/pp/ - Original Poetry Posting & Critique Thread

[Anonymous No.20728858]

Poetry posting & critique thread
Post your original poetry and critique others.

Onegin edition. Optional prompt: write an Onegin-style iambic tetrameter sonnet in the rhyme scheme ABABCCDDEFFEGG, with alternating masculine and feminine rhymes.

Previous thread:
>>20691673

[Anonymous No.20728882]

My Onegin sonnet from the last thread, slightly edited. Hard, since I don't usually write iambs.

Reflected sins can only shimmer
Just out of reach, and dart off fast,
Refract, thin as our days get thinner,
And forgive tacitly at last.
And whether we or nature end it,
We get better than fate intended,
For though at last we drift afar,
A slighted world still bears our scar.
The senses know no sense of justice
That does not fade or fly away.
So still we stand and face the day,
So still we lie, still others trust us,
And shake our hands, say wish-you-wells,
And hide what they’ve to hide themselves.

[Anonymous No.20729527]

Who can find a woman of valor?
No one,
Never again,
Since I have found her.

She presumed very little, belied very much,
Found an uneasy way in her confident powers
Through her heart like a labyrinth, hiding as such
All the twenty-eight astral seats, the arts’ finest flowers.

She put first sweet experience, sole arbitrator
Of some earthly worth that had never betrayed her.
She knew all of the secrets of love’s dismal trade,
And that it was a game, and one better not played.

We shared joy and distress: that was but for a season,
And whenever we shared tender times, as we did,
She preferred fewer words, for she knew what words hid
Beneath blankets of lying, idolatrous reason.

The end of the matter, all having been said:
I loved her; I faltered; I killed her; she’s dead.

(Who I Destroyed)

[Anonymous No.20729673]

Where is the best place in NYC to leave pamphlets to be discovered and canceled

[Anonymous No.20730309]

[Anonymous No.20730325]

What is this sea flowing out of me?
It's pee
What's like water, but it's yellow and hotter?
That's pee
When you feel fatter, all around your bladder
It's time to pee

If you drink enough, your pee will be clear
But if you've got to go, don't do it here

We're having a real nice day
Don't spoil it
If you've got to pee
Do it in the toilet -

[Anonymous No.20730436]

The middle rules
Man is unsure
Surrenders to fools
Love is a lure

[Anonymous No.20730684]

Under the darkening sky the city roars
in the club tonight I sit abandoned
a man made of stone amongst the lovers
You can hear the people, the young, and the life

swaying in the ruins under the dance hall lights
numb to anything and searching for distractions
i think of home where its dull and warm
another night in the same empty bed

a man and his lover pass me by
tormenting me to misery
when she is alone in bed at night
does she remember me

[Anonymous No.20731110]

>>20728882
I liked this alot.
>>20729527
Good as well I liked the imagery
>>20730309
Another gem maybe my favorite in the thread

Anyway I’m gonna respond to some more if I can (though I must sleep soon) here’s my contribution

Sarah

Sarah,
Oh Sarah, how else am I to start?
In a pretentious way?
With some planned detour from the object before my eyes?
Foul!
Most foul cry I!
You laugh and say that is so much like I. To sound so old and nostalgic in my cry. Oh why oh why.
Sarah.
I miss you, says I

[Anonymous No.20731267]

>>20731110
I can see this working as part of something larger.

[Anonymous No.20731275]

>>20729673
In the closet you rent for $8000 a month.

[Anonymous No.20731530]

>>20728858
My Anus

My anus bleeds
Why is it bleeding?
What is going on?
Where am I going?
Why is my anus bleeding?
Is this my life?
My bleeding anus?

[Anonymous No.20731754]

[Anonymous No.20731782]

>>20731530
Funny

[Anonymous No.20731827]

>>20729527
Bad love poem. Full of cliches either poetic or narrative (if you're going to write a poem about 'killing her softly' at least find an interesting angle)

>>20730309
Bad religious poem. Full of cliches that were outdated even centuries ago. Makes Donne cringe.

>>20730684
bad emo shit

>>20731754
more bad cliched emo shit. why use any sort of cord/bond/string/thread of fate imagery in a poem about relationships? Why condemn yourself to the worst sort of cliche without doing anything new with it?

[Anonymous No.20731894]

We well-bred, pill-fed, suit-and-tied up
Sleep not too late, manage our time,
Set out to find the ocean dried up,
And cough exhaust, and stand in line
Where once the satyrs pranced about.
No bridge may breach this waste-land now.
The stars above us
Spell: “God still loves us,”
But jealous lightbulbs blot them out.

>>20731827
Brutal and lucid. The exact type of critique we need here. Thank you.

[Anonymous No.20731999]

>>20731894
Passable because short, but still nowhere close to surpassing last century's poetry ideationally. The music is also mediocre. A few interesting images but placed in a cliched degradation of classicism/spirituality/religion context. Remember you're competing against everyone from Yeats to Pound to Rilke to Eliot to Stevens to Hart Crane to Robert Lowell to Auden etc... Compare to a poem like the following:

https://www.blueridgejournal.com/poems/pl-church.htm

Or this:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42789/april-inventory

And notice how everything is far more concrete, specific, and lyrical on a line-by-line level.

[Anonymous No.20732365]

How long stood the pillars of Olympus
Before crumbling to dust?
How far did the glory of Rome reach –
Before reducing to ash?
How sacred was the word of Christ –
Before it was blasphemed?
How great was this Land once –
Before falling to decay?

Rise, Europa!
Collect thyself from Death!
Set sail on Heaven’s seas
Soar, again, above the Globe!
Rebuild your foundations strong
The next attack shall come soon
The foe once more the same
Yet undaunted you’ll stand
Above the scroll of History
Holding the inked Feather
In your divine hand!

Be free, Europa –
Let not these vultures win
Claim now what was yours before
Let out the heroic song
Echoing ancestral halls
Springing from the voices
Of dead souls looking on; hoping
To see the day
Where Europe towers far
The world around it, minions all.

[Anonymous No.20732399]

I think a poo poo
Couldn't doo doo
But a poo poo
From who who?

[Anonymous No.20732602]

>>20732365
Like, what is the point of this? It's not even interesting agitprop. Did it not cross your mind that every single image here has appeared in some form or another in the words of other writers? Usually better writers? Europa cringes at the fact that, despite its vast poetic bounty, you can only eke out these meagre lines from your dullard brain.

[Anonymous No.20732762]

December, Fontenoy, Dublin.
I touched myself today,
from root of shaft up to foreskin—
—like how you used to play.

O’ Nora, dear, how have you been?
Honest darling, please say!
Did you stand up flicking your bean,
or let boys have their way?

Don’t lie, dear, my lust never wean;
In my heart, you shall stay.
My lust, my love, my farting queen,
I pine for you—arseway!

In your sweet arse, great treasure glean;
Pitter platter, they spray.
Your delicious scent—true serene;
To sniff your fart, I pray.

Do write me, dear, please be obscene;
I’ll love you more each day.
Dirty, nasty, just be unclean;
You’ll take my breath away.

Until the day I fuck you ‘tween—
—your white and thick fillet.

Jim.

[Anonymous No.20733412]

>>20728882
Nice

[Anonymous No.20733534]

>>20728858
I've tried to follow the prompt, here's what I got in a few hours. What is the bad and good of it? I added an alternate end line so I can see which one anons think is better. (It's in parentheses).

[Anonymous No.20733546]

>>20731894
>Brutal and lucid. The exact type of critique we need here. Thank you.


his critique is awful its just "u bad" without any explanation or constructive criticism

[Anonymous No.20733566]

>>20733546
I agree with this anon

[Anonymous No.20733573]

>>20733546
>Full of cliches either poetic or narrative (if you're going to write a poem about 'killing her softly' at least find an interesting angle)
>Full of cliches that were outdated even centuries ago. Makes Donne cringe.
>why use any sort of cord/bond/string/thread of fate imagery in a poem about relationships? Why condemn yourself to the worst sort of cliche without doing anything new with it?
are all more insight than those poems probably deserve. I say this as the writer of one of them.

[Anonymous No.20733591]

>>20733534
You clearly listen to your own language to some extent, even if you don't always spell it correctly. That's better than many anons here. If you want to refine yourself further, here is my reading list for you:
>Vita Nuova
>Eugene Onegin
Read both in the original language with a literal English translation (it's fine to read the prose parts of Vita Nuova in English, mostly.) You will go slowly: that's okay. Absorbing the music of a language you don't really speak is itself a great poetic exercise.
From Vita Nuova, you will learn exactly how far personal expression will take you. Dante indeed takes it as far as possible within the limits of language, and has a relevant revelation that I won't spoil at the end. Everyone who writes, has written, or will write should read that book.
From Onegin you will learn the power of the Onegin sonnet, which comes from its ability to weep, laugh, or do both at the same time. It can build up a strongly argued point, or it can change its mind on a dime. Pushkin discovered a powerful but difficult tool with it.

[Anonymous No.20733635]

>>20728858
A Lament For Jones the Mouse

That bastard’s hand, so fresh and ripe,
Who would not sink his teeth and bite
The wretched paw, the awful thumb
That gripped my ass till it was numb?
He felt, that keeper of my cage,
My righteous, rough, and red-eyed rage.
His hand released, I fell on down
To run across the dustless ground.
Away from prison, and its food
A real hard choice, believe me dude.
So now I sit, in cupboard dark
Alone and cold, both free and starved.

[Anonymous No.20733653]

life only offers games
there is nothing general except names
the past and future in flames
there is nothing general except names
time is a myth we tell to the trains
there is nothing general except names

[Anonymous No.20734714]

don't let the windmills win

[Anonymous No.20735082]

December 1909: 44 Fontenoy Street, Dublin

To Nora, my whorish fuck-bird,
I must confine a dream I’m having.
Lend me your ears, dear, don’t miss a word.
(Trust me, you’d love this!)
I was a brat in need of bashing.
Unruly was I, the naughty boy:
scheming pranks, throwing toys, playing coy.
And there you were, my stern mother:
prudish and strict, not one to smother.
You swept me up, placed me on your lap,
raised your hand high, and started spanking—
—no pretense but a real lashing,
as your milky hand was made of straps;
and I, your servant being chastised.
My naughty little arse incised.

Reading to this point, you think I jest.
But my words are true, dear—confessed.
My darkest desires, off my chest.
I long to serve at your behest—
—right beneath your soft farty arse.
Honest to God, this is no farce.
Even awake, I’m still dreaming;
the prick in my pants is creaming,
screaming, begging for your stern touch.
Hit me, mother, hit me harder!
Show me your love—your ardor.
Beat me such I’d need a crutch.
Turn me to mush, my whorish starling.
Set your naughty boy straight, my darling!

Jim.

[Anonymous No.20736355]

>>20735082
ok

Nora.

[Anonymous No.20736481]

You in my thoughts
Glanced knee shies away
With bloody nostril
Toothy grin barely noticed
skull met septum
Feign apathy in the library
Attempted kiss
Worn feeling of safety
Wrestling to the floor
armpit around shoulder
fingers between ribs

[Anonymous No.20736483]

>new edit

Train Poem

With handles in her fists
by the train tracks and mist,
farewells follow, her friends
and the cat that she’ll miss
more than anything else
waiting on the platform.

Then a time later they
disappear with the hiss
of departure’s approach,
while sleepless and amiss
she stares out the window
of her compartment coach.

Awkward without pillows,
dream dazed she awakens,
in sweat, slowing down to
a halt—her coach vacant,
the train having arrived
at the end of her ride.


>>20733635
works.
>dustless
>dude.
no
>the first "that"
consider "the"
>cupboard
cupboards
>Alone and cold
consider cold and alone
>>20731894
flower childish
>Sleep not too late, manage our time,
"sleep not late and manage our time" flows better imo
>Spell
should be above
>>20733534
poetic white noise
>>20732762
evoking finnegans wake in the third line was great. id say try to have the "dear" be placed either 2 or 3 syllables into the line and not both

[Anonymous No.20736561]

>>20732399
Best poem in this thread, dubs confirmed

[Anonymous No.20736608]

>>20732762
Dog shit filth.

[Anonymous No.20736616]

Posted in a previous thread and got positive but not so detailed feedback. Would like some more specific crits.

1/2

No, none of that ruckus should step past the doormat.
I'm tired, I'm sleeping: so keep the front door clear!
No, don't twist my words so: no, I never said that.
Let everyone know who lives here, who lives here.

The aching on one side, on Sundays especially,
The dull tugging stomach-knots following ecstasy,
The clear autumn sky, saying, “Here is your way out,”
All offer a mirror: so put them away now!

Yes, I am an expert: though words are just alright,
Speak up with your fists, O you who abhor me!
Who wills it, who wants it: let him be my guest tonight!
Past crooked frames, peeling paint, let him step towards me!

In soreness like after when he and his love first danced
As mythical creatures that peopled his backyard pranced
He’d toss to a turn and murmur and mutter,
Wake up from his nap time and enter another.

His sword was a shapely, magnificent specimen
Not forged by Hephaestus but faultiest chancing
That had in its best days beheaded some better men
Efficiently, modernly, without romancing.

[Anonymous No.20736620]

>>20736616
2/2


But those were all younger days: then it sat idly
‘Til when it swung slowly, always justifiably,
And chopped up a carrot, or made the trees logs,
Or subdued a eunuch and finished the job.

On asphalt he ventured as faulty as verses
Or barren as bodies that starve their own muscles.
His errant companions would mutter him curses;
He listened instead to the yellow leaves rustle.

At present it was an unbearable burden
To drag through his day’s work what no longer served him,
And cradle it carefully, polish it well,
And ask himself: when do we all go to heaven?

But sometimes a rushing wind rose from the Hudson
And hushing the sounds of the street overhead
Made mincemeat of all of his hopes of a pardon
And battered his body until he was—still alive!

On one night it lifted him out of his context:
He glimpsed the horizon, the stars, and the fairer sex.
That was but a moment: he never told anyone.

So in a last effort to wear out his tires
He drove in a circle for hundreds of miles
And sent east his heartache to follow the rising sun.

No, no one is worthy—and least he!—to end it.
The wind carries on, just as no one intended,
And disturbs forgetful sleep.

(The Ballad of Tony Soprano)

[Anonymous No.20736766]

free verse
is
poetry
fight fascists and white supremacists
by using
free verse

[Anonymous No.20736773]

>>20736766
Most of my stuff is free verse but you've inspired me to go bang out some iambic pentameter

[Anonymous No.20736846]

>>20736773
Free verse is poetry for people who are too unintelligent or uneducated to construct a real poem.

[Anonymous No.20736864]

>>20736846

[Anonymous No.20736886]

>>20736846
Kek imagine being this stupid

[Anonymous No.20737000]

>>20736481
Should I modify this to be in metre?

[Anonymous No.20737115]

Depression
Feels like
A never ending
Day

Taking antidepressants
I was like
Oh
This is peace

[Anonymous No.20737276]

>>20728858
An anon in a previous thread wanted to see more from me, after I posted my "no land of mine" poem. Here's something I wrote this evening.

-

To long for a time before one is born
An immortal figure perfect in form
Where love is spilled to well adorn
Golden blood on her holy throne

As long reign weigh on virtue old
Desires race her court to fold
Tarnished grace at onset sold
For temporal lust to the silver lord

Meek copper lest he condone
Free her bonds by not faith alone
In righting wrongs turn every stone
Cast thy serf to raise arms of gold

Kings and vassals to levy the soul
Fortune perish for this lofty goal
Yet those who pay will cherish the toll
For only she can her promise know

To long for a time beyond one is born
Where fatal romance withholds scorn
And should I die my life was sworn
To gilding my lady's holy throne

[Anonymous No.20737699]

>>20728858
>>20732762
>>20735082
To Nora, my whorish fuckbird

[Anonymous No.20738971]

>>20736846
This is even stupider than saying meter is pointless.

[Anonymous No.20739172]

>>20734714
Don't let the windmills win
Terrible beasts
Decadent and vain
Rotten meats
Wood slatted cain

Don't let the windmills win
Have courage
Unbroken and brave
Spirit savage
The soul can never cave

Don't let the windmills win
Be clever!
Thoughtful and wise
Relent never
To their formidable size

Don't let the windmills win
Be strong
Sinewy and stocky
Travel long
Riding on a donkey

[Anonymous No.20739601]

>>20739172
Baby mills grow into Stuart Mills
Here come the trains again

What use is bravery
What's left to save
If all is lost I will still crave
Riding with Karitas and donkey

[Anonymous No.20739754]

>>20732399
This is the most niggerlicious yet also based poem of all

[Anonymous No.20740186]

>>20739601
An honorable man of la mancha such as you
Shan't cast aside your bravery as virtue
For daring is necessary to excercise will
To overcome the futility of beating at windmills

What's left to save? You ask on your burro
Is all yet lost? Is death so thorough?
Our beautiful soul remains, I argue
The brilliant light against the dark hue

Of fear and loss and sorrowed regret
The sadness the loneliness the paint to come yet
You must survive and fight on again
You cannot allow the windmills to win.

[Anonymous No.20740510]

A first piece of something I'm working on. Vers libre after reading some Laforgue lately. I want to know if there are any serious issues to address right now. It has a title, but I'm not ready to share that yet.

How good at last am I, who am holier than thou?
I who have tumbled back from bottom to top,
And impressed myself with a quick stop: Wow!
Thorn-drawn droplets drip as I wipe off my brow.

And if I’ve made youthful mistakes,
If I’ve played the rake, for goodness’ sake,
(Don’t do a double take, my dear!)
That was all one path to lead me here.

In the Prospekts’ icy ocean, I was blessed
With the gift of navigation.
Though I made my famous divagations,
Oh, forget the rest!
My lips were not too frozen to confess.

If I was written in that way,
That way was good, then. (So I pray.)

Because I’ve been through fire that refines,
(Slick metaphor for the burdened mind!)
Only to find there in agonized crawl
(They said of me: how he burns and shines!)
That my sin was nothing, nothing at all.

And if the ax I swung at another still stabs me,
Deep within, preserved just as when I first found it,
(How this chilling imagery of mine just grabs me!)
Leave it in: I’ve healed around it!

So I’ve asked for absolution;
I’ve taken all the proper steps;
I’ve paid off my outstanding debts;
Be grateful for my contribution!

[Anonymous No.20740652]

>>20740186
The mills are grown up now
While I'm an old fool
Riding a train to tomorrow
Lectured by windmills at school

Fortuna I loved and followed
A train told me it's all games
That the world has been hollowed
And my only general is called "Names".

[IA No.20740700]

Fruit fly...
Stuck in the droplet of water,
Little life by its little gods
Forgotten.
Struggling,
Trying,
Wanting,
Wishing and hoping
Until it eventually
Dies.

[Anonymous No.20740956]

>>20740652
Do not fear the Aevum
He is not your enemy
As tempus swirls around you
It offers only clarity
Beloved is our elder
His wisdom offered charitably
His regret is not getting on the train
But avoiding all the scenery
So do not fear the Aevum
Do not suffer such vanity
He targets not you alone
But all of us specifically

[Anonymous No.20741469]

>>20728858
Today I woke up at three, dawn.
Tried to get back to sleep, rolling
But my eyes pry opened, no yawn.
So I picked up the phone, scrolling.
Patrolling for something to do.
Was counter-productive, I knew.
What else was I to do? Jogging?
My neck hurts; my torn spleen clogging.
Damn, it sucks to be getting old.
It’s like your body is breaking.
A dinosaur in the making.
“You’re not even thirty!” I’m told.
Yeah? Well… I’m fat as a pig.
So an early grave, I should dig.

First, I looked up some futa porn.
Seen that. This sucks! So boring!
Or don’t I like cock now? I’m torn.
My years old fetishes, warring.
Guess I really am getting old.
Vanilla is better, truth told.
Enough with porn; went to Reddit.
Found some misspelled words; clicked edit.
Oh shit, the app sucks! Forget it!
Went to Youtube; watched some trailers.
Might pirate some, fellow sailors.
Dammit! They’re all garbage pozzed shit!
Though Crypto two-make looked all right.
Might pirate it later—just might!

Finally, sky blue; the Sun rose.
Walked downstairs; made grounded coffee.
Not too bad, far as coffee goes.
Dipped it with cookie and toffee.
Um! Delish! Like all mommy makes.
Freshly baked, sprinkled with corn flakes.
Dipping in coffee made it better.
Enjoyed my snack in warm sweater.
While eating I opened Four Chan.
Sad, no one liked my poem.
Maybe it was too dry, ho-hum.
Here I thought, Joyce was their He man.
One claim from Finnegans I took.
Neat! Since I never read a book!

[Anonymous No.20741513]

>>20740956
They can talk now.
They talk of seething rage
To Names they all bow
The greatest windmill sage
Fortuna forgotten
Karitas despairs
Pisces rotten
The flesh the world shares

[Anonymous No.20741790]

kill, KILL
Send strength for finality.
die, DIE
Make your choice.

[Anonymous No.20741871]

>>20741513
Sorry, I have no reply, I am all poemed out for today. It was great fun conversing like this. If you have some time it would be super cool if you gave my unrelated poem some critique >>20736481 anyway, it was good reading your work and thinking about it. Still unsure what you mean by Names though. I might be overthinking it.

[Anonymous No.20742410]

>>20741871
There is nothing general except names.
-John Stuart Mill
>>20733653
The old fool is an idealist and thinks he's being told to replace Fortuna as his leader with an army general called Names. Fortuna doesn't exist except as a name according to Mill, one of the fathers of modernity/trains.
I enjoyed this but for me it went off track a bit with the Aevum one. The old man doesn't fear time for himself, he fears the windmills will eat Aevum. According to general Names Aevum doesn't exist.
>>20736481
Harsh themes in the word choices like bloody-tooth-skull. The harshness reminds me of male relationships more than romantic ones. I like the middle in the library best.

Skulls crack
Blood spills on the steeple
A spooky ghost attack
There are skeletons inside people

[Anonymous No.20742560]

L.A. Nocturne

An apartment like a submarine
The city’s like an ocean storm
My sheets are clean and my boots are warm
And I wait for the morning to come.

At 10 PM I lay down Rilke
And I quit the officer’s nest,
I close the balcony hatchway
And I hunker down to rest
And I wait for the morning to come.

At 2 AM the clubs close up
At 2 AM the taps dry up
At 2 AM the city slowly drags itself to bed
So it can wait for the morning to come.
This is no city that never sleeps,
It needs its rest ere the morning comes.

Sing your songs, you máquinas,
Whine your way on home,
Let your engines whir their last
And wait for the morning to come.
While your pilot lays to rest,
Just wait for the morning to come.

Could Rodin yet have sculpted ye?
I doubt he would have tried.
A coche sings just for itself
A coche’s likeness is itself
Nine thousand times across the city
A coche’s image rhymes.

A slave we are to the wandering czars
Which rule the city still
And while we sleep they watch the streets
And wait…

[Anonymous No.20742572]

Brush stroke clouds afloat in a gradient bath.
Blue. White. Yellow.
Clash.
Discordant chirps all around
From shrub, a ledge, on the ground.
Tiki torch blazes, alight our path.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.

The sun gets its buoyancy this time of year.
Hanging around late until the moon is clear.
A companion for now until a later date.
When the AC is met in a dual of fates.

Citronella sweet,
The bend of a tree,
Is that a tick I see?
It can’t hurt me.

So in the dark we stroll along
Orange street lamps hum our song
Illuminated rhythm
Dance, dance, dance.
Dance on.
Side step, bump, nudge her arm.
Steal a kiss.
Zombie Apocalypse.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.

[Anonymous No.20742595]

>>20741790
kill, KILL
Your enemy will,
Make him a slave, as the drum is.
Die, DIE
With no reason why,
And fall atop his humus.

[Anonymous No.20742603]

>>20742410
I saw the train as the sense of pushing through time, I saw the windmills as the futility, but also as don quixotes quest against the giants, then I saw a connection that the battle with death relates to a fear of time and pressed for courage against it because no sense wasting your life. And often the regrets at the end of our life are more about cowardice than about the end.
On my poem, it's harsh out of sadness but perhaps it's too graphic. On it being more of a male relationship, that's an interesting observation because this relationship was special because it started out with me trying to treat them like a male and finding a really deep connection through that.