/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.2289054]

A few months ago I couldn't sleep so I quickly wrote this depressing poem (first poem I have written in about 8 years). It later inspired me to start working out! I don't know how I inspired myself.

I wake up to go to school
Wander out acting cool
My shitty car grumbles at me
Grudgingly it heeds my plea

The happy students scurry to class
Hand-in-hand, grabbing ass
I climb the steps without a lass
An angry student but not crass

The girls talk ignoring me
A fat guy working in slavery
Unimpressed by the potential
Pausing only to ask for pencils

I am short, you are tall
I am skinny, you are a haul
I am rich, you are poor
I am a star, you are the floor
A fucking mess
and so depressed
A waste of time
Get away from me

Time for the lunch that I enjoy
But ordering involves a ploy
A quantity to feed two people
But nobody has climbed this steeple

The lonely pain replaced by food
Instant relief and increased mood
But the short time gains cause greater pains
As my girth grows, their interest wanes.

The day is over, I retreat home
stopping to shop, all alone
Others watch my depressed figure
Knowing that I'll only get bigger

I am short, you are tall
I am skinny, you are a haul
I am rich, you are poor
I am a star, you are the floor
A fucking mess
and so depressed
A waste of time
Get away from me

A television greets me coldy
A muted phone, forever lonely
A tired body caries me to sleep
Alone again, a single creep

I am too tall,
I am a haul,
I am too poor,
I am the floor
The bottomfeeder of society
A waste of life and sobriety

[Anonymous No.2289058]

its shitty poetry, dude, your rhyme schemes are literally crap and yeah its bad. also too sincere or sthing, idk

also read john dolan

that's all i got

[Anonymous No.2289062]

Really generic, no imagination whatsoever. And that rhyme scheme...

[Anonymous No.2289065]

No meter that I can detect

[sage No.2289067]

song: Sorry

wake up, no comfort
and the sun just doesn't want to shine
I've been sleeping on this misery
it's weighing me down
it's weighing me down

are you sorry?
for what you've done
are you sorry you sold us out?
are you sorry now..

lay here counting these memories
that I can't bear to throw or give away
lay here listening to this clock on the wall
as it ticks the day away

chorus

[fill]

chorus
[outro instrumental]

[Anonymous No.2289069]

>>2289058
>>2289062

Yeah... I never write. It isn't my field or even closely related, nor do I aspire to be a writer (I only write technical papers as part of a PhD all day long).

I do not fear criticism as I do not care but rather seek to waste time. Time for you to stop caring as well and post something.

[Anonymous No.2289086]

>>2289069
then why the fuck did you go to the effort to post a thread about your poetry that you totally don't care about on the internet.

[Anonymous No.2289104]

One of my first few poems. I need to write lyrics to go along with music that I write, so I'd like to at least become decent at poetry before going into writing lyrics all willy nilly.

The blur on the horizon
Reminds me of the sea
This stretch of road
is sun scorched and barren.
but all I see are shadows
of people and things
if I squint my eyes, I can see their faces.
They're smiling, as in acceptance
of what is to come
It was an old car repair place
I didn't know what to say
The paint on the sign was almost gone
They said I was welcome to stay
but I knew I had to go
I stared at the sand
and made my goodbye
Though they never made theirs.
I kept on walking,
and came across a rusted old jalopy.
The tires were strewn about,
held down by desert weeds
as if the sand were trying to ingest them.
There was a snake in one of them, and
he looked up at me and said,
"I'll take what I can find,
and I'll take what's rightfully mine."

[Anonymous No.2289108]

Our work's to foot-rape slurried paths, scuff
puddles in the road and trudge trudge trudge
in mirthless drone to reach the place to earn
the wage to pay the bus fare home.

Our job's to chain shut fire escapes, to make
the bastards pay on time, to tell the boy he's
fired to make the tea so no one tells the same
to me, to climb the cum-greased pole.

Our life's to sit upon the throne of watches
cars and gaming toys - monkeys holding
branches in the rain - and spit upon the plebs
who go without, from our fine homes.

[Anonymous No.2289127]

>>2289058
>>2289058
>your rhyme schemes are literally crap
>literally

Go away.

[Anonymous No.2289141]

I want to move somewhere cold
where in the silhouette of street lamps
I'd see the warmth leave her lips,
'Cause where I come from
I know it doesn't exist

And if it's the place I think it is
she wears a band-aid like a wedding band
and leaves it covered under
thick sleeves and checkered gloves
until it slips off in the tub.

I tried to get there once
but I couldn't find the stop.
The subway map is a tangle
of crayon colored lines
that I scribbled as a child.

So now I walk these parks in Winter.
It's cold here but it never snows
and I saw a mess blown from the west's salted breath;
Boldly, I plucked something from her hair.
I thought it was a cherry blossom.

[Anonymous No.2289142]

>>2289127

I think he was using the term 'literally' figuratively.

But the rhyming schemes are still crap.

Fucking AABB end-rhyme for fuck's sake. Why the fucking fuck when you have fucking megamillions of fucking combinations would you fucking fuck the fuck fucking fuck only rhyme the end syllables of the pairs of lines and call it fucking poetry? Fuck fucker fuck-arse!

[Anonymous No.2289149]

>>2289141

And moar, please.

[Anonymous No.2289156]

>>2289149
Does that mean it's good? This is the first time I've posted here.

[Anonymous No.2289157]

>>2289156
I'm not him, but I thought it was pretty good. I don't know much about poetry, but if you told me that was by a professional poet, I'd believe it.


I like these lines:
where in the silhouette of street lamps
I'd see the warmth leave her lips,

The subway map is a tangle
of crayon colored lines
that I scribbled as a child.

[Anonymous No.2289164]

Not all people die of prematurely ejaculated rage when you criticize them.

also

>Criticism
>"This is a fucking piece of crap"

choose one

[Anonymous No.2289174]

>>2289156

I did have to Google the lines to see if you have copypasted, and have found you on Inkslinger instead. I should probably look into that site further, if this standard is anything to go by.

[Anonymous No.2289176]

>>2289164

Oh and to add

the morally sporting "that was pretty goods" are as horrible

oh where is my self-esteem
must be somewhere where I've never been
in all unfortunity it would seem
that the gay motherfucker gleam
with the chance to make a positive comment that is good because he or she liked it but doesn't even tell why
I would like die in a bucket of dye

[Anonymous No.2289177]

>>2289176

That is pretty good!
I liked it

[Anonymous No.2289180]

>>2289174
I have no idea what Inkslinger is... Do you mean figment? It's not a very good writing community, I just use it to put my "good" writings somewhere.

[Anonymous No.2289184]

>>2289180

Yeah, Figment. I went to type 'Figment' and 'Inkslinger' came out instead. Yea.

There are some poetry people on deviantArt, but most of them are virtually inactive now.

[Anonymous No.2289189]

>>2289184
I've never really looked on DA much, but Figment is mostly just a lot of young kids writing stuff that young kids like, and poetry. Also, they had a Nicholas Sparks write-alike contest once, so...

[Anonymous No.2289191]

>>2289189
try Allpoetry.com

[jackpot !!CaSBHxbw8pz No.2289207]

as I lay and try to sleep
i think instead and ponder deep
about the choice I have to make
two girls, but which ones heart to break?

[Anonymous No.2289229]

I wrote a kind of surreal e.e. cummings rip off. I don't really like it because it means nothing, but I might salvage some of the images later.

on the like this mooney sea
amid the yuletide gulls
fought ted swathes of nine lies

teds goons would be tooling the berrys
in the tree garden,but never eat the yew
[i wish he would]

he detested always especially on a sunday the meat
[tell him he ungrateful because he never want to eat

tell him eat the yew]

we be on the wednesday mooney barge
that night : [ted,let me lick away the
wooden smells of vegetarianism
or i let go the tapes your early years]

[john,under the spooled like turbaned heads tapereels
is spooled stranger woolen salt,for we are asea

the skilful moon is hiding in the salty sail for us

eat the yuletide yew,until

you are not afloat]

[Anonymous No.2289234]

>>2289207
This is verse, but I wouldn't call it poetry. It's too literal - where's your indirect language and shit? It's poetry only in the same way a rhyming Christmas card is poetry.

I don't know why I just gave you critique.

[jackpot !!CaSBHxbw8pz No.2289239]

>>2289234

Probably for the same reason I wrote it. We're both bored and browsing 4chan when we should be sleeping or doing something else. I'm not very good at poetry, I just wanted to practice a little.

[Anonymous No.2289243]

>>2289239
That's a good answer.

Andy Kaufman throws a dinner party for Morrissey and the Queen

Mozzer hates meat and the Queen;
the Queen loves her swans and her tea,
so Kaufman made dinner,
asked "Who is the winner?"
and pulled out a roast swan tagine.

[Anonymous No.2289251]

>this thread

[Anonymous No.2289312]

our purpose is thin
like lichen hammered dry on
stone summer pavement

[Anonymous No.2289331]

>>2289054
>>2289054
>mfw when I know that feel
It may be generic, it may be better.
But its generic because thousands of people go to school every day and feel the same way.
I wish this poem wouldn't be so generic. Because people shouldn't really have to feel this.

Keep writing bro. Just keep writing.

[Anonymous No.2289336]

>>2289312

That's actually pretty cool.

[Anonymous No.2289339]

Bad poetry:
oh noetry
no flowetry
oh woetry!

I don't knowetry
where this poetry will goetry:
Your mum's a hoetry.

[Anonymous No.2289343]

i am about the size of a dead nine year old

i am about the size of a dead nine year old
in her cool bed room
in september
i am ugly with dead children
it is early september at 7 in the morning
i want to listen to birds outside of my
bed room
i love birds
i love them more than humans
there are also dead
bodies hanging from my familys tire swing

[Anonymous No.2289434]

Shouting fuck the police
Why ever don't you know
That if for only john cleese
you wouldn't be be gettin towed

Boii

[Anonymous No.2289450]

>>2289343
what is this i need moar

[Anonymous No.2289451]

Of barren wastelands
And scorched earth and sea
I carry my burden
Helpless and care-free

It is not without sorrow
That in the deep horizon
I glance a look of tomorrow
And the stars shine in Orion

I will not avail now
For my goal is clear
And I can not allow
Being another King Lear

Alas, my time comes
And as I am unprepared
My dream quickly crumbs
And its ashes are repaired

Rate me, /lit/

[person !.avztqSy6I No.2289459]

>>2289450
>2011
>doesn't know 'bout Roggenbuck

http://livemylief.com/

[Anonymous No.2289461]

Look, here it comes slowly
The dark figure with gray beard
It's Ahsverus, hermit of jews
Covered in rangs and no shoes

He was cursed for his irony
To wander through the land
Always walking, never stopping
And in deep sorrows, crying

For his timeless wisdom
And long staff in hand
People ask for his advice
But it will not suffice

The wandering jew!
Courier of the cursed!
Bewitched is his memory
Long betrayed by his shimmery

[Anonymous No.2290700]

[Anonymous No.2290716]

I got these freaky hoes
Clappin they hands, stompin they feet
Every now and then they put they mouth on me
Nowadays a G like me can't even call it
A 23-year old pussy fiend and freakaholic
Pimpin bitches on the regular, I put that on the G
A hustler and a player, nowadays it pays to be
Lemme drop some shit about this bitch I used to know
She gave ya boy the head and said don't let nobody know
A bonafide pro, I had to grab the hoe
She got freaky in yo' sixty-fo', I skeeted in her throat
Been knowin the hoe for fo' days, pimpery pays
And I bet you didn't know that she go both ways
She ate her best friend, I left them hoes at the mall
They be beepin me and shit, but we don't kick it no mo'
Them hot hoes is fiendin, they on the nuts
But beitch, I'm out ya pussy when I nut, f'real

[Anonymous No.2290843]

[Anonymous No.2290847]

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door and promptly walked the dinosaur.

[Anonymous No.2290848]

>>2289104
Me again


I'm not really interested in poetry. I mean I'm interested in a way where I would like to be into it, but at this point reading it doesn't give me any pleasure. I would like to be able to write decent poetry, and I assume that you need to be into poetry and read a lot of it before you can get good at it. Anyone have any idea what I should do? Any suggestions for books that are about poetry that might help with my situation?

[Anonymous No.2290850]

>>2289451
>Alas, my time comes

0/10

[Anonymous No.2290853]

>>2290848
I guess you should find a style of poetry that you enjoy. Try out different movements - Romantic, Beatnik, New York School, Imagism, Surrealism, Decadent... A good book about poetry is Rhyme's Reason, which goes over all the different traditional verse forms and incarnations of free verse with examples.

[Anonymous No.2290856]

>>2290853
What kind of poetry do you enjoy? What exactly do you enjoy about it and why? I understand the second question would be hard to answer about anything, but if you can answer it that'd be cool.

[Anonymous No.2290858]

>>2289339
best 'poem' so far, with the foot-rape one a close second.

im not even kidding.

[Anonymous No.2290859]

>>2289339
That's pretty funny.

Can I post it on my tumblr? Credit goes to anonymous.

[Anonymous No.2290860]

The last

Indolent existence: unhurried yet
By fingers that since dawn have waited to
Take hold, beckon in and mould with solemn
Quiet, momentary murmurs into a thread –
One sinuous and full of a dread
That will in time assume an almost corporeal veneer,
Enlightening as an unveiling of a tapestry
Of untold beauty, of things before unseen;
And, it will be as if in reverse,
The petals of life’s flower re-ascending will,
To educate this juvenile gardener.
And this will be an initiation into
A new life exhumed from the precipitant
Motions, resultant of the opening
Of a vision that clarifies the nadir’s peak.
And the precipice ahead that is dealt without:
A peak dragged upon and over
By an insidious phantom.

Now untrammelled, this life newly thrown into,
Bruised by the pangs of vestals torn,
Forgotten and discarded by those cold
Precipitant fingers that punctuated
This new passage, and followed their long delay –
Which was but a pausing hesitation –
By becoming participant and
Emissary of this sublime new ecstasy.
Those cold fingers: silent harbinger
Of vice – this vice: tightened to then release,
A voice, primal in its absolute.

...

[Anonymous No.2290862]

Sitting alone
On my throne
No heirs to my crown
No subjects to be found

The land i rule is mine
O, The streets they shine
Becuase theres no one but me
A dserted land and its king

[Anonymous No.2290865]

I remember writing a bit of poetry in my angsty period. I lost all of it, but I still remember at least half of one of them.


"There she lay in the scarlet snow,
Here where I proposed to her;
Our secret place.

Pleasant it is to lose your mind
When you notice for the first time
How warm cold can be."

[Anonymous No.2290867]

Friend whos a boy or a boy whos a friend
or a man who you bend over forward to please
gorge on his seed til yer sore at the knees

no nevermore: let fly the vultures of defeat
cry panic and attack the whited sepulchre
I'll go back and confront her armed with my --

what, unarmed? and give her thuggish trickery
her last smug victory as she sits on the dick of he
hickory-pricked snickerer, licking her lips stickily?

[Anonymous No.2290869]

>>2290856
Well, most of the poetry I read is 20th Century. It was Yeats who got me into poetry, and I think the main appeal is in his knack for beautiful and mysterious images. Ideally, I'd like to understand a poem only partially, so that I keep thinking about it for days or weeks, and keep coming back to it and understanding a little more each time. I think Wallace Stevens (whose poems I haven't read yet) said "A poem should dodge the intellect almost successfully." I think this poem exemplifies these ideas quite well: http://www.chiark.greenend.org.uk/~martinh/poems/yeats.html#hare

Personally I like to be able to discern some kind of philosophical message, though that's not absolutely necessary. Sometimes, stirring imagery and language on its own is enough. I love Dylan Thomas because of the sheer love for language, and especially sound, that comes through: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178641

[Anonymous No.2290873]

>>2290860
absolute gibberish in poorly metered rhyme.

[Anonymous No.2290875]

Anybody know a good Charles Bukowski poem collection that I'd be able to find a download of?

[Anonymous No.2290876]

>>2290869
The poem must resist the intelligence
Almost successfully. Illustration:

A brune figure in winter evening resists
Identity. The thing he carries resists

The most necessitous sense. Accept them, then,
As secondary (parts not quite perceived

Of the obvious whole, uncertain particles
Of the certain solid, the primary free from doubt,

Things floating like the first hundred flakes of snow
Out of a storm we must endure all night,

Out of a storm of secondary things),
A horror of thoughts that suddenly are real.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until
The bright obvious stands motionless in cold.

[Anonymous No.2290882]

>>2290876
Ahh, thank you. Interesting poem - quite difficult to understand.

[Anonymous No.2290916]

First
down, the rain,
off-beat the cobbles near a still;
rushing or man-made pools.

Swells typhoon quietly;
dark swallows engulf the sky.

Drown us in these umbrella towns.

"These people fish outside mountains,"
on our disfiguring end with
rock-side fester marks in mist.

Inside, eroding faces above,
the sky fell down on us before haven,
and, Outside, rejoiced.

[Anonymous No.2290933]

>>2290867
I quite like this one. Here's one of mine.

What disposition will extol a drink more tears then ethanol?
Whimper fingers wet the basal pulpit arcing,
Diffuse the glimmer from the forebrain, barking!
Not the sole transfusion, water falls
Refracting, shows the coarseness of the walls
Shade the fuel that sweats on our diffuseness
Facejacket cold-blockade and Lambert looseness

Ocean water’s going diving
Translucent children say, it’s leaving
But far, in the punctured weave, the breathing
Of all the headburned half afloat ones
And all their musing’s skyward seething

Now never count the steps that walk you in
The spiracles that dot your head breathe in
In all the land abandon symbol’s sale
And vomit in, a monopalate meal
regurgitate, in tongues
The efficient self-deceiving spiel
Of another surreptitious autocrat
Not worth a damn, our labour’s yield
The night’s still young - I’ll drink to that

[Anonymous No.2290947]

Poem: Happy New Year

Walking into black with no end in sight
My guts stuck in my windpipe with my tongue
My phone in my hands with my thumbs on the pad
Eyes staring at my heart on the screen
Fear tugging at it from both ends
My finger on the send button
My manhood determined by what would happen
The guts twisting forced my finger down
One fear was greater than the other
My heart sent flying, hoping it not to hit a wall
My balls grew 3 sizes and my guts fit back to place
My head high with my fist
And the screams of accomplishment ran past my tongue
Fuck it, fuck all of it, send me your fucking worst
I dare you
I’ll take you one with bare fists
and smash you into oblivion with the world beneath my feet
I have no fear of you
My heart has been sent to someone, accepted freely
Checkmate, I win, Happy New Year

[Anonymous No.2291099]

I listen to the chanting of my feet
as they crumble the frozen trail
not trying to seize the beauty
I'll wait for it to open up on its own

mumbling of the brook
beneath the mossy stone
the more I take in
the less there is

as far as I'm concerned
every bird tweet
is its song finished

This is (probably) not finished, but I'd really appreciate your opinion :)

[Anonymous No.2291101]

>>2291099

Not terrible at all, at least it has a clear subject which is more than can be said of a lot of the tripe in this thread. Just needs tightening up a little.

For example,
Instead of:
>I'll wait for it to open up on its own

Consider:
>It will open on its own
Or even just remove "up"
>I'll wait for it to open on its own

Less with more bro.

[Anonymous No.2291105]

>>2291101

That should have read "more with less".
Sorry, slightly hungover.

[Anonymous No.2291106]

The foggy autumn toad is wise.
Nothing can outdo the foggy
wisdom of its tumid throat.
Anything at all encroaches
on the tumid toad's warty back--
all the world's strange truths, the spoils
of war and Stephen Park; serene,
it accepts all the mystery
laid on its foggy tumid spine.
Unmelancholy is the gleam
in the wise toad's knowing eye.
Look to knowing toads' wise glints
and know that they alone possess
the secrets of long languid life.

[Anonymous No.2291114]

>>2291101
Thanks! I totally agree with you. I was really struggling with that part.

I think the original was
>I'll let it reveal on its own

[Anonymous No.2291136]

>>2291106
I like it