/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1895047]

Post your OC here

[Anonymous No.1895053]

I'm disconnected from the world
Here's my filter
It's dark and blue and curled
Around a darkened image of a smile,
I built her .
From my own memory, my swimming
idea of a beauty.

[JamesBond !!JAU/DZkp95n No.1895051]

Trouble? I spell it with the capital T.
Problems? Ah, they are my speciality....

Did you notice that mess.....
caused by me, I guess.....

And that crash?
Oh! I forgot to put the peel in the trash.....

That dirty room?
Well I live here don't I?
and Cleanliness' position next to godliness...
I certainly defy.....

So you are wondering about the clean clothes and looks....
Well, they are a product of strange flukes....

For I believe in conservation laws...
If mess appears somewhere
then It disappears from elsewhere.....
as surely as ice in summer thaws....

[Anonymous No.1895056]

There's a graveyard at the top of the hill
The pond at the bottom
has a scent to it
like salt pork
left out on a day that's wet and hot
The floor is swamped
with bright green algae
and the three feet of beach
on the south shore
between the water and the wheatgrass
is where things
wash up

gimme money plsd

[JamesBond !!JAU/DZkp95n No.1895057]

I like borders..
Not here nor there..
I walk on their lines...
Happy at their Junction.

I am searching for the point..
Where they all will meet..
For upon reaching there..
I will be everywhere and nowhere.

[Penelopie !!XVlQqS/VmGv No.1895094]

Between guilt and temptation
Lie the gray staircase to hopelessness
And with loss of control we forfeit sanity
Once held so dear, now longed for yet so near
Oh how I despise this puddle of guilt.
But i'm adjusted to its temperature
and to step out I fear to step back in
So I stay cold and shiver, hoping for a drought.

[Anonymous No.1895101]

I'm not so sure about
how to write verse
so I'll break these lines
here
for effect

[Anonymous No.1895102]

>>1895094
*lies the gray staircase
*I'm

[Penelopie !!XVlQqS/VmGv No.1895110]

>>1895102
yeah I wrote it just then on the fly, didn't bother checking for spelling/grammar. kill me lit.

[Anonymous No.1895117]

>>1895057
i liked it =)

[Anonymous No.1895123]

For extra credit a professor had us write our own version of Ben Jonson's "Inviting a Friend to Supper". This is what I came up with. The other stuff I have is horrible and was written in high school. There's a few that are interesting, but most of them are written like song lyrics with their structure (first verse, chorus, second verse, chorus, etc)


>[Inviting a Friend to Supper]

Tonight, my friend, is a night that we’ll share
If you will so humbly decide to bare
Witness to the delight that is this feast
I promise, dear friend, the bread does have yeast
No need to worry or fret or fear
For you and I, once away, will finally be here
Together, as one ,dining, maybe wining,
Drinking and singing? Possibly. Though shining
Above the rest. All the while we will pay,
Not money, no, pay our respects and stay
In this place of fun, delight, and heresy.
No. What? Hearsay I say, gossip, talk and be
Like those of whom we talk and see frequently.
Yet unlike them, feast like kings and presidents
For our scraps will trickle down for some, the peasants.
All will look and all will see our plates of steak
Fish, roots, fresh fruits, and toppings to eat
With eggs and the birds who laid them at their feet.
We’ll drink the beer, the wine, the hard and the soft
And the house shall be filled of scents that waft
From our plates to the noses of whom we permit.
We need only food that we deem ready and fit
For us to consume on a most wondrous evening
So let us commence with this evening of feeding,
Once you accept my invite, you won’t deplore
For all I have said, you will have, more and more

[Anonymous No.1895133]

Part of something I did today.

“No.”
“Some coffee then? Tea, sir?”
“Never had coffee.” Firstly, there was good humor in both antics. Considerably obvious that a youth (17 to the mark,) who was absolutely renown for antics, that could call for such stimulants, never partook. There was a maturing aspect to coffee, you would drink it to find a more loose version of yourself – introducing alcohol to a baby. Though, I guess, I was born as a pre-mature alcoholic. Not surprising, with such a fat and addictive personality; it got you names but no numbers; it shone through as the hotel caddy shimmied out, a back room for all the slave coffee needs on such a petty life salary – no dimes, no happiness, a heap-ton of vacation hours spent standing – and I giggled to the pages of the book, still propped out below on the mini-chestnut block. She had taken that slight effort to side a second option, tea nonetheless. My foreign brain shunned the idea, immediately of a drink such existing, almost like she was playing some British tourist joke – far off, but remains. I had had tea before, at times when my rampant crazy kid mind took charge and the unique jeering of challenging authority was a badge to be cherished among spittle-covered toddlers. Recalling, to a restaurant with my parents, perhaps an uncle or two who both took a good laugh in my absolute denial of ice water. This time, I thought, this time I’m trying a drink that I had either never heard of or my father scoffed at – a double whammy of justice arose when those same boisterous uncles, or what-nots, nudged on my insanity. No, no, they said, of course it will take longer to get to the table, it is a very fancy drink. I hear snickering; a weird rift ripping feeling like the memory itself had formatted into current form – two mates are pointing to each others coats cross the barrier, smiles plastered on. The snicker again. It was them.

[Anonymous No.1895147]

You can see them walk together,
mimicking fresh spirals between hands;
her strut whacks another pavement step.

The rigid backpack looks sick for that perky face-skin,
weaved bound; those middle-aged minivan angels gushing,
the same smiled you smile to his grope.

from here,

yet there was more to you
you twaddle nails over your keys
not rest his cries, solemn.

and
you danced in his dances
that he danced of dancing

and
rash – infection love-bed nightmares
yet he smiles such

From here, who sat in his view, cradling sight,
caressing your lush memory, from here,
beauty followed you.

[satan !OW9DVqIqy6 No.1895176]

unwashed by the blue lake
hungry by the dining table
awake by the sleeping mat
alive in my own grave

who and where
why and when
useless fucking questions...i ask them anyway,as
time flies and wraps around my face like plastic wrap stretching
suffocating;
and i curse that once pregnant fat whore
crying out:
no more, no more
no more

[Anonymous No.1895196]

Other OC poetry thread here: >>1894528

And there's some very good stuff in there.

[Anonymous No.1895199]

>>1895176

[Penelopie !!XVlQqS/VmGv No.1895252]

>>1895176
the fat whore bit made me chuckle quite heartily good friend.

[Anonymous No.1895305]

I play a melody, faintly heard,
but looking around, no one really cared,
for here I am, I am just a bird.