[ 3 / biz / cgl / ck / diy / fa / ic / jp / lit / sci / vr / vt ] [ index / top / reports / report a bug ] [ 4plebs / archived.moe / rbt ]

2022-05-12: Ghost posting is now globally disabled. 2022: Due to resource constraints, /g/ and /tg/ will no longer be archived or available. Other archivers continue to archive these boards.Become a Patron!

/lit/ - Literature

View post   
View page     

[ Toggle deleted replies ]
File: 483 KB, 640x640, poetry-small_640x640_acf_cropped.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
16547890 No.16547890 [Reply] [Original]

Post it
Rate it
Make fun of it

>> No.16547893

Through the Glass
A clerk with class

A pretty face
And a tight ass

I was brash
But she was rash

Buried in sadness
This is madness

Ide walk away
But the agony won't

go away!

>> No.16547907

a flashing thought of death
clutching at my stuffed heart
manifests in my left
right hand loosening grip
on stuffed shopping bag
I never thought a mundane task
would be my last

>> No.16548052

I don't usually write free verse, but seeing that it is the thing that wins literary prizes nowadays I decided to come back to writing it for a while, any feedback is appreciated.

The afternoon wind licked our hair
Like a loyal dog
As we ran in circles
around the house
Our voices
And laughter
Combined in a sort of ambiance
To protect our house from bad omens.

In August we moved
And the house burned down.

We didn't laugh enough.

The icicle I held
In my fist
Melted into a tear
Of indescernible emotion
Was it greeting the coming of life
Or mourning the demise of its kin?

The moon fell from the sky
I swallowed it whole
And made a promise
To keep it safe and dark
In my stomach,
Protect it from
Ruthless tides
Of summer morning

This is great anon, post some other poems you wrote.

>> No.16548124

Any Germanfags here? I don't write English poetry

>> No.16548161

at the bus stop

a foreign man asked when
the next bus came
I gave no answer
headphones to blame
up came his drunken saviour
who wanted to savour
every interaction in his wobbling state
asked him where he's really from
calling him pal and his mate
the foreigner did not like the enquiry
asked him if he'd like his papers, or his dairy
the drunk exclaimed
he'd only asked on a friendly basis
his black friends know he's not a racist
the foreigner walked on
walked home
And I was left alone
with the self-righteous drunk
who didn't care my head was slunk
avoiding eye and his breath

>> No.16548186

Oh and I like your poem too, I sense that it's a bit cryptic on the sense it is actually quite a personal?

Interesting that winter was clearly the darker time, the struggle you lived through but it's the memory of the good summer that weighs heavier.

>> No.16548238

I sense a talent in you anon, you should keep writing and try to get published.
Thanks, it's not at all personal, I made it all up, trying to write some poems with "real memories of imaginary people" feel.
How do you like the other two btw?

>> No.16548242

The Sonnet and Death of The Fly-man in a Modern American City

The Fly-man drank and wrote his poems under a
Suspension bridge, its towers in the fog

He sold the morning paper from a kiosk on the corner, making
Pennies more than other vagrants,
Enough for bread and ink.

He watched the ferry swan.
Yaw, roll, no pitch. Another flat-water day
In the bay, and the traffic slid overhead.

They never found his body.
That full-moon night I slipped across the greasy rocks,
And snuck through the front door
With the key he hid under his newsstand wheel.

Fly-man buried his verse in a box,
Under a portrait,
Under his bed,
Under the shanty roof,

“The Bridge” (n.d.)
My task is getting over it:
The bay that stands between me and my mote
Of joy. I see the cleansing flame there, lit.
Whilst here the sultry air keeps witch afloat.
Oh… I would give anything to see how
Mortal man could find daemons giving board
Across that water. Beg, or disavow
Some oath. Perhaps create some wiccan ford.
Unholy means to war the watching bridge,
A horror breaking the impressionist
Landscape. It laughs at our fall, “wretched midge!”
Content to crawl under the eye of mist.

There is one choice for slaves like me, of grime.
Un-host my soul, and onto that bridge, climb!

Cool slice of life poem. I feel like the first half is too choppy compared to the second (which I prefer), and that makes the tone of the poem inconsistent. Lines like
>headphones to blame
>up came his drunken saviour
>asked him where he's really from
That lack a subject are too jarring. Conversely
>he'd only asked on a friendly basis
>his black friends know he's not a racist
>And I was left alone
>with the self-righteous drunk
I like these lines a lot better, but the whole poem is weakened by this disconnect.

>> No.16548937
File: 59 KB, 320x1793, Tithonus poem.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Here's one from Tennyson.

German isn't my first language but I can read it adequately. I'll give you feedback, anon.

>> No.16549003

Drifting along this bed of cloth
I came and went but never left
Im here Im now im present

The fan is still, the light is bright
I embrace it all tonight,
The glow flourescent blinding

The air, it hummed, it spoke to me, it told me in my ear:
Your sadness is as valid as the joy that you embrace
It said and then went silent

Last verse was tight
This one, this one was fun. Like a snowball the momentum built

>> No.16549037

one day I strolled
to the website
4chan in bold
/lit/ I might
only retards I find

>> No.16549046

>rhyming class with glass
-1 points
>face rhymes with nothing
>brash with rash
>ness with ness
>away with away
>no consistent metric
>doesnt make sense

>> No.16549081 [DELETED] 
File: 31 KB, 472x461, 0449C8E5-0F45-42EF-A259-08B3AC21186A.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Puff puff pass
Tryna get up on this gas
Hanging with my homies
Tryin have a fuckin blast

Day 2, wide awake
Tryna get a little baked
But it doesn’t even work
Do a lil shake n bake
Smoke a lil meth, gonna make my mind ache

Day 5, still alive
Tryna get a little high
Now I’m seein fuckin demons out the corner of my eye
man I think I’m gonna die!

>> No.16549098

I had an uncle once
called Uncle Felix
who liked to play a game
called double helix
we'd twist together
to make DNA
it's been our secret
to this day

>> No.16549466
File: 43 KB, 636x382, fat crowe.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]


Prudent dupe, I confess my sins again,
The same ones I confessed just yesterday.
I've found myself unable to abstain
From vices I deride; I disobey
All I've written of life, for through my vice,
I'll eat, laugh, and survive my finite time.
And who can lead my soul to paradise?
Who possesses virtue so sublime
That they embrace the Word, deny the bread?
Certainly not you! You only remind
Of flaws and limits set in humankind,
Believing absolution's in what's said.
To agree is to let transgression slide;
To demur is to laud a moral pride.

I only write in meter, but this is a good start if you are jumping into free verse. It doesn't quite have the rhythm I get from other free verse writers though. Still, you aren't too far off and the poem itself is pleasant to read.

>> No.16549682

Can you recc me some free verse poets that write with rhythm? Your poem is quite good too.

>> No.16549704

Not him, but Robinson Jeffers and Derek Walcott.

>> No.16549712

At places, I could have been

At school with wierdos
Reading Kutadgu Bilig

On a surgical table, in space
My insides sucked out

With you in bed
At a stationary, buying paper

At Dachau or Bergen Belsen
Toast! Served as breakfast

With you again
At a dog funeral

With the spooks behind
The Whole Operation

With SL in her bed
...guess I wish that still

But still! Of all the places,
I'm in my beddy

And so I give myself
A self head-patty

That's all the Kutadgu Bilig
I hope to ever need

beautiful but ewww

i feel like you say too much when its about -my interpretation- that transcendent feeling of being and letting it be which is a more simple state of mind. i think there are better more minimal ways of expressing
>Your sadness is as valid as the joy that you embrace
also both that line and the one above with the repetitions distort the shape of the poem

>> No.16549804
File: 1.50 MB, 4032x3024, 7C9A0454-EBAE-41D7-B9C4-49211ECE976D.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

A longer subject-poem during moments with my partner;


Look at the humming bird
There on the hummingbird wire

Limbs unfold across white stone
and above
rises sound from moving.

I name you again and again,
forming the sound on my lips when you can’t hear.


It was just some way the sun sank
behind knobby green hills
with their stretching,
stretching up,
that reminded you of that painting
“done by the mountains themselves.”

I listened as you read “She says, ‘I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields...’
Rain whorled around leaves
—shh hear the names that the
birds speak to.


The sweet singing rivers feel cold mostly
and dizzy green moss embalms it’s color by water.

The brown sign near the interstate with sayings on them,
white with elder-white around it
And the sky too with blue and white surrounding it.

Your legs are perfectly yours,
and I thought this while you told me
to slow down, to look at the fawns
nosing around pomaceous fog.

>> No.16550590


>> No.16551327

A bridge so high
I might die

I'll only cross
If I'm high

I'm that kind of guy
swallowing pills with my pride

On a bridge
I will never drive
I liked this. It flowed reasonably well
I liked this one funny and short. Also it flowed very well.
I don't think the its is necessary in the second to last line.
No good. Its even short. Its hard to fuck up something so short.
Not for me but not terrible
I don't get it but there were a couple of good rhymes.
To long

>> No.16551443

And if so not she came to me
Bright lights in the sky is what she said to me
An creature if the stars and lover of the sun
Came to me and kissed my tum

>> No.16551825
File: 80 KB, 1232x1245, Screenshot (23).png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Wouldn't mind some thoughts/critiques on my poem here.

>> No.16551857
File: 340 KB, 1212x1687, rosamund-a.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

I want to post a 16th century fave. I speak of Mister Sam Daniel and the gorey Ghost of Rosamund, who was killed by King Henry II's queen!

>> No.16551870
File: 332 KB, 1103x1529, rosamund-b.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]


>> No.16551875
File: 418 KB, 1536x2048, rosamund-c.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Just some selected paragraphs here. It remains a great Halloween read.

>> No.16551927

I like 'chained to metronomes' a lot

>> No.16551975

>The Complaint of Rosamund
it's funny that with all of the political assassinations in the states there was never a Halloween poem with Lincoln, McKinley or Kennedy versifying from beyond the grave...

>> No.16552052

I personally love Sylvia Plath. Her poems are what really opened me up to free verse and the power of it.

>> No.16552154

>sylvia plath
don't you have a date with an oven?

>> No.16552225

Chained to gayness!

>> No.16552482

probably not of much help but I usually dont get a good flow going when I read a poetry piece for the first time but here I did

>> No.16552687


>> No.16552696

Robot says, Activate gay world
Fuck this shit
Lizard cancer

- Bill

>> No.16552824


>> No.16552999

all we can do is sit in the car
and look at the world
like some contrived, absurd art
from the graphic design team
of the five companies
that we pay to paint over our subtleties

but i have a nice time
and i enjoy the thoughts that stick in my mind
and if it's true that this is all a bad joke
played by spirits
around us
that we can never know

i hope you can laugh a little before we go


>> No.16553052


a white glove held in a white gloved hand
raven tresses floating in her wake
her pale skin unveiled for all to see

she is so close to me


I dare not touch and break the glass
her coffin frosted by each heavy breath
rising and falling her chest our feet

my eyes

traverse her slender neck
and meet her burning stare
forged molten bronze overflowing
threatening to scald and harden
ensnaring me locked within her passion


the swelling strings the waiting gaze
expecting his turn
she is tossed aside and lost within

a billowing circle of corsets and lace

>> No.16553128

Life is nothing
But a saddening bore
We are torn apart
Lonely and bitter

>> No.16553141

i climb up the rainbow
i tear through the jungle bridge of tears
do you see the speaker transmit its sounds?
i shit and scream and wonder what it all means

>> No.16553360

Piss soaked garbage
Drops of piss dripping off garbage
Garbage laying in a pool of piss

>> No.16553372
File: 191 KB, 1280x720, backpacking.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

The symbols to the folly of an age
Are brought down in iconoclastic rage.
Accused of an anachronistic sin,
Their might no longer earns reverence in
The mad society that seeks to purge
The last remains of their ancestral scourge.
History's endless vacillations raise
The short-sighted tyrants people praise --
So switch the fool upon the pedestal
With one in line to the ephemeral
Virtue espoused today -- claim victory
Claim vindication, claim what history
Denied the cause, inscribe it on the fallen
Shards of stone and bronze. You, heroes -- call on
All your shambolic rebels to do what's right
Today, then shade tomorrow's sin from sight.

>> No.16553387

Someone rate my poem

>> No.16553403

Its piss

>> No.16553405

Very sexy, thanks anon.

>> No.16553412

It's called The Metaroutine of Simulacrum

>> No.16553546


>> No.16554292

First 17 lines of Canto XL

>> No.16554763

Deep down inside
We're all niggers

>> No.16554810 [DELETED] 

i have no need in scarlet tissue
which falls apart inside the burn
don't see the lamp
or even mellow
within my burning sun of rose

motel and car of someone's glory
spotlight that doesn't start career
his eyes are sad
while mine are always
due to the grayness of the zeit

>> No.16555663

nothing but

>> No.16556878


>> No.16557034

wicked flicker in the night, a fuelless fire burning

>> No.16557101

Bumping and providing some input

Solid poem. You really captured a regal tone to the poem. I feel like anapests would have captured the flow of a waltz better, but what you have is still fine.

>> No.16557358
File: 1.20 MB, 4096x2731, pottery.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

You know the story, but let's look and see
There was no fruit
There was no tree
maybe the tree was me?

>> No.16557885


>> No.16559331


>> No.16559349

I recently bought Mary Kinsey's book A Poet's Guide to Poetry, and I've decided I'm going to do the poetry-writing exercises she posts in every chapter. The first exercise is:

>Minimum twenty lines of blank verse

>Use the three-part organization of the poems by Wordsworth, Coleridge, Larkin, Nemerov, and Gunn: that is, first a description of a scene, which then triggers a meditation on something in the speaker's experience, which enables the speaker to return to the initial scene with a sense of resolution or understanding. The poem should close by turning to the place where the meditation began, which has been implicitly altered during the poem.

And so I decided to write 21 lines of blank verse, based on what she recommends. This is what I came up with:

I found, one day, amid the mountain heights
As I was climbing, through the craggy peaks--
I found, to my surprise, a placid lake
That laid amid an alpine meadow there.
Amid the cool green grass of those tall heights
The lake sat, placid, deader than a corpse,
For no breeze there disturbed its mirrored film.

I think on that now, as I sit and wait,
And hear the breezes, blowing to and fro
From mouths uttering voices, and from thumbs
Typing aggressively on this or that.
I think on that dead lake, posted so high
At peace—as if deadness a virtue was,
For in dead stillness there, at least, is calm.

I think, and wonder, if perhaps I could
Learn from that lake, which I see in my mind,
See there, the clouds reflected on its face
As they passed overhead. It mirrored so
Because its stillness meant it could reflect
Without disturbing. I think on that now
And find a lesson in it I can learn.

>> No.16559471

These thoughts
Are the medicine
One must take

Fear is the boon
I yearn for

My dog is dead
Icarus will not bring her back

Why fret?
A man must face
What is in his heart
And what lies outside it

Where do I lie?
Daedalus forgive me
I only wanted immortality

Delete posts
Password [?]Password used for file deletion.