Poetry Thread

[Anonymous No.17367380]

Post & Rate
Do both

[Anonymous No.17367478]

I know there's no consistent rhythm rhyme or structure. I don't know what I was thinking with this one desu.

Coffee grounds and middle grounds
Till the land
'till the land sprouts concrete seeds
Staircases, tended, grow to penthouse heavens
Tender feet carry daughters through the heat
And, she wishes, she too could bloom in concrete shades
While, spurned, the son; he sees the garden won
His mind is built to the stars
A lighthouse of wax might burn out his day
But 'tilled lands have left no grounds unbroken
Defeated, he climbs
And reaches higher than all
But for the builders, who none recall

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDYSEULU. No.17367480]

NÜEVE DÉCADAS: DE MORTAL VIDA EL LAPSO;

EN AÑOS ES DE TREINTA EL TERCIO;

DE ESTOS TOMANDO UNO: DE QUINCE EL MEDIO;

DE VIDA EL SEXTO: PERFECTA EDAD: AQUÍ PARO.

[Anonymous No.17367516]

>>17367380
An empire
In decline

That nation
Is yours
And mine

The past
We dine
And devour

It's our
Last hour

>>17367478
>While, spurned, the son; he sees the garden won
This line would make a good poem
The rest is trash
>>17367480
use english

[Anonymous No.17368268]

bump

[Anonymous No.17368272]

>>17367516
nice

[Anonymous No.17368347]

>>17368272
Thanks. There is a version that is a couple of stanzas longer. But I dont think it adds a whole lot. Im glad the shorter version still works.

[Anonymous No.17368352]

I took a shit
on /lit/

It was a big one
From my small bum

[Anonymous No.17368530]

Girls are so cute!
Girls! I salute
you with my toot.
Come in my arms
I'll turn your harms
away, come girls.
Put your little curls
on my shoulder.
'Tis a colder
world without you.
Beautiful brew
we make together
in this heather.
Girls are so cute!
Come, I'm no brute,
Come jolly Emmie !
I shall put gently
my thumb inside
your ass, I'll ride
you in winter
till comes summer,
and from June
to the clear Moon.
You'll suck my cock
shinning as rock
under the sun
of your sole one:
your kingly clit
covered with spit.
To lick your cunt!
To make you grunt!
To kiss your crone!
To hear you moan!
I love your sex
hairy, complex,
greasy, stinky,
tasty, dinky,
pink, dry or wet,
but always het
for me my love.
Your breasts above
are my seasons,
crushing reasons
they breath with you
your joy anew.
The whole body
knows nobody
but my warm hands
it understands.
Girls are so cute!
And I'm en route,
Beautiful Emmie,
You'll soon know me.

[Anonymous No.17369154]

I am new to poetry, please give advice on how to git gud:

Why am I a halted engine?
In comfort I rot, ending

My blades turned into rusty vapor
I am now a coward, dreading labor

Infant I am, in a world sickening and dreary
Stab the infant, stop dreaming, choke the fairy

Man is action, action is man
Act, run from misery, plan

>>17367516
I like this, short and powerful

[Anonymous No.17369166]

In Cyrene the white sands blind you
All is seen with a half-baked vision,
A sight wrapped in the fog of too much heat
To even see yourself lost near the shore

You can never set out for Cyrene, young man,
Every ship that rolls its weathered sails
Into that perfidious harbor, boardwalk of mire,
Burns to cinders under the blinding white and warmth

You must, now, go there on foot.
Grow weary on the desert road until
At long last, Cyrene appears above the dunes,
And drowns the dreary desert to damnation.

Tired, that you are, you will glare at pure stucco,
Pastel-bright plastered on every watering hole
That houses a hundred women or the amphorae
The vessels of vine-vied morning labor

And what music, young man, you shall hear,
Sounding down every alley, nestled in the remotest corner
A vibration rippling throughout this seaside Elysium
To let you know there is nothing after it is over

Cyrene, they say, is where youth does not age,
Where only grapes may prune beneath a blistering sun
While droves of the innocent dance proud in a rapture
Reminiscent of a maenad’s mean march

Madness: this you’ll find, carried around in clay vats
And decorated with scenes of life in ochre, as the
Dramas before them are never enough to spur,
To awaken, their sense from the drowsy sonatas

Like a mass danse macabre, Cyrene is filled to the tip
With the drumming dead drunk on the wailing
Of the sirens, and idolatrous fetishes
To such still, immobile, and graven images set alight.

Young man, if your road leads to Cyrene,
See its wine-dark tides lapping the coast,
Volleys of tumult in rhythm with the streets
As the bass line of a shrill melodic scream

Peer, if possible, into the wave-crest, and catch,
If capable, the mere glint of light which for a moment
Shines but is murdered by the procession
Now dragging behind it

You won’t receive your invitation to the Bacchanal
Unless you partake in their mysteries, hysteria - if you please,
That bangs its thrysus stick over and over again
Conducting Dionysian songs to right the uninvited’s wrongs

Hold out your hand for this unholy sacrament,
You have but to ask and the mad feast can continue
Join them at once and lap up the dissolution of man
Into the well-pit at the bottom of Cyrene

Where no one knows his neighbor, young man,
Hidden beneath one mask after another, garbed
Gaily in the Sunday’s best as if that Sunday, in particular,
Every drop of water was crucified for the sake of wine

In Cyrene, I am sure, you will not find it,
Your saving grace, yet go if you must.
Remember this: on the beaches at night is when
You will wish the damned music would stop

[Anonymous No.17369240]

How calming it must be
To walk in a misty night
Delicate dew's touch

A ballad of a forlorn cricket
Breaking a dainty silence

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17369498]

For the one sleeping gently upon a bed of stone

“I passed among silver trees
who’s fruit singed gold songs
abounding in the never old
dreams of the daily born dancing Dawn

the sky image drawn
of the softest smile
ever forgotten
and yet remembered

silent slithers the secret serpent
the Wolf Wails in the wintry wastelands
terrible talons toy with dead flesh
but All-blest sees the eye of the Heart

soft and plain is the scent
which renders the heavens Rent
beauty lays herself bare
if you look without a care “

Unnamed poem

sometimes I see you
sitting with spider lilies
waiting just for me
with a smile like a sunshine
waiting just for me
Unnamed verse I heard while seeing a balloon float up

“there goes the green balloon, there goes one
flying upwards towards the sun “

I’ll return later and critique some of the poems in this thread.

[Anonymous No.17369710]

Sneed.

[Anonymous No.17370303]

Bump

[Anonymous No.17370357]

I'm on lit nigga
Time to lift nigga
Dictionary
Thick mammaries
Call me assman
Folks have asthma
Inhale that medication
Fin de siecle masturbation

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17370364]

>>17367478
Reads like standard free verse, bloom in concrete shades is a good line, I would continue writing with this same style but restructure it as prose.

>>17367516
Mine-dine feels very forced.

>>17368530
Boring, you see one intentionally lewd and crass 4chan poem you’ve seen them all, get better subject matter.

>>17369154

Engine-ending is a bad rhyme, don’t rhyme just for rhyme’s sake, not rhyming can make A line effective, add in more alliteration and assonance. There’s no real musical qualities, also apply more control, it feels like the poem is controlling you and not you it. I would recommend you read Edgar Allan Poe’s philosophy of composition wherein he describes his method for writing poetry, he explains that before anything you should begin with the ending affect in mind, what mental state, emotions and ideas you want to be experienced first and then decide the rhythm, the rhyme, the subject matter that reflects the emotions and ideas and so forth. The end image and feelings and ideas ought to be what you are writing based on along with a sound that reflects them.

[Anonymous No.17371223]

I wrote his one for a gal

stars to behold
and eyes to behold
them with are two
of the greatest gifts
given us

of course my eyes
come in handy too
for beholding
beauties on earth
such as you

>>17367478
I like it fren.
>>17367516
You're just mean
>>17368352
Good one anon.
>>17369240
Short, but still good
>>17370357
Good one assman

[Anonymous No.17371464]

>>17367380
Sapphires and garlic in the food
Bed the clotted thrombus tree
That blooding wire in the trill
Scars below inverted hills
Appeasing long forgotten peas
The hardening of the arteries
The circulation of the loins
Is pictured in the whiff of boys
Ascends to soil in the stream
We eat about the dancing tree
Licking up the lighter fluid
and hear on the ugly floor
The john and the whore
Pursue their debts not like before
But not like that no more

[Anonymous No.17371479]

The entire world has always claimed our lives,
And even love has balled ourselves above;
Like the purpling cliffs upon the salted shore,
We're subjects swallowed slowly with the sun.
They say to stay away from you, Satan
Himself subdues the soul within your lungs;
Like purpling forests set aflame, you plan
To set ablaze an orange with your tongue.
Then set aflame my withered heart and mind,
Desire my feet to lift up into heaven;
Let soil have joy through laughing at our lives
Whilst still the sun is wrapped in blue again.
I'll set aside the world for friendship and
A grave beside your moulting purple hand.

@stanaitisnicholas on insta

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17371520]

>>17371464
Hey actually somewhat Unique imagery and a discernible voice! Nice! First half is stronger than the second half

[Anonymous No.17372044]

>>17367380
bye, don
biden
buyers remorse

[Anonymous No.17372348]

>>17369166
Sounds like you addressed this to yourself

[Anonymous No.17372599]

>>17371223
>of course my eyes
>come in handy too
>for beholding
>beauties on earth
>such as you
I like this stanza. The second one is super lazy.
>>17369498
There getting shorter. Which is good.
>>17369240
Word Salad
>>17369154
Each line could be shorter. Simplicity is your friend.
>>17368530
This was long but fun

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17372710]

>>17372599
Thanks anon, I’ve tried to still pack a ton of esoteric meanings into em to try to compensate, I know how nasty longer poems are, I still really enjoy writing long poems though. Any recommended reading to further refine my style?

[Anonymous No.17372852]

How do I write poetry?

Also, how do I understand poetry?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17372877]

>>17372852
Read pic related and after reading it get an anthology of popular English poetry

[Anonymous No.17373074]

Under the suns warmth.
Clouds shifting around shadows.
The still day moves me.

[Anonymous No.17373087]

>>17371479
>tfw not even worth being told to kms

[Anonymous No.17373130]

In the center of a roses bud.
A swarming visage of color and shapes
sprung forth, danced and died
too quickly to be savored.

I just wrote this for this thread.

[Anonymous No.17373159]

>>17367380
Hold her tighter
She a fighter

Dick down
Dan Schneider
>>17367516
>>17372599
me

[Anonymous No.17373315]

C'est la Sainte-Raison !
Les chirurgiens se pressent pour l'opération :
on va soustraire l'oeil au regard
pour attraper l'âme ovipare
(car l'oeil est un oeuf
qui vole le boeuf
des travaux
machinaux).
Voyons,
On enlève donc la cornée.
Une larme coule, je l'ai récupérée :
si l'âme s'y cache, je la redonnerais
à cet aveugle qu'on opère.
Quel massacre !
Ils ont fait sauter les pupilles
pour percer les iris,
le cristallin,
fondu au micro-ondes,
ne cristallise rien.
Ils s'acharnent sur la rétine avec passion !
A la fin, ils n'auront trouvé
qu'une question.

>quick translation

It is Holy Reason!
Surgeons are rushing for the operation:
we are going to subtract the eye from the gaze
to catch the oviparous soul
(because the eye is an egg
who steals the beef
of machinal
works).
Let's see,
First we remove the cornea.
A tear flows, I picked it up:
if the soul so hides, I would give it back
to this blind man being operated on.
What a massacre!
They blew up the pupils
to pierce the irises,
the crystalline lens,
melted in the microwave,
does not crystallise anything.
They target the retina with passion!
In the end, they will have found
just a question.

Had fun writing it. It's obviously pretty far from perfect, but I think there are some worthwhile ideas and I'll probably try to shape it into something better.
>>17373130
not bad but kind of cliché
>>17372852
Get an anthology and slowly work through it.
>>17371479
I do not like the repetition of the "set ablaze"/"set aflame". I think you should either make it less obvious or really own it and construct the poem around it.
>>17371464
I like it.
>>17371223
I like the "come in handy too" line, it has a very pleasing lightness and joy. I agree with the other anon about the first stanza and the end could probably be better formulated imo.
>>17369498
>of the softest smile
>ever forgotten
>and yet remembered
It may be because I'm ESL but I this feel a little bit out of place with the rest of the poem. I like the idea, but I feel it is said a little bit to secularly. The second one is cute and I like the repetition but the "smile like a sunshine" feels a bit overused.

[Anonymous No.17373320]

>>17367380
anal sex survives the road
it makes between the cock & butt
My cock a car, the car a choad
Revving its way into a nut
But what happens when poop turns cream
And penis is removed from shit
I'd like to keep that road a dream
& keep driving into it

[Anonymous No.17373572]

Bump

[Anonymous No.17374032]

>>17371464
Could you explain this poem, line by line? I like it, but I don't understand the meaning of some of the images being presented to me.

[Anonymous No.17374062]

The nails you put
In my pink skin,
They’ve grown so much
Since you went away.
I can hear them now,
Their rigidity pains me.
And soon
They shall be a shell
Under my skin,
Mine
And mine only.
You lost your nails in me.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374445]

>>17373315
I’ll post the explanation of the poem I posted in the other thread, also using this as an excuse to bump the thread.

I passed among silver trees
who’s fruit singed gold songs
abounding in the never old
dreams of the daily born dancing Dawn

the sky image drawn
of the softest smile
ever forgotten
and yet remembered

silent slithers the secret serpent
the Wolf Wails in the wintry wastelands
terrible talons toy with dead flesh
but All-blest sees the eye of the Heart

soft and plain is the scent
which renders the heavens Rent
beauty lays herself bare
if you look without a care

The poem has precisely 111 syllables which is the same as “Aleph”‘’s full value in Hebrew gematria, Aleph is the highest Nondual point in Kabbalah denoting the prime causation, the Nonduality of creation and God, the Breath, silence and so forth. It is also the value of “pele” wonder, the wondrous, a name of God denoting the unspeakable and ineffable nature of the Godhead.


The first Stanza has precisely 29 syllables, 29 is the gematria value of “hadit” the thelemic Godform denoting the Nondual unity of the first cause with being, how divinity is hidden within the interior of all things, it is coupled with the second stanza which has 20 syllables, 20 is the gematria value of the letter Kaph which is the wheel of fortune in the tarot which is another way of speaking of the world of appearances, the external world, the world that ever changes.

Thus the first and second stanza are a marriage of the internal divinity and the external world of appearances. Together they have 49 syllables, 7 denotes completion within hermetic Kabbalah, 49 is 7 x 7 which is thought to be how the interior of each of the 7 planets/days/aspects of creation are filled with the various modifications of the other seven, which is to say they exist in perichoresis and reflection. Thus the two stanzas being coupled denotes the entirety of creation as 49, which is harmonious with their meaning as the units of 29 and 20.

The specific imagery of the first two stanzas are drawn from a spiritual vision I actually had, Trees in Kabbalah denote the Spiritual being of individuals, the “golden Fruit” would be the spiritual fruition, the divinity in harmony with these spiritual lives, it is both “never old” because it is beyond transience as this is the internal world where spirit is married with divinity, yet this Nondual unity dreams (maya, the illusion world is a dream, relative experience, partial experiences and change are symbolically the dream world in various occult and religious systems)

So the unity dreams of the “daily born dancing Dawn” which is to say, the progression of Time understood as a ever-renewal process in which constantly is reborn the eternal Being of nature, which is the dance of creation,

CONT

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374453]

>>17374445

the maya Dance of shiva, which is the Dawn due to the symbolic nature of the sun/tiphereth As the harmony/reason that pervades nature, this is because the sun is always reason in Kabbalah, Hegel defines reason as the philosopher stone hidden in creation in his philosophy of right.

This leads us into the dream itself, which is the second stanza, “the sky image”

What is a sky image, it is an image seen in the sky, a cloud. Which is a reference to how this world of relative experience is ever passing like the clouds, but yet the image drawn is ever but one image.

The softest smile, smiles denote denote friendliness, harmony, friendship, symbolically the smile of the sky is the crescent Moon, the moon is in the Hebrew and hermetic systems the absolute symbol of the illusionary world, because unlike the other planets it’s changes and movements are so much more constant that it even changes its form, this along with its control over the tides and associations with lunacy would denote the Moon as the ultimate symbol of conceptual transience, the paradox being that change does not change, transience is not subject to transience.

Thus the two lines, ever forgotten and yet remembered which is a reference to platonic Anamnesis, the forgetting and Remembering of the platonic world of forms, the eternal world. Thus the illusionary world of Vision itself is being used to remember and return to the primal friend, the eternal god, the illusion itself is pointing towards the true nature of reality. This is followed through with the third stanza.

The Third stanza is written in lines of 9 syllables each, 9 is the number of the moon in hermeticism, Renaissance astrology and Kabbalah because it is the 9th sphere in the chaldean order when you count the sphere of stars and the prime mover, thus 9 the illusionary force becomes the primary momentum force of the stanza, prior the other two stanzas were written in different syllable counts, the first stanza not being uniform in syllable account to denote the chaotic unity which pervades the pre-manifest kether-tohu-wa-bohu, they are unified as elements in one part but not in harmony. The second stanza is 5 syllables long, 5 denotes the pentagram which is the 5 elements which compose reality, solid liquid, gas and plasma and the invisible spiritual harmony which pervades these all, this is spirit fire water air and earth, these also correspond to the name of God which rules over creative force in the natural world ALHYM(Elohim) and this corresponds to the sphere of gross phenomena in Kabbalah, gevurah. In any case the third stanza is 36 syllables long, 36 is the number of mercury which is the medicine, the changing force, and represents the power of magical change, the transmutation of forces. The transmutation subject is the change of illusions into the eternal reality.

The stanza describes three forms of earthly life which denote the three worlds which man lives in

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374461]

>>17374453

physically and mentally, The Serpent representing the subterranean Zones, the horrible and darkest aspects of man’s conditions; reptilian and aquatic life.

The Wolf in broader Semitic and European culture denotes hunger and striving, wailing denotes suffering as does the wasteland and winter, the wolf denotes the mammalian but also the daily mundane life of man.

The Talons spoken of Allude to the avian creatures but also the numinous experiences that man may experience, those terrible spiritual/emotional moments which leave us without understanding, lost at the mercy of the sublime, the entirety of this stanza is demonstrating the sublime through the Sublate to demonstrate the unity of opposites, further each line contains a secret spiritual quality.

The secret serpent is esoterically the serpent of kundalini which is the concreted awareness of man, which slithers up the spine towards the pure consciousness which is in tantra understood to be shiva, kundalini in tantra being Shakti, the Mother goddess who is creation and the spirit of creation.

The Winter Wolf in the wasteland is another way to speak of that same force which is denoted by the Norse as Fenrir or as Jotun, the Wild and untrappable chaotic forces of nature and of man’s nature, the atavistic libidinal force which is the heart of creativity and the essence of Will, this is further an allegory for the Nietzschean idea of asserting your Will, your Voice in a empty place, filling it with your self nature, ensouling meaning into the empty world.

The Terrible talons are esoterically the conception of this world as if a puppet show with the puppets being the flesh and the player being the puller of the strings who is unknowable, this is again another tantric allegory.

This stanza uses alliteration 11 times, 11 in thelema denotes magical change and the harmony of the individual with God because in thelema the pentagram and hexagram are microcosm and macrocosm which when conjoint yield 11, which can either be added to itself as 2 yielding multiplicity or negating itself yielding 0 which is absolute emptiness, thus it is the number of the man-God, the messiah who is equally the unity of heaven and the multiplicity of creation, this in hermetic Kabbalah is the sun-tiphereth which is correspondent in man to the Heart.

This brings us to the final line of the third stanza,

“ but All-blest sees the eye of the Heart”

The terrible imagery of the three lines are contrasted with the true view of their interior, as all-blest spiritual mysteries, what means eye of the heart?

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374472]

>>17374461

Eye denotes sight, perception, understanding, Heart denotes the interior of man, harmony in man, balance point, his inmost soul and Love. Thus the eye of the heart is the sight of the spirit, the sight of true reality, of the internal world, it is also a play on words as it is sight internal, it is “insight” so this fundamentally is “Wisdom” thus the man-God brings us to wisdom, which is Kabbalistically the man-God son messiah partzuf of Zeir anpin leading us to the “Father” Partzuf of chokmah in Kabbalah, harmony/beauty leading to wisdom.
Thus the Final stanza is approached, it has a syllable count of 26, 26 is YHVH the True name of God in the Old Testament, YHVH denotes the four worlds of Kabbalah which relate to four phenomenological levels and the four Aristotelian causes, further if you divide the letter “Aleph” it is made of the letter Vav and two yod’s, meaning Aleph is esoterically identical to YHVH in extension, thus the entirety of creation is understood as the expression of the glory of God.
The first two lines are 6 and then 7 syllables long, 6 in normative Christian belief denotes man and imperfection, 7 Denotes perfection and divinity. Their union is 13, 13 is the Gematric Value of AHBH which is Love, 13 is also the value of AChD, Unity, thus it is a common lurianic formula to say that Love+Absolute unity=26=YHVH, thus the third and fourth line are also 6 and 7 lines Long precisely.
“Soft and plain is the scent” is a reference to Taoism especially the Tao te ching which tells us the way of Heaven is so subtle and so Nondual that it has no rough qualities, it isn’t shocking but rather it is the most plain, the most universal, the most tasteless and senseless experience possible, thus this subtly is contrasted with “renders the heavens rent” which is to say, causes them to be violently ripped open, which is to say, clinging to the most universal and subtle opens the experience/perception to the Nature of God in the most potent and visceral way possible.
This is finally all completed in the last two lines in which the entire formula is stated,
“Beauty lays herself bare” beauty as in harmony of parts gives its essence, what it discloses, its interior (which is Kabbalistically understood to be the nature of tiphereth which means literally beauty’s former nature closer to God, Da’ath, knowledge, Knowledge of God)
“If you look without a care” which is to say, if you have perception without Care, but Care in this sense is the heideggerian Care structure, which is the buddhist skandas/desire aggregates, thus the final line is saying if you look at all of this world in purity of mind and perception without the flaws of clinging to partiality, to particulars, you can attain true knowledge of God as the universal Absolute.

The whole poem is Four stanzas to denote the four Kabbalistic worlds, each stanza is 4 lines each to denote the inter penetration of the four worlds within each other

[Anonymous No.17374622]

How does the wandering spider resist the winds of boredom,
Of my warm breath baked in the heat of friction and enough tension to collapse its intricate parts,
Into the crystalline regions that sit cold with the lack of Life?

I wished to launch it from myself as a question crying out in a glacial ravine,
The echoes of which ring truer than the voice that asked.
Away from me, dear spider, scurry to some hidden crevice that shelters you from the sweltering ennui blown into the cold.

Life is not boredom insofar as it is Life,
And yet, insofar as it is anything, I have sought it in long winded questions dissipating into the realm of formless breath.
I could not ask much more of you, except that you crawl around as the scapegoat for my boredom that shows itself reflected in the freezing glass upon which your body now flees.

That death is boredom has been known to all,
To every sage who dared not look at himself and watch his lips issue forth the breath that lied as it lived.
No wiseman can howl in the glass glaciers.

My resistant spider, my deformed hope now resting in full view of his god who creates one life as he blows away another,
Blown to inexact wastelands where the winds run rampant with the offspring of his emptiness.

There you fly, aetherial, perfect form in the amorphic world,
Sheltered until the god can muster up his breath again, and blow away the boredom from within.

I, the glassblower god, populate Creation with forms sheltering heat cold to the touch.
These forms are seen too easily as a spider caught on the glass surface under the ardent eyes of ennui,
Are we, the spider and I, destined to exchange these winds forever?
No, for not even the least significant of true Life can be launched from the mouth which would feign hear itself breathe.

My glassworks house a million such spiders now vying for the cool air.
Break through, they must, for glass may shatter when Life, insofar as it is Life, blows with force to break through the bored whims of a glassblowing god.

[Anonymous No.17374841]

>>17374445
>>17374453
>>17374461
>>17374472
Pure autism. I don't know how you do it. How long did that take.

[Anonymous No.17374862]

Just write in ecstasy bro

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374894]

>>17374841
Around I think two hours? Maybe less? I write backwards beginning with meaning I have in mind first, the effects first, then I order those mentally into rhyme, syllable, stanza, line length and so forth, randomly this will inter splice with imagery, sometimes imagery comes first. All of my poems I post on here I could post long autistic rants on the structure and aspects and parts of it, I just don’t usually not to spam the threads with myself.

[Anonymous No.17374914]

>>17374894
I always thought poems were like art.

A painting that's carefully planned and intentional can be good, but greatness comes from embracing the chaos and letting the brushstrokes define the work.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17374955]

>>17374914
I see artistry in a very Apollonian sense, I personally don’t find the Dionysian appealing. Pic related would be an example of one of my favorite paintings. No such Dionysian spontaneous nature to it. Gustav moreau is likely my favorite painter all in all.

[Anonymous No.17375019]

I like stroking my Johnson
I feel like Emily Dickinson
Locked in a room like my chastity
Get the matches fire walk with me

[Anonymous No.17375476]

>>17373320
crap
>>17374062
could be better. close to crap frankly
>>17375019
crap

[Anonymous No.17375637]

City lights illuminating paths
Likely chosen but not yet taken.
An alley way to the right,
A path to a park to the left.

You stand ahead of me
with a hand stretched out and
Ask for my thoughts.
I need this moment
So I stand still for a while longer.
Now lead me forward, dear, to where you need me.

[Anonymous No.17376068]

>>17367380
Japhy makes a dollar,
I make a dime,
That's why I commit crime.

[Anonymous No.17376314]

>>17375637
I like the rhythm to "a path to a park to the left". I like the mood you're going for, but some of the lines read clumsy, and the imagery comes off a bit trite. But take my thoughts with a pinch of salt.

Oh sir obey!
For I the soldier always heed
And smite the dead with rusted deeds
Oh sir the sword!
I again must drowning plead
And pierced through by stolen greed
But oh sir allow!
Another now might cry (not I!)
Bleeding still my chalice dry
But sir might I grieve?
The battle wets my tongue again
In sober dreams I may still win

[Anonymous No.17376381]

>>17367380
Moon and stars (sing!)
and cloak of dark
and blades of grass
and gentle breeze
quicksilver billows
revive the leaves and so they dance
to that song of hallowed silence


And the one illuminates the many
et lux in tenebris lucet

[Anonymous No.17376429]

>>17376314
forced and awkward

[Anonymous No.17376456]

Not even night can take away my rage;
My breath becomes a bitter froth on trees,
But not the kind that christens with a flame
From God, but far below the stubborn seas;
Nor should it shroud myself from moonlit bark,
But be a beacon into brilliance,
Which shall be shouldered through bushy dark
Habitats, into open daylight paths:
Then I will see your hazel eyes defined,
Not by the stars, but by the sun that shines
Upon two truths and beauties within eyes
Like ours, my lover; with you I'm alive.
And thus why bother treading trodden ground,
But rage if beauty waits behind the bough.>>17371479

[Anonymous No.17376642]

>>17376456
I enjoyed reading this. Beast of love?

[Anonymous No.17376655]

>>17376642
Beast of love? what do you mean

[Anonymous No.17376742]

I shitted my pants
It smelt real bad
I pissed my pants
It was warm

[Anonymous No.17376755]

>>17376742
“I shitted my pants” pt. 2

I shitted my pants again
It smelt real bad
I pissed my pants again
It was warm

[Anonymous No.17376850]

Was Bukowski a good poet?

[Anonymous No.17376866]

Something I wrote after having read some old Anti-Jacobin poetry.

Look with scorn upon the men
who they our nation rinse,
Behold with hot hatred the talking head,
and silver spoon-fed prince.
Conjure all the rage of Mars
For those fickle men
who played their sordid part,
But never in good conscience,
Pluck the name of England from your heart.

Ik the first two lines read funny, but I couldn't come up with a way of phrasing it without fucking up the rhyme.

[Anonymous No.17376898]

As much as I will breathe, so much mine needs
your reckless heart, which I relinquish now;
And all this blurry blizzard spent with you,
My heart will thrive in hearing that you're sound.
Before me blurs, and blizzards, the black birds;
Behind the blizzard the sky is remote:
Should I not wander here, there'd be much worse
As blizzards bask the blood of basking worlds.
Might blizzard white my name beneath the earth,
Mean, miserable, and cold, killing me:
See what it does to me, and not to her?
She's flooded under sun and baby sheets.
She plucked my heart, to chuck it outside charred,
That I may part with that which pumps my heart.

[Anonymous No.17377558]

>>17370364
Thanks for detailed feedback, anon
> don’t rhyme just for rhyme’s sake
I know this in theory, but it's hard for me in practice.
> There’s no real musical qualities
Thanks for pointing that out, I'll work on it.

>>17372599
> Each line could be shorter
Yeah I can see what you mean, but I am afraid it would end up too ambiguous.

How about this:

I am a halted engine
Blades fade into rusty vapor

Infantile dreams
Lazy screams

A life of inaction
Fearing creation

I shall repair
I shall start to care

[Anonymous No.17377604]

>>17375476
cringe

[Anonymous No.17378386]

>>17377558
>A life of inaction
>Fearing creation
didn't know other people could read my diary

[Anonymous No.17378559]

>>17376850
no

[Anonymous No.17378608]

>>17376850
bukowski was bukowski. kind of good but it only worked because of the time and because of the person he was. if you read bukowski you don't read poetry but bukowski.
i like him but writing like him is a rabbit hole and very 'dangerous' for a poet i'd say.

[Anonymous No.17379488]

>>17369166
>>17369498
>>17374445
>>17376866
>>17376898
Your poems are intentively crafted. Feel free to contact me @9901041o on Instagram if you wish to talk about poetry.

Here is some of my work:

Flying on the board, riding away
The evening chill colder christens
And declining sun spills its final ray
As unfinished twin wheels still glisten;
Their resting destination I cannot say
The center of my long life’s array

The skate park sounds all diminish
As one by one the crowd quiet leaves;
And grinding sounds make their distant finish
But my grind continues, to achieve
One perfect execution preconceived

Alas they know nought lonely pities cure,
A road ahead manifold blurred
Every day my head the pavement hits
But climbing up once again assures
My hard destiny immaculate fits, forever free!

[Anonymous No.17379516]

>>17367380
Not really good, this is too flat, but it is a coherent imagist poem:

Beyond the campus hillside's
Dark tangle of trees and trail
Countless streetlights flaunt
Their supervision over bare streets
With dim gazes.

[Anonymous No.17379639]

>>17379516
Dam just realized i done fucked it up and misremembered my own shit. It goes
Beyond the campus hillside's
Dark tangle of trees and trail,
Countless nightshifters flaunt
Their supervision of bare streets
Through dull gazes

[Anonymous No.17379811]

>>17379488
read your poem and I liked it. I sent you a msg.

[Anonymous No.17379938]

I had a dream I was under the ground
My friends and family were buried all around and a
Worm took a bite of me
And then he washed it down with a bite of you

The same worms that eat me will someday eat you too
They gonna eat you

Nibbled on your feet and they nibbled on my toes
They become the same when our bodies decompose
You'll turn into dirt someday, same dirt as me
Like one becomes a two and a two becomes a three

[Anonymous No.17380384]

On a river's edge I sank my legs
In a pool of mist there burnt a need
To walk back in, walk in water
And walk back in, where I began

Small steps to open arms, I was he who came to you
You were she who questioned me, in the time I came to you
Questioned me- my beliefs, a god, He, will never be
He who sees, He who feels, He who is here with me

I don't really write poetry or whatever, I just felt the need to write this down

[Anonymous No.17381235]

bump

[Anonymous No.17381281]

>>17380384
It feels stilted, like there is no rhythm to it. However, if you don't write often, I suggest you practice. You have some elements of good poetry. Read more of it and practice. Focus on the musicality of poetry and you can greatly improve.

The Pyritic Age
When we had fallen in the grave,
We dug our own remains
In search of our forgotten age.
A yellow stink had blended with
The bones of our departed race,
For which we fools mistook its hue
As a solution to the grave.
We imitated blessings lost --
Our creation was a curse in strange
Inversion of our founding years:
War was only paused by threat
Of collective pain instead
Of individual accord;
We never learned the labor of
The plow, nor ate of Earth's fresh bounty.
The honorable ones had died
In peaceful sleep, their spirits ward
Over our tomb and shovel dirt
Upon our backs as we, in most
Violent fashion, claw at flesh
And Earth for vanity in death.

[Anonymous No.17381897]

>>17377558
>I am a halted engine
>Blades fade into rusty vapor
>Infantile dreams
>Lazy screams
>A life of inaction
>Fearing creation
>I shall repair
>I shall start to care
It flows a lot better.
The last three stanzas are very good.

[Anonymous No.17382257]

>>17367480
Eres una vergüenza para la Hispanidad

[Anonymous No.17383360]

Man who has nothing,
Finds a man who has everything,
He says to himself,
"Why not me?"
God replies
"Because I said so."

[Anonymous No.17383620]

Wrote this for an assignment back in freshman high school.

Persecution.

Those who advocate it call it prosecution. I would call it electrocution,

Spreading like wildfire,

Tying innocents to a pier,

Entangling them with webbing wires.

Winding into an endless, hopeless spire.

And in a choir,

The blood of millions cry out,

Pouring into the cup of despair through a bitter spout.

Because of their skin they are killed,

Because of their kin their blood is spilled.

Persecution.

Its perpetrators walk without retribution,

And we do nothing to stop the pollution.

An uproar arises to the death of an ape,

But we do nothing in regards to genocide and rape,

Wary and weary of war,

We simply sigh at the evanescing scores.

Persecution.

It needs a solution,

Starting with what, revolution?

But with each and every single blow,

The hate will only grow,

And only more blood will flow.

So what are we to do? Fight hate with love?

Tell me, how do you do that to men who choked the life out of children with a surgeon’s glove?

Who tossed babies into a burning stove

Who piled brains, bodies, bones, and blood like a treasure trove?

Persecution.

It’s not an allusion.
The entrails of the innocent are woven into rugs,

Under the tapestry, so charmingly displayed,

Sporting the screaming faces of the flayed.

The cry of a babe

Is only met with the edge of a blade.

And the only solace, the only shade

From the merciless blaze,

Is in the cold embrace of the grave.

[Anonymous No.17383885]

>>17367380
>Sun, moon, stars below
>Above the rent veil passes
>καιρός stands alone
>>17376850
If Howl was a good poem

[Anonymous No.17383941]

Think thread requires you to both rate and post
Its all post and no rate. This thread might as well die.

[Anonymous No.17383945]

>>17383941
>Think
this

[Anonymous No.17384080]

>>17367480
kys pedo

[Anonymous No.17384969]

bump

[Anonymous No.17386036]

>>17383620
Post current poems, too. I want to see how you improved

[Anonymous No.17386050]

The farmer plows his field.
The train is loaded with coal.
Life fades away.

I try to find solace in the infinite –
Solace from my troubled thoughts –
In the loneliness of the ocean of clouds.

[Anonymous No.17386400]

>>17383941
This. Damn near every poem posted here does not review any other. I understand most people here pursue poetry as a hobby, but at least offer some sort of insight or feeling you have for someone else's work. And if you're work is reviewed by someone, listen but take it with a grain of salt.

[Anonymous No.17387019]

rhymes are a crutch for people who have nothing interesting to say so they rely on rhythm to keep the attention of their readers

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17387059]

>>17386400
Eh I always try to give whatever review/critique I can give personally.

>>17387019
I disagree, because the primary focus of poetry is not pure philosophical truth but rather is a rhetorical animal, the rhythm and rhyme serve rhetorical purposes. Consider the rhymed prose called Saj in Arabia, it’s efficacy among orators made it the dominant tool for preachers and statesman alike. Fu which is a Chinese form of rhymed prose took an even more aristocratic and royal role as the common speech of orators and a way to mark something as royal in rhetoric.

Alliteration, rhyme, rhythm and the various other aspects are all tools towards the desired rhetorical end of the poet which can be philosophical, emotional, coldly aesthetic, political or anything else. Calling a tool a crutch is incorrect, poetry by its nature is the manipulation of form in literature to induce certain effects. Rhyme is just one tool to induce certain effects.

[Anonymous No.17387505]

>>17387059
>Eh I always try to give whatever review/critique I can give personally.
And you're not the only one, but too many people don't do it!

[Anonymous No.17388007]

>>17387019
Rhyming can get campy when overdone. I mix it up every once and a while. When rhyming is done well, it can be very satisfying to read.

[Anonymous No.17388253]

>>17387505
>>17387059
books on poetry

She says her face is sloping down, too much,
As though the frothy ocean snuffed the moon,
And that her beauty too would turn to rust,
Beneath the bleating ocean bleeding too;
She cries that eyes will chide her puffy cheeks,
Like summer sky will slowly flood the night,
And earth will birth a throng of thick ravines,
To hide her wider dimples blushing bright;
Like flowers flooding fields with perfumed pink,
Her crimson cheeks allow the crying earth,
To taste her stolen tears through cloudy skin,
And quench the crushing cool of earth's preferred.
Those mountains turn me soft inside like snow,
You make me crumble like December woe.

[Anonymous No.17388373]

>>17386050
My immediate wander is this: are you watching the farmer and the train, and then returning to yourself? Sparseness and economy of words can help set your tone of loneliness and awareness of fading Life, but I think in your case everything is disjointed. Each stanza in itself is fine, but I could not help but think I was reading two different poems. It might help to flesh out the farmer and train images and implicate them more to the second stanza.

>>17379938
I imagined this was being spoken to me by an old blind black guy in Mississippi, really fucking dig the vernacular. Another word that comes to mind is disgusting, but by no means in a bad way. The image of a worm biting is great, and reinforces the earthly quality. The last line works, but to me its rhythm leaves the poem floating away and not being grounded. Of course this is a matter of my taste.

At broad cave's bottom towers a column of light,
Heavenly beam aimed and fired at the prophet,
Volley upon volley, until he lies writhing
And secretes his words with mineral bitterness:

"In 1945 we sent a little god into the starry vault,
And he had his vengeance by blowing us to pieces!
Go, thou, to this god."

[Anonymous No.17388680]

>>17374062
I like the concept, but a lot of it is redundant. The word ;rigidity' is hard to use poetically because it complicates the meter--in this poem it's very disruptive to the rhythm. Otherwise good.
>>17375637
Like >>17376314 says, some lines clumsy, especially "I need this moment." and on-rereading the repetition of 'need' and 'paths' comes off badly as well. I like it a lot though. Some of the best in this thread.
>>17376314
Really clunky, a lot of the imagery doesn't work: "Smite the dead?" "Pierced by stolen greed?" Drowning? Metrically kind of a mess: the 'sir' lines are two iambic feet except the last one which is one iamb and one anapest, which reads badly given that the poem is mostly iambic (though it dips into trochee occasionally--probably accidentaly?). Unfortunately dosn't really say anything.
>>17376381
Probably my favorite in this thread. The Latin seems superfluous though, and the ending stanza's a little under-done.
>>17376456
Very solid sonnet. Some problems: "it shroud myself" is ungrammatical. "Which shall be shouldered through bushy dark" is hypometrical--maybe "through the bushy dark?" Given how rich the imagery is "with you I'm alive." is kind of jarring and disappointing. Imagery is there but actual meaning feels lacking IMO.
>>17379516
>>17379639
Great. Leaves me wanting more though. For a poem to be that short it needs to be more dense in meaning, otherwise it's just too short.
>>17388253
I like the rhyming and some of the alliteration. The bit from "Like summer..." to "...crying earth" is excellent. The last line is a bit of a let down, though. Most of the imagery works well but you might be getting lost in it: for example "Beneath the bleating ocean bleeding too" is too much. But it's very good. You read a lot of Romantic poets anon?

>>17376850
>>17378608
Bukowski was an excellent poem but completely unimatatable. His poems really only work because he was the person he was. I've read a lot of Bukowski and at a certain point you like the interviews with him more than his poetry. There's a great database with his manuscripts, where you can find many hidden gems:
https://bukowski.net/manuscripts/

[Anonymous No.17388763]

Foundations

Sunny day,
puss-clouds over firmament
blue, like lilies

(Carnations change color when
food-coloring is dropped in their water)

A madman beats at the wooden fence
beard rubbed raw in spots by his left hand
tremors--
On the right movement
Small Crack in the wire dark
he shifts, eye wide, shaking in socket
pressed against the barrier

The dandelions can’t find concrete from to sprout, and
Weatherman said no rain to-day, gods be good and harvest-season’s here

Pulls back, air
There’s sun behind him
And golden dawn
Snowglobe dome concave to him
On the edges water, fish swimming,
splinters in his hand

madman pushes over fence
behind it
more grass

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17388899]

>>17375637
Kinda clunky and I can feel the points where you stopped and restarted I think. I would recommend striving for a more specific affect in your reader and speaking your poem outloud to get a better feel for what you’re doing.

>>17376314
Doesn’t work in that short of a format, if it was a longer poem with more aesthetic queues the “oh sir obey” wouldn’t feel fake. (Not i)-dry line I feel comes off pretty good but the battle wets my tongue is boring imagery.

>>17376381
Not enough impact, by this I mean, you didn’t build up enough beautiful imagery to leave it memorable for beauty alone and you didn’t really try for anything else, so while it may be passingly pretty, it’s easily forgotten.

>>17376456
I’m bias of being absolutely bored of romantic based poetry, never was a fan of it, but other than that “from God” feels stilted.

>>17376866
Don’t worry so much about end rhyme, not rhyming in a line can be just as effective by lack, as can moving the end rhyme back into a internal rhyme. No reason to allow inspiration be a slave to a form/structure that goes against the beauty of a particular line.

>>17376898

While the imagery is fun and said in a decent way, it feels like the “you” was arbitrary and not necessary to the poem, it’s purely practical just so you can get to your imagery you want to discuss. Also “your sound” not you’re sound.

I would Recommend trying to write poetry from the third person or if from the first person still, writing it based on natural phenomena, doesn’t have to be to some love interest unless inspiration desires it.

>>17377558
Very hyper personal, such poetry is good to write as a contemplative tool but the primary focus when writing those shouldn’t be beauty, just expressing yourself as a communication with yourself.

>>17379639
Feels like utilitarian verse, like you’re preparing for a much longer piece so you’re just setting up the scenario. Which is fine I guess but will have to feel incomplete by its nature.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17388953]

>>17379938
Yeah sounds vaguely black or perhaps like a joke song from Charlie from its always sunny in Philadelphia, I’d just complain there’s no direct joke or humor to it nor does it have enough pathos to really do anything for me.

>>17380384
Third line doesn’t flow so well with the second, redo it.


>>17383360
Less a poem and more a short story/humorous tale.

>>17383620
Is this supposed to be slam poetry? Like when you read this out what do you intend for it to sound like? I couldn’t get into it personally, feels like those political pseudo poems that insist upon themselves, but I mean you was young when you wrote it so I don’t hold it against you. Definitely write newer poetry with your age-given growth in self awareness.

>>17386050

I’d either out a Stanza between to make the imagery and ideas enter into each other more or a third final stanza to reconcile/end it in a more definitive way.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389004]

>>17388253
>She says her face is sloping down, too much,

Decent line but I dislike the “too much”

>As though the frothy ocean snuffed the moon,
>And that her beauty too would turn to rust,

Too much movement in your imagery too fast.

>Beneath the bleating ocean bleeding too;

Nice alliteration and profession of the imagery.

>She cries that eyes will chide her puffy cheeks,

Acceptable/passable to keep the poem going.

>Like summer sky will slowly flood the night,
>And earth will birth a throng of thick ravines,

Nothing much to complain or to praise.

>To hide her wider dimples blushing bright;

Over doing the dimple and facial imagery at this point.

>Like flowers flooding fields with perfumed pink,

Pretty imagery

>Her crimson cheeks allow the crying earth,

Overdoing the facial imagery, repetition without addition isn’t necessarily good, repetition that changes the qualities of the line like you’re attempting requires a lot of skill, see how Virgil does it and learn from the master at it.

>To taste her stolen tears through cloudy skin,
>And quench the crushing cool of earth's preferred.
>Those mountains turn me soft inside like snow,

Furthering the skin imagery but I feel as if the cold and snowy imagery you’re ending with doesn’t contrast well with the rust and bloody and frothing earlier imagery. Not enough unity.

>You make me crumble like December woe.

Feels kinda like a weak ending friend.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389065]

>>17388763

>Sunny day,
>puss-clouds over firmament
>blue, like lilies

Averageish imagery but utilitarian enough.

>(Carnations change color when
>food-coloring is dropped in their water)

The line break feels unnecessary and takes me out of the poem, the forced Stop of “when” doesn’t give me anything but rather shows you struggling with the lines.

>A madman beats at the wooden fence

Rather blatant but a good contrast to the more generic beginning imagery

>beard rubbed raw in spots by his left hand

Headed rubbed raw in spots is an effective image, I know you’re contrasting left hand with right movement but left hand doesn’t sound good here.

>tremors--
>On the right movement
>Small Crack in the wire dark

Getting obscure, the imagery is hardly still here.

>he shifts, eye wide, shaking in socket
>pressed against the barrier

Imagery of him lost, not a satisfying end.

>The dandelions can’t find concrete from to sprout, and
>Weatherman said no rain to-day, gods be good and harvest-season’s here

Sounds more like we moved from imagery to a more heightened conversation tone, feels like this happened with nothing in between, gives it a jagged/uneven texture.

>Pulls back, air
>There’s sun behind him
>And golden dawn

Fair enough

>Snowglobe dome concave to him

Doesn’t seem to fit
>On the edges water, fish swimming,
>splinters in his hand
>madman pushes over fence
>behind it
>more grass

That’s fine. I would divide this into two different poems, feels like you’re trying to juggle two things, there’s definitely potential but don’t try to juggle so much unless you believe this is something you desire stylistically.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389126]

Wrote this poem a while ago, (accidentally posted in the other thread sorry) only reason I’m posting it is that other poems I’ve been writing are all far too long.

along a long forest road I rode
past pretty pixies playing in trees
but my horse’s haunty hoove’s had slowed

something squeezed my soul, some kind of breeze
broke my balance and brought a bane thought
“why does the sky seem sick with disease?”

heaven cracked with veins hellish and hot
and the dread carrions mouths open
crying “gorge on the world’s flesh and Rot”

but the baneful vision was broken
by my memory of another
and my apocalypse was stolen

“I love you more than any other”
had healed the heaven’s horrid decay
i headed to become her brother

and gain her fathers favor that day
that we be wedded as bride and man
Lord may heaven bless my holy Anne

[Anonymous No.17389179]

fair and bright
pure and kind
young but blind
not with thought nor mind
can i cope or hide
i am yet uglier inside

[Anonymous No.17389192]

>>17389004
Thank you and I agree totally with your points.

>>17388899
Thank you also for your criticism and will keep these pointers in mind.

Also, how do I stop writing romantic poetry? Idk why I keep writing this shit. Do I have to write about cars and trains and drugs?

[Anonymous No.17389226]

>>17389126
Where did the punctuation go?

I like the imagery but I think it could be stronger with it being punctuated so as to give more strength to the enjambment.

[Anonymous No.17389254]

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389301]

>>17389192
Nah not at all. You probably are thinking based off of exposure that a poem has to sound like a romantic poem. Read Poe’s philosophy of composition but to summarize, think about the effects you want the poem to have first, then pair that with corresponding imagery and a rhythm and rhyme that’s appropriate. Sometimes romantic stuff is logical but sometimes it has no real place.

A practice I do (though my poetry is by no means impressive) is to write/describe some natural scenery that I physically see or have seen. When you write poetry you want it to be like a secretion of the imagery and ideas of your essence as flowery as that sounds.

>>17389226

Maybe, I’ll definitely modify it.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389336]

Eh, posting this one more as a bump, This poem was basically a stream of conscious so it doesn’t have any of the cryptographic autism I usually hide and form my poems with.

when the low hanging sky
is pierced by those talons
ashen with old decay

the sounds of birds in bliss
twist into a dark hiss
and those demonic cries

encircle the child’s heart
and he drinks the fel ooze
leading him to Lethe

though he lives he forgets
and the dark slime slithers
and within him begets

a heart shaped eidolon
erasing the image
he had of his true heart

this is the translation
the hiss of damnation
is misheard salvation

the devil’s iron claws
is naught but your own flaws
when you reject God’s Laws.

[Anonymous No.17389362]

>>17389301
Thank you man for your advice. I'm buying a bunch of books on poetry because I want to master the craft. Is it a good idea to start from contemporary and move backwards through the history of verse, or start from the beginning with (I presume) the iliad?

[Anonymous No.17389388]

>>17389336
I love the flow and the imagery. The only nitpick (and I can't talk) is that the ending does sound like a platitude: maybe it is because the word 'God' has such a heavy sound that contrasts too harshly with the beginning word of the line 'when'. Maybe, 'when you reject his Laws.'? Capitalising it could lead the reader to stress it unnaturally. Or maybe 'when you reject, God's Law.'

Idk but it's actually worth a second read just to experience the imagery and narrative again.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389405]

>>17389362
Before doing either read pic related and then I would rather you pick up an anthology of great/popular poems from your mother tongues tradition. Then you ought to move into reading poetry from the art movements and periods you like. Your taste and pleasure has to guide you. Of course you should read the classics as always but get your basic principles and enjoyment first before you time sink it.

Remember, practice makes perfect, the mark of the greenhorn is excessively long poems (I will always suffer from this as I love the epic poem ) and many smaller poems are better for experimentation than a couple larger ones. Do not avoid books on poetics and rhetoric, but the person who you should learn poetry from the most beyond anyone else, is the masters of poetry which you read and say “wow this is impressive, this is beautiful” close reading of them and writing in pastiche of them is the best way to grind skill in my opinion.

[Anonymous No.17389417]

>>17389405
Thank you, I'll actually buy the paperback. Any other books that discuss technique and the like that you can recommend?

[Anonymous No.17389418]

>>17389179
I liked this. But it would be better organized into stanzas.
>>17389254
pure autism channel it.

[Anonymous No.17389423]

>>17389336
I really like it. It has a mythological feel to it, but is not grandiose or overdone. What sort of bugs me though is the rhyming. Poems that rhyme and don't rhyme are both interesting to me if well done. You straddle a line between the two in an uneasy way. A poem that doesn't rhyme can still have some here and there, but they feel overdone here and not all of them feel that strong.

The Civil Wars
A melody that's sweet cannot escape the ear.
From speakers poured the sound of two,
A source of bliss coincidentally so near;
Under shade, my attention drew
To the duet on stage I didn't know.
Her dress was black, around his neck a bow
And there a strap which hung an old guitar.
They told their story, how they came from far
Off places on a map to write what captivated
The crowd at ACL that day;
The two performers shared a mirth that permeated
Through their fans and the words I say.
Perhaps if I had heard the lyrics clear
I may have realized that their end was near.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389426]

>>17389388
Perhaps but I feel the heavy connotations and sounds of God are good, also notice when you say a line in any poem, by the fact that you breathe in a bit prior to the first syllable, the first syllable is always a heavy stress, even when it’s unstressed it’s a pseudo-stressed syllable just by the nature of having the extra bit of breath.

In general all of my poems are written with the intent of them not being recited normally but rather chanted with a vibrating hiss in the throat, which is the traditional way poetry used to and to this day religious invocations of divine names ARE said. Try reciting that poem with a chant to your voice.

[Anonymous No.17389440]

>>17389426
Chant, as in a "DUM DA DUM DA!"?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389448]

>>17389417
Sure but I can get you pdfs if you want of most of them. Just ask and I’ll dig up what I can.

Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry David Mason & John Frederick Nims
A Poetry Handbook Mary Oliver
Rhyme's Reason John Hollander
The Ode Less Traveled Stephen Fry


A lot of them will re-tread the same ground but sometimes you need that to integrate technique.

>>17389423
Thanks anon, I worried if the rhyming would be logical, the idea would be that the rhyming explicitly is connecting concepts/words and making harmonies, but if it doesn’t work when vocalized it is a failure. Thanks for the positives and the negatives.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17389458]

>>17389440
Not quite, just the cadence of the voice being a chant and allowing the throat to vibrate it outwards with a kind of hum, let the poem decide its own meter.

[Anonymous No.17389504]

Pressure rising, inconsequential and insurmountable
Herculean task of your basic hunger
Locations a second home and taste palpable
Emptiness consuming, can wait no longer
Walls are closing
Doors are missing
Time is passing
Action in lacking
Hunger sated by unknown dread
But empty still and body feels dead
Body on edge to defeat your foe
Mind racing as it battles your woe
Neither courage nor insanity saves you here
Your willpower surges to break through fear
Stepping out the door into the blinding sun
A massive small battle you feel you have won
Relief washes over as you drive to the point
Your stomach crying for help from your favorite joint
Enjoy the laughs at the mind who challenges imposed
Dread the realization that the restaurant is closed.

[Anonymous No.17389702]

The straw-hat doctor and his donkey
Croak abreast for alms,
The wagon knocks a daily fig
From up the hostly bough
And dusted raven hawks a fairy bauble to the bed
Deep-shugging off to Morgan's crook
To bring her devil's bread

Like-for-like the picknickers provide
Their slept-in plumes to he that cried:

"You passing man, have given
Less than this impassive land!"

A lame cat lands from thinking-post
To see this beetroot's pauper-boast

"I never loved their wisdom.
Could you beg the piping reeds,
Stir the timbrel of the trees,
Charm asleep the wounded hills
And cut the guldens from their veins?"

This the tom could never answer
For the stinted young of Cain's

So he joined in alms-enchanting
Catching ears of those who heard,
Leaving purses unconcerning
These the donkey would incur

[Anonymous No.17389996]

Fun little poem without pretension.

L'eau coule
et le poète écrit.
L'eau coule
et le poète regarde
l'eau couler.
Il voudrait dire comme il aime
l'eau qui coule,
mais il cale : il n'a pas les bons mots.
L'eau, elle, coule.
Il clôt ses yeux pour écouter le bruit
de l'eau qui coule.
Alors il se met à rêver aux trésors
que l'eau a coulés.
Il rêve si bien, qu'il s'endort sur son poème...
L'eau a tant coulé,
que la baignoire a débordé
et le poète s'est réveillé.

>shitty translation

The water flows
and the poet writes.
The water flows
and the poet watches
the water flow.
He would like to say how much he loves
flowing water,
but he stalls: he doesn't have the right words.
The water is flowing.
He closes his eyes to listen to the sound
of flowing water.
Then he begins to dream of treasures
sunk in water.
He dreams so well that he falls asleep on his poem ...
The water has flowed so much
that the bathtub overflowed
and the poet woke up.

>>17389504
>A massive small battle
I like this oxymoron but it feels out of place with the beginning of the poem which is very over the top (maybe "massively small" is better, idk ESL here). The end is funny too but the same applies, it feels too disconnected imo.
>>17389423
I like it and I think it flows well, feels like a nice folk song. I didn't know the word "mirth", and according to the definition I found (hilarity) and how I understand it, it feels a little weird because I think laughter is a very peculiar emotion that is hard to understand. That being said I think that laughter always have a conflictual side which is very relevant to you theme. I'm not sure what to think about it.
>>17389336
I like it better than your usual stuff, which is fine in itself imo, but that sometimes suffers a bit from the constraints you impose yourself, especially when you dwell in this heavy imagery. I think writing explicitly the moral of the story (like La Fontaine) goes very well with the more personal side, it gives a very peculiar anguish.
>>17389179
made me laugh
>>17388763
I have trouble wrapping my head around this one. I mostly agree with >>17389065. That being said, I like the idea of a madman beating a wooden fence on a sunny day very much and I think it's worth the trouble trying to rewrite it.

[Anonymous No.17390006]

In thine memory, bewitched I sit
Upon a sea of sorrow and outward look
And count each crashing wave upon the shore
Recant the days of our lost time
Thumbing each our memory like pages turnt
To wrinkled, rough and hollow sheets
Where each letter begins to fade, and I
Fill in upon them present impressions
Of days betrayed by the curse of hindsight

O' had I known then, my love!
That the depths of the sea should swallow thee
And bore thee to some darker skies
To live and die alone in thy cold, hard hate;
I would have lent thee to thy fate!
When the air was sweet
And I alone were the shores for which you longed
When intertwined were we;
And budding like the petals of a rose
Destined to wilt, but not disheartened at the coming snow--
To live in sorrow at love denied
Naked thoughts of our imagined lives;
Yes, this is the fate I much prefer
Than love lost to the march of time!
If the chill which took thee to those long lost days
Could come for me in much the same;
I'd beg of thee to die then, and save our hearts the ache;
Spare me, my love!
Spare me how I lost you twice!
Once when you left, and once when you died!

[Anonymous No.17390070]

>>17389702
>And dusted raven hawks a fairy bauble to the bed/Deep-shugging off to Morgan's crook/To bring her devil's bread
Pretty fucking marvelous stuff, especially the phrase "dusted raven hawks". Is the Morgan you're referring to Morgan le Fay? I mean it would certainly ground this poem in a concrete theme. But if not I can only gather its about a beggar, which I must say I like the image of a deranged lunatic asking for alms who speaks like Zarathustra, a slice of some life lived during no time in particular and existing nowhere at all, purely mythical. Keep it up brother this shit is good

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17390243]

>>17389996
I think we’ve spoken before but, I actually am a pretty big fan of La Fontaine and I would very much like to integrate that kind of fairy tale aesthetic into my poetry, and honestly I know my constrains can harm my aesthetic but at the same time if i remove the meaning and detail I feel that lessens it for me, like you seen how much I can pack into a 16 line poem. I guess a big part of me really enjoys cryptography, I have a very large cryptographic poem I am working on which I’m sure will be basically impossible for anyone else to solve but for myself I just want to do that kind of stuff, ya know?

As for your poem, I in general like repetition but you always have to be careful when you speak of the poet, because such poetry can seem very self serving, that’s tamed by the fact that it’s implied that you actually had this experience but even then. Aesthetically I would mention one problem with the imagery, the water the poet is watching is left too obscure from the beginning though perhaps this is intentional, but I did not perceive in my mind’s eye the water flowing within a bathroom until the late of A line, when I’ve spoken to a lot of people who don’t normally read much, they’ve told me when they read they find descriptions coming too late of vital details forces their imagination to have to auto-correct and ruin the image they already created, which produces dis-satisfaction in the reader. Still an interesting poem. Here’s a related poem I wrote, when I was meditating near a large body of water and saw the light reflecting therein.

Waves of blue fire in the sky
Light mingles with waves and the water
The raindrops of light in my eye
the blue flames of heaven’s altar
boundless space is your great temple
you are the center and special

[Anonymous No.17390263]

>>17388680
yeah the last part is unnecessary, I kinda rushed it

originally I wrote this as a standalone entry in my journal:

The light illuminates the world
the one and the many
et lux in tenebris lucet

[Anonymous No.17390376]

>>17389996
>Massive Small battle
Its meant to be like that.
Small bit of background, slightly before seeing this thread and dropping it here I was having a panic attack about going out and getting something to eat. Hadn't eaten in a couple days either so I was really feeling it. But when you're a relatively rational person like I am, you look at the situation objectively and it makes you feel retarded for having so much trouble with something as simple as "go get something to eat", especially when its something you do often enough anyway. Breaking through that can seem like a big accomplishment personally when objectively it's no big deal.
Restaurant was actually closed though. I'm still sad.

[Anonymous No.17390491]

>>17390070
Thank you. To explain, ravens gather eye-catching trinkets; it coughs this trinket to the bed of the wagon. In fact, all of nature contributes things by accidents to this man's wagon, while the picknickers gathered by the road give him nothing.

The raven returns to Morgan's crook (like a shepherd's crook). Morgan refers both to Morgan le Fay, as you correctly identified, and the Morrigan. Make of that what you will.

Devil's bread is nothing- an empty beak. A contrast to heavenly manna brought by doves. Previously I wrote "to earn his devil's bread," which would have a different connotation.

The beggar is just asking no one in particular if one can perform those abusive and absurd acts upon nature- that is the "wisdom" of those who gave nothing. The cat couldn't answer (no shit) so it joined in meowing for alms- in truth- the passersby were the ones he was giving to, the "alms" are just their ears. The donkey stole their purses, however.

[Anonymous No.17390515]

>>17390491
Sometimes when a poet explains his work he has a tendency to explain it away, so to speak, but I appreciate your explanation in that it only enlivens what you wrote, not conceptualize it. Its not that the poem was unclear, but now that you've called to the fore the specific acts occurring I only like the poem more.

[Anonymous No.17390697]

>>17390515
The key is to leave everything in the air- don't pin it down, only offer interpretations. Sometimes the reader's impression is superior to your intention

[Anonymous No.17390775]

FIRST NIGHT ON DARTMOOR

In the town of Ivybridge,
began our journey to the moors.
Where oaken forest had once stood,
now only windswept hillock swooned.

And with my fair companion,
starts the test of budding skill.
Burdened hard, still bounding forth
to conquer loft, ancient hills.

Lacking experience, strength
borrowed from adventure's will.
Dressed in garb to ward off cold
and those moorland winds, howling shrill.

The morning rays illumed our path.
Oak and hazel flanked our sides.
Now night's freezing emptiness,
forces us to pitch and hide.

On Erme's bank we rest our heads,
Above, the sky, a vermeilled mess.
I write perhaps just to record
adventure's happy weariness.

Only context I will give to get as unbiased a review as possible:
Written on the first night of a wild camping expedition in Dartmoor National Park, Erme refers to the River Erme which we pitched our tent next to that night
Yes, I know moors and swooned don't rhyme

[Anonymous No.17391671]

A lone empty house
Stands facing a wide river
Weeds it's only friends

[Anonymous No.17391686]

>>17391671
Weeds it's only friend*

[Anonymous No.17391696]

>>17390775
Very nice anon

[Anonymous No.17392272]

Wrote this,in 2018 when I was trying to write my term paper
open up my laptop. My hands hover over my keyboard, and suddenly i feel it.
I feel a clawed, calloused hand wrap around my cranium.
I start typing out whatever i can.
Nothing.
My heart starts racing, my hands start trembling.
Nothing.
A distant, whiny groan reverberates in my mind:
“Goddammit i have no idea what to write”
I start typing furiously, backspacing every time.
Nothing.
I had 4 hours of sleep, i realize.
The icy grip around my brain begins to tighten.
I am visibly shaking.
Nothing.
Then i see it, through the fog of my despair: a wall, imposing and impenetrable.
Nothing.
Nothing,Nothing,Nothing.
My thoughts and my keyboard are a continent away.
Nothing nothing, nothing.
Nothing.
Perhaps, when i'm not so tired, i can scale that wall of obfuscation.
Nothing.

[Anonymous No.17392488]

>>17367480
no estâ mal, lástima que el tema sea tan vulgar. Se te desperdicia el talento chocarrerías.

[Anonymous No.17392530]

>>17389996
>>17373315

Pas mal du tout ânon (si tu es le même), belle fluidité du langage
Moi même, j'ai du mal à libérer mes vers, je me réfugie souvent dans la forme.

D'hésitantes ondines autour de moi s'étirent
Les rayons alourdis un à un se retirent
Puis le soir paresseux s'affale sur mes heures
Je suis pris, et la nuit déjà me rend rêveur

D'innocentes étoiles mollement posées
Orientent déjà des songes arrosés
De lumière lunaire lointainement divine
Mes rêveries soudaines en douceur de dessinent

[Anonymous No.17392851]

br

[Long stone night. No.17392959]

The ceiling is stone.
Stone are the walls
and the dark.
Stone is the floor
and the bars.
The doors,
the chains,
the air,
the windows,
the looks,
are stone.
The hearts of the man
that gaze from afar,
are made
aswell
of stone.
And I, dying
in this long night
of stone.

[Anonymous No.17393571]

It was all a dream
But it was so nice
I had a nice house
And such a loving wife
We had a little dog
Such a little dog
Oh but it reminded me of a large dog
Just in miniature size
And I saw life
Without upset family members
It was so clear I still remember
I’d risen from the fiery embers
Risen from the fiery embers

Well, I could see
That in this dream
I did it all with the help from my peers
And I said all I got
I got from the
Help of this wonderful society

I want to thank you
For all your love and support
I never made it
No, my father never made me do sports

And I’m so glad, I’m so glad
I never wandered down the wrong path
And ended up some kind of addict
Or a loser or some kind of some kind of

Some kind of psychopath
Just like you
I could have ended up just like you

But I woke up from this dream
I realised I was still sitting right here
In this same chair
With the same fucked up people
That surround me

And I say all I got
Is this shirt on my back
And my never-ending hate for this completely fucked up society
Yeah this fucked up society

Thank God I didn’t go to school
Thank God I didn’t end up
Just like you

Some kind of psychopath
Just like you

[Anonymous No.17394507]

no ded

[Anonymous No.17394939]

“He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapp’d in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
Must look down on the hate of those below.
Though high above the sun of glory glow,
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Contending tempests on his naked head,
And thus reward the toils which to these summits led.”

— Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

[Anonymous No.17395476]

>>17394939
nice, never read Byron before, where should I begin?

[Anonymous No.17395547]

>>17395476
this post >>17394939

[Anonymous No.17395567]

>>17394939
She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and something else
And all thats best of, fuck what was the line

[Anonymous No.17395589]

>>17367380
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Op is a fag
And I will fuck him on his back.

[Anonymous No.17395674]

Ésta es la información, éste el proceso
del hombre que ha de ser canonizado,
en quien, si es que vio el Mundo algún pecado,
advirtió penitencia por exceso.

Doce años de su suegra estuvo preso,
a mujer y a su sueldo condenado;
vivió bajo el poder de su cuñado,
tuvo un hijo no más, tonto y travieso.

Nunca rico se vio con oro o cobre,
vivió siempre contento, aunque desnudo,
no hay incomodidad que no le sobre.

Moró entre un herrador y un tartamudo,
fue mártir, porque fue casado y pobre,
hizo un milagro, y fue no ser cornudo.

[Anonymous No.17395892]

>>17395476
Not sure where. Stumbled onto this poem and liked it.

[Anonymous No.17396687]

bump

[Anonymous No.17396972]

>>17395674
Leí moro jaja

[Anonymous No.17397354]

Oh my god
She just like me

I'm not the worthless sack of shit
I appear to be

[Anonymous No.17397663]

>>17367380
I made a poem for my crush back in high school, I can't remember exactly how it was but I know it had clouds and rain so I remade it(CRINGE WORTHY):

I was raining my love
I was rainstorm clouds
You didn't realized
When the sun came out
I was just puddle under your feet
From a heart that just came to bleed
Now I shall rain over new fields
From which my new life yields

[Anonymous No.17397688]

I don’t believe forebodings, nor do omens
Frighten me. I do not run from slander
Nor from poison. On earth there is no death.
All are immortal. All is immortal. No need
To be afraid of death at seventeen
Nor yet at seventy. Reality and light
Exist, but neither death nor darkness.
All of us are on the sea-shore now,
And I am one of those who haul the nets
When a shoal of immortality comes in.

Live in the house — and the house will stand.
I will call up any century,
Go into it and build myself a house.
That is why your children are beside me
And your wives, all seated at one table,
One table for great-grandfather and grandson.
The future is accomplished here and now,
And if I slightly raise my hand before you
You will be left with all five beams of light.
With shoulder blades like timber props
I held up every day that made the past,
With a surveyor’s chain I measured time
And travelled through as if across the Urals.
I picked an age whose stature measured mine.
We headed south, made dust swirl on the steppe.
Tall weeds were rank; a grasshopper was playing,
Brushed horseshoes with his whiskers, prophesied
And told me like a monk that I would perish.
I took my fate and strapped it to my saddle;
And now I’ve reached the future I still stand
Upright in my stirrups like a boy.
I only need my immortality
For my blood to go on flowing from age to age.
I would readily pay with my life
For a safe place with constant warmth
Were it not that life’s flying needle
Leads me on through the world like a thread.

[Anonymous No.17397976]

>>17397663
>I was just puddle under your feet
Based masochist footfag

[Anonymous No.17398780]

I shot myself
I shat myself
I shut myself
I shit myself
I shoot myself
I sheet myself in my self
And through myself, my shit was shot.
I shut myself off from the shitty sheets
Of autistic, vaguely -grammic poetry such as this

[Anonymous No.17399719]

Why must I bottle night inside my heart
When held within my hand is heaven's gift
To me, a mourning mind, its counterpart
Beseeching her to reach from where she lives
Each night? If love will ever leave me less,
Then rush its ambition, kill me completely,
Those after me should know what loveliness
Consists of: submission; obsession; weeping.
So should I choose again my spent emotion,
Consider hate, profitable in time
And money, better spent upon one's own
Body and thus I give up my own kind.
And I return to shivered stars above,
Alone forever until love resumes.

[Anonymous No.17400079]

bumping the neverending thread
because my work was unread

[Anonymous No.17400289]

>>17390243
I think it is very much possible to achieve a perfect aesthetic while integrating many constraints and I'm a supporter of the idea that too much perceived liberty can be harmful to the artist because he then obeys more to rules unknown to him. Keep on writing frater, keep on writing and you'll write your coup de dés.
I agree with you about the idea that the poet is a touchy subject in poetry. The idea of this poem came when I was skimming through L'esprit et l'eau (The spirit and the water) by Paul Claudel but was too lazy to actually read it, I was struck by these verses: "L'eau / Toujours s'en vient retrouver l'eau / Composant une goutte unique" (The water / Always comes to find water / Component of a single drop). I especially noticed the first one because Claudel usually writes very long verses in this poem, sometimes taking several lines. So the situation was a transposition of me, too much in the real world to read Claudel, to an imaginary Claudel, too much in poetry to be in the real world. As for the ending what you said is interesting, it is true that I never thought of it that way. That being said I think I saw in a thread about French lit that you did not talk French, and I realise that there is an issue with my translation: "l'eau coule" is an idiomatic way of saying that the tap is open, but also means that water is flowing like in a river (and also that it is sinking something, but this is not a level of translation I'm on). I tried playing with that ambiguity in French but failed to translate it in English, my goal was not to lose the reader like "ahah I'm talking about his bathtub" but more to make him think "oh yeah of course, why didn't I think of that?". I better translation than "flow" might have been "run" since I believe it can be used in both context. How's that:

The water runs
and the poet writes.
The water runs
and the poet watches
the water run.
He would like to say how much he loves
running water,
but he stalls: he doesn't have the right words.
The water is running.
He closes his eyes to listen to the sound
of running water.
Then he begins to dream of treasures
sunk in water.
He dreams so well that he falls asleep on his poem ...
The water has ran so much
that the bathtub overflowed
and the poet woke up.

I always try to put a little translation so if someone spots a nice or very awkward imagery he can tell me, but it can be tricky.
Nice little poem, I like the mixing of the sky and water. I just find the sentence of the last verse a bit weird because, unless I'm missing something, the zeugma doesn't work that well with a noun and then an adjective.

[Anonymous No.17400324]

>>17392530
Oui c'est bien le même, content que ça te plaise.
Je trouve que ton poème est bien, j'aime beaucoup l'allitération du dernier vers (j'imagine qu'il faut lire "se dessine" ?) et le parallélisme entre "hésitantes" et "innocentes". Toutefois le mot "soudaines" fait un peu gratuit puisque jusqu'ici rien n'a laissé envisager une idée de brusquerie. Idem pour pour le "lointainement divine" qui est un peu bizarre, le "lointanement" en particulier semble être mis pour l'allitération plus que pour le sens. Je pense que cette impression est beaucoup due au fait que tu utilises un peu trop la structure "qualifiant+qualifié" (désolé pour la terminologie, j'ai jamais rien bité à la grammaire, mais je parle de tous ces "soir paresseux", "songes arrosés", etc.) ce qui crée une sursaturation. Enfin, est-ce que tu voulais faire des alexandrins? parce que si c'est le cas tu compte mal tes pieds.

[Anonymous No.17400370]

a knock on the door
policemen take me away
they say i said things
no man should dare say
now lifeless i lie
on a cold slab
for in twenty sixteen
i posted on gab

[Anonymous No.17400416]

>>17400079
who are you my jolly fren?
did you crit your fellow men?

[Anonymous No.17401003]

>>17400324
>Enfin, est-ce que tu voulais faire des alexandrins? parce que si c'est le cas tu compte mal tes pieds.
Oui, et maintenant que tu le dis ça me saute aux yeux, j'ai pourtant l'habitude d'être assez scrupuleux à ce sujet.
Pour ce qui est du "qualifiant+qualifié", ainsi que de ma tendance à privilégier l'effet au sens. je suis tout à fait d'accord, j'essaie de m'en libérer. C'est pour ça que j'ai été assez touché par ton poème, il représente une belle alliance de sens et de son

[Anonymous No.17401414]

>>17367380

>ive been periodically coming back to this for the past few months to work on it. be brutally honest desu ty
Dear Lord. Free me from my vices as I
walk the shallow road.
Men drinking lava while unchallenged with
their load.
I bellow: Set me in the present, for my
wicked doings spun the hands of my clock.
A shift is invisible between I, and I who
was dormant in the dark.
Sir, do not attempt to look past the gusts of
flowing wisps. Find glee within the forest of
bright white birch and childish, sprinting
hares. Carry your torso with vigorous
movement as would I at a fair, and permit
sentiments to turn your eyes into skin
which is angered and tinted fair.
What we cast upon the pages is not a
misspelling. We have been found
wallowing in the piteous, but ducks will
continue to swim across the pond. The
willing and desperate alike continue
carrying their sins on leashes made of
cooked rice. We have been both. Because
of this, your misadventures will never lull,
as I was bound by nylon and guts. Tell me,
infant, why should my sin be held?
Unbridled shame has turned me into a
freak, yet your visage still holds me as a
smooth skin. If my ghastly form will not
finish bending my own back, why not jump
to the inevitable and shear it?

[Anonymous No.17401589]

>>17401414
I like it, but I think it would actually be better in prose, in paragraphs forms, much like Maldoror

[Anonymous No.17402089]

SONGS ACROSS THE DESERT

To see with single Eye the moving Drama,
To ride the magic Horse of Passion,
To penetrate the Net which binds us tight,
Through the Door of Liberation flashing!

Transparent Winged, along the orbits of the stars,
I represent with fiery pen the Truth,
I gallop through the dust of Ages
With lucid Eye and spirit hoof.

What am I if I live unquestioned,
Accepted by myself as merely me?
What am I if I merely feel the Drama
But never with the Eye of Wisdom see?

Who am I that my parents named me,
Granting me a part upon this Stage?
Who am I that I've long forgotten,
After many lives through every Age?

Where am I but here where I AM!
Yet this dusty Stage I search for clues,
Where am I that I cannot find Me?
Lost in this Desert with other dreaming fools!

Like Arabs do we wander these shifting sands,
Seeking for that blessed Constancy,
Yet all the precious things we ever grasped
Have gone... or changed since infancy.

We follow our own footprints in the sand,
Never knowing to what or where they might lead,
Yet still we must tread this Mystery Circle,
Until we be pure in Thought, Word and Deed.

Matthew Sutherland

[Anonymous No.17402253]

What makes a good sonnet?

[Anonymous No.17402374]

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, want to pull up tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I want to get wit'cha
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But with that butt you got makes (me so horny)
Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin
You say you want to get in my Benz?
Well, use me, use me
'Cause you ain't that average groupie
I've seen her dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet,
Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette
I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas (yeah) Fellas (yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (hell yeah)
Tell 'em to shake it (shake it) shake it (shake it)
Shake that healthy butt

[Anonymous No.17402430]

>>17400416
>did you crit your fellow men?
Yes >>17375476

And this is mine
>>17397354

[Anonymous No.17402434]

>>17402253
What you say in it. This is not a very helpful answer but it is true, there is no secret recipes. If you want to write sonnets, read sonnets and see what works for you.

[Anonymous No.17403207]

Bump

[Anonymous No.17403254]

>>17367380

late summer wind
sweeps up the bright valley.
Shaking, for a long moment, the green leaves
in the tree above.

Beneath, I sit sipping tea.
On the wooden table,
near the stone teapot,
lands an orange leaf.

I tilt my head,
leaning it in my hand,
and sigh.
“nothing lasts, does it…”

I feel the wind move around me,
and hear the green leaves shake.

“Even the wind sighs with me."

Looking to balm my sullen heart,
I grip the teapot and start to pour,
but only emptiness pours out.
Placing it down I find
the orange leaf is gone as well.

[Anonymous No.17403282]

>>17373074

light of turned-on computer
shows my effort-post thread is achieved.
"fuck jannies" echoes down the hall.

[Anonymous No.17403326]

>>17373074

hum of turned-on pc.
my effort-post thread, achieved in red.
"fuck jannies" echoes down the hall.

[Anonymous No.17404144]

>>17367380
Soft skin
Hard cock?

Time to get the glock!

[Anonymous No.17405128]

Bump

[Anonymous No.17406549]

Was it your fault, were you betrayed? Did your existence ever matter beyond such a bizarre reality?

Im curious, if and when your belief will falter and the consequence of such a thing. Maybe you're lucky, and no matter the outcome of your decisions you can be satisfied that you never gave up the ship.

And I can see it clearly, your ego at the helm as the waves of time crush around you, sinking the only vessel you've ever known, drowning in furious denial.

I wonder what words you will say when the ocean of reality overtakes you, looking up at the storm of existence while you drown in what you wish to be.

[Anonymous No.17406555]

>>17403254
too staccato imo, feels stiff

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDYSEULU. No.17406910]

>>17395674


ME GUSTA POR LO INGENIOSO, Y LO BIEN COMPUESTO, PERO DETESTO EL TEMA; SON NEFASTOS LOS HOMBRES QUE SE HACEN LOS SUFRIDOS, LOS ABNEGADOS, POR SER CASADOS, POR TENER ESPOSA, HIJOS, FAMILIA; SI TANTO LES PESA EL MATRIMONIO, Y LA PATERNIDAD, PARA QUÉ, O POR QUË, TOMARON ESPOSA, Y PROGENITARON VÁSTAGOS? ESTE TIPO DE PERSONAJE HACE DE LA MEDIOCRIDAD UNA HAZAÑA, Y DE LA NECEDAD VIRTUD.

[Anonymous No.17406977]

I'm sorry that you love me more than i love you
and really, really, really yeah i love you too
but cut me off and fuck it i guess I'll cut you
with words and memes that sting like oooouuu
I'm sorry I'm a jerk although you're pretty cool
and pretty yeah, and pretty god damn handsome too
but cut me off and fuck it man ill cut you
with words and memes that sting like fuck you

hahaha shawty smash u sloppy boi

[Anonymous No.17407127]

>>17376742
Astounding, ingenious
>>17376755
Derivative, bland

>>17389126
I love all the rhyme goin on in this, it flows so well.
>hellish and hot
>flesh and rot
Is probably my favorite rhyme in a long time.


Ideas

Its clean steel looks
At me with my eyes
And wants to
Steal me from them

Buzzing my entire
Body but frigid and
Fragile limp but
Locked in place

Half cocked full on
Pussy staring
At my toothbrush
Spit and rinse

[Anonymous No.17407147]

To relapse replace resign grand visions i trade
for the rush of trembling in loins fiery made,
to pulsate humming & so grow sedate
by two lonesome hands enslaved by Fate.

Images rush before my eyes,
tawny brown flesh of Orient skies,
i see crosses burning up high on the hills
and men of mossgreen that garble what kills.

[Anonymous No.17407160]

>>17398780
decent and based

[Anonymous No.17407457]

grand disco panic struck the planet
thumping grooves move the attic
the beat pure
autocratic

[Anonymous No.17407627]

>>17407457
Got a song like quality to it. Its good though. Flows and rhymes great.

[Anonymous No.17407666]

of thy countenance fair
i make no sonnet
i shake my spear
and jizz upon it

[Anonymous No.17407980]

>>17388680
>I like the concept, but a lot of it is redundant. The word ;rigidity' is hard to use poetically because it complicates the meter--in this poem it's very disruptive to the rhythm. Otherwise good.
Thanks for the crit. I'm ESL so if at least the concept is good that's that. Could you develop on why the word "rigidity" is hard to use? I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Now that you said it, I see how it doesn't really work in this poem, it is true that it makes a weird meter here, but I don't understand why it would be hard to use in another poem.
Also when you talk about redundancy, are you talking about the repetitions of words like "nails", "skin" and "mine"? Because if so, that's voluntary and I was aiming for the effect of being stuck in the same place mentally (if it works or not is another matter) or is it something else?
Useful criticism anyway thanks :)

[Anonymous No.17408254]

There's a pool in my bathroom
empty of water with solid walls
of black stone marble
at the bottom
darkened statues fallen from great heights

[Anonymous No.17409144]

I am
Not ready to see her
Cunt
Even though I love her:
Love is a dreadful thing
-
Can I ever get a gf?
One day I'll get a gf
Pretty women will be mine
Everyone will look at us
.

Have I got
A chance still?
Vaginas are my only
End

Sordid
Excuse for my
Xenophobia

Fair coloured man cannot get
A woman?
Gargantuan lie.

[Anonymous No.17409294]

>>17367478
I agree with one of the anons here that this would work better as prose. It seems like you left out significant chunks of actual content that would help paint a picture of what you want to portray with your writing.

[Anonymous No.17409321]

>>17369154
The first two verses are a forced rhyme. The rest is good, especially the last four verses. Keep writing

[17409324 No.17409762]

>>17367380
The spice turned
Spun, crushed in blossom cloves
Spring such scent to thy brim
Of summer
Youths ring she shared
In their
rapprochement interim.

Underway, secrets lie
Men, tall who’s blood boil ‘oer
Septic eyes wander
Conquered by their anger
Standing tall
As hills ‘Dover
Wrought in iron
Steel boilers, stokers
The sound of hammer
Workers
Soldiers stammers
Is still frail
Bloodshed will
Avail
Man

Blood for the tongue
A mother for young
Lady for youth.
A fire for man.

[17409324 No.17409803]

>>17409144
Get outside.
6/10

[17409324 No.17409814]

>>17408254
I like the flow but it lacks consistency in imagery. 7/10

[17409324 No.17409825]

>>17407666
10/10

Because I hate-speare.

[Anonymous No.17409989]

>>17407666
i should've put dear instead of fair in the first line