/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.20109240]

Can we get a poetry thread going?
Swear I haven't seen one in weeks now.

[Anonymous No.20109243]

Why? No one writes on /lit/.

[Anonymous No.20109481]

Posted this here and it got ignored.
>>20103654
Thoughts? It’s pedestrian but I thought it merited being posted

[Anonymous No.20110368]

>>20109481
I really like the flow, and what feels like reading partial thoughts, it is fun to read. Is there any reason you switched up the length for the last two lines? Also, I feel "putting the pencil down" might flow better than "putting down the pencil".

[Anonymous No.20110685]

>>20110368
Thanks for the feedback anon! The last two lines are actually one longer one. I added it as a conclusion because I felt the semi-manic state the mind can be in while trying to sleep would contrast nicely with the slow crawl of waking up tired. I also really like asymmetric meter, particularly at the end of a poem; like the Shakespearean sonnet for example.

[Anonymous No.20110742]

I wrote this the other day, I’m guessing the formatting might get messed up as I’m phoneposting.

While searching for my daily bread
I stumbled upon an empty shed

Though its roof was broken and its walls were thin
It gave me shelter from the wind

I slept there safe, throughout the night
And awoke to singing great gray shrikes

Between boards of the wall the sun shone through
And on the clover floor gleamed morning dew

Then suddenly steps,
a shadow sprawl
I could make out a face between the boards of the wall

A man approached and I greeted him gently
“Trespassing” he mocked, “unlawful entry”

My trial was swift,
in the morning sun
I was found guilty by a man with a gun

[Anonymous No.20110844]

>>20110742
The two “between the boards of the wall” is sort of clumsy, and I feel like it could be fixed by condensing all stanzas to couplets. I like the direction over all, it reminds me of something Woody Guthrie would write. Is it an allegory for something you’ve gone through?

[Anonymous No.20111125]

Radar

Your alarm reams through my brain
Wracking my waking mind awake
A shrill staccato dreamt up
By some Silicon Valley scientist
Attempting to capture in audio and vibrations
The jitters that you feel only when most anxious.
Your tone repeats, repeats, repeats,
Draws on and on, never missing a beat
Your pulsing stirs me
even if my ears are stuffed
With orange hunting earplugs
Whose own designers cleverly named their material
E-A-R (Energy Absorption Resin)
Absurd acronyms, levity produced even in the most austere environments
My eyes are open now, grogginess gone
Replaced by a big feeling, a strong feeling
Of "Stop! Desist! Cease!"
As I fumble for you, press the button, and at last, release!


Any constructive crit is welcome
>>20109481
I like this! Like the other anon said, it’s interesting to read what feels like an ephemeral thought.
>>20110742
I also like this one, I don’t know much about the actual construction of a poem but this vignette is humorous to me

[Anonymous No.20111393]

This one is dedicated to the cute girl at
the cheese stand.
With her golden brown hair,
messy bun,
and the eyes of a fox.

Selling parmesan,
with her soft belly hidden
underneath her soft brown shirt.
Oh those nice legs that lay beneath
tight jeans.

What say we forget about this cheese,
and go for a walk among the wildflowers?
take my arm and I will point out the deer tracks
and tell you about Imnaha and hunting in Hells Canyon.

We can drink the wine you made, and make promises we both cant uphold.
Just hide from the harsh realities of life for awhile, watching the ponderosa's sway in the wind.

I will finally see your soft belly,
and you will see mine.

As the meadow larks fly above, chirping at each other lovingly.
So shall we chirp at eachother,
doing everything in love.
>>20111125
Wracking my waking mind awake, sounds a little clunky, I would find another word to replace awake or waking. But It is a good poem.

[Anonymous No.20111407]

>>20111125
I think the rhyme of repeat and beat sort of disrupts your rhythm. The rhyme in the last two lines work though. Better to stick with assonance and alliteration I feel for this sort of verse. I’ve actually written many things like this anon, it reminds me of something I’d reread in my journal. Yeah I’d say work on rhythm maybe experiment with some enjambment to see what works and what doesn’t.

[Anonymous No.20111427]

>>20111393
Here’s one I wrote for a lady at my job and who had the most beautiful cascading black curls I’ve ever seen. It’s years old by now.

Thick and strong
Cascading into each layers’ own infinity of repeated form
Motion shone through light and dark
proves the sun was only risen to play between the unending twists and turns.
-
My spring will find me amidst this labyrinth open to the air,
Descending and rising simultaneously,
Wreathed in an alien softness I find can only be borne through strength

[Anonymous No.20111501]

>>20111427
Hell yea I like that brother.

I don't write poetry too much, mainly spend time writing my novel, but when I write it about women ive fucked.

I hope you fucked the girl with the black curls.

[Anonymous No.20111531]

Here's a poem I wrote. Walt Whitman was an early influence on my free verse:

“Not For You Only”

Not for you only do I write these poems,
America, sons and daughters of Liberty,
Not only for you, trees and rocks of America,
Ancient and carved from time by a timeless power,
It is not only for you that I pour verses out,
Pen and ink heaving in my hand as my heart beats
Steadily, pouring psalms and unseen odes
To the great and small facets of Liberty’s heaviest jewel,
Not only for you, caverns and woods of America,
Not for you only, matchless and revered sequoias and imperturbable rockfaces,
Nor for your combatants, the undying winds and seas,
Nor for the animals that fly in their heights and churn in their abysses,
Not only for any one of these, but for all of these my soul puts forth stanzas,
For all which was carved out of timeless earth, for all which came from the boiling sea,
For all that dwell in the dark woods, and the serried, snowy peaks,
For all children of liberty live and dead,
Not for one only, but for these I write.

[Anonymous No.20111542]

>>20111531
A couple shorter ones, love poems I wrote last summer:

Satyr in the dark mirror,
gazing up with obsidian eyes,
I wish I could break the boundary
of fiction and fact
to kiss your wild face,
caress your savage beard,
and crown your horns with flowers.

"Triton"
Thrust your wave upon the beach,
sea-daemon with green eyes
and wine-dark hair!

The seas kiss the sun and sand,
caress the cliff's edge, and fall
with the murmur of wasted passion.

My darling lad, born of sea-foam and clay,
with dark pearls for eyes, dark hair, and strong limbs,
wash up in my arms, and let me bathe in you!

[Anonymous No.20111672]

>>20111501
I didn’t, she was married with kids. I like to think of it as a pure appreciation for beauty.

[Anonymous No.20111684]

>>20111542
>>20111531
Great stuff anon. Nice pacing in the walty one, great imagery in the love devotions.

[Anonymous No.20112595]

Here be some still-in-progress drafts from my upcoming collection of verse, Love Lies Sneeding. Due 2030.
I write a new poem approx. every six months. I like to type them up again and repost 'em every now and then to find 'em easier in the archive.

1. (a preface)
Shame on the pseuds in sour moods
With snooty upturned noses
Sullen prudes—they see no good
In my poems and my proses

2.
Unbuttoned blouse
No pantyhose
This spineless worm
A backbone grows

3.
A sneaky breeze
Between the knees
Lifts the hem
Gifts a peek
Yes, indeed!
I saw a cheek!

4.
Behold her waddle in the mall
Twelve stone ball of cholesterol
Big boned—overflowing with sass
I pause—and look at her ass
Her thong shows through stretched yoga pants
How wrong it feels to be entranced
Hypnotized—I'm salivating
Undisguised—I'm masturbating
It's no surprise the mall cop yells
As creamy goop my cock expels
Fellow shoppers, I bid farewell!
On my way to prison.

5.
Down halls of learning did he wander
To behold young skirts as they pass
His balls were a-yearning to squander
Sil'vry spurts of cum in they ass

Fresh breasts in blouses white and low!
Out unzipped pants his pecker leapt
His aching balls were 'bout to blow
Conduct no judge would e'er accept

6.
Eerie stillness of morn—a council of crows
Blackbirds and some small birds perch on the bare boughs
He smiles at the cold girl and lifts up her clothes
She eyes him with scorn, but he quietly mows
"I'll love you each moment 'til you decompose"

[Anonymous No.20112607]

>>20110742
I like this one! Because it rhymes and because there's a narrative!

[Anonymous No.20112663]

I'm writing a narrative poem about killing my boss.

I often dream about it. Someday I
Might even act upon it. Maybe… No.
I couldn’t. I am weak. A captured fly,
Trapped in a plastic bottle–flaunt for show.
But I am mocked! By cretins I am led,
Insipid creatures better labelled pests
Than well, good-natured men. Should I take stead
And head the charge against those I detest?
Would somber tears be shed if men of vile
And vicious vein obscured themselves from our
Home, Gone: Replaced? For those abject defile
What we hold dear, and turn sweet presents sour.
But murder, woe, is such an ugly word.
For murder I do speak. To free myself
From tyrant reign, and fight for justice spurred
On by desire to be one’s truthful self.
A plague ordained inertia has immured
Throughout my twenty-three trite years of life.
No longer dormant, I will not defer
From taking Daniel’s ill soul with this knife.

[Anonymous No.20113328]

[Anonymouṡ No.20113509]

>>20111393
This is perhaps 20% of the way towards being a decent little piece, which is about 19% further than the average for these threads.

Still needs a lot of work. Your tone wavers unevenly between sincere and comic / self-mocking. Usually that happens because someone wants to be sincere but is nervous and so puts in enough self-mockery to hide behind. Here I think you want the self-mockery; you just need to do it better.

>With her golden brown hair
Why not "your"? You soon start talking to her; why not talk to her from the beginning?

>nice legs that lay beneath
>tight jeans
Why not "lie"? The rest of the poem is in present tense.

>take my arm
Why aren't you capitalizing "take"?

>Hells Canyon
"Hell's Canyon", surely? How many hells are we talking here, exactly?

>We can drink the wine you made
I thought she was a cheese-seller, not a wine-maker. This sudden addition to her repertoire of talents needs more preparation, or something.

>...the wine you made, and make promises
It's not clear that the verb repetition is deliberate here. If it is deliberate, it's not doing what you want it to do. If it isn't deliberate, it's just bad.

>...promises we both cant uphold.
You don't need "both" here.

>awhile
You miss a space later ("eachother") so I assume this is just a typo, but on the off-chance that it isn't, it needs to be two words. You can say, for example, "hide awhile", because "awhile" works as an adverb, but if you have "for" in there, it's "hide for a while". "Hide for awhile" is grammatically nonsense.

>watching the ponderosa's sway in the wind.
You stole the apostrophe that belongs on "can't" and stuck it on "ponderosas". It should be returned to its rightful owner.

>So we shall chirp at each other
You're going for the self-mocking tone here but it just sounds trite to me. Your irony needs to be broader or something.

[Anonymous No.20114126]

This is an old one I wrote. Not sure what to think of it

Pitiful pony babe
Left to rot
Crying and mewling
To a world that crushes indiscriminately
There is no pity

No reason
To open our eyes
Our ears can hear the scene
As it unfolds

That lone cry
Won’t haunt our barren minds
It won’t even echo
Into the open air

Maybe as the last breath
Escapes
Maybe in the twilight
We will meet

As chance would have,
The dead will not be stirred
By solitary gusts

[Anonymous No.20114144]

>>20111125
love the alliteration, a few really clever rhymes as well. You could be a great poet.

[Anonymous No.20114781]

>>20111684
Here's a longer one from a few years ago.

Everyone has an autumn,
a twilight of their life,
before their souls slip
delicately away into
fields of asphodel,
pits of Tartarus,
blessed islands of Elysium,
whatever afterlife may be,
where souls walk, smelling poppies,
and the others there are made of cardboard.

When, I wonder, will it come for me?
Will it announce itself like a bear
prowling through winter woods,
woken roughly from its drunken sleep,
by a hunter's gunshots
echoing between the dead pines?

Or will it sneak upon me
not more than a year from now?
Will it come for me as it came for Schubert?
So hopeful in the latest bloom
of his juvenility, his heart
burning with piano trios, a great symphony,
and song after song after song after song,
each melody like a shattered piece of shell,
all of them washed up on the blank beach of sheet music
like a mosaic of harmonies
a mosaic of exuberance,
unperturbed even by the possibility of death,
inevitability be damned!

Or will that afterlife
come in, neither sneaking nor parading,
but will it just come in,
perhaps landing delicately from the ash-grey skies,
to the tune of some hallucinatory choir
mistaken, in this vast forest, for songbirds?
Perhaps there are angels in the wintry woods,
singing, whispering to themselves, looking at me
with a mixture of laughter and appreciation
that I am walking naked in this place,
skinny-dipping in the Styx,
pondering the aftermath,
asking if I will meet my heroes
while the snow gently falls from the grey sky.

The trees whisper with the wind.
They are not talking to me, but I can still hear them.
It is a kind of half-answer, only revealed when needed.
Perhaps the bear will stay asleep forever,
perhaps Schubert will stay entombed forever
in silence, no further music to scribble down
on a napkin in a Viennese cafe.

And perhaps there's nothing. What of that?
At least I spent some time pondering.
some time walking in the woods is healthy, after all,
because one walk is never like another, you know,
where the environment changes even at the
microcosmic level.

And, at the very least, I killed time.

[Anonymous No.20114813]

>>20114781
I like your style anon. I can tell this is older, the lines aren’t quite as tight, and there are a few more cliches. The cliches aren’t a huge fault though, I like to read them given the right context.

[Anonymous No.20115445]

>>20113509
Thanks so much for the help dude, I really do appreciate it!

I’m gonna clean it up and take all your critiques into consideration.

[Anonymous No.20115468]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Poo poo pee pee
Pee pee poo poo

[Anonymous No.20116480]

>>20114813
Thanks! I tend to write poetry in a burst of creative energy and edit as I go, line by line.

[Anonymous No.20116957]

Holy Spirit
cause heaviness only in your place
a feather where my flesh does dwell
let men behold your sparkling face
whilst gazing upon your dimmest shell