Poetry Thread

[Anonymous No.10656943]

>search catalog
>no poetry thread

Post your shit
Post other people's shit
Admonish the greats
Celebrate your poetry waifu
Ask for crit, maybe get it
Do some poetry

[Anonymous No.10656966]

dudes in the crit thread posting their poetry as an image as if concretism wasn't a mistake aaaayyyyy

[Anonymous No.10657029]

When we were kids
I remember
Finding porn
With my friends
Behind the bike shed.

A dingy magazine
With white lines
Running over each scene

I didn't find
Anything in those
Jagged white lines

Three of them
Dead now
Newspaper clippings
Stuck to the fridge
Jagged white lines
Running over each face.

[Anonymous No.10657113]

>>10656943
Where on the paper freckled with rebirths
a crease -- unoval, kneaded organ-like
by the origamist's ruler-flat caress:
with shifting wrinkles of unvectored veins
that wave whence its own maché-sea avoids
the axial needles that trisect, inject-
ing eye-ether through restraints -- a crevice is,
a cut (which is forbidden) into which
to kiss the word that finally makes see?

[Anonymous No.10657177]

>>10657029
this would make a good midwest emo song

[Anonymous No.10657202]

>>10657029

That's actually quite good.

[Anonymous No.10657296]

Since when, my friend, haven't you seen the glittering of the stars ?
Since when, my friend, your soul has find no rest ?
By wanting to get closer to love, haven't you burnt your heart ?
Did the flames of passion have given way to the flames of anger ?
Are you wrecked on the cold ocean of solitude ?
Or do you go forward lost in the dark, with no aim nor mark ?
Do you see the light at the end of the tunnel or is it just a candle that you will have to blow ?
Do you see the destruction of your world comming ?
Do you see your feelings and sanity fall apart ?
Do you fall from your pedestal in the frozen bath of reality ?
As god, is love dead ?
Do you face again, the futility of your own existence, trapped in your own shell ?
Do you think you want to have lived differently, or more likely having never lived ?
Nothing makes sens and you are alone in the dark
Your feelings unleash and you are alone in the dark
Your reason crumbles and you are alone in the dark
You don't know in what to believe and you are alone in the dark
All the gods have gone silent and you are alone in the dark
You don't know what to do and you are alone in the dark
You don't know yourself anymore and you are alone in the dark
No one will come to help you, you are alone in the dark
Everything abandonned you, you are alone in the dark
There is no light to be found, you are alone in the dark
You are alone in the dark

(Intentions)
It's something I wrote based on how I felt in the moment and I wasn't thinking about what I was writting, I just wrote what came to my mind.
Also I wrote it in my native language, which is not english, so it may have some translation issues.
If someone is interested, I'll post the original version.

[Anonymous No.10657305]

Thoughts on a crooked path
Get broken in half
Like a run away train
On their one way lay
Passeging ideas for ever lost
Destination found
But not occupied
Arrived
For empty jobs

[Anonymous No.10657321]

>>10657296
post original. sounds more second rate neruda in english.

have a good english poem because repetition doesn't work as well over sustained periods in english:
>Things, Fleur Adcock
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

[Anonymous No.10657342]

>>10657029
did you find anything in their jagged white lines ( the ones of your friends)?

[Anonymous No.10657358]

What are some good poems about farting? Besides The Canterbury Tales

[Anonymous No.10657369]

>>10656966
That was me and I. I have it typed up and would rather screenshot it then type it again, so what? Concretism can have it's moments sometimes, though I don't think it's important.

[Anonymous No.10657373]

Still in style
Still in fashion
Some see sad where I see glad
Pitiful is not a word I would want to use
It's all just a ruse
just a ruse.

Made up on the spot no less.

[Anonymous No.10657387]

oc no steal

[Anonymous No.10657389]

It is called the Seige of Jericho
and Exodus or Magisterium.
Profani wander in delirium;
the neophyte, to Hades he must go.

And it is called the rugged dozen labors
of Hellas' pride and glory Hercules
Intrepid Jason's quest for Golden Fleece,
whomever comprehends, our Great Work favors.

And it is called The Passion and the Rise
of Jesus Christ from Death and ossuary,
whose holy blood was spilt to pay the levy
so nascent sin from every Christian flies.

And it is called the noble acquisition
of relics by that Pure Fool, Parzifal,
the budding spear shaft and the Holy Grail,
by these the adept overcomes condition.

And it is called the careful manufacture
of most sought after Philosophic Stone
which rectifies one's flesh as well as bone,
bestows upon a chemist blissful rapture.

The Thread of Ariadne we regain
from days afore the Deluge Era's plinth
and 'scape the Cretan Monarch's labyrinth,
attaining rightful sovereignty again.

[Anonymous No.10657390]

>>10657387
Last line should be where shadows fleet

[Anonymous No.10657393]

In the deepest and darkest pits of hell, lies a beast,

with a thousand grasping tentacles and cold, white eyes.

Every one of those tentacles is filled to brim with teeth,

twas a creature most horrid of all, we had surmised.
It lies there in chains, entreated with runes from years passed,

Howling, struggling, and groaning in its great dementia.

The ties that have bound it are forever iron cast,

and all men fear the day it comes loose, in absentia.
Its skin is of a hue repulsive to humankind-

-yes,merely seeing it is quite enough to cause death.

Were it freed, it would rampage, paying the Earth no mind,

and at its visage, even the Sky would lose its breath.
Pulsing, burning ichor flows from its wounds carelessly,

memories of fights long forgotten, yet unfaded.

It lives its existence in a way most mordantly,

and though it calls for help, they always go unaided.
But so the monster lies,

with its unending cries,

for all its fearsome strength,

leaves it kept at arm's length,

and wishing it could die.

[Anonymous No.10657399]

>>10657390
What does that word sound so goddamned retarded to me?

[Anonymous No.10657424]

>>10657321
Here you have the original one, it's in french, if some of you can read it.

Depuis quand, mon ami, n'as-tu pas vu le scintillement des étoiles ?
Depuis quand, mon ami, ton âme n'a-t-elle pas connu le repos ?
À force de vouloir t'approcher de l'amour, n'as-tu pas brûlé ton cœur ?
Les flammes de la passion ont-elles laissées place aux flammes de la colère ?
Es-tu naufragé sur l'océan glacé de la solitude ?
Où bien avances-tu perdu dans le noir, sans but et sans repère ?
Vois-tu la lumière au bout du tunnel ou n'est-ce qu'une bougie que tu devras souffler ?
Vois-tu la destruction de ton monde venir ?
Vois-tu tes sentiments et ta sanité s'effondrer ?
Chutes-tu depuis ton piédestal dans le bain gelé de la réalité ?
Comme Dieu, l'amour est-il mort ?
Te retrouves-tu à nouveau face à la futilité de ta propre existence, enfermé dans ta propre carapace ?
Penses-tu vouloir avoir vécu différemment, ou juste n'avoir jamais vécu ?
Rien ne fait sens et tu es seul dans le noir
Tes sentiments se déchaînent et tu es seul dans le noir
Ta raison s'effondre et tu es seul dans le noir
Tu ne sais plus en quoi croire et tu es seul dans le noir
Tous les dieux se sont tus et tu es seul dans le noir
Tu ne sais plus quoi faire et tu es seul dans le noir
Tu ne te connais plus toi même et tu es seul dans le noir
Personne ne viendra t'aider, tu es seul dans le noir
Tout t'a abandonné, tu es seul dans le noir
Il n'y a aucune lumière à trouver, tu es seul dans le noir
Tu es seul dans le noir

I'm still beginning to write, even if I always had ideas before, I would never write it. So I understand that the repetition might be (way) too much, even in french.

[Anonymous No.10657425]

I write this for the Queen of Carthage, lady of lost loves.

The lost was not her fault, indeed, decided by gods above.

Widow to Symachus, for her death she chastely waited.

But by the power of Venus, the stone in her heart abated.


Every king she had refused, until she met Aeneas.

But it was he who refused her, and left on quest most just.

But while they were together, alas, it was paradise.

The love she had once lost, yes, seen again in his eyes.


Jealous Iarbus, son of Zeus, angrily yelled with raised hand-

"This is how you let her treat us? After I gave her my land?!?"

Mercury, in heavenly wings, was sent to right this err.

Aeneas was forced, to make an escape, and sail away from her.


In her grief, she cried out, and cursed them forevermore.

Some say that her lasting curse, then caused the Punic Wars.

She threw herself onto a pyre, sword wrenched through her chest.

She died as a casualty, to the man whom Venus blessed.

[Anonymous No.10657430]

>>10657387
'fear', 'anxiety' : those are words I wouldn't use in a combo. 'Filled you with fear' makes it even worse. Why not make it ' that faithful summer eve' while your at it? Uncertainty? Brah, you can't use that in run of the mill poem. Other than that: Good use of space and good ending. Needs work.

[Anonymous No.10657438]

>>10657342
Just age. The cuttings were and creased like that because time has passed. I think every time I see things like that it reminds me that I'm older.

[Anonymous No.10657491]

>>10657425

Forevermore seems a bit out of place.

[Anonymous No.10657493]

>>10657430
Everything I do needs work. This is early brew stuff.

[Anonymous No.10657497]

>>10656943
From whence the blue of her eyes came?
Which source or fountain is the same
As those soul-panes stained with kobold,
That my love does unmatchéd hold.
What origin of that hue fits,
Accounting for the blue that sits
Within her face, and takes me so,
Far more than does a sapphire's glow.
And topaz, lapis, fluorspar,
Be no as bright as her gems are.
The highest grade is those rich stones,
All others be derivéd tones.
From ocean not her color lies,
Nor does it hail from the skies,
And seems inversely that they art
Composed of paints which from her start.
So Nature's plumes and butterflies
Seem to me crafted with her eyes.

[Anonymous No.10657499]

>>10657424
heh
>tu es seul dans le Noir
<.< The repetition sounds better but it still needs work. and maybe try nuit for above reason

[Anonymous No.10657506]

>>10657390
*where shadows SKEET

[Anonymous No.10657516]

In my language
blackbirds are
"black black"
or the "dark open ravine of hunger"
as is the ring ouzel
"the gluttony of rocks"
or the brook ouzel
"the ravenous lull of the river"
so too "the lull of the storm"

But the hen
she is a "waxen" black "chick"
like the beetle is a "minor piece of wax"
and the record "a swarthy young
wax disc"

I often think of the record turning
the black beetle crawling round
and the blackbird's wife's
thicker dripping song.

[hopefully format holds]

[Anonymous No.10657521]

>>10657497
>From whence

try again

[Anonymous No.10657526]

>>10657521
Shakespeare uses "from whence" and so have others. Try again.

[Anonymous No.10657529]

>>10657497
What's the é thing? Makes you look like a pompous arse.

> So Nature's plumes and butterflies
Seem to me crafted by her eyes.

Still on the outs on that one. You could do a lot with that sentence. Changing one word. But it's probably the best as is.

[Anonymous No.10657534]

>>10657529
>What's the é thing? Makes you look like a pompous arse.
he probably meant it to be a grave not acute

[Anonymous No.10657543]

>>10657529
The accented Es fit the meter of the poem by changing how the word is pronounced. I'll try playing around with words here and there as I continue to refine it.

[Anonymous No.10657580]

They managed to get their
name in anywhere. Saturated
with all sorts of colours, meanings
hidden in the typeface, and framed
with a mugshot chosen to display
the best angle, their names were
typed, copied, sent and printed to
anyone with the means to read.

[Anonymous No.10657584]

>>10657580
good but needs more or at least a driving title

[Anonymous No.10657588]

>>10657526
nice panic googling :^) as you say, derivéd [sic] tomes

[Anonymous No.10657622]

>>10657529
How's this then?

From whence the blue of her eyes came?
Which source or fountain is the same
As those soul-panes stained with kobold,
That my love does unmatchéd hold.
What origin of that hue fits,
Accounting for the blue that sits
Within her face, and takes me so,
Far more than does a sapphire’s glow.
And topaz, lapis, fluorspar,
Be not as bright as her gems are.
The highest grade is those rich stones,
All others be derivéd tones.
In oceans not her color lies,
Nor does it hail from the skies,
And seems inversely that they art
Composed of paints which from her start.
So Nature’s plumes and butterflies
Look to me crafted by her eyes.
All royal pigments ever been,
As well as every earthly seen,
Does cause me insult to compare
Them to my lover’s crystal stare.

[Anonymous No.10657633]

>>10657588
Not like poetry sticks to strict grammatical rules anyways

[Anonymous No.10657642]

The lion tosses it's
feathers, and
the bird tosses it's fangs.

The blood of Eden is
nothing to rely on, but still,

What a moment this is.

We soar, begininglessly, in
the union of the woman
and the man.

Dreaming a man's dream,
born in the sand, but met with money.
Through these clouds will we meet?

[Anonymous No.10657652]

>>10657642
you probably mean "its" in both cases. if you end at "sand" it gets very strong

[Anonymous No.10657670]

Concentrate
Focus energy
Into butt

[Anonymous No.10657678]

>>10657652
is this like a classy insult? How about you throw some of your stuff this way?

[Anonymous No.10657683]

>>10656943


A confined ocean within a vessel
upon another. I scrape my back
upon a porcupine of salted splinters.
A minute of consecutive suns warms the filth.
A bodiless notion to rise arouses no
embodied mind.

If there were cool to apprehend
within Liberty's flag of French surrender,
a declaration of innocence, hiding the copper,
different from the Marianan grave,
I has never dived to ascertain.
There were never any Sirens
whither the helm ploughed,
nor Rusalkas, nor carnivirous Mermaids
wreathing seaweed with entrails
with scabby kisses.

I am telling you stories.

Each man is his actor and his 'Speare.
They pretend to forget
he loved his Lear and his Tite best
and had for his Ferdindand no such zest.

I am telling you stories.

They played the Caesar part then.
And here I rest, hidden, bereaving
the audience of a classic heroine.
with one ocean warming and another swaying
with the first, relieved, receding
into the latter.

[Anonymous No.10657691]

Here's a sonnet I thought of today while skiing.

Standing upon this snowy drift
About how we met comes to mind
Your love is wind that gives me lift
A treasure hidden, never to find

We speak with light hearts
Similar feelings, like with friends
Late night in the Driftwood playing darts
Every night, begins with a day ends

For I know we will never be one
And the pain hurts me so
But my love is not done
The next day, always being my foe
The attraction that I have seen
Makes your eyes glow ever green

[Anonymous No.10657729]

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

[Anonymous No.10657740]

>>10657678
no, i'm not trying to insult you, if you meant to say "its" as in the possessive, and not "it is feathers", and if you end it at "sand" it's a strong piece of work.
if you meant "it is" it works too but most people will think it's its.

[Anonymous No.10657760]

>>10657740
I thought you were calling me a sandnigger (in a bantz kind of way). I visit more than one board on here, so sometimes it's hard to distinct one from another. Thanx for helping me with the typos though.

[Anonymous No.10657765]

>>10657760
lol no probs, keep writing

[Anonymous No.10657801]

>>10657584
How about -

Trying to pronounce the name of birds
filled the cubicle with dust as I ground
refluxed pebbles with filling'd teeth

[Anonymous No.10657822]

>>10657801
doesn't fit with the rest. make it two poems and call the first one facebook.

[Anonymous No.10657861]

>>10657622
>>10657497

I'll make the comparison.

[Anonymous No.10657914]

>>10657861
And?

[Anonymous No.10657934]

>>10657622
It's an improvement, if anything.
> in oceans not her colour lies

> So nature's plumes and butterflies
...
I was thinking more in terms of prepositions.

[Anonymous No.10657964]

>>10657934
Too many used as the first word of a line? I felt that, but it was hard to think of better ways to start them. I'll keep revising that if that's the case.

[Anonymous No.10657989]

My knees are growing old
My stories growing tenfold


Life is an adventurous tale no longer
I'm sitting at THE table

Has it been good? Has it been fullfilling?
Not in the least.

But I was here. And I've tried to hold onto it as long as possible.

Watching a man die is watching a museum burning down. It was all for nought.

I shall gladly surrender my fear and my anxieties to the next generation.

[Anonymous No.10658022]

>>10657113
It's good but needs to get out of its own way

[Anonymous No.10658099]

>>10657113
>unoval
And two lines later
>unvectored
The "un" is repeated to closely together, I think. And also
>by the origamist's ruler-flat caress
>ing eye-ether through restraints -- a crevice is
These two lines have one two many syllables. Throws off the meter

[Anonymous No.10658101]

Hey nice thread dudes

[Anonymous No.10658119]

I had this published recently. But I still would like feedback and general thoughts

>>10657029
Good pyrrhic or phirac feet is present, even if unintentional (most likely, it is)

Might I recommend using polysyndeton in your final stanza? Using "and" would emphasis this

>>10657113
A bit rough. Some pleonasms that would better be discarded. Lots of these words are very anti-poetic, and I would usually advise to avoid so many in one line.

Disagree or agree.

>>10657296
>>10657424
French is 6/10:
Tes sentiments se déchaînent et tu es seul dans le noir
Ta raison s'effondre et tu es seul dans le noir
Tu ne sais plus en quoi croire et tu es seul dans le noir
Tous les dieux se sont tus et tu es seul dans le noir

I enjoyed this.

>>10657305
>get broken
Delete.
>passeging
Delete. Actually, the entire line 5 should be deleted. I know this goes against your synthesis of lost-and-found but that's my advice.

Overall I appreciate the rhythm. It's an easy poem to tongue and recall.

>>10657373
Caught my interest in first two lines as I thought it would be a short lyric but you lost me with line 3 being so cliche.

I won't go much further as you said you've just made it up on the spot, though.

>>10657387
Some decorum, some not-so-decorum. Ending was well wrapped.

>>10657389
Probably my least favorite in the thread so far. I don't like what you're doing here. This is neither witty nor fun for anyone. You're flailing around entry level occult/mythological references in loose form of poesy.
This is something a game developer wrote unto a dungeon wall for some riddle.

>>10657497
I prefer traditional form, but this is a bit of a mess. That said there are a few great lines, some inbetween, and some rubbish.

GREAT:
>What origin of that hue fits
>Composed of paints which from her start

OKAY:
>From whence the blue of her eyes came?
>The highest grade is those rich stones

RUBBISH:
Almost everything else in that they are lazy lines made too unimportant as a result of the very few good qualities of the poem.

>>10657580
I agree with >>10657584
Come up with a title so I know some more. Or tell me something else.

>>10657691
First two lines are hardly compatible.
>Your love is wind. . . your love is a treasure. .
Stick to one.
>every night, begins with a day ends
Delete.

Last stanza needs too much work. Keep at it.

[Anonymous No.10658140]

>>10658119
What is a traditional form? Sonnet? Herrick and Marvel used iambic octameter in some of their best poems. Any advice for revising the other lines?

[Anonymous No.10658150]

>>10658140
What I was saying was that I do like what kind of poetry you're writing. Sorry for the confusion.

[Anonymous No.10658161]

>>10658150
Oh, alright. I prefer traditional too. Any advice for revision?

[Anonymous No.10658167]

>>10658119
No I'm not failing around references. These things are all metaphors for the great work. You just don't understand which is why you make mean comments on lit threads. and also, i dont play video games.

[Anonymous No.10658171]

>>10658161
Read it out loud and imagine it in song. Like I said, the good portions stand out too much in the poem. I recommend a study into Keats.

[Anonymous No.10658178]

>>10658171
Thanks, I will look into his poetry more.

[Anonymous No.10658181]

>>10657497

unironically good

[Anonymous No.10658184]

>>10658167
>These things are all metaphors for the great work. You just don't understand. . .

I hope you never write anything again. If you were my student, I would tell you to study your fundamentals twice over.
"I'm too genius and you just don't understand" is not an excuse for poor quality work.
This is a critique thread. Asses are made to bear and so are you.

[Anonymous No.10658190]

>>10658181
This is the "finished" version. >>10657622
I plan on further revising it.

[Anonymous No.10658199]

>>10658184
Too late. I wouldn't study poetry with someone who wrote what you did anyway. I wrote this for fun and I had fun, you can't touch me.

[Anonymous No.10658202]

>>10658199
You're a whole new level of faggot

[Anonymous No.10658209]

>>10658190

this anon thinks you have talent. too often this place is a cesspool of negative criticism and crab bucket mentality. dont stop writing.

[Anonymous No.10658212]

>>10657516
>>10657622
>>10658119

Best I've seen in a while.
Well done, lads.

[Anonymous No.10658217]

>>10658199
I'm sorry I hurt your feelings . . .

[Anonymous No.10658225]

>>10658209
>>10658212
Thanks, anons. I take all the criticism here with a nice handful of salt.

[Anonymous No.10658235]

>>10658212
Thank you. One examination in a life makes a few others worth the wait

[Anonymous No.10658239]

A miner's cough
inherited
resides

Brick, mortar and spaces
made from

this ironclaad rule
you used to be beheaded from

proclaiming out aloud: I am man.
And here it is again

Like clockwork.

[Anonymous No.10658258]

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose
But young men think it is
And we were young.

[Anonymous No.10658263]

>>10658239
add an in after resides. mirrors the again in the second last couplet, like the froms mirror. and flows better as a sentence. i like it.

[Anonymous No.10658265]

>>10658263
>.< second last verse, not couplet

[Anonymous No.10658269]

>>10658258
anon this is wonderful

[Anonymous No.10658291]

>>10658263
>>10658265

Solid advice. My art is not an Eminem song but I shall take it to heart nonetheless.

[Anonymous No.10658303]

>>10658119
How does one get published?

[Anonymous No.10658314]

>>10658303
Get Submittable
And submit to every opening you see. Make sure you actually read through their past issues to know what they want.

Know what poetry is preferred by who.
Once you get maybe 12 or so works published this way then opportunity will show itself

[Anonymous No.10658329]

>>10658303
Why would you chase publication?

[Anonymous No.10658358]

I'm a 30- something fag. So I've scourged the earth for quite some time now. Where does the idea that hapiness is the highest attainable good stem from?

I'm a misarable fuck and I'll probably be a miserable fuck for some years to come. Why do I have to tell people I'm happy? The situation as it is is shit, it's a shit bargain and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. I have hope though. But each and everyone has to make that out for themselves. I don't like this 'Better yourself and then you'll be happy and happy is the highest attainable good meme.' .

[Anonymous No.10658360]

>>10658358
Wrong board.

[Anonymous No.10658371]

Try to grasp or clutch
at any hour day or month
resolve the pine sap scent
into the lines you’ve read
and written.

Follow this trajectory
It’s the first heat you’ve ever felt
first glass of water
This is the one on
which all things have come to pivot.

You have never been so alive
nor I
and you have never seen so deeply
and you are on the cusp of something
and you cannot hear it falling.

[Anonymous No.10658374]

>>10658358
The Colossus, Sylvia Plath. Check out that collection. It's okay to just be okay. Happiness is pressure, perhaps an obsession.

Treat it like your favorite candy. It's a reward, it something you do occasionally. Having one constantly would make you hate it.

It's okay to busy be okay

[Anonymous No.10658386]

>>10658358
write honest poems and let the muse inhabit you in any circumstance, it's the only way

[Anonymous No.10658395]

>>10658371
this is very sexy. stet.

[Anonymous No.10658444]

>>10658212
thanks, french anon inspired me by reminding me words mean different things he deserves some credit

[Anonymous No.10658468]

Any good pedo poems? I'm not entirely sure I've seen a single one expounding on whether there's anything more to their wants than pure degeneracy

[Anonymous No.10658477]

All souls day

The blondewigged demon
rolls his silverdollar dice,
the pig man laughs.
“All the acres in this sundog sky
will never buy him pride”.

The whiteglove angels
come down from up high
to make an address
“We have nothing to hide”
I’m not surprised.

The cloudwaves break into
riptow tides I am submerged,
the onlookers smile.
The ships come in in lieu of due time,
they have survived for another while.

The owl flips burgers and lets himself inside,
he is at home where uninvited.
“All the smokestacks in this shadow puppet sky
could never constitute a life”,
don’t be surprised.

[Anonymous No.10658483]

>>10658468
Collige, virgo, rosas, dum flos novus et nova pubes
et memor esto aevum sic properare tuum.

[Anonymous No.10658485]

>>10657029
why'd you fuckin cum across pictures of your dead friends

[Anonymous No.10658490]

>>10658485
i'm guessing the second time it's newsprint not cum, anon

[Anonymous No.10658502]

>>10658477
very nice flow. in in lieu of due time is masterful. nice dubs too

[Anonymous No.10658529]

Does somebody have a link to this?

[Anonymous No.10658611]

>>10657424
c mauvais frr

[Anonymous No.10658814]

>>10658329
because my sister is published and she writes awful romance novels. She barely passed high school—her grammar is atrocious.

[Anonymous No.10658827]

>>10658814
So you want to be published because your sister is published?

[Anonymous No.10658858]

>>10658827
No, but because I think I'm at least 5% better at writing. My girlfriend tells me she likes my poems, and that I should be published. She's been published before, also. I don't know what avenues to take. Everyone tells me that I am an excellent writer but I don't believe them. Perhaps all I want is for a publisher to tell me that I suck ass and will never be published. Maybe then this fantasy of validation will cease.

[Anonymous No.10658891]

This one is called simply 'ADHD'

Sometimes I wonder
if people should learn to spell
but then I get distracted
Pizza

[Anonymous No.10658906]

>>10658858
Yup. just As you you said. I wish I had a girlfriend who told me I'm 5% better at writing.

I know my writing is one level below pop culture so I keep my ambitions bolstered and suck it up until I actually have something to tell.

Don't be to lenient with yourself. But don't kid yourself neither. If you're the man to tell a story, you'll get it out there. If not, then not.

[Anonymous No.10658909]

>>10658891
Haha rofl

[Anonymous No.10658949]

>>10658891
Mr. Panucci
Put the pizza in the oven
Yes
YES
The pizza is done

[Anonymous No.10658953]

>>10658858
Why would your girlfriend want to give your poetry to the world? Wouldn't it be more romantic to keep them for her eyes only, until you both die and they are published after your death (that is, if they're actually decent). I don't think I'm good enough to be published now and I don't know if I'll be able to improve enough to get published, but I don't even think about that since I'm more worried about making something good for its own sake, and because I have a lot of ideas that I don't want to let go of without a stab at realizing them. Being published would likely do me more harm than good.

[Anonymous No.10658955]

>>10658477
Nice cadence.

[Anonymous No.10658966]

If I make beautiful poetry
I get called a try hard
and it feels like woe is me
because the words just flow out you see
I think I'll give it up forever REEE

[Anonymous No.10659005]

>>10658966

'If' being the keyword there anon. Did you ever write beautiful poetry? You look more like a poultry to me. Best to give up.

[Anonymous No.10659057]

>>10658477

Just plain good shit

[Anonymous No.10659085]

anything goes right?

In the year of '39 assembled here the Volunteers
In the days when lands were few
Here the ship sailed out into the blue and sunny morn
The sweetest sight ever seen.

And the night followed day
And the story tellers say
That the score brave souls inside
For many a lonely day sailed across the milky seas
Never looked back, never feared, never cried.

Don't you hear my call though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day I take your hand
In the land that our grandchildren knew.

In the year of '39 came a ship in from the blue
The volunteers came home that day
And they bring good news of a world so newly born
Though their hearts so heavily weigh

For the earth is old and grey, little darling we'll away
But my love this cannot be
For so many years have gone though I'm older but a year
Your mother's eyes from your eyes cry to me.

Don't you hear my call though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day I take your hand
In the land that our grandchildren knew.

Don't you hear my call though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand

For my life
Still ahead
Pity Me.

[Anonymous No.10659125]

>>10658953
Because I don't write love poems and women are useless.

[Anonymous No.10659132]

There ain’t anywhere the grass is green at all


Nobody wants their own life,
Why would they? They already have it.
Here I am at the top. I don’t want it.
Here I am where it’s best. I don’t want it.
Call me unappreciative: I don’t care.

My dad always said integrity makes a man.
I reckon he was right about half the time.
I reckon most of us are, that’s the problem,
That’s what makes us wrong the other half.
And that’s what makes it so nobody knows,
Because nobody really knows.

I’m too much a coward to pull
the trigger on myself.
I’m too much a coward to pull
the trigger on the one guy
I know for sure really deserves it.
But that’s why people do,
That’s why people shoot
everyone else but themself.
They can’t let them know,
They can’t let on to anyone else
About that one guy they know
Really deserves it themself.

That’s the problem with psychology,
You don’t get nowhere but way out here.
You don’t get to thinking about anybody else.
Gesture towards an answer:
I can’t believe the way I live.
I refuse to live any way else.

Look at all these assholes
Come and tell me I’m wrong.
Why can’t you just leave it alone?
They must think they can game it.
They must think there’s a choice to be made,
And they don’t like the way
I remind them of themselves.

Most of the time I want to be someone else.
The rest of the time I wanna knock out everyone else.
I never matured, I never grew up or figured it out.
I never got past this part, I never moved on,
I stuck around. Well, what can I say? Here I am
It’s no joke, I’m nobody else.
The people around me neither care nor know,
Nor should they: I’m just somebody else.

[Anonymous No.10659144]

>>10656943

I remember a time where I would write shit for myself, be it poems, be it whatever.

I'd tire of myself and throw whatever I had written into the fireplace. Like it was some sort of cleansing ritual.

Now as I'm older, I think some of my most inspired thoughts were thrown into the fire because of who I was.

Only geniuses get it right the first time. The rest of us have to get there by trial and error.

Keep on failing, keep eating shit. You will never write something worthwile. But your effort is appreciated and seen by some.

[Anonymous No.10659217]

>>10657622
Here's a version I have revised over the last couple hours. Better?

From whence the blue of her eyes came?
Which spring or stone can be the same
As those soul-panes stained with kobold,
That my love does so fairly hold.
What origin of that hue fits,
Accounting for the blue which sits
Within her gaze that’s ever so
More lum’nous than a sapphire’s glow.
Nay, topaz, lapis, fluorspar,
Be not as bright as her gems are.
The highest grade is those rich stones,
To which I write my rhymes and moans.
In oceans not her color lies,
Nor does it hail from the skies,
Instead, inversely, seems they art
Composed of paints which from her start.
So Nature’s plumes and butterflies
Must have been crafted by her eyes,
And every dye that’s ever been,
As well as all raw pigments seen,
Does cause me insult to compare
Them to my lover’s crystal stare.

[Anonymous No.10659338]

>>10659217

>From whence the blue of her eyes came?
Which spring or stone can be the same.

It rhymes. it's a terrible introduction.

> That my love does so fairly hold.
What origin of that hue fits,
Accounting for the blue which sits
Within her gaze that’s ever so

I have no problem with this.

>More lum’nous than a sapphire’s glow.
Nay, topaz, lapis, fluorspar,
Be not as bright as her gems are.

Keep shaving.

> The highest grade is those rich stones,
To which I write my rhymes and moans.
In oceans not her color lies,
Nor does it hail from the skies,

This is downright terrible. There's some nice thoughts in there, but if you can't make it work, throw it out the window alltogether.

> Instead, inversely, seems they art
Composed of paints which from her start.

I didn't get it the first time round but it has a nice ring to it. Keep it.

That's enough. for now

[Anonymous No.10659396]

So Nature’s plumes and butterflies
Must have been crafted by her eyes, ( 'From her eyes was better, you were right the first time, it holds much more meaning)
And every dye that’s ever been,
As well as all raw pigments seen,
Does cause me insult to compare
Them to my lover’s crystal stare. ( I shall give you a lover's crystal stare up your ass. Keep trimming.

[Anonymous No.10659430]

>>10658202
>You're a whole new level of faggot
Pushing a bicycle in the desert sun
Its flattened tire rippling as it rolled
I could not help but take pity
And offer assistance
Assistance that was not wanted nor needed
My ignorance flowed over you
Causing you to pity me
The broken bicycle only a ruse
A coded message to your own kind
That I could not fathom

[Anonymous No.10659442]

>>10659217
>>10659396
Suggestion: replace "must" with "should"

>So Nature's plumes and butterflies
>Should have been crafted from her eyes

[Anonymous No.10659450]

>>10659430
>writes vaguely because he doesn't understand poetry
>thinks hes the next T.S. Eliot

If the reader doesn't understand your poem, thats your fault, not his.

Beat this into your head:
The literal must be understood before the metaphor can flourish.

[Anonymous No.10659453]

>>10659442
I used from two lines before, so should I use "of" instead?
>So Nature's plumes and butterflies
>Should have been crafted of her eyes

I like the "Should"

[Anonymous No.10659475]

>>10659450
>thinks hes the next T.S. Eliot
I think its crap. When the other anon said "faggot" this just popped into my head. I do think it could be pulled from the weeds with some work, though.

[Anonymous No.10659477]

>>10659442
You're replacing the wrong shit. There's possibilities with this but I'll give you a suggestion:

So Nature's Plumes and butterflies ( a good sentence unto its own.)

Only her lonely eyes would dye. If you can't make it work, scramble the words.

If you don't, I'll craft you something magnificent.

[Anonymous No.10659484]

>>10659477
Why her "lonely eyes"?

[Anonymous No.10659504]

>>10659484
Because it's functional, which makes me sound like a pompous arse in return.

You're quite right though, lonely, is a word that should never be used in a poem. If you want your poem to have any strength.

[Anonymous No.10659511]

>>10659504
I just don't think "lonely" fits with the mood of the poem that's been laid out. Also, "dye" does not quite rhyme with "butterflies"

[Anonymous No.10659524]

>>10659396
What's wrong with "crystal stare"? Or is it the lines before that you think could be improved?

[Anonymous No.10659531]

I wonder,
Over a life that was never mine,
I wander,
Through the night,
I realize I dream,
Lucid, crystalline.
Not my words,
Only a force of habit.

[Anonymous No.10659534]

>>10659524
>What's wrong with "crystal stare"?
Is she staring at you wide eyed because she is spun on crystal?

[Anonymous No.10659540]

>>10659534
I don't see how the reader could think that in the context of the poem.

[Anonymous No.10659546]

>>10659531
Is the title "Litany of a Plagiarist"? I unironically like it to some extent as long as it is honest and accepts all blame that is due.

[Anonymous No.10659558]

>>10659475
The other anon had a valid point; the poem he critiqued was just name dropping. There was no development of canon or stories. Point in fact, the poem was masturbatory and served no deeper purpose or meaning other than to say "I've read these people, and I've put them together in a rhyme".

[Anonymous No.10659563]

>>10659504
l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness

[Anonymous No.10659571]

>>10659540
I have a friend that writes a comic about what he knows, and junkies is one of them. I am not even being insulting. The word "crystal" is tainted with this connotation to a greater or lesser extent, depending on the audience. Further, I do not believe in the "context of poetry". If poetry is legitimate then it fully depends on context of events and objects, not creating a context of its own. My friend, by the way, is an award winning haiku writer but I consider his comic to be no less meaningful because it is honest and delivers ideas well.

[Anonymous No.10659573]

>>10659524
The cadence of it is really good. But just so you remember, we're not in pallet town. I told you what I think could be improved. Have some artistic integrity anon. Maybe I act to the detriment of what you consider a defining piece of self realisation. Give some hurt back.

[Anonymous No.10659579]

>>10659558
>The other anon had a valid point
I agree. I just felt like tagging him with what popped into my head. I would not tag the other anon because he did not deserve a (You).

[Anonymous No.10659583]

>>10659563
I do not hate this. I am not sure it is done, though.

[Anonymous No.10659590]

>>10659573
I never consider the criticism here as final, but I do think it over.
>>10659571
I'm not writing to any audience in particular, as I'm not looking to be published, so the fact that some people who know druggie terms might confuse the meaning of "crystal eyes" doesn't bother me.

[Anonymous No.10659606]

>>10659590
>I'm not writing to any audience in particular
Do you consider this? Are you writing just for you? I write some music and I write it purely for my own selfish catharsis. It is not well received, in general, but those who do appreciate it find value in its honesty.

[Anonymous No.10659615]

>>10658483
this is nice. more like this?

[Anonymous No.10659631]

>>10659583
its a famous poem by ee cummings anon

[Anonymous No.10659643]

>>10659606
I'm writing to make something that's good for it's own sake, not for any one person, any audience. I guess that could be considered as writing for myself, but it's not quite that since I don't want to stop at revising a poem when "I think" it's good enough.

[Anonymous No.10659651]

>>10659631
>its a famous poem
Shit. Was that used as an example of modifying lines in order to convey additional subtext in The Three Genres? I think it was. Thanks. KMS. I ought to have known better.

[Anonymous No.10659656]

>>10659643
>I guess that could be considered as writing for myself, but it's not quite that
I totally understand this concept, though 99% of people will call it bullshit.

[Anonymous No.10659673]

>>10659656
When reading poetry I like, I get the feeling that I want to create something like that, although I know I'm nowhere near that good now. But someday I hope to. And if I do, or don't, I won't go around trying to publish or try to show everyone what I've written. It would be for my wife and closest friends to enjoy.

[Anonymous No.10659691]

>>10659606
HAHA, I bet you must be shit. Thank you for finding value in my honesty.

[Anonymous No.10659709]

>>10659691
>HAHA, I bet you must be shit.
Consider who the "greatest" writers and musicians of our day are. I do not lament not being among them on their pedestal.
>Thank you for finding value in my honesty.
Vitriol for its own sake is not honesty.

[Anonymous No.10659777]

>>10659709
It's not vitriol anon, I'm sorry if you mistook me for finding you an idiot through our current limitations of communication.

That aside, you sound like a sweet sixteen. How your asshole would sound when I'd put some pressure on it.

[Anonymous No.10659820]

>>10659615
it's ausonius. he's loads of bucolics filled with young boys and girls. very strong meter too.

there's a couple translations of that one. "gather ye rosebuds while ye may" should find you the most common

[Anonymous No.10659945]

Your proportional lips
and fox-houndlike muzzle
the released hair of nescafé
still better effortlessly tied in a ponnytail.

The stout triumphant gait
permeated with tics of an eye
the enigmatic equinimous charisma
the spontaneity and the absence of
profounder fuckgive and overthought.

The ball-shaped but still tempting skull
the equially perfect opus
of expressions, mimics and grimaces
all stalkers with delicate taste
when you saunter by
line up on the balconies.

This is my first poem. Also, I originally wrote it in native but now I translated it so you can understand it. (The original has a few rhymes.)

[Anonymous No.10660020]

I don't know anything about poetry. I can't tell if poetry is good or not. I really liked Walt Whitman when i was 13 or 14 but I didn't venture further into poetry.


Can someone recommend a collection of good poems, maybe with some supplemental text/introductions?
please help a pleb out

[Anonymous No.10660037]

>>10660020
is this okay? from a quick google search

[Anonymous No.10660041]

>>10660037
forgot pic

[Anonymous No.10660044]

>>10659945
post original?

[Anonymous No.10660087]

>>10659945
i like it, but it's ponytail
maybe swap last two lines in english

[Anonymous No.10660207]

>>10658119
What pleonasms? I reread the poem and cant find any. Maybe I am just blind, so please tell me! If there are any, I want to fix them!

[Anonymous No.10660235]

Make important sleep with the strange hat
That catches Scrooge’s bulging dreams,
Ritualise the morning latch,
Clean out the den - see servant’s scenes.
It is morning, with meaning again.

Fairy lights inside,
By housewives, are cautiously tied
To soften a bare space under the stair.
What silly hat can women wear?
Boys laughed at bonneted hair.

In the red glow of morning dust
Defining eyes scare the light
From the soon redundant candle;
The coaly cusp of fashion is male
These lovely things made pale.

[Anonymous No.10660284]

>>10660020
the ode less travelled by stephen fry is acceptable if you are entirely new to poetry

[Anonymous No.10660411]

>>10660235
>Clean the den, see servant's scenes
>By housewives, cautiously tied
>In the red glow morning dust
>Defining eyes scare light
>From soon redundant candles;
>Male fashion's coaly cusp
>Turns the shine to rust/ bright passion to dark lust
I'm just taking words out and the end couplet doesn't rhyme exactly. Do with this what you will.

[Anonymous No.10660531]

>>10660411
a good ammendment Imo, i really liked the poem, some lovely imagery but felt you were going for singing quality but it kinda stumbled on the metrics

[Anonymous No.10660618]

>>10659430
good description.

[Anonymous No.10660700]

Sand's under the house you just built
debris raining down on your pity head
by the stones you once trusted
you get:
struck, hit and killed
you're dead.

[Anonymous No.10660704]

>>10660700
*sniff* *wipes away tear* always slump test.

[Anonymous No.10660804]

A contribute
waiting for someone
to perform

There's this lass
with a face full of glass

she got under my skin
And now we are here today

My next of kin
How can I get rid of this cunt?
(Love her dearly)

[Anonymous No.10660823]

>>10660044
Tвoјтe cpaзмepни ycни
и лиcичкo-пecјaчки мyцки
пyштeнитe кocи oд кaкao
yштe бoљe вpзaни бeзycилнo в peп

cигypниoт тpиyмфaлeн oд
пpoткaeн co тикoви нa oкo
зaгaдoчнaтa cтaлoжeнa хapизмa
cпoнтaнocтa и oтcycтвoтo нa
пoдлaбoкo гaјлe и пpeмиcлeнocт

Toпкoвидниoт a ceпaк пpимaмлив чepeп
пoдeднaквo coвpшeниoт oпyc
нa изpaзи, мимики, гpимacи
cитe мaнијaци co вкyc
кoгa пeшaчиш ce peдaт пo тepacи.

It's in Macedonian, there might be like 4-5 fags in total on this board which are from my country... But I'm pretty sure it sounds better in original. There're words and colloquialisms which the average speaker hasn't even heard of. There're three pairs of rhymes as you can notice. It's about a girl from my college class. I swapped cacao with nescafe in the translation so you wouldn't bully. Yes, the last two lines sound better in the original, because of the rhyme especially. Thanks for the positive feedback.

[Anonymous No.10660830]

>>10660700
>>10660804
I don't see the purpose. There is no interesting imagery.

>>10660411
>>10660531
Your amendments definitely improved the meter. Thank you for the feedback.

[Anonymous No.10660831]

>>10660087
>>10660044
Tвoјтe cpaзмepни ycни
и лиcичкo-пecјaчки мyцки
пyштeнитe кocи oд кaкao
yштe бoљe вpзaни бeзycилнo в peп

cигypниoт тpиyмфaлeн oд
пpoткaeн co тикoви нa oкo
зaгaдoчнaтa cтaлoжeнa хapизмa
cпoнтaнocтa и oтcycтвoтo нa
пoдлaбoкo гaјлe и пpeмиcлeнocт

Toпкoвидниoт a ceпaк пpимaмлив чepeп
пoдeднaквo coвpшeниoт oпyc
нa изpaзи, мимики, гpимacи
cитe мaнијaци co вкyc
кoгa пeшaчиш ce peдaт пo тepacи.

It's in Macedonian, there might be like 4-5 fags in total on this board which are from my country... But I'm pretty sure it sounds better in original. There're words and colloquialisms which the average speaker hasn't even heard of. There're three pairs of rhymes as you can notice. It's about a girl from my college class. I swapped cacao with nescafe in the translation so you wouldn't bully. Yes, the last two lines sound better in the original, because of the rhyme especially. Thanks for the positive feedback.

[Anonymous No.10660838]

>>10660804
I could relate

[Anonymous No.10660839]

I'm ashamed of myself for writing this. I don't know why I'm posting it here:

I found you online. I was sleepwalking. You gave me a gleam of hope that
I was something other than a lonely soul, you put a mirror to my face
And showed me your love. You showed me what it was like to be a soul
On our first night together in that Starbucks parking lot I told you how
Perfect you were, and you laughed and said that you weren’t perfect.
I had you in my arms and the sun rose in my life shining its rays on
Every dark corner of me, the puzzle piece fit snugly into my missing pieces
You called me your husband, jokingly at first, but then you began to use it
More seriously, each time filling me with a lightness and happiness I had
Not felt since I was a child, but then your waters receded and you began
To talk to me less and less, like a boat lost at sea being tossed away from
Your port by the crushing weight of reality, and you realized you didn’t know
How to be held by me, you were confused and you didn’t know how to love
Me because you could not love yourself. Summer passed, autumn came,
Winter swept you away

[Anonymous No.10660932]

>>10658477

i wanna read more of ur shit anon

[Anonymous No.10660952]

>>10658258
i love it.
However you could change the second verse to "we chose not to live/ and shame the land". I'm sure you can write it better, but right now the passiveness of "we did not choose" diverts from the actual choice "we" made, thus making the connection between both stanzas

[Anonymous No.10660955]

>>10660839
Never be ashamed for writing with honesty.

[Anonymous No.10660969]

Good thread

[Anonymous No.10660977]

>>10659132
This isnt poetry

[Anonymous No.10660996]

>>10660952
>>10658269

this isn't really his poem

[Anonymous No.10661015]

Why don’t you like my shoe?
Does its high sole implicate conceit?
Does its color of tar scream hopelessness?
Does attentionseek omen gush out of its white ribbon?

Why does your presence
Stimulate my mental absence?
And bewilderness in my pumpkin head, disorder?
C’mon leeets play
another round of one way love
potentially interrupted by the revolver – saviour.

The word ‘wings’ will again be
Used in a poem
But this time by a quasipoet
With a future of dishonor.

>Original:
Зoштo нe ти ce cвиџaт мoитe пaтики
Дaли виcoкиoт тoпyк aлyдиpa cyeтнocт?
Дaли кaтpaнoвaтa бoјa вpecкa бeзнaдeжнocт?
Дaли oд бeлaтa тpaкa избивa кoбeж нa внимaниeжeлнocт?

Зoштo твoјaтa пpиcyтнocт
Пoттикнyвa мoјa мeнтaлнa oтcyтнocт
И збpкaнocт вo тиквaтa, бeзpeдичнocт?
Пa aјдe дaa cпyкaмe
Уштe eднa пapтијa љyбoвeн eднocмep
Пoтeнцијaлнo пpeкинaт oд cпacoнocниoт peвoлвep

Пoвтopнo ќe ce yпoтpeби
збopoт кpилјa вo пecнa
Ho oвoјпaт oд пceвдoпoeт
Co иднинa бecчecнa.

[Anonymous No.10661018]

Translated, probably shit

Red appears before your mind
Gleams and grows in all the things.
It feels to you almost like a beginning,
A new life,
whose red words bids you welcome.

You’ve never eaten of this spell,
The red has flung on all of you,
This sky, full of crying cinnabar
And a pale moon falling into little pieces:
Stars, like leaves in october.

Is this red that red that’s in your veins,
or that of evening’s glow?
No, it’s not for eyes that have yet to open,
it’s lighter, thinner than your blood’s own flow.

It’s alive enough that you could swear,
You see it swallowing you whole,
And in its red burning hear,
Songs, that sing of death.

Does it not lay upon your never-changing life,
like candlelight?
And finally, in this weakness, it finds its path inside,
you have no choice but to surrender.

You flicker, like a wild-full sail,
decay, while this red grows ever round you,
until you’re nothing but white-thin air
through which red wind drivers its fingers.

[Anonymous No.10661047]

>>10658258
>>10660996


Yeah, it's Housman

[Anonymous No.10661067]

>>10661018
second attempt

red it grows before your mind
it feel almost like new beginnings,
new lifes:
their red words bids you welcome.

a spell you’ve never tasted
a sky, full of screaming cinnabar
in which a pale moon breaks into a thousand pieces:
stars, like leaves in october.

is this red that red that’s in your veins,
or that of sundown’s glow?
no, your eyes are yet to open
it’s lighter, thinner than your blood’s own flow

it’s alive enough that you could swear,
you can see it swallowing you whole,
and faintly hear it in its burning,
sing songs that speak of reddening death.

does it not lay upon your never-changing life,
like candlelight?
finally this weakness becomes its path inside:
you have no choice but to surrender.

you flicker, like a wild-full sail;
decay, while red grows all around you,
until you’re nothing but that white-thin air
through which red wind drivers its fingers.

[Anonymous No.10661084]

>>10660839
This is kind of trash. There is no rhyme or meter. It's just like sentences that you decided to arbitrarily break up. However, I think that the imagery halfway through picks up tremendously. Especially
>but then your waters receded
It's a perfect metaphor for someone losing interest in you. It's heartbreaking in a way. I don't want you to pity yourself, because this happens to everyone in life sooner or later. The imagery in this is fantastic, you're a great writer but a terrible poet.

[Anonymous No.10661091]

>>10661084
He really is not a great writer and it is not a great metaphor. It's cliched rubbish.

[Anonymous No.10661099]

Not incredible by any means but a start for a Valentine's Day poem.

Two dormant continents we create
when in our waking slumber.
The previous evenings tight embrace
by sleep is cast asunder.
A canyon lies between these lands.
An empty cold abyss
With bed instead of deepest sands,
her warmer climes I miss.

Yet in this somnolent microcosm
I can move tectonic plate.
So I will move to close the chasm,
an earthquake I'll initiate.
And if the tremors make her start,
she'll think we never were apart.

[Anonymous No.10661102]

>>10660996
ah, the war context does clear it up a bit
ty

[Anonymous No.10661133]

>>10661091
Link your poem tough guy

[Anonymous No.10661137]

>>10660955
seconded, even if its bad it is still a somewhat brave move for a 4chan poster

[Anonymous No.10661162]

>>10661133
you couldn't handle my poem

[Anonymous No.10661203]

>>10660020
Just pick up an anthology on english poerty and skim through it, or look up a list of the top 50 or whatever poems.

[Anonymous No.10661211]

>>10660839
Put it in meter and it would be way better.

[Anonymous No.10661298]

>>10661162
I'm interested too anon.

[Anonymous No.10661407]

>>10661067
anyone?

[Anonymous No.10661468]

>>10661407
>>10661067
The second attempt is better, but since it's translated it becomes that much worse than in your original language. There are some good things I see though. There is some semblance of meter that you might have lost in translation if you had one, and there are a couple lines that jump out as being good
>it’s alive enough that you could swear,
>you can see it swallowing you whole,
>and faintly hear it in its burning,
>sing songs that speak of reddening death.
This probably sounds better in your original language, but with some editing it could sound good in English too. This could be done to other lines too, but I think you'd far further from the original in doing so.

[Anonymous No.10661475]

>>10661468
you'd stray further from*

[Anonymous No.10661505]

>>10659338
>>10659442
Here's what I've changed with fresh morning eyes. What's better and what's worse? These two are different versions for comparison.
>>10657622
>>10659217

From whence the blue of her eyes came,
Which leaves the seas with wroth and shame?
Those fair soul-panes stained with kobold,
That my love does unmatchéd hold,
Evade all bids to solve with wits,
The source of hue that in her sits.
There is no stone or jewel I know,
Not even rarest sapphire’s glow,
Nor, topaz, lapis, fluorspar,
To be as bright as her gems are.
The highest grade is those rich stones,
To which I pen my praise and moans.
In pure springs not her color lies,
Nor does it hail from the skies,
Instead, inversely, seems they art
Composed of paints which from her start.
So Nature’s plumes and butterflies
Should have been crafted of her eyes,
And every dye that’s ever been,
As well as all raw pigments seen,
Does cause me insult to compare
Them to my lover’s crystal stare.

[Anonymous No.10661569]

When the launch came it was without grandeur or flare.
steam clouds seeped into the atmosphere soundlessly
and into the perched lungs of onlookers who,
unlike me,
Would return to roost and enjoy the view of their own personal sunsets
after that parabolic arc of jet-stream slipped from the horizon
and its oh-so small payload had traced across an oh-so vast expanse

Higher now; I can just make out the small filigree bird cage
zipping through space normally reserved only for light-speed objects
desperately finding its apotheosis a million miles away.

[Anonymous No.10661634]

darkness surround me
i can’t see my way out
i would use my flashlight
but i only brought a gun

[Anonymous No.10661648]

The sound of shattered dreams
Is not an upbeat track,
Its a painful soliloquy
Of things that could've been,
Of things that you'd dreamed,
And what they turned to be.

[Anonymous No.10661653]

>>10661648
horrible

[Anonymous No.10661665]

>>10661648
What is the point of this poem?

It appears to be just an extended empty phrase.

[Anonymous No.10661704]

>>10661648
>The sound of shattered dreams
>Is not an upbeat track,
Holy shit my sides

[Anonymous No.10661718]

I wrote a poem
Posted it
On /lit/
Seeing 2 (yous)
Made me happy for a bit
Looking through the replies
I came back to the state
Of shattered dreams
And empty phrases.
>>10661653
>>10661665
>>10661704

[Anonymous No.10661732]

>>10656943

Each night I am withdrawn
to this Atlantean radio station.
On an unlit stage the prop
of a dial makes itself known
to the hand's habitual grope
amid a tactile limelight of addiction.

Untuned, it garbles a sound contradiction;
I pry spinwise across invisible insights,
and adjust back, but am never centred.

Does it receive its signal from the plumbing?

I seize the night, gently humming
an odeesed dirge, hushed in sipping
invisible caffeine, and whipping
a cream of stimulants to freeze
a mind on the tipping point.

Within the bandwidth I can sense
that lengthless interval
sharper than an absurd fission
instrument.
An intersection constructed,
not achieved, a dent before
the inconsequential bump.

I no longer dream.

[Anonymous No.10661746]

>>10660830
>no imagery no purpose
Well, I like the way he uses words. Kind of minimalistic, the imagery may not be great, but I dig the tone.

Tbqh I get easily excited over poems posted here nowadays, if they are not post-ironic masterpieces, blatant racism, nihilism or angsty teenage poetry.

[Anonymous No.10661787]

>>10661648
sstfu bru

[Anonymous No.10661797]

>>10661718
imm sry just die

[Anonymous No.10661886]

Thoughts that I penned down
You strike them down.
Calling them horrid
Wishing me death.
What's it after all
But words strung together.
Mine? was found wanting.

[Anonymous No.10661887]

>>10656943
So even Sylvia Plath could be photographed under such an angle that would make her beautiful.

[Anonymous No.10662153]

are any of you working on collections? how are they coming along?

i think mine's gonna with up being about 52 pages after the Table of contents and stuff. you guys think that's too short?

[Anonymous No.10662177]

>>10662153
If I made a collection, it would be about 70 pages I reckon. (I dont think I have that many two pagers, and would probably have it edited so there arent any, aside of a frew longer poems that is)

[Anonymous No.10662188]

>>10662177
i have maybe 5-6 poems past two pages (but one's 10+)
I have more poems but I don't want to fluff my page count with my less good work (it'll be bad enough as is)

[Anonymous No.10662197]

>>10662188
Implying everything we lit wannabes write is not unreadable rubbish. A page more or less of word salad is of little consequence.

[Anonymous No.10662210]

>>10662197
haha, i don't hate my work that much. and i've seen some legitmately good poems by other anons in these threads

[Anonymous No.10662218]

>>10662210
Give me one good poem in this thread then. just example will do.

[Anonymous No.10662283]

>>10662218
I mean, I didn't say i liked one every thread, but there have been poems i did like.

I like the first stanza of this
>>10657642

and the first four lines of this (although the spring/summer parallel cheapened it harshly)
>>10657387

[Anonymous No.10662329]

>>10658485
The white lines were meant to represent wrinkles on the page, brought about by excess folding, but ok

[Anonymous No.10662344]

>>10662329
>getting upset at someone confused at your weird intentional connection between cum and the narrator's friends

[Anonymous No.10662492]

This is no place,
No need for needles,
In the trees all the squirrels
Get high on sarcasm.

[Anonymous No.10662685]

>>10662283
A spring day can be a summers eve—i think he meant the same day.

[Anonymous No.10662702]

>>10662685
so? i still don't like the way it sounds/what it does. the repetition cheapened a powerful line.

[Anonymous No.10662751]

>>10662283
Is this better?

[Anonymous No.10662791]

>>10662751
i'm honestly not a fan of the rhymed parts at the end of the stanza. i would cut the last two lines of the first stanza, and the last three from the second one (also i feel weird about 'fly with me'). but I worry it'd disrupt the shape you seem to be working for.

sorry if that's not especially helpful. you'd still have some sonic devices in place, but i recognize that most pieces written with the intent of rhyming can be hard to jiggle around.

[Anonymous No.10662803]

rosy cheeks ablaze
thorn in my behind

[Anonymous No.10662818]

>>10662791
I'm trying to make the first stanza look like a ledge. The second stanza is supposed to look like a raven or crow or a mess of a body. It's very hard to draw with words.

[Anonymous No.10662827]

>>10662818
it just looks wispy (which i think works for the piece)

why 'Gravity' though? the title feels tonally different than the work

[Anonymous No.10662841]

>>10662827
It's the ever-present feeling of being pulled downward. Peer off a ledge and gravity becomes a call of the void. It's always present. Like a sadness or a desire to kill oneself. The comparison between gravity and death is—I feel— relatively unexplored. Maybe I can write something about it later.

[Anonymous No.10662867]

>>10662841
cool, i would reccommend writing a couple more pieces on this idea, and seeing the different ways you can present it. and maybe you can sew them together.

[Anonymous No.10662868]

>>10662827
>>10662841
I've made it ledge and falling now. Changed a few words. I like the repetition of the last stanza because it's two different meanings-under feet because your shadow meets you as you fall, and fly where shadows meet as a metaphor for purgatory/hell because of suicide.

[Anonymous No.10662874]

>>10662868

[Anonymous No.10662928]

>>10657029
lol how fucking old are you? I don't even know what you mean "Jagged white lines" what the fuck is this? Early days of the printing press? kek

In all seriousness I forgot some elderly people are still here. The thought of anyone here being over 21 upsets me something awful, so sad.

[Anonymous No.10663051]

>>10662928
yeah man I can't BELIEVE there are adults on a website for adults

[Anonymous No.10663057]

>>10663051
We old kids here.

[Anonymous No.10664014]

I'm a competent public speaker and therefore I've always been interested in slam poetry. Writing pretty words gets another edge to it when there's a stage with a dedicated following willing to listen. But I'm at the same time turned off by the possibility of not fitting in.

My smoothest way to that scene is through a friend of mine. He recently came out as a trans "man" while still aiming for an art-nouveau-femme-boy aesthetic. It makes me deeply worried, even if I'm doing my best to comply. When I heard about this I wrote a poem about my feelings, which I then read to him. He was thankful, appreciated it, but then performed to me his slam poetry piece about his dysphoria. This left me absolutely defeated, and upset. I just showed him a simple poem meant for only him, and he proceeded to crush it under the heavy weight of a thoroughly worked and practiced performance.

Beyond the troubles with this particular friend I know the scene will be riddled with militant feminism, mentally ill people, social justice hooligans and... Fuck, it just sounds worse the more I write about it. I'm in Sweden for reference. But these hugbox sheep are sure to give me praise as long as I talk about suffering. Recently I've needed a lot of medical attention, and I really want to be heard. (Then there's also the slight feeling of revenge, or rather getting to equal footing as my friend who's already in the scene.)

Will it be worth it? Or should I just drop it?

[Anonymous No.10664029]

>>10664014
don't write slam poetry until you write poetry. the world has enough wailers.

[Anonymous No.10664048]

Church Going by Philip Larkin

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new
- Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
`Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation -- marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these -- for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

[Anonymous No.10664097]

>>10664048
Another one. If, My Darling by Philip Larkin.

If, My Darling

If my darling were once to decide
Not to stop at my eyes,
But to jump, like Alice, with floating skirt into my head,

She would find no table and chairs,
No mahogany claw-footed sideboards,
No undisturbed embers;

The tantalus would not be filled, nor the fender-seat cosy,
Nor the shelves stuffed with small-printed books for the Sabbath,
Nor the butler bibulous, the housemaids lazy:

She would find herself looped with the creep of varying light,
Monkey-brown, fish-grey, a string of infected circles
Loitering like bullies, about to coagulate;

Delusions that shrink to the size of a woman's glove,
Then sicken inclusively outwards. She would also remark
The unwholesome floor, as it might be the skin of a grave,

From which ascends an adhesive sense of betrayal,
A Grecian statue kicked in the privates, money,
A swill-tub of finer feelings. But most of all

She'd be stopping her ears against the incessant recital
Intoned by reality, larded with technical terms,
Each one double-yolked with meaning and meaning's rebuttal:

For the skirl of that bulletin unpicks the world like a knot,
And to hear how the past is past and the future neuter
Might knock my darling off her unpriceable pivot.

[Anonymous No.10664325]

>>10664014
>>10664029
Don't write slam poetry ever.

[Anonymous No.10664365]

Down the street

People yell in a tone to be heard
by all the other people around. A
laugh like a screeching bird almost
drunk but too self aware to let go
and just be happy for once in
company that once was friends but
now only get together to drink not
alone. A lawn mower's echos still
linger in the fumes and heat buzzing
away all the flies from the shit in
the grass. Overhead a plane descends
on an alternate flight path to port
and let some tourists off with everything
they decided was most important
condensed to one carry on and one other
bag. At midday only a few TVs are on
flickering mainly for another voice
over the background sound of dogs
locked in small gardens barking out
all the energy they have to waste.

And more children cry out to parents
disinterested in themselves as youth
without innocence. They see little
things following them around like
tomorrow came too soon and nobody
knew what to say when asked simply
'Why are we here, really? Why?'

[Anonymous No.10664417]

i fucked your mom
fired my hot cum
like an arrow
from a bow released
between her hippo thighs
the frogs lips
into the bullhole
and fertilized her dryland
where there is rock and no water
and out of this stony rubbish
son of man
my disease takes root

i am your father now
your new father
and i will belt you if i like
faggot

[Anonymous No.10664419]

>>10656943
Nigger what?
Niggers stink!
Stink like what?
Stink like shit!

[Anonymous No.10664491]

If I knew

If I knew one last thing in life it would be waking
in a room where the morning's sun warmed
my cold limbs. I would open my eyes and see
dust moved by your soft breaths swirl through
the framed shafts of light never settling. Little pieces of us thrown to the air like embers
of burning paper and flesh in sacrifice.

[Anonymous No.10664527]

>>10664419
lacks punch, talk to the meter autist to repair it.
>>10664417
plenty of punch.
>>10664365
your enjambment is either retarded or a textwrap in notepad you should take off. it's not really poetry. it's overblown prose trying to hide its edginess in random line breaks. you've some nice phrases, but you're not turning them out well here. go read cavafy's the barbarians are coming, and see what you're trying to do well executed, then come back to this.

[Anonymous No.10664691]

>>10664491
do you mean to have Little pieces... start a new line? if not, do that.
burning paper and flesh doesn't work. it introduces new elements and doesn't round off the poem. consider
>burning dust and flesh...
and ditching
>like embers

[Anonymous No.10664847]

I often think of the wheel's black edge as it turns.
Again and again against the concrete
the rain and the black dirt and then again.
It does not often break. It does not whimper
or whine as it turns against now on this side
then on that.

Sweetened dark honeys in warm summer nights
Pushes against, then leaves, then fleet frosts.
And then again. Then again. Against, again, again.

[Anonymous No.10664876]

I normally write just short poetry

Here are these three.

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.


Tick
Tick tick
Tick
We are wound down
To our toes
Click
What to do
What to do
I dont want to fall
Down
In love with you

[Anonymous No.10664879]

>>10664876
Woops there is a split

What to do
What to do
I dont want to fall
Down
In love with you

Between the bottom two

[Anonymous No.10664887]

Gotdamn, I'm that nasty nigga with shit on his dick.
Gotdamn baby mamma pussy got grip.

[Anonymous No.10665862]

They found in her throat all they needed
to explain why her voice was as it was.
Sort of silent and sort of angelic and all
the other ways that people remembered
what they could of her before she died.

Someone said that death changes things
it was all that I could think of when I tried
to picture her still doing things, breathing
singing and talking, prostrate with dreams.

[Anonymous No.10666185]

Procrastination is bad for
you And me too
But while we know this
You, and me too
Nothing can be done by either
You , or me too.

[Anonymous No.10666473]

>>10661732
>to freeze
>a mind on the tipping point.
that's great

last stanza feels kinda unnecessary, the intersection constructed, not achieved?

I really like it though

[Anonymous No.10666769]

Tfw english is not my first language and i'm too afraid to post there

[Anonymous No.10666775]

>>10666769
post it in translation and your mother tongue and get shit on in both :3

[Anonymous No.10666790]

>>10666769
>>10666775
if is spanish or portugues the language the original i can do shit on it if someone can do the english please

[Anonymous No.10666798]

>>10666790
post either. post poetry. post lorca ffs, it's not like anyone would know

[Anonymous No.10667235]

Une note était venue heurter
Le tympan de l'Oiseau
Dans l’îlot de l'hilarité
Se tisse un réseau
Dont les extrémités échouent
En écume de trêve
Blancheur de la mousser sacrée
l'Oiseau refuse aussi le rêve

Et sautillant gravit les marches inégales
Qui mènent au temple pluvieux
Il fait une halte, un repas frugal
En chassant le cul d'un ver au lieu
De se contenter de la baie aztèque
De la baie de l'oracle des âges

À sa fenêtre la mineuse d'argent fume
Ses yeux plongés dans les yeux de la lune
La fontaine siffle douceurs
L'Arlequin pleure et le clown jouit

On avait bandé les yeux du pilote
Le Boeing bientôt s'écraserait
Dans la promesse d'un avenir
métallophore

Un chapeau venait d'être emporté
Par une bourrasque violette
Le professeur en perdit presque
son amulette
C'est ainsi que les rêves sont avortés
Dans la naissance d'une tempête

À la mesure des plus grands sacrifices
Dans le cœur d'un jour de mai triste
Sans raison particulière
Où le rhum coule à flot
Et les traîtres – à pic

Ce soir-là, dans sa chambre
Enivré par le sucre
À travers ses verres teintés, il verra
La promesse de l'ambre
Qui avait piégé cette libellule
Artefact d'une étape précédente
Témoignage mortel de la vie
D'un brun doré

Les ailes brisées, les yeux globuleux
Dis-voir, quel destin
fabuleux !

[Anonymous No.10667244]

Disillusioned

The look of a grey face kept behind dim glass
in a white car, on the high road, with two spangled flags
like what you’d stick through a sandwich at
a picnic, stares back through my window

and the park table with plaid laid overtop
burns sparklers into my eyes and
sends sparklers up my sleeves like
a magic trick I’ve already seen.

I imagine that Cadillac,
with the spangled flags,
driving through the desert sand
like a commercial, dry, and sterile.

[Anonymous No.10668286]

>>10667235
>de l'Oiseau
tombé

[Anonymous No.10668730]

>>10668286
Ouvre ton esprit, et ton cul suivera

[Anonymous No.10668815]

>>10659085
actin like you were around in 39, fuck off underage b&

[Anonymous No.10668882]

>>10662928
i'm 23 and you're retarded as fuck. that being said, i plan to stop posting within a year or two, so touche

[Anonymous No.10669641]

On the broad plane of this park bench I’ve spotted a beatle
Jutting out towards the amphitheater of the pond
This piece of mud like the uvula still in mouth of a beast

Footprints mark the edges from where I sit
Patterns of shoe bottoms interlaced
Imposed onto one another making perfectly messy earth flakes

Neatly hugging my noggin is a russian hat
Composed of clouds and tearful dreams.
Faux of course

Surprisingly, we are now dressed
In the golden suit of the sun
I begin turn my head towards
The safe brown planks

My new friend has but one favor to ask:
Can I fulfill my purpose?
You may.

He is center stage lined in a holy glow
Bursting with the shiny essence
Of a supernova. Just for me
He has covered the waters with his glossy shell
And tore apart the skies

[Anonymous No.10669859]

We left her in a chair screaming
war at anything just war for her
to watch and feel shivers when shown
little bits of footage from somewhere
known as the zone and so she could hear
her voice as part of the bombs and planes
for fear she called out louder to be heard
by more neighbours than she cared to know.

We left her in her old age falling with voices
all around talking about things alien, but not
important at all to her. Just other people in
other beds with family gathering like omens
and shadows in the anticeptic fumed ward
where she only thought of war and watched
in silence the bombs on the news like yesterday
when she still had a voice to scream for all
the things that grow inside of a woman left.

[Anonymous No.10669904]

babba booey
babba booey
Howard Stern's penis
babba booey

[Anonymous No.10670080]

>>10662928
If you don't know what jagged white lines are, then you probably shouldn't be here.

[Anonymous No.10670143]

torn asunder
life a blunder
can't help but ponder
how long I'll wander

boo hoo

[Anonymous No.10670172]

[Anonymous No.10670175]

>>10657029
I didn't like the third stanza. It sound lumpy, starts off with an image of nothing, and the lands on something I've mostly already seen. I also didn't like the punctuation marks, I don't think you need them. However "Three of them" calls back to "With my friends" very well though, and I really liked reading this.

[Anonymous No.10670194]

>>10662928
>lol I don't even know, what the fuck is this?
>kek
>sad
the face of a generation

[Anonymous No.10670208]

Special Education
Retardation Situation
It just so happens to
be my inclination

With little speculation
And hasty preperations
He makes his calculations
For public ejaculations

[Anonymous No.10670401]

Cant wait to make way
For the new millenium
Welcome to Costco
I love you

[Anonymous No.10670466]

do yall like to memorize poetry?

i used to memorize stuff from Tolkien and other fantasy novels, I've read Ulysses by Tennyson and Kublai Khan by STC to repeat them verbatim and it makes me feel good remembering them

[Anonymous No.10670579]

>>10667244
alternatively:

Disillusioned

The look of a grey face kept behind the dim glass
of a white car, on the high road, with two spangled flags
like what you’d stick through a sandwich at
a picnic, stares back through my window

and the park table with plaid laid overtop
burns sparklers into my eyes and
sends sparklers up my sleeves like
a magic trick I’ve already seen.

I imagine that Cadillac,
with the spangled flags,
driving through the desert sand
like a commercial, dry, and sterile.

[Anonymous No.10670614]

>>10670466

haha, coincidentally i've also memorized kublai khan by heart. in fact it's the only poem i have memorized. were you inspired by duncan trussel on JRE too?

[Anonymous No.10670643]

Interior
Crocodile
Alligator
I drive a chevrolet
Movie theatre

[Anonymous No.10670665]

>>10670614
no I was a big dadrock fan back in highschool and I loved the Rush song Xanadu inspired by Kublai Khan. I read that poem and it got me in to reading pottery.

>A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once i saw
>it was an abyssinian maid and on her dulcimer she played
>singing of mount aborrah

love it man

[Anonymous No.10670723]

>>10657358
In arabic there are two terms for a fart, one is for a silent fart, and the other is for sounding farts. So the poem goes like this, silent fart and loud fart get into an argument, the silent fart says i hiss and fiss and stink every soul, and the sounding fart says I explode and blow and bring joy to every soul. My translation is horrible, its way better in arabic.

[Anonymous No.10671359]

OC:

I came to, in the storm
On the boat, on the sea
FINE WEATHER, FINE WEATHER
I said to me

I rowed, to the shore
Dragged my boat, from the sea
GOOD HEAVEN, GOOD HEAVEN
What it is to be me

I walked, to the forest
Burnt down the tree
FIRE IN THE VALLEY
Fills the hole inside me

I climbed, up the hill
What did I see?
RED SUN AND BLACK SMOKE
Rising for me
I look down on young faces
They look up to me
I AM THE DEVIL
AND THE DEVIL IS ME

I AM THE DEVIL
AND THE DEVIL IS ME
AND YOU ARE THE DEVIL
AND THE DEVIL IS THE

[Anonymous No.10671366]

>>10671359
wow that was bad

[Anonymous No.10671850]

>>10657424
C'est pas mal si tu debutes. Perseveres l'ami

[Anonymous No.10672687]

>>10671359
this could work as a rock and roll song

[Anonymous No.10674095]

>>10670579
>>10667244
>>10667244
>>10670579

>what you'd stick through a sandwich at a picnic
What does this mean? Stick something inside bread to eat, like lettuce, or are you skewering the sandwich?
>sparklers
I liked this the first time you said it but it makes no sense when you say "sparklers up my sleeves like a magic trick I've already seen." Maybe just say sparklers once and add onto it by talking about something similar, like fireworks, Fourth of July, etc.
>Cadillac
This could be good if the imagery wasn't overdone in such a short time. Try to flesh out this poem, go to another perspective or sub-theme, and come back to the Caddy.
>like a commercial, dry, and sterile
Again, what does this mean? I think it would be better to say something like "fake, like it came from a television". Well, that was shit, but something a bit less disjointed. I have no idea why you have all these poor similes and metaphors that make no sense. Is it on purpose? I think you would learn something from Plath, since she does have odd imagery like this, but is able to articulate it much better. Also, a poem of this size should have more structure and rhyme, in my opinion. If you're going to write without any form, then you should write a lot.

[Anonymous No.10674145]

>>10674095
lies* not lie. cantor's a great madman, he deserves more poems

[Anonymous No.10674161]

>>10674095
>What does this mean?
You know those toothpick flags you stick in sandwiches? I'm pretty sure most people have seen those. The word "through" makes it very clearly a matter of skewering.

>Fourth of July
a celebration is kindof the exact opposite of what I'm going for

>go to another perspective or sub-theme
>just write about something else
I'll take some of the technical criticisms into account but I'm honestly getting the impression you didn't read the title

[Anonymous No.10674222]

>>10674095

Honestly this needs a lot of work.

L1: Decent.
L2: Fuck off Yoda
L3: best line
L4: could be rephrased
L5: needs to be rephrased
L6: meter is ofof off off off offf
L7: decent up until " but in it lie"
L8: Church pews makes more sense. Imperfect rhyme though
L9: delete. worst line
L10: rephrase. weak. good example of how not to use a similie
L11: gay
L12: very gay
L13/L14: typo in 14.

I mean, the idea of writing a poem about a mathematician is neat, but the execution is poor. With work it could be better. The meter is weird, one wouldn't be able to called this a metered poem inasmuch as they could call it a syllabic poem. i really want to like it for the few lines in here that are good, but I just can't.

[Anonymous No.10674265]

[Anonymous No.10674297]

>>10674095
>you were, I saw
this is void

>sty/theory
theory ends on a vowel E

it might be better to have a title which immediately tells me that you're talking about George Cantor and not someone who is a Cantor, even though both meanings may be intentional

[Anonymous No.10674302]

>>10674297
probably both meanings because he came up with the paradox that's usually called Pascal's Wager

[Anonymous No.10674363]

>>10674265
>hosannas
>critiques
Why hosannas? Sounds out of tone if not misused. The first stanza comes around and ends really well though.

>nor
>the wet mulch.
I was expecting a verb here, but instead I got "the"

is that period after mulch a typo? What comes after doesn't stand on it's own and you didn't capitalize the B.

[Anonymous No.10674393]

>>10667244
>>10670579

Disillusioned

The look of a grey face kept behind the dim glass
of a white car, on the high road, with two spangled flags
like a toothpick you'd stick through a sandwich at
a picnic, stares back through my window

and the park table with plaid laid overtop
burns sparklers into my eyes and
sends sparklers up my sleeves like
a magic trick I’ve already seen.

I imagine that Cadillac,
with the spangled flags,
turning through the desert sand
tracing circles like paper plates.

-I'm still bouncing between the two opening lines and working on things in general, but I'm posting this preemptively because I'm not sure if the current changes are improvements or not.

[Anonymous No.10674419]

>>10674393
alternatively:

I imagine that Cadillac with the spangled flags,
turning through the desert sand
like a commercial, fake,
tracing circles like paper plates.

[Anonymous No.10674430]

>>10656943
How many of you il/lit/erates appreciate Mark Strand's poetry?

Here's one I enjoy a lot lately.

"Black Maps"

Not the attendance of stones,
nor the applauding of wind,
shall let you know
you have arrived,

nor the sea which celebrates
only departures,
nor the mountains,
nor the dying cities.

Nothing will tell you
where you are.
Each moment is a place
you've never been.

You can walk
believing you cast
a light around you.
But how will you know?

The present is always dark.
Its maps are black,
rising from nothing,
describing,

in their slow ascent
into themselves,
their own voyage,
its emptiness,

the bleak, temperate
necessity of its completion.
As they rise into being
they are like breath.

And if they are studied at all
it is only to find
too late, what you thought
were concerns of yours

do not exist.
Your house is not marked
on any of them,
nor are your friends,

waiting for you to appear,
nor are your enemies,
listing your faults.
Only you are there,

saying hello
to what you will be,
and the black grass
is holding up the black stars.

[Critique pls No.10674435]

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn
Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell
Of a spent day - to wander the cathedral lawn
From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.

Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps
Of shadows in the tower, whose shoulders sway
Antiphonal carillons launched before
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?

The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score
Of broken intervals… And I, their sexton slave!

Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping
The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!
Pagodas, campaniles with reveilles out leaping-
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!…

And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored
Of that tribunal monarch of the air
Whose thigh embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word
In wounds pledged once to hope - cleft to despair?

The steep encroachments of my blood left me
No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower
As flings the question true?) -or is it she
Whose sweet mortality stirs latent power?-

And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes
My veins recall and add, revived and sure
The angelus of wars my chest evokes:
What I hold healed, original now, and pure…

And builds, within, a tower that is not stone
(Not stone can jacket heaven) - but slip
Of pebbles, - visible wings of silence sown
In azure circles, widening as they dip

The matrix of the heart, lift down the eye
That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower…
The commodious, tall decorum of that sky
Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.

[Anonymous No.10674448]

>>10674393
extremely fucking cliche opening lines you massive brainlet, off yourself

[Anonymous No.10674601]

>>10656943

That stones dream was no news to Dande. She extended the palm of her hand
terracotta in the dirty-gilding illumination of the old-fashioendly round bulb, and Partheon marble
in rays of the overcast snuck in through the spacious, double paned window,
and nudged the face of the unfinished statue loverwise. She breathed a thin draw in a smokerly fashion.
"Why bring them hither?" pursed her lips
as, late, she apprehended then
his hand to coerce yet that rugg-
-ed matter into cantrips
and nimble lies of wholer men
began instead to seise itself.
She soon surrendered her caress
of his unfinished ego piece
as that of a babe's unossified skull.
"To drag such mass of stone so many storeys up!" She meant to lul
a snake by skipping over him barefoot, conceding. "It is hardly you who minds the view."
She grinned in his dark corner of her mouth, concealed. "Is it for them you bring them here?"
He began, serious, for he couldnt see her sneer "You make too big a matter of locomotion.
I mobilise, without heed of transport. Moving things are in the state of motion merely by accident.
But to succeed we like to overlook this lively little square, the gliding streetcars, the trickling crowd,
the shifting stalls, the blocks solidifying, setlling over years - we have patience even for that.
And dream of it in that true still - so strange to your eyes - between the setting of the night and rising
of the before-morning."

[Anonymous No.10674680]

>>10674430
and i lie sleeping with on eye open
hoping

that nothing, nothing will happen

It was an adventure much could be made of
a walk
...
swept the grass with the velvet gown of their shade
...
small animals lay themselves in the miraculous fields of grain and slept
......
So that the future....might mourn

I am eating poetry

No one knows when the vacation will end
...
or why it is we are dying

gone were the beaded harps of bridges
...
and gone again the moon
...
nothing but the cold perfection of zero
the blaze of promise everywhere

the bright commodious rooms of dreams
...
fabulous escape from the damages of night

the mountains, can you see them? do the leaves ever stop falling? Are the evenings ever anything but long?

narrative poetry is a girl in a red dress holding a bunch of flowers
...
predicate that blooms into another predicate
...
and she hung up

>and wasn't the church of the world already in ruins?

[Anonymous No.10674742]

>>10674448
It's based off of a photo so I really doubt that. Anyone who uses the word brainlet unironically has an IQ lower than their age.

[Anonymous No.10675712]

>>10674742
Pretty defensive there, bud. No one likes your poem. Learn how to write, or don't post in critique threads when you can't take the salt. Maybe it being based off of something we can't see or know makes it vapid and boring, cliched even. Back to the drawing board!

[Anonymous No.10675723]

>>10675712
I'm still convinced (You) don't know what the word cliched means. Plenty of the other anon's criticism was taken into account, even parts I pushed against. You're looking pretty defensive yourself, you know.

[Anonymous No.10675728]

Claimed

[Anonymous No.10675740]

>>10675723
Either a w*man or a m*n. God, you gendered fucks are so tedious and annoying. Shallow and pedantic.

[Anonymous No.10675749]

>>10675740
I really won't be surprised if you were >>10662928, you're on about the same level of intellect.

[Anonymous No.10675755]

>>10675749
>level of intellect.
>IQ
Bruh, you can't even describe a toothpick properly.
>>>/reddit/

[Anonymous No.10675758]

>>10675755
It was a poem written for people who'd been outside anon.
>>>/out/

[Anonymous No.10675762]

>>10675758

[Anonymous No.10675767]

>>10675762
I guessed right though, didn't I? Who else would respond with "reddit!" immediately after being compared to an lol-kekpost?

[Anonymous No.10675835]

>>10660839
2edgy m8

[Anonymous No.10676098]

The infinite yawns and keeps yawning. Is it sleepy? Does it miss Pythagoras? The sails on Columbus’s three ships? Does the sound of the surf remind it of itself? Does it ever sit over a glass of wine and philosophize? Does it peek into mirrors at night? Does it have a suitcase full of souvenirs stashed away somewhere? Does it like to lie in a hammock with the wind whispering sweet nothings in its ear? Does it enter empty churches and light a single candle on the altar? Does it see us as a couple of fireflies playing hide-and-seek in a graveyard? Does it find us good to eat?

[Anonymous No.10676318]

I've been having fun trying to write some shorter stuff lately, this is what I've come up with so far.

Step in

Stand clear

Now we're all

Trapped in here

[Anonymous No.10676530]

>>10676318
gave me a giggle how fun

[Anonymous No.10676548]

Well, im alittle late to this thread, and I havent written any poetry for a really long time, but I was able to scrounge this up last night

I remember the last day I saw her
It was a drive by on [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]
She was just standing there, with her hair all in her face
I could not see her face
A sharp turn closer and that was it
I remember the last night I saw her
Her loose dress hid her figure
Loose enough so nobody would notice
I swore I could feel the fear off her
I’ll stare off into the [REDACTED] sea
Into the night of the waves
I sang myself a little song
Out there on the sea
Sailing away to myself
Singing gentle rhymes to keep to myself
I cannot remember that song
I do not record those songs anymore
It’s all the same song to me over and over again
What am I to do
Forget, I cannot
I remember the last time she saw me
It was at the after party in a tight house
I walked passed her and she walked passed me
closer than ever before
Rolling her eyes evermore
Always was and always is I said in the open
I rode away thinking of all the things I wanted to say
They stroke in my mind like justice
Words held strong but in affection
I forget those words
And what I think I do not write
When I fumble I lose it all
I hope I can find love in you
And cast out the love I have for her
I wish you were close to me now so I could better remember your presences

[Anonymous No.10677867]

>>10674363
Hosannas - Aesop Fables: Crow and the Fox, though the allusion is weak.
Critiques - Fucking hipsters won't shut up about how bad the city is now.

[Anonymous No.10678194]

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.


Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

[Anonymous No.10678236]

>>10678194
good but needs work
>midnight moment's
doesn't work. try inverting it, or minute or dropping one. it makes a break in assonance for clumsy alliteration now, make it stronger
>And again now, and now, and now
And then again, and now, and then
>inb4 arguments about clocks ticking and monotony
monotony's the operative word
>dark hole of the head
really doesn't work but the last two stanzas really need work besides that too
>printed
I'm hearing an ink jet printer starting up at 3am not rabbits

>warily
I'm not sure if I like this. try fixing the other bits since they're more urgent

[Anonymous No.10678328]

Always read lots of poetry but only recently started writing. Feedback is appreciated.

[Anonymous No.10678370]

>>10678328
lines are too short for rhyming to not sound trite. rhyme and meter are basics and they're hard to do exceptionally well, but easy to do wrong.
read aloud so you can see where breaks naturally fall and retrofit line endings

with your second one for example

>I will be filled with uncertainty
>Except for the consistent
>Knowledge
>That I will be persistent
>>In my undying love for you

the extra beats between the rhymes makes them less forced. if you want shorter line breaks that than then you can go
>I will be
>filled with uncertainty
>Except for the consistent
>Knowledge
>That I will be
>Persistent
>>In my undying love for you
aim for flow and rhythm and rhyme and where they're missing will show.

[Anonymous No.10678416]

>>10678236
It's not me, lad. It's Ted Hughes, I can't fix it.

[Anonymous No.10678813]

>>10678416
>le poetic masters are beyond critique

Everyone can nitpick a poem. Its a mindset not perfection--eg when someone critiques, they are applying their own rules and values (towards perfection) on the poem. I see no reason why Ted Hughes or Shakespeare could be uncritiqueable.

[Anonymous No.10679465]

>>10678416
Ha no wonder I don't like it. His wife was unironically better and she only has a few good poems. I don't understand how he got anywhere.

[Anonymous No.10679544]

>>10678813
I never implied that...I just said I can't fix or change poems that are not mine and that published by others lol. Of course I or you can critique them. Learn to read.

>>10679465
>tfw no Sylvia gf

[Anonymous No.10679799]

>>10679544
>>tfw no Sylvia gf
plenty of girls with daddy issues and a thing for poets out there anon, just write better than hughes for my sake