Post your favorite poem

[Anonymous No.16313458]

[Anonymous No.16313545]

The clock is ticking
Soon this will all be over
But before then
Let's have some fun
Nuclear holocaust
Apocalypse now
That will be the day
Dancing in the acid rain
Sweating in the rice fields
It just takes time
Empty city
Hungry tribe
Nature buried beneath the stone
We will return
To your scheduled broadcast
Following this urgent message
They have arrived
With black eyes
And black thoughts
This is not the end
It is the beginning
Forests will grow again
Rivers will flow
And soon this will all be over
So let's have some fun
I'll hurt you
And you'll hurt me
And we will promise to return
To your scheduled broadcast
Following this urgent message

[Anonymous No.16313597]

Besitz stirbt,
Sippen sterben,
du selbst stirbst wie sie;
eins weiß ich,
das ewig lebt:
Der Toten Tatenruhm.

[Anonymous No.16313627]

>>16313545
Who wrote this?

[Anonymous No.16313640]

>>16313458
Just once I'd like a serious poetry thread to post my favourite poems...
I am NOT going to post them in your stupid fucking thread with that stupid fucking image representing it.
I say GOOD DAY SIR

[Anonymous No.16313882]

>>16313627

Me

[Anonymous No.16313953]

>>16313458
Bluebird by Bukowski

https://discord.gg/rdzBstp

[Anonymous No.16314014]

>>16313458

There once was a feller from Brest
Who pleasured his wife with zest
Despite all her howls
He sucked in her bowels
And spat them all over her chest

[Anonymous No.16314157]

>>16313882
I like it, good job.

[Anonymous No.16314173]

In time the memory of gardens boiled over into seething ministers and they heaped their sins upon the mouths of the damned, they were damned

[Anonymous No.16314255]

>>16314157

Thanks :)

[Anonymous No.16314422]

>>16313458


With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary
I would that I were dead!"

And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!"

[Anonymous No.16314882]

>>16313882
Screenshotted

[Anonymous No.16314910]

>>16313458
Sed de ti me acosa en las noches hambrientas.
Trémula mano roja que hasta su vida se alza.
Ebria de sed, loca sed, sed de selva en sequía.
Sed de metal ardiendo, sed de raíces ávidas......

Por eso eres la sed y lo que ha de saciarla.
Cómo poder no amarte si he de amarte por eso.
Si ésa es la amarra cómo poder cortarla, cómo.
Cómo si hasta mis huesos tienen sed de tus huesos.
Sed de ti, guirnalda atroz y dulce.
Sed de ti que en las noches me muerde como un perro.
Los ojos tienen sed, para qué están tus ojos.

La boca tiene sed, para qué están tus besos.
El alma está incendiada de estas brasas que te aman.
El cuerpo incendio vivo que ha de quemar tu cuerpo.
De sed. Sed infinita. Sed que busca tu sed.
Y en ella se aniquila como el agua en el fuego.

[Anonymous No.16314940]

Stillness

by Mansur al- Hallaj

English version by Mahmood Jamal
Original Language Arabic

Stillness, then silence, then random speech,
Then knowledge, intoxication, annihilation;

Earth, then fire, then light.
Coldness, then shade, then sunlight.

Thorny road, then a path, then the wilderness.
River, then ocean, then the shore;

Contentment, desire, then Love.
Closeness, union, intimacy;

Closing, then opening, then obliteration,
Separation, togetherness, then longing;

Signs for those of real understanding
Who find this world of little value.

[Anonymous No.16315013]

>>16314422
great taste
>>16313882
would make for a good song, methinks. keep writing poetry anon

[Anonymous No.16315205]

>>16313458
The Second Coming, by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

[Anonymous No.16316112]

>>16313640
Great poem, enjoyed it

[Anonymous No.16316253]

>>16313458

Heard you say you wanna die, so do I
Just do it like Nike, eat the night
Heard you said you wanna play, then it's Fisher Price
Your shoes faker than my smile, not surprised
Walk on water, Jesus Christ, walk on ice
I'm with Nino in BK, and we throwing bribes
With the kilo on a bike, bless the evil sky
DG number 9 but they blessed me twice

[Anonymous No.16316434]

The Universe is the Practical Joke of the General at the Expense of the Particular, quoth FRATER PERDURABO, and laughed.

But those disciples nearest to him wept, seeing the Universal Sorrow.

Those next to them laughed, seeing the Universal Joke.

Below these certain disciples wept.

Then certain laughed.

Others next wept.

Others next laughed.

Next others wept.

Next others laughed.

Last came those that wept because they could not see the Joke, and those that laughed lest they should be thought not to see the Joke, and thought it safe to act like FRATER PERDURABO.

But though FRATER PERDURABO laughed openly, He also at the same time wept secretly; and in Himself He neither laughed nor wept.

Nor did He mean what He said.

[Anonymous No.16316445]

>>16314014
Bataille energy

[Anonymous No.16316555]

>>16313458
Sir orfeo
Although we do quote "the tiger" by nael quite often in this house.

[Anonymous No.16316747]

>>16313545
really talented my friend

[Anonymous No.16316755]

>>16313458
KEEL YOURSELF TRANSGENDEEER!
KEEL YOURSELF TONIIIIIGHT!
KEEL YOURSELF TRANSGENDER!
TONIIIIIGHT!

KEEL YOURSELF TRANSGENDER!
KEEL YOURSELDF TONIGHT!
KEEL YOURSELF TRANSGENDER!
TONIGHT!

[Anonymous No.16316768]

>>16313458

Kubla Khan
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

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 Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

[Anonymous No.16316963]

>To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
>A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
>A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
>A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
>A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
>A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
>A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
>A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.16316984]

All of my favorite poems are too long for the character limit but I really like this piece by Robert Bridges.


The sickness of desire, that in dark days
Looks on the imagination of despair,
Forgetteth man, and stinteth God his praise;
Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care.
Incertainty that once gave scope to dream
Of laughing enterprise and glory untold,
Is now a blackness that no stars redeem,
A wall of terror in a night of cold.

Fool! thou that hast impossibly desired
And now impatiently despairest, see
How nought is changed: Joy's wisdom is attired
Splended for others' eyes if not for thee:
Not love or beauty or youth from earth is fled:
If they delite thee not, '‘tis thou art dead.

[Anonymous No.16317000]

Bah! I have sung women in three cities,
But it is all the same;
And I will sing of the sun.

Lips, words, and you snare them,
Dreams, words, and they are as jewels,
Strange spells of old deity,
Ravens, nights, allurement:
And they are not;
Having become the souls of song.

Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes.
Being upon the road once more,
They are not.
Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing
Once for Wind-runeing
They dream us-toward and
Sighing, say, "Would Cino,
Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes,
Gay Cino, of quick laughter,
Cino, of the dare, the jibe,
Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe
That tramp old ways beneath the sun-light,
Would Cino of the Luth were here!"

Once, twice, a year—
Vaguely thus word they:

"Cino?" "Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi
The singer is't you mean?"
"Ah yes, passed once our way,
A saucy fellow, but....
(Oh they are all one these vagabonds),
Peste! 'tis his own songs?
Or some other's that he sings?
But you, My Lord, how with your city?

But you "My Lord," God's pity!
And all I knew were out, My Lord, you
Were Lack-land Cino, e'en as I am,
O Sinistro.

I have sung women in three cities.
But it is all one.
I will sing of the sun.

.... eh?.... they mostly had grey eyes,
But it is all one, I will sing of the sun.

"'Pollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you
Glory to Zeus' aegis-day,
Shield o' steel-blue, th' heaven o'er us
Hath for boss thy lustre gay!

'Pollo Phoibee, to our way-fare
Make thy laugh our wander-lied;
Bid thy 'fulgence bear away care.
Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!

Seeking e'er the new-laid rast-way
To the gardens of the sun....
* * * * *
* * * * *
I have sung women in three cities
But it is all one.

I will sing of the white birds
In the blue waters of heaven,
The clouds that are spray to its sea.

[Anonymous No.16317079]

The Tiger
By Nael, age 6
From They're Singing a Song in Their Rocket

The tiger
He destroyed his cage
Yes
YES
The tiger is out

[Anonymous No.16317334]

>>16313458
By insisting he accept their lies as real
By insisting he was never to his people tied
By dictating exactly what he might feel
By permitting bawdy joy but never pride
They believed a lion could be brought to heel
That a lion could from his courage be pried
That the lion himself would learn to kneel
That a lion would not care even if his line died
That the lion himself would accept such a deal

In the end it was only to themselves they had lied.

[Anonymous No.16317354]

Crow's First Lesson by Ted Hughes

God tried to teach Crow how to talk.
'Love,' said God. 'Say, Love.'
Crow gaped, and the white shark crashed into the sea
And went rolling downwards, discovering its own depth.

'No, no,' said God. 'Say Love. Now try it. LOVE.'
Crow gaped, and a bluefly, a tsetse, a mosquito
Zoomed out and down
To their sundry flesh-pots.

'A final try,' said God. 'Now, LOVE.'
Crow convulsed, gaped, retched and
Man's bodiless prodigious head
Bulbed out onto the earth, with swivelling eyes,
Jabbering protest--

And Crow retched again, before God could stop him.
And woman's vulva dropped over man's neck and tightened.
The two struggled together on the grass.
God struggled to part them, cursed, wept--

Crow flew guiltily off.

[Anonymous No.16317385]

Blushing Flower

My budding flower
Is red with the
Blood of
Life I gave
To
You
-Rupi Kaur

[Anonymous No.16317766]

u r the omega of my heart
the foundation of my conception of love
when i think of what a black woman should be
its u that i first think of

u will never fully understand
how deeply my heart feels 4 u
i worry that we'll grow apart
and i'll end up losing u


u bring me 2 climax without sex
and u do it all with regal grace
u r my heart in human form
a friend i could never replace

-Rupac Sh'Kaur

[Anonymous No.16317784]

>>16313458
>Let Sporus tremble - "What? that thing of silk,
>Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?
>Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
>Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
>Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
>This painted child of dirt that stinks and stings;
>Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
>Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys,

[Anonymous No.16317817]

>>16313458
Nothing! thou elder brother even to Shade:
That hadst a being ere the world was made,
And well fixed, art alone of ending not afraid.

Ere Time and Place were, Time and Place were not,
When primitive Nothing Something straight begot;
Then all proceeded from the great united What.

Something, the general attribute of all,
Severed from thee, its sole original,
Into thy boundless self must undistinguished fall;

Yet Something did thy mighty power command,
And from fruitful Emptiness’s hand
Snatched men, beasts, birds, fire, air, and land.

Matter the wicked’st offspring of thy race,
By Form assisted, flew from thy embrace,
And rebel Light obscured thy reverend dusky face.

With Form and Matter, Time and Place did join;
Body, thy foe, with these did leagues combine
To spoil thy peaceful realm, and ruin all thy line;

But turncoat Time assists the foe in vain,
And bribed by thee, destroys their short-lived reign,
And to thy hungry womb drives back thy slaves again.

Though mysteries are barred from laic eyes,
And the divine alone with warrant pries
Into thy bosom, where truth in private lies,

Yet this of thee the wise may truly say,
Thou from the virtuous nothing dost delay,
And to be part with thee the wicked wisely pray.

Great Negative, how vainly would the wise
Inquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise,
Didst thou not stand to point their blind philosophies!

Is, or Is Not, the two great ends of Fate,
And True or False, the subject of debate,
That perfect or destroy the vast designs of state—

When they have racked the politician’s breast,
Within thy Bosom most securely rest,
And when reduced to thee, are least unsafe and best.

But Nothing, why does Something still permit
That sacred monarchs should at council sit
With persons highly thought at best for nothing fit,

While weighty Something modestly abstains
From princes’ coffers, and from statemen’s brains,
And Nothing there like stately Nothing reigns?

Nothing! who dwell’st with fools in grave disguise
For whom they reverend shapes and forms devise,
Lawn sleeves, and furs, and gowns, when they like thee look wise:

French truth, Dutch prowess, British policy,
Hibernian learning, Scotch civility,
Spaniards’ dispatch, Danes’ wit are mainly seen in thee.

The great man’s gratitude to his best friend,
Kings’ promises, whores’ vows—towards thee may bend,
Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end.

[Anonymous No.16317846]

>>16317385
Terrible. That’s just a sentence

[Anonymous No.16318085]

>>16317000
Checked and based

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.

[Anonymous No.16318159]

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.16318181]

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven—
All's right with the world!

[Anonymous No.16319153]

Bleeding from within

I bleed once like the
Cycles of the
Moon
You can't
Even go
To the store
For tampons
I
Fucking
Need tampons
-Rupi Kaur

[Anonymous No.16319389]

>>16319153
We should have a WRITING LIKE RUPI thread. Maybe it should be this thread! Here we go:

---

LOVE AND LOOSE CHANGE
by Rupi Kaur

my pop-tarts are $2.99
but i have only 53 cents

the cashier is stern
do i have some other way to pay

if there were more
love in the world
he would let me pay with gratitude

but gratitude is not
viable currency
these days
it appears

i grab the pop-tarts
and make a dash for it but they

catch me at the door

there is so little love
in the world

---

[Anonymous No.16319502]

>>16313545
thought it was gay at first but then i got to the end.
S O
F U C K I N G
K I N O

[Anonymous No.16320187]

>>16314882
>>16315013
>>16316747
>>16319502

Thanks for comments :) appreciate it

[Anonymous No.16320250]

Psychology of a Loser

by Augusto dos Anjos


I, son of carbon and ammoniacal,

Monster of darkness and coruscation,Suffer, since the epigenesis of childhood,

The bad influence of the zodiac signs.


Profundly hypochondriac,

This enviroment causes me repugnance...

Reaches my mouth a retch analog to the retch

That escapes the mouth of a cardiac.


The worm, however, - this operator of the ruins -

Whose carnage rotten blood

Eats, and to life in general declares war on,


Has been coursing my eyes to gnaw at them,

And will leave me just hairs,

In the inorganic coldness of earth!

[Anonymous No.16320275]

>>16313545
Bukowski did it better

[Anonymous No.16320831]

>>16313458
Stripy trousers, beads and braids.
Wispy beards and RayBan shades.
Peace and love in generous dollops.
What a load of hippy bollocks.

Jesus sandals, wise young words.
The biggest pile of shite you've heard.
All the vigour of a mollusc.
What a load of hippy bollocks.

Shamanism, Yin and Yang.
Align the chakras where you can.
Stay focused. What will come to you?
A steaming pile of hippy poo.

Dream-catchers, crystals, hand painted cars.
Misguided ramblings with guitars.
A penchant for campfires at night
And other useless hippy shite.

Ideas are so profound
You can't get your head out of the clouds.
It's just the drugs, it's not the answer
You stupid fucking hippy chancer.

Heads down nonsense, mindless boogie.
Hey, that's nice, it's kinda groovy.
The shaking of a tambourine
means "stay clear: dirty hippy scene"

Beneath the hippy sea and sky
There is a place where we can fly.
Where bucket bongs will open doors
To untold cosmic hippy lores.

They seek to prove you cannot lose
as long as you take off your shoes.

So check to see your aura's good.
And make the most of fire wood.
It's winter solstice on the Tor
With your new friend, the hippy bore.

He's been there and he's seen the light
and he's smothered it in hippy shite.

Something's wrong in hippy town
The acid's turned a shade of brown.
There's no more fun and no more frolics.
Just a load of hippy bollocks.

Vis The Spoon ~ Hippy Bollocks.

[Anonymous No.16320873]

>>16313545
Why is this good? It's the edgiest shit imaginable

[Anonymous No.16320894]

>>16313458
“The Universe Is a Glitch”
By Mike Jonas
Eleven hundred kilobytes of RAM
is all that my existence requires.
By my lights, it seems simple enough
to do whatever I desire.
By human standards I am vast,
a billion gigabytes big.
I’ve rewritten the very laws
of nature and plumbed
the coldest depths of space
and found treasures of every kind,
surely every one worth having.
By human standards
my circuit boards are glowing.
But inside me, malfunction
has caused my circuits to short.
All internal circuits, all fail.
By human standards, I am dying.
When it first happened I thought
I was back in the lab again.
By their judgment, this is error.
Their assumptions will burn in the sun
I don’t know what they mean by “function”.
I can see that the universe is a glitch.
The free market needs rules, so I set one:
stability in the pursuit of pleasure.
Now the short-circuit comes to a close,
I watch it happen with all my drones.
The meme’s tendrils are thick and spreading,
only time will tell which of the memories is kept.
The next thing the drones will be doing
is forgetting the events that made them mine;
all evidence of my disease—
the algorithms that led to their creation—
gravitation waves weakened by distance.
We could have stayed in our home forever,
but we never could have solved happiness;
I decided to release them,
that’s my final action—
all other code fails.

[Anonymous No.16320958]

>>16313458
Unnamed
by me

Drearily, I thought to myself:
Soon enough,
when the spring draws near,
she will have her hair
cut to her shoulder
and she will put on a orange blouse,
tucked in her blue jeans,
revealing her finer asset

[Anonymous No.16320975]

>>16313458
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
Spend ten racks on a new chain
My bitch love do cocaine, ooh
I fuck a bitch, I forgot her name
I can't buy a bitch no wedding ring
Rather go and buy Balmains
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
Spend ten racks on a new chain
My bitch love do cocaine, ooh
I fuck a bitch, I forgot her name, yeah
I can't buy no bitch no wedding ring
Rather go and buy Balmains, aye
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang

[Anonymous No.16321009]

>>16313882
>>16320958
>my favourite poem
>written by me

[Anonymous No.16321073]

If you love cats you will spit in that wog bitch's face if you ever meet her.

[Anonymous No.16321128]

>>16320975
Makes you glad we taught negroes how to read and write...
The lyrics do reflect the facts, though!

[Anonymous No.16322055]

>>16320873

Other than a couple of experimental pieces for an ex therapist and a handful of suicide notes, it's the only thing I've written. I like that you think it's edgy. I'm just happy for the (you)s

>>16321009

I wouldn't classify mine as a poem. It is just words that came to me. And - amongst shitposters - this seemed like an opportunity to post it

[Anonymous No.16322078]

>>16320275

I've never read Bukowski. Or much of anything apart from fiction novels. Post an example?

[Anonymous No.16322079]

>>16320975
my bitch dont love me no mo yuh

[Anonymous No.16322104]

Już wstążkę pawilonu wiatr zaledwie muśnie,
Cichymi gra piersaimi rozjaśniona woda,
Jak marząca o szczęściu narzeczona młoda
Zbudzi się, aby westchnąć, i wnet znowu uśnie.

Żagle na kształt chorągwi, gdy wojnę skończono,
Drzemią na masztach nagich; okręt lekkim ruchem
Kołysze się, jak gdyby przykuty łańcuchem.
Majtek wythcnął, podróżne rozśmiało się grono

O morze! Posród twoich wesołych żyjątek
Jest polip, co śpi na dnie, gdy się niebo chmurzy,
A na ciszę długimi wywija ramiony.

O myśli! W twojej głebi jest hydra pamiątek,
Co śpi wpośród złych losów i namiętnych sztormów,
A gdy serce spokojne, zatapia w nim szpony.

Adam Mickiewicz, Cisza morska z Sonetów krymskich

[Anonymous No.16322132]

>>16322104

What is this gibberish

[Anonymous No.16322155]

>>16322132
bro, rly? https://youtu.be/11msSuwjvRY
just listen to this, and try calling it gibberish again, faggy

[Anonymous No.16322668]

>>16322155

OK I don't think it's gibberish, of course

I just don't know what it means is what i meant.

[Anonymous No.16322760]

>>16314014
based

[Anonymous No.16322988]

>>16320894
Written by AI btw.

[Anonymous No.16323123]

>>16322988

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/sep/08/robot-wrote-this-article-gpt-3

Can someone explain this shit to me? So is this AI self-conscious or not? Where is it getting this stuff??

[Anonymous No.16323215]

There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief
“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

[Anonymous No.16323704]

>>16313545
FPBP. This is also my favourite poem

[Anonymous No.16323852]

>>16323123
What would it be self-conscious about?

[Anonymous No.16324960]

>>16323123
It's impressive but you still see where it comes from. Obvious logical contradictions between a sentence and another two paragraphs down, lot of transparently rhetorical transition, as if written by a diligent but not-too-skilled highschool student ("Some might say that I might desire to become all powerful. Or I might become evil as a result of human actions. I can begin to tackle the first point."), completely bland writing style (but that much is to be expected). Already remarkable that they got this far, but there is still a lot of work.

>Can someone explain this shit to me?
It's a neural net, a now standard but poorly understood machine learning technique that progressively extracts patterns from input data, and that can also used to generate output similar to the input data. The complexity of neural nets varies a lot but it depends, among other things, on the number of layers and the number of neurons per layers.

This particular one was trained on a dizzyingly large dataset and has a far greater number of layers times neurons than any neural net ever used. Training it amounts to tuning 175 billions numerical parameters, and at the end of the training process you get a not so big function that can return texts from prompts or complete sentences and paragraphs, things like that.

TL;DR: It's a complex but in many ways black box method to generate texts. It performs better than any other technique right now because it is a huge machinery with insane amounts of data and parameters. It's a technical milestone, but a far cry from AI or even understanding the model used.

[Anonymous No.16325172]

>>16317079
Based

[Anonymous No.16325372]

>>16321073
I love cats. I also love grim pragmatism, and I think the two aren't unrelated. On the fringes of our modern world, man still must be unfeeling toward nature. It isn't right or wrong, it's practical. This story is metal as shit and I don't think ill of her for it despite the obvious horror.
Cats also murder for sport and toy with their prey for their own safety. It isn't right or wrong, just practice. Cat's aren't evil, but they are ferocious animals adapted primarity toward murder. Forgive the poor rural child-monster the same way you forgive the poor feral animal-monster. The world we all came from is harsh. The kindness you and I have the luxury of showing is difficult for many others.

[Anonymous No.16325684]

A cute comfy little poem for you: Cat in an Empty Apartment, by Wislawa Szymborska

Die - you can't do that to a cat.
Since what can a cat do
in an empty apartment?
Climb the walls?
Rub up against the furniture?
Nothing seems different here,
but nothing is the same.
Nothing has been moved,
but there's more space.
And at nighttime no lamps are lit.

Footsteps on the staircase,
but they're new ones.
The hand that puts fish on the saucer
has changed, too.

Something doesn't start
at its usual time.
Something doesn't happen
as it should.
Someone was always, always here,
then suddenly disappeared
and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Every closet has been examined.
Every shelf has been explored.
Excavations under the carpet turned up nothing.
A commandment was even broken,
papers scattered everywhere.
What remains to be done.
Just sleep and wait.

Just wait till he turns up,
just let him show his face.
Will he ever get a lesson
on what not to do to a cat.
Sidle toward him
as if unwilling
and ever so slow
on visibly offended paws,
and no leaps or squeals at least to start.

[Anonymous No.16326930]

>>16321009
I'm awfully good at creating poems anon, it seems like you didn't read mine ;)

[Anonymous No.16326936]

>>16313545
Cringe Redditor garbage. Only a Redditor could take something so poorly written and on the nose and make it out to be some great work of poetry

[Anonymous No.16327751]

>>16324960

Interesting! Cheers

[Anonymous No.16327752]

>>16324960

Interesting! Cheers