/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.11576210]

/crit/ - Critique Thread
>Longer entries are best posted in pastebin format
>Criticism should be constructive
>Its highly encouraged to critique others submissions before posting one of your own
>Discussion of literature in general is welcome

Links:
https://pastebin.com
https://www.jspell.com/public-spell-checker.html
https://www.nownovel.com/blog/give-constructive-criticism/
Post helpful links to be added in future threads

[Anonymous No.11576246]

Does this spark any intrigue at all ?

[Anonymous No.11576261]

>>11576246
>Come to think of it crematio...
The transition into the next lines of dialogue doesn't feel smooth / natural. The writing itself isn't bad though. Pacing might be something to focus on?

[Anonymous No.11576479]

The bleak but beautiful austerity of life. The long nights spent alone, the cold sting of winter air, the pattering of rain on mornings when I do nothing but think of what I’ve done. The agony of lovely moments, as wisps thrown by a torrential wind, around and around, gone as soon as they appear. The warm, rosy glow of Juli’s smile, when she first brushed up against me. How close we had become, and how it had all ended. Then the long nights spent alone, the cold sting of winter air, the pattering of rain on mornings when I do nothing but think of what I’ve done. I am nothing, and I feel nothing.

December in Portland. A thousand foggy mornings, the freezing gale of wind in the evening, always snow overnight. The smell of coffee, books, and the sea. I work local distance trucking. Sleep in my own bed at night. But even now I can feel our backs pressed up against the wall, the dim light of our bedroom, those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars plastered to the ceiling.

These days I find it hard to hear when people say my name. The only meaningful part of my life is over, and yet I’m. Still. Here.

>>11576246
It's intriguing, but it's not very readable. Needs more paragraphs or dialogue. Maybe I'm just a brainlet.

[Anonymous No.11576495]

I want to say as little about this as possible and just see what people think of it going in blind. Any thoughts at all are appreciated

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xRbSmwJpil-ztneWUkamA8jiorIK5dUO/view?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.11576522]

>>11576479
You have some lovely prosody here, but the subject matter is so college-y and well-worn. Maybe as an exercise, try re-writing this with the same emotional tone and same characters, but remove all "I feel ___" or "I think of ____" or anything that blatantly spells out the narrator's thought process. Let your imagery and tone do more of the talking for you

Post it here if you actually end up doing it, I'm curious to see what you come up with

[Anonymous No.11576558]

>>11576495
Very mysterious, and surprisingly philosophical underneath the techno-tone. I definitely scrolled down to try and read the next chapter, although I don't know if I'd read farther than that without a clearer idea of the overall message.

>>11576522
Appreciate the critique. I've tried my best. I'm aware it' still an issue.


The bleak but beautiful austerity of life. The long nights spent alone, the cold sting of winter air, the pattering of rain on mornings when I do nothing but stare out the window. The agony of lovely moments, as wisps thrown by a torrential wind, around and around, gone as soon as they appear. The warm, rosy glow of Juli’s smile, when she first brushed up against me. How close we had become, and how it had all ended. Then the long nights spent alone, the cold sting of winter air, the pattering of rain on mornings when I do nothing but stare out the window.

December in Portland. A thousand foggy mornings, the freezing gale of wind in the evening, always snow overnight. The smell of coffee, books, and the sea. I work local distance trucking. Sleep in my own bed at night. But even now I can feel our backs pressed up against the wall, the dim light of our bedroom, those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars plastered to the ceiling.

My dad was a cold-hearted man, little-feeling, just distant. I look more and more like him every day as I grow older. I looked different, though, when I was younger, and it’s those days that I do nothing but think about, on rainy mornings, in the cab of my truck, driving down the mist woken streets of Maine. Love lost is a lonely thing, but it relates us to the world.

[Anonymous No.11577052]

i've been slowly cobbling together bits and pieces from a journal i kept for a few months, i plan to go back and edit some more coherence and structure to these pieces as they're all at the moment once overs with few thought or planning.
any criticism is appreciated during this process

[Anonymous No.11577094]

>>11577052
I really enjoy this. What's your inspiration? This reads somewhere between a bible verse and old greek poems.

https://pastebin.com/08it1fEG

Something I wrote a few nights ago. It's supposed to be a character speaking about themselves as an introduction to a story, though I'm not sure if I'll end up doing anything with it.

[Anonymous No.11577105]

>>11576246
Its captivated me atleast, and I read quite a few novels

[Anonymous No.11577139]

>>11577052
I don't get it

[Anonymous No.11577140]

>>11576495
Read all of it, was a good fun reading

[Anonymous No.11577160]

>>11577139
me neither

>>11577094
mostly berryman and hughes, as well as reading a heap of creation myths and trying to deal with my alcoholism, kept a journal through the start of the process and it was pretty bleak at times

i quite like your piece, it has a deeply insidious feel to it, almost deep south swamp voodooesqe. the only thing i don't overly like is
>"No girl hates her Papa, paradoxically, that’s even true now...Ehehehehe..."

the laughter doesn't read as well along with the rest, even with the sort of half mad rambling style of it. i'd drop the paradoxically as you use it to open the next paragraph, just say like

>"No girl hates her Papa, that’s even true now...
Yes, paradoxically, "

but i fucking adore the earths tumor, dancing with thumping life image
would read

[Anonymous No.11577362]

>>11576495
This is really solid anon. Maybe it's because I'm a sucker for hard sci-fi-likes, but I was absolutely hooked from the get go. You're a fuckin' natural kid, if this were a book, I would add it to my reading list.

[Anonymous No.11577521]

>>11577052
>>11577052
>>11577052
Weeelllll, I can see this singing a tune in the future, kid, but I think you best refine it some.

>My piece
Downstairs, Meatball Mulligan's lease-breaking party was moving into its 40th hour. On the kitchen floor, amid a litter of empty champagne fifths, were Sandor Rojas and three friends, playing spit in the ocean and staying awake on Heidseck and benzedrine pills. In the living room Duke , Vincent, Krinkles and Paco sat crouched over a 1 5-inch speaker which had been bolted into the top of a wastepaper basket, listening to 27 watts' worth of The Heroes' Gate at Kiev.' They all wore hornrimmed sunglasses and rapt expressions, and smoked funny-looking cigarettes which contained not, as you might expect, tobacco, but an adulterated form of cannabis sativa. This group was the Duke di Angelis quartet. They recorded for a local label called Tamb u and had to their credit one 10" L P entitled Sotigs of Outer Space.
From time to time one of them would flick the ashes from his cigarette into the speaker cone to watch them dance around. Meatball himself was sleeping over by the window, holding an empty magnum to his chest as if it were a teddy bear. Several government girls, who worked for people like the State Department and NSA, had passed out on couches, chairs and in one case the bathroom sink.

[Anonymous No.11577523]

>>11576495
holy shit anon this is excellent. i want to read all of it. it's funny and i'm hooked.

[Anonymous No.11577890]

>>11576495
yo thi sis sick, nice work

[Anonymous No.11578005]

>>11577521
Your sentences are a joy to read. Not much here to distinguish itself content-wise from any wacky Pinecone-esque affair, but this kind of writing clearly comes naturally to you and you should definitely keep going down this road

[Anonymous No.11578058]

A dour knight, marred in armor and soul
Was lead to the shade of a date-tree
By a tweeting Hoopoe. Three days passed
Prior, during which he'd wandered
Through great empty pastures, listless as a stray calf.

Leaned on the trunk,
He remembers the stark bleakness of air
Bloomed with the aroma of slain men;
Bitter wafts whirred from an ice matted garden.
He contemplated his virtues and swat at the memory.

"Is honor really a sufficient pulse
To inspire my welted heart
In this void of misery,
This hopelessness of war?"
He wrote, and again the Hoopoe chirped distantly.

His eyes traced the sound and observed
Rain falling, silver and heavy, far off
And focused on a single plot of the vast woods.
He was drawn to the mark as if by instinct
An invisible lure tugged at his chest.

He dreamily approached the sight, and there!
Over the shrubberies! Abundant stalks
And orchards swelled with ebullient fruit
A majestic lustre, golden, sovereign;
The lance of light solidly pierced his heart

Flat on the dirt, the knight now lay
At the hearth of the Exquisite
Without contemplation, without lament
He giggles like a child
He remembers the Truth.

[Anonymous No.11578071]

A dour knight, marred in armor and soul
Was lead to the shade of a date-tree
By a tweeting Hoopoe. Three days passed
Prior, during which he'd wandered
Through great empty pastures, listless as a stray calf.

Leaned on the trunk,
He remembered the stark bleakness of air
Bloomed with the aroma of slain men;
Bitter wafts whirred from an ice matted garden.
He contemplated his virtues and swat at the memory.

"Is honor really a sufficient pulse
To inspire my welted heart
In this void of misery,
This hopelessness of war?"
He wrote, and again the Hoopoe chirped distantly.

His eyes traced the sound and observed
Rain falling, silver and heavy, far off
And focused on a single plot of the vast woods.
He was drawn to the mark as if by instinct
An invisible lure tugged at his chest.

He dreamily approached the sight, and there!
Over the shrubberies! Abundant stalks
And orchards swelled with ebullient fruit
A majestic lustre, golden, sovereign;
The lance of light solidly pierced his heart

Flat on the dirt, the knight now lay
At the hearth of the Exquisite
Without contemplation, without lament
He giggles like a child
He remembers the Truth.

[Anonymous No.11578081]

>>11577890
>>11577523
>>11577362
>>11577140
Thanks so much fellas, it's really encouraging to see people enjoying it. Makes it feel worth the effort I put in
Reading over it now for the first time in a few weeks, some of the sentences seem notably clumsy or poorly phrased. Did that bother anyone else or am I just obsessing over it too much?

[Anonymous No.11578090]

Waking up to a loud crash rarely means something good is happening. It’s never “CRASH! Mom made pancakes!” or “CRASH! We decided to adopt a Golden Retriever!”

[Anonymous No.11578097]

>>11578090
Holy... more. I need more.

[Anonymous No.11578183]

>>11576246
I like it; good beginning. However that first sentence is pretty clunky; either break it in two or re-structure. And you jump around past and present tense -- "it wasn't so bad...the longer I stare". I get that it's a guy thinking about the past while talking about the present. But it's hard to read as it is.
Got any more?

[Anonymous No.11578243]

I wanted to convey a feeling of overpowering and illicit lust. So fuck my shit up.


like dancers do with music
i end myself to you
i mean
before the beginning
when faces are too close for comfort
meaning
the space between them
should've filled like air invades
the empty or the mammal
sound of fucking
claps across the walls

i do not know you and
i've forgotten who i am
we, meaning i thinking 'we'
play pretend at firestarting while
inside we are
the texture of ash
and we smell like drying sweat
off unwashed genitals
grass and stench of petrichor
saliva stuck
and bleeding from the trees
monsoon forest
gastric acid
the thought of cunt stains on a dress
the weight of boots jerking in the ether

i once said to someone
that love was an alchemy
i want to believe it is

so that the day i reach
what awaits me
beyond pale skin and panic
beyond the petrichor dripping
from entry holes
that prevent my sleep
as i lay in the brine of heat death
then, i want to see us clearly

the red evening sun

blueness through a prism

caresses over naked foot soles

to touch ourselves in different rooms

to cum with others and
think of us and
make fire in a church

what is your sin?
an act of arson
the murder of meaning

[Anonymous No.11578691]

>>11576261
I didn't cut that part but cut another I felt disrupted the narrative after reading yours and>>11578183
said. I also made the cremation sentence branch off into a new paragraph

>>11578183
>>11577105
Thanks anons, encouraging as I have done lots of reading but only just decided to replicate some of my favorite character studies. The story is aiming to demonstrate the expectation VS the reality of those who pursue things out of lust or compulsion (Vengeance, love and success) I want it to follow three characters whom's stories are all intertwined and in the end, their pursuits are to their own demise.
>>11578005
Such a foolish mistake. Literature written in past thoughts in present tense is something I have read many times before yet I failed to demonstrate it coherently in just a dozen sentences or so. Please point out what needs to be revised in this one as well if you can. I really want to learn to make something of value, something with merit.

Sorry I don't have more, I am still working on the rough notes and tbqh it has become a administrative nightmare to keep things organized between the virtual and physical

[Anonymous No.11578715]

>>11578691
>>>11578005
>Such a foolish mistake. Literature written in past thoughts in present tense is something I have read many times before yet I failed to demonstrate it coherently in just a dozen sentences or so. Please point out what needs to be revised in this one as well if you can. I really want to learn to make something of value, something with merit.
>Sorry I don't have more, I am still working on the rough notes and tbqh it has become a administrative nightmare to keep things organized between the virtual and physical

Meant for >>11578183

[Anonymous No.11578769]

>>11578005
This is from Pynchon's short story Entropy. Anon don stole from the Pynch

[Anonymous No.11578870]

>>11578691
>>11578715
>>11578183
>>11577105
>>11576246
>>11576261

OK this should be the final cut. If theres mistakes here then I have no potential as I looked it over multiple times and really tried finding any flaws (Maybe too many ill placed commas?)

Speaking strictly in regards to sentence structure and grammar of course.

[Anonymous No.11578954]

https://pastebin.com/BBe8F9cT

this has a long way to go but basic premise is: a man is fantasising about murdering his step-father. Is in therapy. Begins to discuss urges. Plans to go through with them. Plans the murder but cannot go through with it. He tells therapist. Develops unhealthy obsession with her. She offers to change therapists. He takes her hostage in her home. Cannot go through with killing her again. Then he tells another person. Cycle continues

Idk; give me your thoughts if you'd like

[Anonymous No.11579112]

>>11578954
I'm trying to work on editing I hope you dont mind that I gave a quick pass over your work. I liked it especially the description of his mother and their interaction. I just found the therapy segment was unclear in the beginning so I just rearranged the lines a little and cut one or two minor parts.

[Anonymous No.11579118]

>>11579112
oops forgot paste:
https://pastebin.com/9ki3c5Df

[Anonymous No.11579132]

>>11579112
>>11579118

woah, someone gave me feedback. Thank you!
I'll look now; link your one and i'll do the same and give as much feedback as i can

[Anonymous No.11579224]

>>11578870
Start with the second paragraph instead. If you begin by mentioning a body you have to get rid of i'm instantly more interested in reading through it than if you start off with a reflection.

A lot of readers scan through, especially if they don't know what to expect from you. Mentioning a body acts like a speedbump, forces them to pace.

Good setting too, would like to see more fiction exploiting the creepy/dark potential of eastern european settings.

[Anonymous No.11579293]

https://pastebin.com/rvpX8gev

had to write this shit for college. letter grade?

[Naga Sake !!3c3PCLdkp4b No.11579535]

I've been working on a few stories of varying quality for a while. They both take place in an existing world, and are kinda shit, but I can't think of anywhere else to post these to get people's opinions. Neither of these are finished, but getting people's opinions of them so far is good.

Vodet the Super human. A dragon ball story (yes I know how cringey the fact it's on fanfiction is)
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13020156/1/Vodet-the-Super-Human


Fallout Saint Petersburg. Please don't comment on the spelling mistakes, I realize there's a ton of those. I origionall started it on a potato computer with a version of word that didn't even have spellcheck.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gweQFk31l7-FaIc0k53kU48mHXDcsudqBSRMX8AMWos/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.11579548]

[Anonymous No.11579613]

wish me only que time seen you could how fuckin long I spent being a retard for this shit

[Anonymous No.11579644]

>>11576246
Of course there isn't enough to stir our wonder in us—there isn't enough to love, anywhere, even if one was strong enough, if one is diligent enough, if one is perceptive, patient, kind enough—to see inside the wet, gray of your aspartamed mind.

[Anonymous No.11581048]

>>11579293
D

[Anonymous No.11581179]

I come from a long line of snake oil salesmen, con men, and degenerate gamblers. I saw it all on Ancestry.com. Charm runs through my veins, but despite my genetic good fortune, I am a very sick man. I alternate between anxiety and depression, but these names for things, these disorders, they are nothing, wind, bullshit, all different masks worn by the same face. I know because I've tried it all: SSRI, Xanax, running in the mornings, Kale shakes, talk therapy, going dancing, and other vandalisms of the human spirit. Doctor, what is wrong with me?
I can’t diagnose myself nor can any doctor, specialist, or soothsayer. People do not ask themselves questions they are unprepared to answer (I think that's a quote from Oprah). So be careful, dear reader or dear editor, about what questions you have about this block of text, because once you leave the safety of your own personal green island of Tahiti, there is no returning home.
While I am unprepared to diagnose my sickness, I can still speculate on what causes it. The normalcy of everyday life wears me down, of walking to the bus station, student loans, vapid dates, and the grinding monotony of office life. A part of me believes human life was not so monotonous a short time ago. It’s easy to believe in golden ages. The age of boldness, of unrestrained human spirit, call it the era of myth, call it the 50s and 60s, never truly existed. The banality of domestic life is immortal. [Needs to be set firmly in the present actions of the bus station]
On the bus, I get a solid twenty minutes of screen and headphone time. The phone is a handy tool. It can solve every problem. On a particularly bad day, I’ll get the sudden urge to rush into oncoming traffic, to lay flat in the road in the face of all that machinery and heat and let it claim me. I do not know what causes me to desire suicide, maybe some vital element of me has been neglected, or perhaps it is the natural byproduct of the long deluge of modern daily life. There is no way of truly knowing the cause, or the reason. All I know is that the feeling evaporates as I look at my phone, by that familiar narcotic flow of information, of pictures and videos. I like to laugh. I like the things that make me laugh. I like laughing at our president. [soften the suicidal urges, make it more concise]
My favorite pastime is watching pornography. At twelve years old I was locking myself in the bathroom with the cracked iTouch, clearing history, reclearing it, going down that rabbit hole of stifled breath and anxiety. [more emphasis on stories, expand on the family, how does your mother or your brother react to the masturbation]
There comes a moment in a man’s life when he has found his niche, his livelihood. It could be religious devotion, employment, or philosophical enlightenment. The meaning of my life is to watch interracial porn.

[Anonymous No.11581193]

I can’t believe this bullshit, Lupe thought as she walked to class. She couldn’t wait to talk to Ricky about it. Lupe knew the newly elected president talked a lot of shit about things that needed to be changed about the country, but she never thought he would actually go through with any of it.
Lupe arrived at her classroom, opening the door to see Ricky, Ava, and Rebecca sitting at their unassigned-assigned seats at the rectangular table with Ricky at one side of it while Ava and Rebecca were on the other. She slammed her backpack on the ground as she took her empty seat next to Ricky.
Ricky reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, “So, I’m guessing you heard about the new law then?”
“No shit,” Lupe reached up to put her hand on top of Ricky’s.
Ava chipped in, “What new law?”
Before Lupe could explain, Rebecca started, “Our president is demanding that all Mexicans living in the United States register themselves to the government. The aliens will be sent back to Mexico ASAP. The rest will have to wait and see if they get to stay here or get deported back to Mexico, regardless whether or not they were born in the United States.” She flipped her pin straight blond hair, “Good riddance.”
Ricky glared at Rebecca, “I will never understand why you chose to take this Race, Class, and Gender course if you’re such a goddamn racist.”
Widening her blue eyes in a ‘who, me?’ kind of way, Rebecca couldn’t keep the act

[Anonymous No.11581201]

>>11581193
Ava twirled a piece of her brown hair around her fingers, digesting the new law. “I wonder if Greg will show up to class today,” she abruptly asks. She took it upon herself to be the mediator of the class. Rebecca tended to shake up everyone with her highly problematic views, but Ava always managed to calm down the class by changing where the class discussion was going or asking the professor to clarify part of the reading for her.
“Why wouldn’t he show up?” Ricky questioned.
“Well, it’s the anniversary of his parent’s death.” Greg had recently shared to the class that this time of the year was always tough for him since his parents died in a burglary gone wrong back when he was ten. Their class size was small; there were only five of them. Because of this, they managed to share a lot about their lives to each other.
Rebecca scoffed, “He’s probably out celebrating right now.”
“How dare you say that,” Ricky snapped.
She simply shrugged, “He told me after class last time that the person who killed his parents was an alien from Mexico. With this new law passed, he’s probably joining those gangs who are out hunting for Mexicans right now.”
Before Lupe could ask about what gangs Rebecca mentioned, the door opened. Greg walked in; his green eyes didn’t have the usual warmth in them. He took his seat in between Ava and Rebecca. Ava grabbed his hand, “I’m sorry about your loss.”
Greg squeezed back, “Thank you, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
They all nodded. Lupe checked to her phone to see if there were any news updates, but instead, she saw an email from their professor

[Anonymous No.11581206]

>>11581201
Ava finally raised her head. A tear streamed down her cheek, “I’m so sorry, Lupe.” With that, she jumped on top of the table and kicked Ricky straight in the face. Greg launched himself across the table, tackling Lupe. Rebecca cackled as she carefully used her chair as a step to get on top of the table, “Pin her down!” she barked at Greg who was punching Lupe over and over again. Ava sat against the wall next to Ricky’s unconscious body, pulling at her hair as she kept muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Lupe’s screams bounced violently around the room. As Greg kept hitting her, however, all Lupe could think about was where was the professor?
Unfortunately, the professor never made it to the school. On his way to class, waiting amidst the other cars trying to get their jobs as fast as they can, the gangs that Rebecca mentioned decided to hit the highway, looking for any Mexicans they can get their hands on. Why send them back to Mexico, when they could just get rid of them for good? Now, the professor wasn’t Mexican. Professor Rodriguez was Puerto Rican. Of course, when the gangs reached his car, they just saw his last name was Rodriguez on his driver license that he readily handed to them and assumed he was Mexican, ignoring his cries while they stabbed him that he wasn’t Mexican at all, his blood splattering the asphalt.

[Anonymous No.11581360]

>>11578243
Can someone just tear my shit up please? I know it's bad, I just want people's opinions on it

[Anonymous No.11581387]

>>11581360
you're only allowed one petrichor

[Anonymous No.11581403]

>>11581360

its amazing, you are a true talent. I love you.

[Anonymous No.11581761]

>>11578243
>before the beginning
>when faces are too close for meaning
>the space between them
>should have filled like air

>i do not know you and
>i've forgotten who i am
>inside we are the texture of ash
>and we smell like drying sweat

>what awaits me beyond pale skin and panic
>beyond the petrichor drippings that prevent my sleep
>as i lay in the brine of heat death
>then, i want to see us clearly

>think of us and think
>of the murder of meaning

now it's a 3/10, before it was 1/10

here's why: you like to elaborate on what you think (I think, I said, etc), you like to be direct and vulgar (really doesn't work when you think about it, your poem only then has shock value), you like empty comparisons (like dancers, make fire in a church), rhetoric questions out of place (what is your sin?), the length, the formlessness, breaking of verse just because it "seems" good, use words like "PETRICHOR" surrounded with words like genitals, gastric acid etc.
the red evening sun, blueness through the prism is also a terrible verse
all in all this is shit, and you never studied verse or versification
kys

[Anonymous No.11581775]

Sometimes it comes in a broad, hairy frame
and usually tastes of cheap wine
and cigarettes. He—they are much older than I.
Maybe I waited for him at the bar
engrossed in the hops from the sleeve crawling,
from the bottom of the glass
as the crunch of his assertive step on
the peanut shells, littered on the floor
grows louder.

He goes through the motions as if,
he were a painter. Nuzzling his wirey goatee
on my cheeks to excite the red flush in my face
running down my back are his five tips,
which ignite my nerve endings. Trails
of flame travel down my spine.

I blink a few times and find I am somewhere new
in a house—his house. He enters the Victorian-styled
room with a bag of Afgan Kush and a bottle of merlot
I am already too drunk. I drink
the wine because its in a fancy glass, and smoke,
the joint because the way he makes it dance
Out of his mouth is beautiful. Performance art.

The room starts to spin. I know this feeling
all too well. I take off my clothes and collapse on his bed.
Drifting into a drunken, dreamless slumber

the last thing I hear is the unzipping,
of his fly.

[Anonymous No.11581838]

>>11578243
>and we smell like drying sweat
off unwashed genitals
grass and stench of petrichor
saliva stuck
and bleeding from the trees

[Anonymous No.11581899]

>>11581761
Actually agree with all of this. Now do me

Shall I describe the autumn just fallen?
More abundant and bountiful than last:
Its lease leaving each day more important,
The eleventh, the best endowed, depart.
The bright eye bestowed but too often dimmed
When the fairest decline in perfection;
But dearest summer, she’s often left slimmed
Wandering in nature’s fluctuation.
Eternal slumber, autumn’s dénouement;
But death does not bind the nomadic shade
And perpetual lines brag of new dawn
After sailing divine storms, unafraid.
Fair autumn may sallow: ever mature,
My verse will retain our youth, evermore.

[Anonymous No.11581990]

>>11581899
You've got the metric, that's a good thing, and you're rhyming in non-trivial rhymes, but some rhymes fall weak. dénouement and dawn, sure, but why use a French word? This needs a replacement.

I enjoyed reading it, but: it's archaic, that is, has hints of ye old verse (shall is almost always associated with old, what's wrong with WILL ? even has much more impact, since the SH sound is mellow when compared to will) -- that's another thing, it has no elan, it's meek and mellow all the way, only sometimes having some strength (But dearest summer... till After sailing...). Words: evermore, fairest, then stale epithets (eternal slumber, abundant and bountiful autumn, bright eye)

There is weak verse, more like, annoying verse, trite verse:
-- My verse will retain our youth, evermore.
-- Wandering in nature's fluctuation (see, using a specific word like fluctuation doesn't fit with the ecological dimension of the poem).
-- The eleventh, the best endowed, depart. -- I don't understand, is this talking about November? It's not hermetical, it's confusing, and you should avoid confusion.

I like "nomadic shade" -- this is a nice epithet, was the highlight of the poem.

[Anonymous No.11583070]

>>11581990
only good feedback i've ever seen on this board desu