/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.2355823]

ITT: OC poetry, everyone rates it. If you don't have one on hand, write one.

[Anonymous No.2355843]

>>2355841

Good.

[Anonymous No.2355841]

OP is a fag
this is my fucking poem
I just wrote this shit

[Anonymous No.2355844]

Penis in the sky,
dreams
haunted...
NO, FREUD, NO!
It's alright, vagina.
Penis in vagina
vagines
penina
I love you mother.

~Me (Anonymous)

[Anonymous No.2355856]

Come to Pen Island
You can't get there by land
So drop trou
And sail now
OP will give you a hand

[Anonymous No.2355858]

When I Pencil
My Dream Writes my book
Scribble scrabble on the think
I Page hope
I pencil Will get my work
Recognized

[Anonymous No.2355861]

Sonnet like a motherfucker. Actually, it's pretty sappy and I only wrote it in a few minutes, but whatever, fuck it.

If your soft lips should utter any command
it shall be my fate to follow.
If you say from water I am banned,
not one more drop of life will I swallow.

Walk to the end of the earth you say
and walk and walk I will
until it is my last day
and I see over my last hill.

I'll bring you what your heart desires
and worship you as my queen.
My love for you is ten thousand sun-fires.
When I close my eyes, only you're to be seen.

But alas! to me, one word you've never said,
So why do the Gods curse me with you stuck inside my head?

[Anonymous No.2355867]

[Anonymous No.2355872]

>>2355861

[Anonymous No.2355874]

...there is no love
mom. stop.
i thought i already said
i don't like corn bread
stop
do not fill me with your lies
with your yellow mistruths
there is no corn
in this bread


there is no love in this house.
in this house....

[Anonymous No.2355875]

Here's a couple from a five minute challenge thread a few days back. When I write in English I tend to use colloquialisms and drop a -g etc. Hope you don't mind.

First:

sloppily watercolored clouds bulgin like varicose vein
giant skyhymen ready to burst with first spring rain
you asked me whether I'd use a hand grenade if I owned one
I said I dunno, would you
you replied with a tobacco kiss and we fucked on the grass while it poured

Second:

I wanna be there in that postcard
with her and the sun and the sea
To stop following young lovers with my heart
and remove the past from me

My love for her is rare and old
like a weather-beaten, never discovered ufo
in some distant Russian forest
her sun feels real unlike that thing behind window
with her I could stand the rest
with her I would have grown old

[Anonymous No.2355883]

Twittering of birds,
Endless sounds without meaning
Why do they persist?

[Anonymous No.2355887]

>>2355883
>without meaning
nigga they;re talking to each other

[Anonymous No.2355888]

(I've never graduated beyond writing the odd ditty, I'm just too lazy)

I'm feeling bitter remorse
Because my discourse
Does not reach a standard which would please you

Pound said to precise
Yet I find him as irritable as the lice
Or fleas which haunt my pet dog

Joyce was Verbose
I'd love to come close
To creating such popular twaddle as him

It's looking pretty grim
My poetical attempts leave me in an eternal spin
So fuck it; I'm trying Prose.

[Anonymous No.2355892]

>>2355888
And I wasted trips on that

[Anonymous No.2355898]

>>2355883
I think we should collaborate on an anthology of angsty haiku.

my purpose is thin
like lichen hammered dry on
a stone summer curb

[Anonymous No.2355893]

>>2355883
I can't help but feel that this is supposed to be allegorical to this thread.

[Anonymous No.2355902]

Oh! my life is bad
So I bitch and moan all day
Haiku, fuck you man

[Anonymous No.2355909]

>>2355898
With pounding headache,
A memory of last night--
Ten in the morning.

[Anonymous No.2355910]

>>2355898
Lichen are valuable parts of the ecosystem.

[uno No.2355912]

Why do you
Why do you say
You can say anything, so why speak at all
Why do you
Why do you win
You can win any time, so bother playing ball

Rather watch it from a window and think and pretend
Of all the things you won't really do in the end
Rather see and get jealous and spent
All the people getting praise what you so easily can


Just made that. Like this board already

[uno No.2355916]

>>2355912
>so why* bother playing
>praise for* what

Sorry

[Anonymous No.2355920]

Good poetry isn't effusive. That era is over and you can't write as well as the Romantics anyway. Pro-tip: Good poetry involves expressing something without ever expressing it directly or naming the thing you want to express.

All of the poetry in this thread is awful.

[Anonymous No.2355925]

>>2355920
Care to share some of your superior poetry then?

[Anonymous No.2355928]

>>2355925
No. I've had some published in journals, I have no desire to disclose my identity.

[Anonymous No.2355932]

>>2355928
>this faggot

[Anonymous No.2355936]

Okay, let me know what you think, although I have posted this before

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
Homonculi inside 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

[uno No.2355937]

>>2355920
Sorry =/

[Anonymous No.2355939]

>>2355932
I think he's probably right, and I have posted a poem in this thread.

[Anonymous No.2355946]

This is not mine and therefore not OC, but it was written by an Anon and should be read by all here.
I heard the coal-train's broken roar.
I saw it pass the crooked spire,
the garage roofs, the pubs and bars
long into dusk and night.
I saw the birches' pale forms
half-gone in orange lamplight.
The stars yellowed, hiding,
from this firmament of cars.

Dawn rolled out as freezer-fog,
aglow in sulphur lamps.
I was glad when train-song woke me first,
and the crying birds were shooed.
Machines don't mourn in throngs
for homes and nests chopped to wood.
Was nature any good?
Or does my mind build garage roofs
where a crooked spire stood?

[Anonymous No.2355951]

>>2355946
Lord almighty, I'm the author of that poem. I'm also the author of this poem: >>2355867

[Anonymous No.2355954]

>>2355951

I figured the Anon might be on here. Good work, it's a great poem

[Anonymous No.2355960]

>>2355946
>pubs and bars
>dusk and night
hmm

[Anonymous No.2355961]

So confused.
Not amused.
Do you love me or not?
It's time to take a shot.
Say it to my face.
With a hint of grace.
I think it's time to be together.
What was two is now one forever.

[Anonymous No.2355965]

He scans my throat
That hellish hound
With the pelt of night
I hear him growl

I hear him prowl
He knows I heed
His tender steps
Until we meet

A tiring feat
To hide my tracks
He slavers and
with strength attacks

He sets his traps
He traces steps
You walk, you run
To him, a jest

So pass his tests
Amuse his guests
The Sleep will come
To he who rests

[Anonymous No.2355966]

>>2355954
Thank you, it's good to know you think that. Looking back, I'm not a fan of my slightly old-fashioned word choices.

>>2355960
Good point.

[Anonymous No.2355972]

>>2355960

pubs and bars, maybe

but dusk and night shows a progression of time.

[Anonymous No.2355979]

[Anonymous No.2355985]

>>2355972
Pubs and bars are rather different things.

[Anonymous No.2355987]

Okay let's do this. Doesn't have a name.

The first sphere descends into the flat ocean, the first of eight
None could know, as soon as that distant orb shifted, the process had begun
But it strains the sky in decline and puts pressure on the ocean, pressed like a tile
This is the first of the changes, the shift in feeling that bends the flow of air and unsettles the breath

The Second, at first a mote, sneaks the path of it’s agenda over the course of the day
Perhaps the astute understand and bid it stop
But what simple sentiment could alter the colossal impetus of the sphere?
This is the second of the changes, the portent that, once shown, confirms the process

The Third descends unsubtly and eclipses the Second, bringing night
Only the judicious comprehend celestial pattern at first causes
But now, penumbras contrast clearly, in rotation performing spatial puncturing
This is the third of the changes, the last of flowing moments before a new cosmogeny

The Fourth is a sphere in all but form and metrics, it’s dominates the sky and tyrannizes
Hearts writhe and the dripping muscle beats crudely in painful new rhythms
It’s corona drenches every particle, burning into extremity of sentience and singularity of cognizance
All changes flicker, sway, crackle, but all save the heavy residue of struggling vitality shoot upwards
This is the fourth of the changes, inversion of light and feeling

[Anonymous No.2355991]

>>2355987
The Fifth encloses all, a membrane for unstable atmospheres
The flesh moving into new space, space moving into old flesh, light into structure
Mass and thought is pulled apart by laws; in newly redoubled proprioception, the living suffer
This is the fifth of the changes, autonomic patterns renewed concentrically commence

The Sixth is hidden, one of an uncentillion,
Discarded toys build infinitesimal cities on it’s surface
As one nonliving autocrat of grains gives his commands
One atrocious tone tears through the globule of the real
The twisting of the universal axis, the bending of the unimagined spine
The tone splits, the parts align cacophony into a chord
This is the sixth of the changes, the thrumming of null worlds in prenatal gulfs of space

The Seventh spins , it moves beyond descriptive ken
Each face of it’s circumference spins vision entirely, in motion engraves it’s own description in the infrastructure of nature
And all the churning of realspace ends in distinct birth, erupting from possibility
Averted sight collapses it’s prior subjects, which in time peels back the barriers of gaze
This is the seventh of the changes, the impossibility of silence, eternally

Fragments now entirety, there is no real diremption
Change sutures only space, and in unanimity, no gestalt singularity
The core is gone, presence is empty, though thought thrives
This is no ending, it is the process

[Anonymous No.2355999]

>>2355996
critique is haaard

[Anonymous No.2356001]

>>2355928
>some
Then how about you post some that wasn't, faggot.

[Anonymous No.2356010]

Wordlessly, we roll around under the covers.
Just call me your completely confused lover.
Never been this lucky.
Always getting screwed.
So scared of hurt, and who wants to ruin the mood?
You're a goddess, a vision, and all that other stuff.
But I'll be damned if this isn't tough.

[Anonymous No.2356015]

>>2356010
this could be pretty cool with different word choice and without the arbitrary enjabment

[Anonymous No.2356017]

>>2355861
There's not very much iambic pentameter for a sonnet. There are easy things you can do to complete it in places as well:
>If you say from water I am banned
>If you say that from water I am banned
It's okay to be loose - lines of 9 or 11 syllables etc, but I think you've pushed it too far. I guess if you wrote it in a few minutes though, that's expected to a degree. Moreover:
>alas
>2012

So yeah, not bad for a few minutes' work, but practise your meter and read more contemporary poetry and look at the vocabulary they use. Pic is sonnet by John Berryman.

[uno No.2356026]

>>2355912

Final edit. Feedback would be nice

Why do you
Why do you say
You can say anything, so why speak anyway?
Why do you
Why do you win
You can win any time, so bother to play?

Rather watch it from a window and think and pretend
Of all the things you won't really do in the end
Rather see and get jealous and spent
At all the people getting praise for what you so easily can

[Anonymous No.2356033]

>>2356017
Thanks for the advice, I was starting to think everyone just sort of skipped over mine. To be honest, I just started writing a few days ago, and that's one of the only two things I've written that I don't hate. Also:
>implying there's a decent modern equivalent of "alas"

[Anonymous No.2356037]

>>2356033
unfortunately?

[Anonymous No.2356040]

You remind me of the color orange.
Cause you're the highlight of my life.
And you've got nice cones.

[Anonymous No.2356046]

>>2356037
That's rather sterile isn't it? Alas! Is an exclamation. Also putting forward Alas and alack as god tier whining.

[Anonymous No.2356049]

On Her Nudity:

She wears a sultry shade
as though it were a wedding;
her perfume smiles
from beneath her dazed fingers
as her makeshift veil retreats,
exposing two pretty and pink buttons
to the blister of midday rain.

[Anonymous No.2356056]

>>2356037
You know, my first thought was "thats 5 fucking syllables, it'll never work" but now that I realize that not only does it fit the line pretty well (unfortunately/to me), but the caesura in the middle of the line makes it so it doesn't seem unbearably long.

[Anonymous No.2356057]

(A bump in the form of a poem from >>2355875)

Everything is perfect from the meter to his face.
A genuine brothel of the brain, every syllable a willing whore, his poetry is read at eternity's stage.

Glittering shores of applauds left and right, even Time bows down to him, as if about to suck him off;

like a frisbee on acid, it draws lemniscates.

I love him too, the published poet, the man who never wasted a page.

[Anonymous No.2356059]

Coincidence is a cosmic blemish
along with the con flagrance in my consciousness

Ask any man for where they stand
and there stands a very good chance it is where they began

If my spark is the only contrast between me and the vaste expanse
I weigh the light as a heavy chance to judge the world as my romance

And since the world is round
It brings me down
Any sound to be found is gracefully wound

[Anonymous No.2356071]

>>2356046
Alas has fallen out of use, and there's probably a reason for it. To me, the word alas means "Warning: this is going to be sad", which is completely unnecessary - I would argue that it should be self-evident from your writing that what you're saying is sad. If you're going to resurrect a word it should do just that - bring it back to life. I don't think the word is important enough to your poem to do that - it just bogs it down with tiresome old-fashioned-ness.

[Anonymous No.2356084]

>>2355979

>that feel when nobody even bothers to read your stuff

[Anonymous No.2356089]

>>2356071
Just letting you know, you're not responding to the author of that poem, that's just some random guy. I know because I am me, but also I am >>2356056

[Anonymous No.2356091]

I ain't gonna suck yo clit you stinky bitch.
Unless you lick my dick, you nasty hoe.
Turn on dat porno before you blow me.
Chicks wit dem dicks. Yo, get me a sandwich.


Go ahead, try to analyze it, but it's probably too deep for you.

[Anonymous No.2356103]

>>2356091
Is it about your anger towards your father for never being there for you as a child, being raised mostly by your mother?

[Anonymous No.2356105]

>>2356091
It's interesting how the final lines reverse the lexis of misogyny - "stinky bitch" and "nasty hoe" all imply female oppression, whereas, "chicks wit dem dicks" implies a femininist re-appropriation of traditionally masculine traits. Probably one of the most interesting pieces of writing I've seen on /lit/.

[Anonymous No.2356151]

Posted this in an earlier thread:

Julian
Bow down to the sun
Speak in auguries and omens
Fleece purple robes and Romans
Julian
Bow down to the sun
Got your bishops and crows
And your shadows and foes
And your eagles and spears
And your triumphs and seers
Julian
Bow down to the sun
Bow down to the sun

Julian
Bow down to the son
Build your fortresses of reason
Cross the sands with golden legions
Julian
Bow down to the son
Vulcan and Mars
And Ocean and stars
Caesars and schemes
And Jupiter dreams
Julian
Bow down to the son
Bow down to the son

[Anonymous No.2356184]

A hysterical pipe through the radio
"The meteorite will strike us in less than ten minutes".
I briefly spare a thought for the poor sod
spending his last minutes on earth
speaking on fucking BBC Radio Scotland.

I turn off the radio and light a cigarette.
What else am I supposed to do?
There are still fourteen left in the packet -
it pisses me off that they'll go to waste.
Still, the birds sing outside
and the sun is shining -
otherwise this would have been a good day.

[Anonymous No.2356192]

A hysterical voice pipes through the radio
"The meteorite will strike us in less than ten minutes".
I briefly spare a thought for the poor sod
spending his last minutes on earth
speaking on fucking BBC Radio Scotland.

I turn off the radio and light a cigarette.
What else am I supposed to do?
There are still fourteen left in the packet -
it pisses me off that they'll go to waste.
Still, the birds sing outside
and the sun is shining -
otherwise this would have been a good day.

[Anonymous No.2356459]

>>2356192
This is more prose than poem, I think, but I like it.

[Anonymous No.2356496]

>>2356459
Just realised that I got asteroids and meteorites mixed up. Bugger.

[Anonymous No.2356499]

can wind exist with nothing to drift through?
by itself
in open space

do I exist as myself by myself?
in the presence of the heavenly other
here now
but gone

a silent gust
drying the beads of sweat on your brow
blowing tears away from you

My wrath
shaking the trees
sending the grass into a manic dance

when I call out
they'll shut their windows
I'll always be there on a hot day

[Anonymous No.2356510]

In the style of (almost a cover poem if you will) John Cooper Clarke's "Evidently Chicken Town"

The fucking doors are fucking locked
The fucking streets are fucking blocked
Your fucking friends are fucking cocks
The fucking girls are fucking shocked
The fucking pavement's fucking cracked
The fucking house is filled with rats
The fucking words are fucking lies
The fucking nice guys fucking die

The fucking sky is fucking grey
Your fucking life is fucking pain
The fucking world is fucking black
The fucking good ones don't come back
The fucking hero's fucking dead
The fucking water's fucking red
There's fucking monsters in the bed
There's fucking maggots in my head

The fucking kids are fucking mean
Fucked up on methamphetamine
The fucking glass is fucking broke
The fucking air will make you choke
The fucking children fucking cry
Their fucking bloodshot fucking eyes
This fucking life will get you down
Evidently Mohawk Town

[Anonymous No.2356512]

IAll my fantasized suicides fall like rain
Riding through my life on a pitch black train
long days and long nights all painted with pain
A man like me ain't blind to see the worms in his brain

A fall from grace a spike in taste got it all figured out
god and earth they died at birth from cancer of the mouth
The man in black had a heart attack and keeled over with a shout
morality and sentimentality soon passed out on the couch

I bought a ring so a girl could sing me softly to sleep
I slipped it on when she was gone and felt like a creep
The boss maintained that I'm still the same so I counted his sheep
My mind is read the love is dead now I'm locked in the keep

My bones are old from lies I've told to people I hate
I ringed around the rosie kept an eye out for fate
I locked the door and felt some more but it was already too late
The damage done I'm on the run from snatching the plate

[Anonymous No.2356521]

>feelings
>2012

[Anonymous No.2356613]

green sighs and white waves
Flowing Gold from Your Crown.
Bright lips part, the teeth start
No one is here and you are near
A field of daises and lazy lazy ladies
Lying and no prying
sick sick and dying
burned holes in the skies
black fingertips, and dusty mouths.
Aching, iced hands shake shake shake
Saw her at the bottom of the lake lake lake.

[Anonymous No.2356626]

Let me see

Some cats are lazy and sit where it's warm
In sunbeams by windows, safe from all harm
Some cats are quiet and live by the night
Hunting what they can find in the dim moonlight

And four versus is all I got I'll keep working on it though

[Anonymous No.2356646]

>>2356510
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEWT6pdjON8

Related.

[Anonymous No.2356649]

>>2356510

I'm pretty sure Evidently Chicken Town used "bloody" no "fucking"

You must be referring to this rendition instead:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejKIgsR5W6k

[Anonymous No.2356904]

>>2356015
mfw you don't know what enjambment is

[Anonymous No.2356920]

>>2356904
I looked that shit up
on the wikipedia.
My dick in your mom.

[Anonymous No.2356968]

as the sun
begins to set
I follow the deer path
that winds through a clearing
to sit in the lee
of an old pine

I'm content with things as they are
even if
only for a moment

[Anonymous No.2357245]

>>2356904
>mfw I had to look up 'enjambment' in the dictionary because all I could remember about it was my teacher saying it in a French accent seven years ago

[Anonymous No.2357791]

More haiku, please please.
Your lore, four whore, sleaze tease geez.
Suitable last line.