth and the moon.

>>10580408
Puerile in attitude.

>>10580739
I don't speak Farsi

>>10581040
6.5/10; Line 4 is underwhelming and stones does not compliment alone very well at all.

In fact all of your ending lines seem to fall short of poesy.

>>10581394
This was bad

>>10581436
Unpoetic. This is more fit for prose.

Your final line was awful.

>>10581935
Are you 15 years old?

>>10582290
>death grips

[Anonymous No.10583343]

>>10580739
Gefällt mir nicht. Bemüht originell, fühlt sich aber substanzlos an. Nicht persönlich nehmen

[Anonymous No.10583381]

>>10583330
>death grips

Expand on that

[Anonymous No.10583439]

>>10583275
don't play dumb with me nigga

[Anonymous No.10583481]

>>10583330
Teeg

[Anonymous No.10583489]

Renaissance Man

In every talent you possess there is a possibility I see
As I watch with awe, I wonder if that could be me
A statue come to life, you were something to aspire to
And if I could ever succeed, I prayed I may also inspire you.

It brought me humble joy to feel small by your side,
But I could not cloud my envy no matter how hard I tried.
I had said too much, and found that crack in your glass
I wanted your forgiveness but was too ashamed to ask

You had something to hide behind that confident smile
Every piece to your puzzle fits for only awhile.
You sit alone during the fireworks with no friend in sight
Despite others waiting for you all through the night.

What makes the Renaissance Man feel so unfulfilled,
How can he feel inferior while being so skilled?
Will joining you lead only to loneliness untold?
If I dare to touch that fire, will I only feel cold?

The Question remained unanswered as the sun began to set
To just let you go would have left me with regret
So forgive me please for the tangled web I weave
But for just one more moment, I didn't want you to leave.

[Anonymous No.10583507]

I really like this extract so any feedback would be appreciated - the language used is fairly verbose and technical, but I wanted to get a sense of something both highly creative/abstract, and simultaneously logical and engineered, like playing with entropy and order or what have you x

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YbRtpMByYF-kgpQanceTGThDxpJXUKtvheoeBxe--8k/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.10583627]

>>10583439
I think you're the one playing dumb

[Anonymous No.10583651]

>>10583343
Tu ich nicht und hast sogar recht. Da steckt keine Story oder so hinter, wollte bloß bisschen rumspielen

[Anonymous No.10583653]

>>10583330
Why is it unpoetic? I kept it pretty strictly in iambic tetrameter. Was it because I didn't use enough imagery and metaphor?

[Anonymous No.10583666]

She walked to the curb, her arms limp, her heart heavy and her head lucid. Her shame obscured with the dirty smog that choked her lovers when they left. Her tears lost in the broken clouds, crying for what she had done.
*****
He remembered when she kissed him, the warmth in her soul, the love in her heart and the passion in her head.
How it was gone...
**
She couldn't take it anymore. The judging eyes. The lifeless talking. The infinite cold she had made.

[Anonymous No.10584114]

Start of something I had written in a day or two:
>He settles to the floor, staring at the empty furniture: Mnemosyne’s locks wrap about his frame. Shadows hold her breath of betraying sugar. Hiding in his palms, he quivers. Across from him is an ajar bedroom door, beyond the borders she croons. Under the bedside table is a mirror; it reflects, Aphrodite, who makes him yearn for a reversion of Aeon.

[Anonymous No.10584170]

>>10584114
what did you mean by
>Shadows hold her breath of betraying sugar.

[Anonymous No.10584183]

>>10584170
Just moaning, seems redundant with the "crooning".

[Anonymous No.10584209]

>>10579671
sorry but this made me puke. scrap it and start again.

[Anonymous No.10584218]

>>10579608
burn this entire thread. it's all shit. we need to start anew.

[Anonymous No.10584234]

>>10584218
If you want to build your house on burnt garbage then go do it somewhere else, you're supposed to help people take out the trash instead.

[Anonymous No.10584262]

think i found the draft im going to send my friend here if anyone doesn't mind reading it over:

Renaissance Man

In every talent you possess there is a possibility I see
As I watch with awe, I wonder if that could be me
A statue come to life, you were something to aspire to
And if I could succeed, I pray I may also inspire you.

It brought me humble joy to feel small by your side,
But I could not cloud my envy no matter how hard I tried.
I had said too much, and found that crack in your glass
I wanted your forgiveness but was too ashamed to ask

You had something to hide behind that confident smile
Every piece to your puzzle fits for only awhile.
You sit alone during the fireworks with no friend in sight,
Despite others waiting for you all through the night.

What makes the Renaissance Man feel so unfulfilled,
How can he feel inferior while being so skilled?
Will joining you lead only to loneliness untold?
If I dare to touch that fire, will I only feel cold?

The Question remained unanswered as the sun began to set
To just let you go would have left me with regret
So forgive me please for the tangled web I weave
But for just one more moment, I didn't want you to leave.

[Anonymous No.10584270]

>>10584262
make sure to include a "no homo" before you send a ~poem~ to your friend.

[Anonymous No.10584278]

>>10584270

sure but faggotry aside, how is it?

[Anonymous No.10584280]

>>10583651
Damit spielst du jetz schon aber n paar Monate rum

[Anonymous No.10584291]

>>10584278
I don't read poetry, I don't understand it, and I don't like it(there are a few exceptions of course).

[Anonymous No.10584307]

>>10584291
If you have no opinion, no critique, no interest and no identity then surely there's no reason for you to post at all?
What compels a man to write something so pointless?

[Anonymous No.10584314]

>>10584307
First I made a joke, then you asked me how it was.

[Anonymous No.10584324]

>>10584314
Different anons.
There's no me or you, only what is stated.

[Anonymous No.10584330]

>>10584324
You are right, I shouldn't have posted that. I apologize.

[Anonymous No.10584334]

>>10584307

eh give the guy a break he was just making a joke, and hes the first person to offer up anything in my repostings in awhile. better than nothing.

[Anonymous No.10584341]

>>10582484
That was almost not bad. Well done.

[Anonymous No.10584342]

>>10584307

though if you have any advice as well id love to hear it. plan to print it out tonight

[Anonymous No.10584362]

>>10584341
I'll take it

[Anonymous No.10584383]

>>10579608
Why is he so fucking fat? He should stretch his legs more often

[Anonymous No.10584390]

>>10584262

anyone? i know drawing attention to it is asking for insult, but i just want to know if theres anything obvious im missing here. the second couplet is the only thing that reall bugs me at the moment

[Anonymous No.10584392]

>>10581436
Fuck >>10583330 I thought it was pretty good. Not that I'm a good judge of poetry or prose by any means, but I logged it in a document called "By Anon" with all the other ones I liked.

Cheers - Anon

[Anonymous No.10584393]

>>10580739
Du bist leider immer noch nicht Döblin.

[Anonymous No.10584403]

>>10581436

I'm not a fan of the repeating final line of every stanza, i mean i like the line but having it repeat just throws it off for me.

the rest is hella solid tho

[Anonymous No.10584412]

>>10584342
It begs the question of whether or not you think yourself capable of standing besides renaissance men through poetry.
>will joining you lead only to loneliness untold
Feels slightly clumsy in my opinion, specifically using only to accentuate unending loneliness. It's a bit redundant. I like it though, there's something just slightly awkward and questioning about it that captures the subject nicely.

[Anonymous No.10584422]

>>10584412

>It begs the question of whether or not you think yourself capable of standing besides renaissance men through poetry.

could you elaborate on what you mean by this?

>only

should i drop the 'only' then? it doesn't seem to change the pacing badly to do remove it.

[Anonymous No.10584425]

>>10581436
Try pigeons instead of pidgens unless you speak pidgin.
Uncertain that hipsters is the best way to describe anyone who needs to park a car in a city.

[Anonymous No.10584480]

>>10584425
Thanks. I knew it looked funny. Phone didn't autocorrect so I thought it was fine.

Hipsters used to be people, but I wanted to be very specific there when contrasting with bums sleeping outside in tents. In the first stanza, I'm not sold on elk. Thoughts?

>>10584392
Just don't try and publish it somewhere.

[Anonymous No.10584486]

>>10584422
The poem suggests that you aspire to be like the renaissance men, and other recognised great men that came before you, at least partially. Personally I need to ask the question of whether or not you're being arrogant of the possibilities of success given that you've chosen to write poetry on the matter, though it's a character flaw of mine to ask too many questions anyway.
As for the only, I think trimming the unnecessary leads to a smoother read, but it's your call.

[Anonymous No.10584492]

>>10583072
Any one? ;_;

[Anonymous No.10584495]

There was a time when I never knew to fear the box and the long suffering which came from being isolated from all that lay outside of it. I was placed in the box shortly after the loss of my right arm, which had been yanked off by the child whose keeping I found myself in. I do not think the child meant to cause the permenant loss of my limb as he showed great despair once he realised he could not simply push the broken plastic back in place, like he must have assumed. Whilst I did not feel any pain from the severing of the limb, I did, for the first time, become acutely aware of how fragile I was, and have since been able to comprehend the notion of fear for my own wellbeing. I knew the feeling of loss before losing my right arm, as I had once been wrapped in a flowing piece of black plastic which formed a cloak and hood (the child having taken the cloak off never to put it back on again). I did not find the loss of my only article of clothing to be worthy of concern since it appeared to be removable with ease on the child’s part. Since the loss of my right arm my standing in the eyes of the child in comparison to the other toys considerably lessoned. Like most of the other toys I knew a brief moment in time where I was the object of the child’s affections, playing my part as villain in the stories the child told himself in the quiet of his bedroom. I quickly discovered my appearance is considered villainous by those which brought me into being. I have the appearance of a human without the fleshy living parts. I look like a human in decay, a combination of fused plastic imitating the appearance bones. Ironic considering I am very much like a human which has ceased to be alive. I cannot move in the slightest. I can see but I have no eyes. I have a mouth and teeth, but the plastic is fused and I have no vocal cords, or lungs, or any living material to imitate those that are truly alive. I have thought long and hard about what I am and what it might mean for the humans if they knew I could think freely. I have come to the conclusion that I am unique in my ability to think outside of the severe impossibility of such a thing occuring. I choose to believe this not because I know conclusively, but because the thought that every other toy in existence is stuck in this helplessly dependent state is too terrible to dwell on for long. I have come to hate the time I must spend in the box for this reason. Only toys and books are placed haphazardly inside the box, toys on top of toys. Most of the toys have been under the possession of the child for much longer than I have. Some never leave the box. Sometimes I find I think loudly and with great intention, the harder I think the louder the ghostly sound rings in my mind. How loudly might they be thinking now? Dozens of them in the box?

[Anonymous No.10584506]

>>10584480
It does beg the question of whether or not soft dirt actually never makes hard feet given that elk have hooves. And there's no problem with repetition, but rather than breaking structure to get your message across, alter the repetition to send the point home.

[Anonymous No.10584510]

>>10584495
The only box I fear is your horrible formatting.

[Anonymous No.10584513]

Who is there
Who is there
At the little door
Is it a mouse
Is it a mouse
Arrived unannounced
Who is there
Who would care
This is mine, this lonely house.

[Anonymous No.10584517]

>>10584486

ah I see. So the poem is written specifically about one person, the 'Renaissance Man'. While discussing life one night he brought up the subject saying that is what he wanted to be, someone who studied many things and became reasonably good at all of them instead of dedicating his life to a single craft.

to me he already seemed extremely impressive. we had similar upbringings but he seemed more successful to me. I love my accomplishments but they're very me and tend to revolve around the same few niches. He on the other hand mastered several languages, accents, started a parkour dance team, was absolutely shredded, etc. etc. He just seemed already so accomplished and I doubt I could ever be quite like him, but it gave me a comfortable feeling to be small beside him, like a little brother.

the poem is meant to suggest that I truly cannot compete with him, and that for the most part I'm okay with it and am happy to just try to keep up while he goes on to succeed, though there are moments of envy that made me say some hurtful thing.

our friendship was short and fast, we bonded quickly over a project I had cast him in, and when i found out he was leaving halfway through summer for a graduate program it made me sad to see him go. So I ended up writing an entire feature film and asking him to stay for a few more months to film the whole thing with him as the lead before he went off. he ended up moving in with me for the remainder of summer as we filmed the movie around town.

despite how successful and charismatic he is, he is a bit of a lonely soul. he identifies as a 'third culture kid' so struggles to make friends. I was surprised to learn that someone like him was alone on the 4th of july cuz I knew for a fact that he had been invited to several different parties and get togethers, but he chose to spend it alone. so part of the poem is going into that sense of loneliness he has despite his success and charm.

hes kinda what you imagine chad looks like, but with immense skill in almost every area of life and a sophisticated charm. its ridiculous.

[Anonymous No.10584518]

>>10584513
awww

[Anonymous No.10584519]

>>10584480
Not planning on publishing it. I just like to collect things like an autist. I'm planning on teaching my kid a lesson in doing something for its own sake, not for recognition.

[Anonymous No.10584531]

>>10584513
Try writing a children's book. This isn't intended to be an insult, I like it.

[Anonymous No.10584551]

>>10584518
>>10584531
Thanks guys I wrote this one to
>>10583072

Do you think they work the same narrative of loneliness?

[Anonymous No.10584567]

>>10584517
Ah I see, I'm taking it a little too literally then.
It's quite fitting in that regard, my main question is whether you want the title evoke the past when it concerns the present?
As a suggestion for a consideration, maybe how "the renaissance man" compares to "my renaissance man" or some other change that shifts the focus from the past.

[Anonymous No.10584569]

>>10584551

i dont come here for vulgar.

[Anonymous No.10584586]

>>10584567

those little details are things I imagine he will pick up on, and beyond this thread i dont really expect for the poem to be shared, it is just for him, so I think I'm okay with that (though I imagine a lot of poetry has the same issue, we take it literally when the little details are something more personal for the author).

forgive me if I am dumb but I'm confused about what you're asking about the title. does Renaissance Man evoke the past? i definitely dont want 'my Renaissance Man' im already into pretty gay territory here.

[Anonymous No.10584592]

>>10584569
But its art anon, I just want to know if it's good.
I am to poor to go to school, and its currently my only outlet.

I just want to find criticism that looks past vulgarity.

I don't write lewd usually, but the title of the Poem is 'Succubus', based of the idea of the demon that captures lonely men.


Shakespeare, Mozart, both vulgar.

[Anonymous No.10584611]

>>10584592

im allowed to have preferences for art. vulgar wasn't meant to tell you to stop, just that its not what i come here for so im the wrong person to ask. that being said i read past the first sentence and was pleasantly surprised.

it definitely feels like an early draft and has a little ways to go, but you know the path. my biggest issue is that the first line and a little later on with 'fuck' are being used in very modern and casual senses whereas the rest reads with some refinement.

whether you intended the juxtaposition or not it just doesn't land. as much as i prefer rhyming 'caress your rear' just seemed unnecessary as well.

[Anonymous No.10584623]

>>10584551
It's very raw to the point of vulgarity, as another anon stated. I don't feel like the poems mesh together very well at all and whilst I don't hate it it doesn't come across well as a lamentation of loneliness as much as it evokes the animal feelings of raw naked sex. Making for an uncomfortable read is a good way of doing that but the last two lines and your writing purpose pushes you a little far from that territory if you still want to retain some dignity in your prose.
>>10584586
The word renaissance does, at least for me. As a personal poem and not one intended to be shared that ought to hit the mark quite nicely as the relevance will be much more obvious to him than I.

[Anonymous No.10584638]

>>10584623

ah I get what you mean now. I feel really dumb for not noticing what you meant there what with what renaissance literally means. but yeah on the personal level im sure it will hit its marks. or maybe it won't but thats its own issue then, less about the poem.

im having trouble comitting to this couplet here:
>A statue come to life, you were something to aspire to
>And if I could succeed, I pray I may also inspire you.

the emphasis you have to put on 'you' just doens't come naturally when reading a poem and it really fucks it up in the first fucking stanza and I worry he'll lose his momentum with that. any possible re wordings? ive seen several suggested but none have really stuck thus far and I always end up back at that one.

thank you so much for your help and insight btw

[Anonymous No.10584639]

>>10584611
Thanks anon, I really appreciate it. I'll go google what 'juxtaposition' means and go change accordingly.

Yes I agree the Caress your rear, feels a bit 'slimmy' as In any easy grab and repition is to fast.

I do use the Fuck, for the 'shock' to show the personal feeling behind the regret, and the audacity to view the relationship like so.

Thanks again.

[Anonymous No.10584655]

>>10584639

juxtaposition is just two things that are purposely placed together despite being somewhat contradictory.

for instance in comedy you might have someone say
>how dare you, ye scoundrel, do you have no honor? What posesses a man to say such vulgarity another man's wife?
>lol fuck you

get it?

[Anonymous No.10584656]

>>10584623
Honestly comparing the two with the different virtues of loneliness was more of a joke.

If you read inbetween the lines the mouse one is pretty sad. But thank you anon


I like messy prose on purpose, as I read things in my own head repition of certain sounds, and I like how it can flow 'messy' like from a cows toushie.

[Anonymous No.10584701]

>>10584623
>>10584655
I hear your cry
I hear you moan
In my ear, as I get used to my own tears falling, like my old shunned fear, Now I climb into gear, and smack, smack, at your rear, now we near the end


Fuck
Again
You lonely misstress, my only temptress, How do you feel when I have spent all my men, in your little poison of den, perhaps this dance will be done again

I changed it but it feels, to lengthy now? Idk

[Anonymous No.10584703]

>>10584638
I wonder if a more concrete rewording would improve the sentiment and make it flow better, that's a long set of syllables compared to the rest of your poem anyway.
>And if I succeed, I pray I may also inspire you
>And if I were to succeed, I could return to inspire you
In my original reading I took it to mean similar great men of the future.
>>10584656
The writing style conflict is good for the "red" emotions but poor for the "blue" ones if you can catch my drift. The sadness in the mouse one reminds me a lot of the lonely prose in books I was read as a young child, it has a rather comfortably lonely feeling whilst also expressing discontent in isolation.

[Anonymous No.10584727]

>>10584703
Ah, Yes, thank you. It was exactly what I was aiming for with the mouse poem.

I like to hide the 'blues' as a kind of 'code'.
So others may decide on their own truths, is my ode.

But thank you, Do you think I should pursue? I've only been writing again for couple months.

These are usually things I just get out and don't edit after, do you recommened to go back over them? Or leave them as 'learning points'?

[Anonymous No.10584731]

>>10584506
Yeah that's exactly the reason I was against it. I might switch it to bears or wolves or coyotes, but then the syllable count is off.

Overall message was supposed to be that the natural world is finely adapted to hardship and stress, but man's alienation from nature has developed callouses on his heart, rather than his feet. Soft dirt is nature, hard feet is man's arrogance. I'm really bad at translating feelings into poems perfectly without being blastingly direct like an essay. It's a skill I'm working on.

[Anonymous No.10584754]

>>10584731
I think keeping it to raise that question might be better in the first place. Truthfully, concrete makes for soft feet and expensive sneakers, so raising questions with your repeated message might be better for memetically (memeticly?) planting your thematic message than literally.

[Anonymous No.10584780]

Anyone interested in critiquing this?
>>10579983
>Selective Service at the Powder Puff Ranch
>"When Emily was drafted into the National Prostitution Service, the last thing she expected was pleasure"

[Anonymous No.10584822]

>>10584727
In my opinion, your earlier draft of succubus contains a good poem chasing the wrong theme and a good theme following the wrong poem. As an edit, compare:
You filthy fucking whore, I swear to God
Lured in those silky sheets but I a lamb
To be slaughtered, again as we cum in sin
Who are you, she devil, and what is this trouble, i tremble in your sheets, I hear you speak

I hear your cry
I hear you moan
Fuck
Again
You lonely misstress, my only temptress
Why do I
Why do I
Want inbetween your thigh?
To be slaughtered, again as we cum in sin

By keeping the "blue" emotions largely outside the text they can be implied by a "blue" reader, but when making them explicit, the passion of the scene is lost in introspection for someone looking from a purely "red" perspective. Editing can be useful if you feel that something isn't finished, especially if you're looking for approval, but be careful not to over-edit your original work into something that it's not. It's not something that comes up in writing as much as say cinema or painting, but doing creative exercises where some creative decisions are permanent upon the work will give you a sense of when to call it quits.
As a follow on from that, it's only a learning point if there's a clear point that you've learned from it, so try to get one out of your writing. We all learn from our previous attempts. Use your best judgement.

[Anonymous No.10584862]

>>10584754
That's the irony if it. In one version, I include the repeating line with the last quotation so its as if some general is saying easy life makes easy soldiers, and to toughen em up. It's supposed to be super ironic, but I don't think I'm talented enough to weave it in there. Right now, I'm basically ruining the poem by giving my own input.

[Anonymous No.10584872]

>>10583330
why do people bother writing critique like this?

"unpoetic", "puerile in attitude"... how middlebrow can you get?

[Anonymous No.10584891]

>>10584703

i feel like it loses my sentiment in there whe nyou say

>i could return to inspire you

the idea here is that he is so far above me that even if i could match him, it would only be my hope that I could push him to improve.

[Anonymous No.10584898]

>>10579608
howcome he looks so sad, like he's about to neck himself, end it all, commit harry carey, or as the kids say, "eliminate his own map"?

[Anonymous No.10584913]

>>10584754
>>10584862
By the way, the name of the poem is "Life is Harder in the City".

[Anonymous No.10584923]

>>10584862
I think you've got something there but you firstly need to trust that your readers will see the irony when you don't highlight it. I think a lesson in subtlety is all that's needed if you're telling me you aren't confident in expressing emotions indirectly. The feeling is all there in the dichotomy between man and nature and it comes across much more directly if the point hidden in this, because the reader has to look harder to see the point and ends up staring it right between the eyes.
>>10584913
Feels a little on the nose in my opinion, also out of sync with the dead men in fields and oceans.

[Anonymous No.10584934]

>>10581436
This is mostly solid. It expresses something. It's lucid. I like the double couplet + refrain form, and there are a couple elegant rhymes and lines. I can't pretend it's easy to pair an abstract idea with concrete details, and you do that well, which is really the whole point.

Some problems:

I dislike the second couplet in the first two stanzas not having perfect rhymes. Those rhymes just don't work for my ear. I think if you go with couplets it has to all be slant rhymes or all full rhymes. In particular, "gutters of communities" is just not good... you could easily find a better rhyme there, there's lots of room to explore.

I don't think you should be this strict with meter. Add some substitutions. It's too even rhythmically to maintain interest in a 20 line poem, the meter just isn't that interesting compared to really great iambic tetrameter writing.

A couple smaller thoughts:

I dislike that the poem begins "Recall". There's just no actual element of recall in the first three stanzas, it's all the present tense. It feels like the word was added for metrical reasons.

I dislike "she left him, on the pier above.", it just doesn't feel like a true image.

"We'd march once more into war's shame/so that new youth can do the same" feels too on the nose, and "war's shame" feels like you're forcing a rhyme.

[Anonymous No.10584937]

>>10584891
I didn't intend it in a literal way, but my main aim was to help you see the heart of the issue so you could rephrase it accordingly.

[Anonymous No.10584959]

>>10584822
Thanks anon, I see what you mean, I really do.

But my brain simply like the other way more.

Idk, Im going to keep it, it's an 'ugly poem' with it's prose and face. Maybe I need an editor

[Anonymous No.10584963]

>>10583666
Anyone feel like ripping the shit out of my 14 year old sadlord prose? I suppose there isn't much there to critique.

[Anonymous No.10584982]

>>10584963
there's nothing to rip at, it's just bad. you're instinct is right that it's sadlord prose. it's not emotional mature or controlled in any way, and there isn't anything good about it to make up for that.

[Anonymous No.10584993]

>>10584934
This feedback is excellent thank you!

>I dislike the second couplet in the first two stanzas not having perfect rhymes. Those rhymes just don't work for my ear. I think if you go with couplets it has to all be slant rhymes or all full rhymes. In particular, "gutters of communities" is just not good... you could easily find a better rhyme there, there's lots of room to explore.

I'm awful at rhymes. My vocabulary isn't the greatest, and this is especially true when I'm writing; I freeze up. Communities is just such a huge syllable drain that I was very limited here. Originally was something like
"In rural farm communities", and streets was originally "trees" but I ended up changing it once I settled on the second stanza being a city element, and cementing the idea that is central to this poem.

>I don't think you should be this strict with meter. Add some substitutions. It's too even rhythmically to maintain interest in a 20 line poem, the meter just isn't that interesting compared to really great iambic tetrameter writing.

>I dislike "she left him, on the pier above.", it just doesn't feel like a true image.

Fair points. I'm thinking about removing the sailor stanza altogether. I struggled with L2, having first had it as him on a submarine doing paperwork while hes thinking about his wife back home. Sailors don't drink grog nowadays anyways. L3/L4 was supposed to convey that she left him, rather than the inverse of him leaving to sea; eg she broke it off. I wanted to add a little bit of emotional pain to the poem that I had when I was in the Navy myself. I think I'll either remove it entirely or return it to him filing paperwork and find a better way to say that the sailor and the girl split up because he was getting deployed.

>"We'd march once more into war's shame/so that new youth can do the same" feels too on the nose, and "war's shame" feels like you're forcing a rhyme.

Earlier versions were "The histories repeat that shame/ so that new youth can do the same" but I absolutely loath the word histories. Changed it to "The 'Times' again repeat that shame" and hated it too. I really should just revise these two lines. I'm glad that you feel its too on the nose because I didn't like them much either.

If I could hug and kiss you, I would. This was excellent feedback and I'm so very thankful for it.

[Anonymous No.10584996]

>>10584982
Good to know that my instincts are on the money, thanks.

[Anonymous No.10585008]

The title 'living'

Rivers and blues, on Wednesday we continue to snooze
Ohh its an alarm alright
Oh it causes no harm, but we still feel a bite
As
This rivers hue, changes my own view
We awake at 9
And continue back in time, we sink back into our minds
Another alarming fright
We wake, we wake, our life at stake.

[Anonymous No.10585012]

This stone of mine;
it keeps on spinning
Yes I love when he comes around
Then I see his face
and I spin him round, again-again!

Oh joy!

But the clay he’s molded out of laid to rot
A gremlins pot of charcoal and mold
The eldritch rumored of tombstones, chain-linked fence
The well which goes deep down into earth
The pit of dusk, lost deep into time
We know these elements first and foremost

Yet...

Who's to keep a list of names so long
unless the sheriff comes to beg?
A dog? A cat? A mouse? A rat?
These are animals, not humans
you dare to play with things you don't know?
You lack intelligence, gusto, courage
You sit and play, you do nothing with your time
you lie in rot, you puddled muse, you lost child
the time you spend is crashing down
You sit, you cry, emotionless spine
Your skeleton leads way to a hollowed face
Die already, burn to ashes, become what you want
give in. Give in. Give in
The clock is ticking, it's so damn loud
I can't hear, I can't hear, the fire is burning
Who is that at my door, who is knocking today
I locked it just the other week I thought

There is a room fabled somewhere in the path of time
with white edged corners, long
they all line up perfectly, it's quite beautiful

I stand in reflection now, at the other side of a creek
The pond which a boy I once knew played at so young
He laughed with rounded cheeks flushed with blood
I think I still know him, I don't know
I wonder where did that boy go to after all these years
and as I sit, thinking to myself by the creek and pond
I notice this rock, jutting out of the ground, it's face
I pick it up, I turn it round, it gives me way to joy

Deep in space, somewhere near mars, there's a entrapment where a tall woman is stuck
she reaches here two lengthy hands up at the ceiling pulling at some sort of handle
It pops open a lock, the air releases, this smokey haze begins to fill the room
You can hear her shouts down here on earth if you listen
You can hear her die
But no one really looks up at mars, no one really cares to look, and neither do I
I have better things to do then sit here and spend my time thinking about that girl
I have better things to do.

[Anonymous No.10585015]

>>10584872
What defines "middlebrow" to you? An unread person? Half-read? Low-effort? I only ask because middlebrow is itself a buzzword employed by people who can't pinpoint what it is they dislike about a piece of writing.

[Anonymous No.10585030]

>>10583507
I don't really care that it's an extract, you gotta learn how to write a hook. I read through the first few lines, then skimmed until I hit the first period. A truly awful and overlong sentence full of physical descriptions that I immediately forgot.

[Anonymous No.10585034]

>>10584963
you know that this site is 18+?

[Anonymous No.10585041]

>>10584993
> I'm awful at rhymes. My vocabulary isn't the greatest, and this is especially true when I'm writing; I freeze up.
I think I have this problem to some degree as well. Here's three tips:

1. Try never to put a line down that you don't already have a rhyme for (that is, if the line is supposed to rhyme with something at some point). This way you'll avoid locking yourself into one type of rhyme, you want to stay open to as many possible words as you can, that was a rhyme is easiest to find.

2. Anytime you fail to find a rhyme, try to write wildly. Reach for metaphor. If you can't find something literal that fits, something figurative is will always fit, and often you will find the figurative writing is stronger than the more obvious rhymes.

3. If a rhyme feels forced, see if you can swap the two rhyming words. Often a rhyme will only feel forced if the "clever" word comes second. If it comes first and the normal word comes second instead, the rhyme may start to feel inevitable (which is good). (I hope that makes sense)

>I'm thinking about removing the sailor stanza altogether.
I think currently there's a natural sort of progression from wildlife scene with flora and fauna to bougie city scene to nautical scene to the cemetery. I'm not sure what exactly the progression is made by, but there's definitely a building intensity that may suffer in smoothness if the sailor is cut.

[Anonymous No.10585046]

>>10585034
It's 6 years old and marks the last time I wrote seriously.

[Anonymous No.10585055]

>>10579608
Pulling into the driveway J- noticed a little white box lying in his path. Barely missing the unknown object with his car he went to investigate before picking up the mail. He came to discover the small rectangular box was made for French fries from White Castle. Upon further search he found its compatriots lying in his yard. J- picked up a chicken nugget box and copious amounts of wrappers and placed them into the brown bag he found (also from White Castle). With each piece of trash his rage grew, he did not care much for his lawn, only mowing it on occasion, but he had grown up with a great deal of respect for the outdoors and the environment. Even as a child he took great care not to litter. He wouldn't even spit out his bubble gum in public (he wouldn't swallow because he believe the accumulated waste would form a knot in his stomach). Once he held it in his mouth for so long that it turned to liquid, puffing up his cheeks like a rodent, until he found a sink to spit it out. As he walked back towards the front door, he noticed a packet of empty Pall Malls. He couldn't even touch it out of violent disgust for its owner. On that day J- came to the conclusion that if he did not lose his virginity by the time he reached 30 he would either see a whore or shoot the first car to litter in his yard in order to execute its occupants. The years passed, the trash continued to accumulate, and J- remained a virgin.

His quaint farm was being constricted by urbanity; the neighborhood now contained: two retirement homes, two subdivisions (one for retirees) and four churches (Protestant). The two lane highway in front of his home was now in use at all hours of the day, J- did not mind the sounds of cars driving, in fact, he had gotten used to them, but the continued presence of trash in his lawn took it's toll on his psyche. Over the years his attitude became increasingly hostile, whether this deterioration of mind affected his relationships was irrelevant, the fact remained, that he had just turned 30 years old and hadn't touched a breast since High School.

Remembering his promise, he visited a prostitute. The problem with whores is that they want to finish fast, and the problem with virgins is that they don't last, so J- was left with the rest of his evening off. On his return he came to a yard littered with garbage, there was: one bag from Burger King, one box for chicken fries, one medium sized fountain drink, several melting ice cubes, one medium sized plastic lid (with straw) and the homework of a 4th grader named Wilfred Strange. The last item was a curiosity, but it did not overpower the sheer anger that was present in J-, so he went in side an readied his AK-47 (acquired legally) and loaded his 30 round magazine (acquired illegally). He sat outside on his front porch waiting to ambush the first car to assault his yard with a load of trash.

[Anonymous No.10585070]

>>10584390
>>10584262
bitch, the entire thing is the only thing that bugs me. it's blatantly underage.

>retardedly inconsistent punctuation for no goddamned reason
>no enjambment, every line ends on a pause, incredibly predictable and boring
>you you you
>I I I
>whole thing reads like a fucking 1-week narrative in a diary entry

sorry, don't feel bad, but also, you browse 4chan and this is the kind of unfettered child-hating criticism you're gonna get

[Anonymous No.10585080]

>>10585046
do you know the point of critique? you edit and trim your shit as much as you can, then let other people look at it. critique is NOT a validation-fix for you and your diary entry you wrote 6 fucking years ago. like, c'mon, you're asking people to spend time on your work, at least spend the same amount of time editing it.

[Anonymous No.10585085]

>>10584262
Lines are excessively long syllabically, rhymes are obvious and simplistic, with a couple of near rhymes. Theres some decent lines in here, but it really just needs you, as its author, to read the fucking poem out loud and say whats wrong with it. I can tell you that the meter is off or its too long or theres no structure, but you'll just reply that its "free verse", in which case I would tell you that you have no structure and yet you still limited yourself with rhymes and pedantic language.

Random capitalization. When I hear "renaissance man" I think fedora, or some shit from flavah flav reality tv dating.

Sorry. I don't think its very good. Send it to your friend; he will like it because deep down we're all narcissistic—but don't expect it to be published.

[Anonymous No.10585089]

>>10585080
Just wanted a quick ground zero to check where I am and where I think I am. If I'm not worth your time starve me of your attention.

[Anonymous No.10585092]

>>10585055
yawn. combines the precision of tom clancy pulp with the bumbling prolixity and self-obsession of elliot rodger.

[Anonymous No.10585094]

>>10580408
LOL
This was hilarious. Took me a moment to realize the cat was blowing him

[Anonymous No.10585098]

>>10585055
It only took 6 minutes until his presence was justified and a Ford Taurus (1996) unrolled its passenger side window to release a bag of McDonald's onto his lawn. As soon as the first fry touched grass he began to fire single shots into the driver side. The car spun out of control before smashing into his mailbox. The morbidly obese passenger (presumably female) began screaming in terror before her extermination. A third obese passenger (not morbid) exited the vehicle in terror, but J- punctured the door twice and shot out the window, before the boy (15 years) was crawling on the ground in pain and terror.

J- walked towards the McDonald's bag, picked it up, and examined the receipt taped on the front side. He walked towards the fat bleeding boy, and examined him. The fat boy was begging for mercy, but J- stood there and listed his crimes: two cheeseburger meals, two large sodas, two large fries, one ten piece chicken nugget meal, one medium soda, one medium fry, one McFlurry and two packets of sweet 'n' sour sauce. The boy was dumbfounded. J- shot him in the face.

He then walked back to his front porch and waited for the police to arrive. Although a self-defense type situation, the presence of J-'s AK-47 led to a use of excessive force on the part of the police (this was later ruled appropriate) and J- went straight to heaven. The small town of B- has never had cleaner streets.

>>10585092
I wrote a better version earlier, but my computer crashed, I mostly just want to get my hate for litterbugs off my chest.

[Anonymous No.10585099]

>>10585070

punctuation is something i worry about more when i know the words are where i want them and im preparing for print.

>incredibly predictable

im okay with that

>you you you

it is a common word?

>I I I

also a common word,

>whole thing reads like a 1 week narrative ina diary entry

what doe sthat even mean

>don't feel bad

I really don't.

>but this is 4chan so im purposely being stupid instead of insightful

no, I got that. thank you for your clearly unbiased opinion about a personal poem for a friend, you definitely improved upon it with your enlightenment.

[Anonymous No.10585106]

>>10585085

> don't expect it to be published

its just something I'm writing for a friend as stated.

>read it out loud

I have, I think you're just being a little bit on the snooty side here. its a critique thread, not a shit thread.

I wasn't going for free verse, but rather just writing based on the limited knowledge I have of poetry. I actually am not quite sure what metering is and im okay with that. im not asking for advice on how to get it published, but rather help with certain couplets that dont roll off the tongue as well as others.

random capitalization comes from redrafting. first word gets moved around some time, and sentences get rearranged.

>when i hear renaissance man i think fedora

what an odd connection to make for someone who seems so obsessed with poetry.

>i dont think its very good

not what i asked, but your welcome.

[Anonymous No.10585113]

>>10585106
not that anon, but the meter is why some couplets aren't rolling off the tongue. without meter, rhymes can feel strange. your ear is picking up something your mind doesn't have a language for.

[Anonymous No.10585125]

>>10582484
Good. It was almost close to purple at the beginning: just one too many adjectives, but the rest was good.

[Anonymous No.10585134]

>>10583507
reads like fan fiction

[Anonymous No.10585136]

>>10585099
>>10585106
don't ever join a critique group. authorial pushback is frowned upon and generally indicates the writer is unwilling to acknowledge and improve upon mistakes. again, since you already know it all, take your gay love poem and shove it balls deep up your ass

[Anonymous No.10585137]

I snuck into the theatre. The corridor was interminable, full of posters and squeaky chairs, mostly sub-par strindberg plays. Eventually I found the main locker room, I entered it and hid in one of the lockers. Some D__ entered the room, probably one of the actors. He sat down started reading a script he found at the floor. While he reached out for the script I threw myself out ad knocked him out senseless. He fell down like a carrot on ice, I began slowly removing every article of clothing, revealing my erect penis, all of a sudden some other D__ entered the room holding an hour glass-- only a paucity of sand was left-- so little time was left.

"I am the person who is directing the current play, and I demand what's transpiring in this confined area!" He shouted, while pointing at his sandals
"We're just rehearsing" I said pensively while looking at his sandals
"But the janitor isn't even in this thing!" he cried.

[Anonymous No.10585146]

REM-assembled lounge-chair for your hankerings
Left brains lack incentive like arm fat or dream butter
The slave thinks it's awake, can't remember it's aspirations
A knife and something to spread yourself on;
A banker's bread
Watch yourself melt away
A man wearing his insurance office home can't get his desk in his car
Gravity's an armchair, for us;
A slope sit sleeping
We, dead breathing
Human evolution on some sort of exhales
Pull over and look out, pointer
Run-on sentences, punctuation
I caught up with a comma stopping for a breath
Brainstorming in ice-age
A tall opera's precipice
How beautiful the few

[Anonymous No.10585204]

3pm on a Wednesday
Rustic furniture
Chrome taps
3:1
Hint of jazz
Sun ray curtains keep the dark out
A fly meanders around infinity
Woolly hats for automatons
Idle thoughts are anything but
Wish upon a crossword
Time fades and warmth fulfils
A thousand tiny ink dots for a thousand lost worlds
Blank canvas
New typeface
Yesterday's paper
Nutty aroma
No sugar
Coffee time

[Anonymous No.10585235]

>>10584209
Nah, wrote it a long time ago and didn't feel like doing anything with it. Was more to just pass the time.