does /lit/ write poems? I want to read your poems ITT: poems

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Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:19:42 2014 No.4777715 [Reply] [Original]

does /lit/ write poems?
I want to read your poems
ITT: poems

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:27:42 2014 No.4777738

I feel you, Mark
I buried my first victim
when I was 21.
She had no jeans, but had a mask on
It's all I think about,
Driving through parking lots at night
Where a chill wind blows
Where the dumpster cats hide.
Where I feel more like a person
and less like a killer.

But she was nowhere to be seen,
only heard and felt.
And that's the best I could ever do.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:29:42 2014 No.4777743 silk thin, skin flows though, held down by gravity; the strongest force in the world to me now

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:30:42 2014 No.4777745

Retreat into your midnights fleeting
make your repose our envy
fatal flaw’s fluctuating place of being
need not be paraded beyond your brow

Minute nightmares come in couplets
swollen carpets wait for harvest
in the haven down beneath us
keep yourself carefully guarded

Laying wait for pulsing arms
latex breaks the torpid surf
bait ensnares your saving grace
through silence come intimations of harm

Retreat into your midnights fleeting
wrap yourself in childlike terror
for your youth is still beating
your glass is not yet darkened

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:32:43 2014 No.4777752

The warmth in my breath, woman my heart beats strong, come near lay close we can do no wrong.

Bring warmth to my bed, with your fine close caress, thine love doth forgo, that do not forget.

Lay near, sleuth passion in this shell of a man, for my heart may lay feeble in the palm of your hand.

To love the unloved is to hate the unknown.
We all must leave we are all left alone

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:35:42 2014 No.4777761

One soda and a bottle of rum,
If I'd said everything I wanted
then
I wish I'd said it all again
I sold your love for arrogance
And routine
And new friends
And other things I'd missed

I don't want to be alone
when I'm drinking or watching a movie
And now I'm afraid of
Everyone I meet,
to not give them what I gave you.
A proper burial with every
one of your favorite flowers
And words you'd long ago
Made empty

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:35:42 2014 No.4777763 White sands cast golden blue: a stark contrast to the hue of the abyss.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:36:42 2014 No.4777770

When no evil, nor here nor there
To glean the graces of the ol'
Highway wandering masses whole
And a devil's brace of woe ensnare
A sheen of sadness upon the soul,

Travel light and far be your reach
To touch upon all stories told
And trap the sights of ages old
For much along your way do teach
Of grace and beauty to behold.

Keep for me the best you see
Along the way you roam.
At my behest, though dull for some,
Enlighten me, I ask of thee,
And do swiftly come back home.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:37:42 2014 No.4777774 no i don't know how to write in meter

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:39:41 2014 No.4777781 >>4777743 6.5/10 >>4777745 6.5/10 best line: wrap yourself in childlike terror >>4777752 4/10 best line: We all must leave we are all left alone worst line: all the others >>4777763 hmm.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:40:41 2014 No.4777783 On top of concrete slabs more concrete slabs holds us up, above the horizon held by geometry, held by my experience help by yours, together we feel release and pressure and then once more, release.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:40:41 2014 No.4777784 Alight with spring trees bend to wind A figure at home beneath foliage, high Seeing nothing but a blank sky

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:41:41 2014 No.4777788

30 dollars at the pub
I'm up late again
Missed class, for all the frost
my car was frozen in place
I could not see where I was going
Like always.
I tried to sleep and I dreamed
of other girls I knew once.
I'm reaching out to fill the void you left
in my life
I need company, but
They'd rather be sleeping
While I sit alone at the pizzeria,
Thursday night
Talking to the bartender about
Physics and biology
They'd rather be sleeping
And I'd rather fall down sideways

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:42:41 2014 No.4777793

viagra is for pussies

tomorrow my penis gets upgraded
for better sex, increased confidence, detachment
i underhand toss my upgraded penis
it softly thumps against her forehead
she says “wow, is that upgraded?”
i say “it is detachable”
she tells me she wants to throw it
sorry about the title
please give me my penis back

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:44:41 2014 No.4777805 >>4777783 5/10 best line: together we feel / release / and pressure >>4777784 I like the way this rhymes

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:45:41 2014 No.4777809 done dead gone beat up brambly back bent up bourgie bitching ideas, please don’t make a monkey out of me keep hearing that throw the rock into the lake hit one, two ducks barely remember someone yelling at me easy to hit them anyway

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:48:41 2014 No.4777821 >>4777781 The idea is to have 17 syllables in a self-contained sentence. An American haiku.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:48:41 2014 No.4777824 >>4777774 what parameter?

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:52:42 2014 No.4777842

Wrote this one a few years ago. Haven't really written poetry since.

There’s a forceful kiss, catches me off guard, and then
a peck on both cheeks, a friendly greeting that should
have come before the first contact, and you say,
“ten thousand on the table. The fourth time is free,” and
we’re in your room your place your country and,
I say, “I hate you,” and you take me once twice thrice,
and you recline on your bed, in your valley, and I see
your pillows make a hill on the west, leaves nothing to
the east, but, you languish there, tired and worn and
old and young and confused and alert, and I say, “It was nice,”
and there is a river, a river of cyanide, and it flows from
your mouth, which is painted, the red of gulyas, of borscht,
and I can only think stupid thoughts, like,
this is a water bed of the finest water springs, and,
you pass me a cigarette, light it with your last match,
and as I get up to leave, after the fourth time, I can only think,
“I will miss you” or “I love you” and I get up and go,
and leave the whore, no, the jewel, of the Danube in my wake.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:55:41 2014 No.4777848 >>4777842 wonderful. You need to write more.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:57:41 2014 No.4777853 >>4777842 easily the best in the thread

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 00:58:41 2014 No.4777854

>>4777848
You're not wrong about that; I'm one of those assholes who've been working on their novel for years. But I don't like to write poetry that often; this one was basically summing up my feelings of living in Budapest during high school. Hated it at first because I left Canada at 13 and was an idiot, now I miss it more than anything.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:04:42 2014 No.4777871

There was a time once,
When I was a man of life.

I lived alone with many others
With dark skin and cautious eyes
Little clothes and a bamboo flute,
I played a song for every person;
but not all at once.

The natives would talk and mark my song
Between work and sweat and aching bones.
One said my song was entrancing and long
Nostalgia pains the heart and, and it brings her
To ages passed.

Another said it was harsh and wild,
Like the tiger out of stalking,
Falling to its destruction,
Preying on man with his tools and fire.

A girl said the flute was like many birds
Talking from the highest heaven
With sharp little words,
Playful and scared and precise
In mind and flight.

Or like daily rain, a warm pitter-patter
On leaves as large as the lion's paw
A rhythm so soft and light as the air,

Or anguished and mournful, dirge of despair
A baleful tune, melodic scare.

I played the song of Life
To the Earth and its tenants, who
Hear what they feel,
Know or believe
And evolve without change
Hear without ears
and Speak without mouths.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:08:42 2014 No.4777881 >>4777871 I like it, but the rhymes in the second-to-last stanza feel a little out of place considering the rest of the poem is plain verse.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:09:41 2014 No.4777882 >>4777848 >>4777853 samefagging too obviously

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:09:41 2014 No.4777885

Bad Week

I lost my girl.
Or maybe,
I never had her.
I don't know which way is worse.

To complicate this,
Three days later,
I had to contemplate this,
Laying in a hospital bed.

I was at that great junction,
Ready for it.
Looking for the quiet and the calm.
But pissed and asking,
Why she was still stuck in my mind -
I mean, can't you at least give me this?

It got real close.
I had to tell death to fuck off or suck my dick.
He wasn't ready for that dance yet.
The coward.

This is why he'll never have my respect.
He'll wait till I'm old and slow,
And don't see it coming.
Or do and not care.

There's gonna be a lot of cold,
Lonely nights ahead.
But the great thing about rock bottom is.
You get to pretend you're a phoenix.

Pretend like you'll come out of it,
prettier, stronger, more well-equipped.
Pretend like you're different now.
Like you're someone new.
And maybe I am.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:10:41 2014 No.4777886 >>4777842 utter shit

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:12:41 2014 No.4777894 >>4777886 :^) >>4777885 8/10

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:13:41 2014 No.4777896 >>4777882 nope. well i guess i can't speak for the other guy praising but that's a very nice little poem. it isn't perfect but by /lit/ standards it's great.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:15:41 2014 No.4777907 Listening to the sounds of carts rattling praying no one runs off tattling to the blue shirted priests lest they demand we cease singing for traveler's alms before America's temple.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:16:41 2014 No.4777909 >>4777885 I like it, but I feel like it could be better. I think maybe your lines come too short

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:17:42 2014 No.4777914

As that blanket of water, draped behind some layer of imperfect glass
moves over those crystalline scars of imperfection,
this texture paints our sky like some God of electricity,
Circling our universe with its divine beauty and frightening government;
it is a moving cage
to trap every mortal soul on a floating island in the cold, dark sky,
like a lonely, blue moon to a tribe of primitive, religious stars.
Here, the dragons of the sky
weave in and out of the many tapestries of color and serenity
that hang above the world.
Dragons as large as the smallest moons,
with tendrils that reach for miles
and wings that embrace the heavens.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:17:42 2014 No.4777915

wince learnt all come' to die
i die to go
quickly-unafraid
prior to my spoil

that death is the release i seek
always seek'd

down halls of dead men
decayed whisperings i smell, i see
i walk, hearing them tease my living breath
living to die

hailing, begging, pleading,
stop and listen
speak with these dead
do not walk past

Plato so proud, so good, begs
Plutarch so noble, so right, begs
All the dead, beg

i only beg to Death
pleading so,
take me
let me soon leave the Thought of this world

all pain, all cold, all gone
the kiss of bliss that lasts not
i wait for what Is-not' to take me

drowning in tears of silent Wit
watching the dumb die happy

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:21:42 2014 No.4777926 I feel like I'm not patient enough to read poems. As soon as I start reading them, I want to have already consumed them.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:21:42 2014 No.4777927 >>4777821 https://www.google.com/search?q=17+syllables+in+a+self-contained+sentence&rlz=1C1GGLS_enUS326US326&oq=17+syllables+in+a+self-contained+sentence&aqs=chrome..69i57&sourceid=chrome&es_sm=122&ie=UTF-8

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:22:41 2014 No.4777930 >>4777928 Maybe, the problem seems to be with me though.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:22:42 2014 No.4777928 >>4777926 read better poems

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:23:41 2014 No.4777931 >>4777926 this is what the internet does to one. the slow world doesn't exist anymore

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:23:41 2014 No.4777934

MANIA.
MANIA MANIA MANIA MANIA

let's FUCK all of our friends
what better way to get to know each other?

Let me touch you
I'll let you touch me
Don't let me go all the way
let me taste you

crash day

No one wants a nice guy
the nice guy will make no one happy

nice guy will make no one happy in your bed,
in my bed
on the top of my car
At the comedy show
at the jazz fusion wankfest
play the guitar like your baby degree taught you
play the saxophone with your beard
play the pussy like it wants you to, like it wants you

nice guy,
brush until your teeth bleed
love until your hands hurt
work it out
drink until your liver bleeds

sometimes I just want to read poetry and listen to Leonard Cohen until I die

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:24:41 2014 No.4777937

>>4777909
Thanks. I appreciate the feedback.

I sort of consciously aim for that Bukowski-style simplicity. Where the lines aren't flowery or overdone but the message itself is powerful and sort of expresses a lot in a few words.

Maybe I'll have to work harder on prose and originality of phrase.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:25:41 2014 No.4777940 >>4777930 I recommend reading epics. They are more similar to novels, and less dense. That's what I did. I started getting into poetry with epics, worked my way into plays in verse and longer narrative poems, then into everything.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:27:50 2014 No.4777944 [DELETED]

Dearest Delilah – My Downfall
Eyes like pendulums
extended
in the hands
of a master
hypnotist.
Swaying,
swaying,
ensnaring my soul.
This is the one.
I’m sure.
To grant me
immortality.
Or do me in.
An ass like home.
Eyes like madness.
Smile like magic.
Hair like heroine.
Flesh like a tall glass of milk.
Mind like Bill Gates
or Lex Luther
If I could guess the intent.

And then,
A farewell like
an executioner.
Or like
she’s saying
It’s not too late
to hate me.
To tell the truth,
if I never see
her again.
It might be just
as perfect.
Love is a dog from hell.
Life is a sexually transmitted disease.
Everything is illusory.
You are my lucid dream.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:27:50 2014 No.4777946

Christened from birth with holy filth,
my eyes have never quite gotten
used to neither darkness nor light,
yet my feet still yearn for warm mud
toes wiggling in sediment of the ages
collecting their dues of dirt and sand
beckoning back to my entrance to this world
hearkening to a piece of time so still
the empty space of memories in the first seconds
of life, and the last of death
my navel now kneaded like dough
worn out like my fatigued heart
yet full of coal for the remaining track
one that sits between the mountains of history
nestled in valleys seldom seen
by people perched perilously at passion's edge.
So, please, please appease my wish
oh imperceptible ubiquity that I taste
and let me grovel with the twines of fate
at the sea's end in forlorn folklore
leavening me left in benign colony
of a set so sullen and saintly
shot down by the ruptured voice's mirror
sent out by a yearning for lost liberty
and death of delicious hope.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:27:50 2014 No.4777948 >>4777931 There has to be something to catch the attention like the title "Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast". Before the internet they had anthologies.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:29:49 2014 No.4777950

Dearest Delilah – My Downfall

Eyes like pendulums
extended
in the hands
of a master
hypnotist.

Swaying,
swaying,
ensnaring my soul.

This is the one.
I’m sure.
To grant me
immortality.
Or do me in.

An ass like home.
Eyes like madness.
Smile like magic.
Hair like heroine.
Flesh like a tall glass of milk.

Mind like Bill Gates
or Lex Luther
If I could guess the intent.

And then,
A farewell like
an executioner.
Or like
she’s saying
It’s not too late
to hate me.

To tell the truth,
if I never see
her again.
It might be just
as perfect.

Love is a dog from hell.
Life is a sexually transmitted disease.
Everything is illusory.
You are my lucid dream.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:31:49 2014 No.4777956 >>4777940 I own Beowulf, Paradise Lost, Arabian Nights, and a collection of Greek Drama. I should start reading these?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:31:49 2014 No.4777958 A Liar's Rose I grew her a red rose tender and vibrant as her lips. As the moon climbed higher, patiently, I watched as my tribute bloomed. Half through the night at last she came, but she only cried and left it in the rain.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:32:49 2014 No.4777960 >>4777956 read Beowulf. it is easy to read and it is awesome.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:34:49 2014 No.4777964 >>4777950 Title is terrible, but I enjoy the poem

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:35:50 2014 No.4777965 >>4777956 Yeah sure. Pick up Shakespeare and translations of other epics, esp. the Iliad, Odyssey, Aeneid, and Divine Comedy.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:35:50 2014 No.4777966

Shuddered softly, the magi did, whilst
speaking words: "listen
my dear, dear son.
listen to the silence, for it is eternal."
Then, and now,
My blisters belonged to earth,
and my cracked elbows to the wind.
Still,
I hummed a hocking holler home,
and remembered the echoes:
"Listen,
listen."
And so, I found myself
disappeared,
into the gentle glow of air
past what might have been
only ears.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:36:50 2014 No.4777968

I was born of the stone
Raised from the ground
No family but death, no burden but the grave
Earthen ramparts form my chest
A brow no less furrowed than a burrow or nest
My eyes ache with the weight of ages long past
Joints creaking as stone grinds together
We speak through gesture and move with intent
The earth moves once more as humanity forgets

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:37:50 2014 No.4777969 >>4777965 Alright, I own the Complete Works of Shakespeare and The Odyssey though the book fair I bought all this shit at didn't have the Iliad, so I'll try and cop that at the next book fair this month. Thanks bros.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:39:49 2014 No.4777972 >>4777964 Thanks. Any suggestions on improving the title? It was originally just 'Delilah'.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:41:50 2014 No.4777977 no moonlight through the rainy night water dries the hidden fires awake in the darker life but reaches not my desires

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:41:50 2014 No.4777978 >>4777972 Something that doesn't make me think of Hey There Delilah

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:42:50 2014 No.4777984 >>4777972 "My Downfall" or "Downfall", something simple

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:42:50 2014 No.4777985

Honey, globular, granular, and good all-around:
you preserve my excellence
in taste and pleasure.
Melting into my cavernous chest,
your fruits bear more than yellow
and black beauty that I can no longer
resist in the pits of blissful hatred,
for I absolutely loathe you honey,
every second of every eon.
Glue to my enameled soul,
you ooze past the boundaries of time
into and between my neurons knowingly
I'm sure! Conniving, cunning honey
dispel your terrors from me,
unshackle my ankles and let me walk the plank.
For honey, I simply detest my love for you,
yet love you ne'er not I ought,
and wish ill upon you I cannot.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:44:49 2014 No.4777992 >>4777927 Left turn, cut off: clutch in, check shoulder, swerve, and avoid "Baby on Board".

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:44:49 2014 No.4777994 >>4777978 Hahaha.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:46:49 2014 No.4778001

To be alone can be an escape.
To sit with your thoughts is seen as healthy, but too much and your thoughts become a sickness.
No one can bear isolation for too long.
Believe me it becomes an incarceration.
It becomes a hell when you imagine more than you wish.
Your insanity will begin to surface, it resides in us all.
It is a slumber in your head.
But when loneliness runs your head wild the insanity will creep into your thoughts.
Time loses its continuity and you hardly feel normal.
Your world becomes noticeably different and only you can see it.
The dark void of dead light in your windows become fields of battle.
An enigma where only fear seems real.
You are your worst enemy and only you can save yourself.
A sick game, I know, but believe me I do know.
For as I write I am alone.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:49:49 2014 No.4778010 >>4777842 first lines didnt convince me as much as the rest but promising

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:50:49 2014 No.4778011

Hey there Delilah

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl, tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice, it's my disguise
I'm by your side

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:56:50 2014 No.4778024

>>4777781 is a pleb, ignore him

>>4777743
6/10
nicely phrased. great ending. a little vague though
>>4777745
5/10
a couple of cool images but way too many abstractions. outside your own head a line like "fatal flaw's fluctuating place of being" means literally nothing. you might wanna read more poetry and less prog metal lyrics.
Also decide if this is rhymed/metered or not
>>4777752
4/10
I actually like what you're doing with the rhythm at the beginning of this, as well a the final couplet, but everything else is just such a weird mess of clichés, archaisms and confusing word choices
>>4777761
5/10
I want to like this, there's a nice rhythm and some interesting introspection, but I have no idea what the first line has to do with anything, and the whole thing starts to sag and get sentimental as it goes on
>>4777763
3/10
>>4777770
6/10
You did /lit/'s edgy back-to-the-nineteenth-century thing without embarrassing yourself, so good job.
I just don't see the point.
>>4777783
5/10
needs something much more interesting for the first four lines, the end is powerful though
>>4777784
4/10
>>4777788
5/10
I like what you're doing with line breaks, but could do with some more interesting insights into the human condition than >tfw no gf
>>4777793
7/10
lel
>>4777809
6/10
first three lines feel too much like an exercise. the rest is interesting though
>>4777842
8/10
dude you need to start writing again
>>4777871
noble savage/10
>>4777885
6/10
a few clichés but feels genuine and not just edgy
>>4777907
5/10
clearly an allegory but I have no idea what this is about. if you're attached to the phrasing, even contextualizing with a title might help (see mine).
>>4777914
6/10
I'm conflicted about this one.
>>4777915
5/10
so much modernist language-wank, so little substance
you're not Joyce bro

here's mine:
J-ROCKERS

Wearing Hallowe'en costume fabric, the men
with flawless arms kept on
jangling and jiving
against the wooden light
kicking up across the stage
a turquoise storm like a female laugh
while climates changed and wars on terror ground
instead of droned
and the cold went for the cheek.

>inb4
>>>/jp/

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 01:59:49 2014 No.4778031 >>4778001 This is horribly depressing. I advise that you maybe try to make the writing slightly less literal while delivering the same message.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:01:49 2014 No.4778033 >>4778024 mind you critiquing these: >>4777985 >>4777966 >>4777946

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:03:49 2014 No.4778035 >>4778024 >>4778033 Also, I quite enjoyed your line: a turquoise storm like a female laugh Overall, your poem provides nice imagery with quality prose: solid 8/10

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:03:49 2014 No.4778037 >>4778024 0/10 for using "Hallowe'en"

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:04:49 2014 No.4778041 >>4778011 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_m-BjrxmgI&feature=kp

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:05:49 2014 No.4778042 >>4778035 Don't suck his dick so he'll review your poem >a turquoise storm like a female laugh That line makes no sense and you know it

Hypocritically brutal edition Official critfag Tue Apr 15 02:06:50 2014 No.4778045

>>4777934
edgy
>>4777946
what is with /lit/ and all these grand abstractions
>>4777950
would be good lyrics for an entry-level alt-rock song
>>4777966
most underrated poem of the thread
an 8/10 at least
>>4777985
this is a neat concept, and I love some of the linguistic juxtapositions towards the end, not to mention the sound, but there are some confusing sentences/phrases:
>you preserve my excellence in taste and pleasure
>beauty that I can no longer resist in the pits of blissful hatred
>>4778001
1/10
reads more like a failed essay than a poem

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:07:50 2014 No.4778046 >>4778041 Pretty fucked up that Plain White T's blatantly stole anon's poem.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:08:50 2014 No.4778052 the girl in the polka-dotted dress lingers at the edge of the pier and I wish I were the sea-breeze drawing back the solitary strands of her hair or running its fingers down the little sea-shell curve of her back

>>	Official critfag Tue Apr 15 02:10:56 2014 No.4778056 >>4778037 what's wrong with the word "Hallowe'en"? genuinely curious >>4778033 whoa wait, were these all the same person?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:11:55 2014 No.4778058 >>4778046 I know right Even more fucked up is that they invented a time machine to go back a few years just to do it

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:12:55 2014 No.4778061 >>4778045 >official critfag >hypocritically brutal >"edgy"

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:15:55 2014 No.4778068 >>4778061 Seriously, I don't know why that one anon was begging for his criticism. His points are subjective at best (read: bullshit), but some of them just seem very ill-conceived. Hell, his own poem wasn't even good.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:17:55 2014 No.4778073 >>4778056 Unnecessary. Trying too hard to sound smarter or different. Use the word everyone uses unless it serves a specific purpose.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:19:56 2014 No.4778080 'Life of a Poem' They treat me like a whore. Ripping me apart from end to start. Looking for meaning never meant as if it were their's to invent. This is not a metaphor.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:20:55 2014 No.4778084

>>4777842
this is way too conventional- it's just imitating a certain style of poetry that's all too prevalent.
Note: I'm only critiquing yours because everything else I've read so far doesn't even deserve a critique.

Sidenote, to everyone. The best critique is to read more, write more. You know what you're doing/what you want to do, and you risk being given a number on here.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:22:55 2014 No.4778089 >>4778068 Agreed. We do need more critics in these threads though. Everyone else is just posting their shitty poems and hoping for approval.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:24:55 2014 No.4778091 >>4778080 This is my favorite in this thread. Did you just write it? It's really really good. Reminds me also of 'Poet is Rapist'

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:25:55 2014 No.4778095 >>4777842 This one is the best one. Not because I liked it or even really read it. But because it's the most divisive.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:25:55 2014 No.4778096 >>4778080 Why don't you just change the title to "The Curtains are Fucking Blue"

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:27:55 2014 No.4778099 >>4778080 the idea for this poem occurs to a lot of people at some point, i've seen a lot of variations on this theme. i would go more in depth if you want to do it, right now it's just much too obvious and straightforward.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:29:55 2014 No.4778103 >>4778099 It's perfect. Don't change it. No need to try to overcomplicate it in a vain attempt to try to sound smarter or deeper than you or the poem needs to be.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:30:55 2014 No.4778105 File: 123 KB, 380x500, obama_black_fag.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] A bird sings outside my window. His bravery and courage in song lifts me. I am not alone.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:33:55 2014 No.4778112 >>4778056 Yeah those were all me. I just wrote them. Care to opine hombre?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:34:56 2014 No.4778114 >>4778056 >>4778112 Ah, you have. Thanks.

"Official" critfag Tue Apr 15 02:36:55 2014 No.4778126

>>4778061
lol the "official" thing wasn't meant to be taken seriously
>>4778068
give an "objective" point of literary criticism pls
>>4778073
it was meant to serve the specific purpose of representing a particular kind of cheap, semi-gauzy fabric Hallowe'en costumes always seem to be made of. But that may not have been clear.

>>4778080
this is good, and I agree with the sentiment, but any poem along these lines is probably always gonna be in the shadow of Billy Collins' Introduction To Poetry.

>>4778084
nice to see more critics in the thread

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:37:55 2014 No.4778128 >>4778068 I want any recognition I can get. Who doesn't? >>4778042 You're right in that I was coercing. But I honestly did like the line. It may not for you, but for me it resonates a clear image.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:40:55 2014 No.4778137 >>4777968 You try to make your scope too broad, without really focusing on that aspect of your poem as much as it seems you'd like to.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:41:55 2014 No.4778139 >>4778126 yuck

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:45:55 2014 No.4778148 File: 20 KB, 425x370, tumblr_mngzim1ecZ1s6blrxo1_500.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Purple prose Pink pussy dripping Yellow urine Meaty flaps And the striker found the back of the net.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:50:57 2014 No.4778161

Her muffled cries were heard
by a crowd drowned in reticence
and mild anger arose,
not kerneled by injustice,
but fueled by hatred,
for the crackled wailings
only turned their hollers up
towards the sky with pitch-
forks of finger-like delight
for the chant remained electric,
seething with sandy misunderstanding,
that rumbled on and on: "burn the witch,
send the fiery hellspawn back to her home,
burn the witch, and burn her tome."

A last rabble rowed,
and a final cinder sparked.
An ashen effigy left behind
fell decorated by a surviving symbol:
a simple, red gossamer
of terrified, witch-like hair
curled in winding embrace
as if down the spirals of hell.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:51:55 2014 No.4778167 >>4778148 You can't write poetry so you spoil the fun. Not chill, you fucking child faggot.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:53:55 2014 No.4778169 >>4778148 Enjoy your ban.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 02:58:56 2014 No.4778181 not replying to the dick pic because of inline quoting but you can write childish poetry better than that still image freezes my cock I fap but I'm cold

answers Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:02:55 2014 No.4778189 [DELETED]

>>4777738
shite

>>4777743
shite

>>4777745
shite

>>4777752
shite

>>4777761
shite

>>4777770
shite

>>4777784
shite

>>4777788
shite

>>4777809
not as bad as the rest but sitll shite

>>4777842
shite. good decision not to write any more of the shite.

>>4777871
almost shite.

>>4777885
utter shite.

>>4777907
beyond shite.

>>4777914
shite.

>>4777915
it's shite and so are you.

>>4777934
you're gay.

>>4777946
shite. liberty my cock.

>>4777950
complete shite.

>>4777958
shite

>>4777966
shite from a shite.

>>4777968
shite. clueless.

>>4777977
shite. sounds like a 8 year old's attempt who's never read a poem before. water dries the hidden fires? go suck a cock. you'll do better at it than poems.

>>4777985
shite. possibly the worst yet.

>>4778001
really really shite.

>>4778011
would've been decent weren't it for the last line 'I'm by your side' which makes it shite.

>>4778052
shite and gay.

>>4778080
but you are a cock.

>>4778105
all your teachers were shite.

>>4778161
even more shite than you.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:06:56 2014 No.4778193

>>4778091
No, I got really angry during a lecture on analyzing poetry. The general discussion was about "The Vacuum" by Howard Nemerov. The argument was that poem was about the narrator expressing regret and loss about the death of his wife. In the poem Nemerov does personify the vacuum as the dead wife, but the poem is only an expression of the emotions an old man has from associating a sulking, howling vacuum cleaner with his dead "old women". When I dissociate myself it seems more like the old man is still burdened with the oppression of an overbearing clean-freak than longing for the order in his life, and the vacuum is not a metaphor for the 'vacuum' of death. "..../ Grinning into the floor, maybe at my / Slovenly life, my dog-dead youth. ...." Maybe I just read too much Henry Miller.?

>>4778096
If I titled it "My Life" it would have a very different meaning.

>>4778099
>>4778126
The entire poem is ironic.I made it as simple and straight forward as possible to limit any interpretations. The whore is a whore for only one reason, but johns come looking for all kinds and sometimes they get the two confused.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:17:55 2014 No.4778212 >>4778080 rewrite: meaning never meant their's to invent metaphor faggot

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:18:55 2014 No.4778215 >>4778068 >>4778089 Might as well try our hands at offering some opinions then, eh? Let's see if I can do this without sounding like an ass...

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:19:56 2014 No.4778217

>>4778080
how does anybody like this? it's a gimmick that occurs in every freshman creative writing class. if you've ever graded the poems of freshman creative writing students you've seen this poem many times. and there is nothing about this particular incarnation that is special.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:20:56 2014 No.4778220

>>4778215

>>4778161
I like the vibe you've got going here, even if I'm not sold on the execution.

The quote at the end of the first stanza stood out to me as particularly good. Often times a rhyme inserted into an otherwise unrhymed poem just sounds like shit, but this one caught me off guard and pleasantly surprised me. Well done.

However, your language in general seems to lean very heavily on abstractions, and especially in the second stanza it feels like it's preventing me from getting a clear picture of the scene. The situation you're describing is inherently interesting, but your diction doesn't often do a great job of supporting that fact. You still need to help it come alive in the mind's eye.

>>4778080
It's not bad. To be honest, I don't think it's anything special—like another anon said, it's almost too "obvious". I still enjoyed reading it, but it was the same enjoyment I might get from hearing an okay pop song once, if you know what I mean. Take that for whatever it's worth.

>>4778001
It feels a bit too talky, a bit too self-indulgent. It's clear that the person writing this is in a pretty pitiful state, but I don't actually feel like he offers me any meaningful insight into that state. These are easily the sort of sentiments you could channel into a decent poem, but right now it just seems like you jotted out your thoughts while you were depressed, and there's nothing there that draws me, that makes me want to empathize with you, or that at least lets me believe you have something important to say.

>>4777985
This is really unusual. I'm honestly not sure what to make of it. I found it curiously amusing at points (which is a good thing), but overall it was sort of dissatisfying (which is a bad thing). In some places your diction threw me off ("yet love you ne'er not I ough"? what the fuck?) while in others it was ramblingly abstract, and those two elements detracted from some otherwise interesting musings.

>>4777966
This might be my favorite from this thread. I'm never quite sure how I feel about being intentionally archaic with words like "whilst," but surprisingly it wasn't too jarring here. Nevertheless, my main recommendation would be to revisit this poem simply with eye for improving the language without adding or subtracting much. There are a few places where your voice seems a little uncertain, but overall its a solid concept with a solid execution.

That said, I absolutely can't stand the line "I hummed a hocking holler home". Almost ruined the poem for me. Please, for the love of God, don't leave that in. It's so awkward and artificial compared to the rest of the poem.

– – – – –

Man, I can't believe I stayed up this long in the hopes of seeing the lunar eclipse only for the sky to be black as a fucking chalkboard. Clouds, man. Fuckin' clouds.

If anyone feels like offering a critique on my poem >>4778052 or wants me to elaborate on one of my criticisms, I'll be around.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:23:55 2014 No.4778225 >>4777842 >>4777853 >>4777848 >>4778010 >>4778095 samefag + the poem is awful

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:24:55 2014 No.4778229 >>4778225 no it isn't

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:28:55 2014 No.4778235

I left college when I was twenty two,
lied about my age and ended up
selling pot to high school kids
out of my cousin Jerry's '71 Buick Skylark

There was Harold,Ricky and me.

Harold and me were the brains of the operation
he had blonde hair and a quick tongue
and I had majored in economics,
so we figured who else was gonna be more qualified?

Ricky was the bitch,
and we spit-roasted that faggot like it was nobody's business.

Even now in my old age I do recall
the rhythmic thrusting into the anus and the mouth
in the rented room above my cousin Jerry's garage
we watched pornos and spaghetti westerns
during the breaks and talked about football an awful lot

You get weird thoughts when you do nothing
but drink, get high and have sex:

I once thought
I could be Frank O'Hara
if I wanted
that
I could walk done the avenues of New York City
dreaming about those pretty girls with the feathered hair.
but that's neither here nor there

I dreamt a lot about Harold after he got busted
on May 26th for beating up some girl at a party
downtown by Eddie's, you know, the burger joint.

his eyes
his voice

and the arching spurts of semen from his cock
that glistened in the midday sun.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:30:55 2014 No.4778242 >>4778217 I doubt anything as bad as these even gets submitted in grade 5 english class, let alone freshman creative writing class.

>>	answers Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:31:55 2014 No.4778244 >>4778220 this one actually thinks those are serious poems. bangs head to wall

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:34:55 2014 No.4778249 i cannot look at this one the fear makes me stupid i'm stupid because of fear i cannot walk as i need the dull the bloom is the hug i never got from my love anyway i don't really care

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:38:55 2014 No.4778256 lit logic; the worse the poem is, the better.

>>	€urafag Tue Apr 15 03:38:55 2014 No.4778257 File: 25 KB, 225x346, 1397547523260.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Sentineled pines hide luna. I moonwalk into the stall and fall to bruised knees i taste the smegma and remember Saxony

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:39:55 2014 No.4778259 >>4778256 >angry nobody liked his shit poem which was it?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:40:55 2014 No.4778261 >>4778249 this sounds familiar

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:41:55 2014 No.4778262 >>4778257 this gave me a pretty fucking funny picture in my head

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:43:55 2014 No.4778268 >>4778052 too simplistic and your line breaks are bad. the first word of a line is emphasized because of the line break.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:51:56 2014 No.4778277 the grass is flattened, the leaves unsure it eyes the trail and wanders more unsure of where, it rests its head and sprang the trap and flies the thread undone in form, or done and dead how it tastes cannot be said

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:53:55 2014 No.4778279

>>4778268
Although I understand it, I'm not sure I agree entirely with your first criticism; my point was not to be complicated or "meaningful" necessarily, even if that might seem a little silly. The poem is supposed to be somewhat simple, almost imagistic, but it HAS always felt a bit fragmentary nonetheless.

Your second, though, is something I definitely need to consider. Free verse ain't my native medium, so I always have very conflicting ideas about how things ought to be formatted. I'll definitely give it another look, now that you mention it.

Thanks for the thoughts.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:53:55 2014 No.4778280 >>4778259 lol wut

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:53:55 2014 No.4778281 Down by the sea, Where the watermelon grows, I dare not go, For if I do, My mother will say, have, you, ever seen a fish do a hula in a, dish, down where the watermelon grows RATE ME.

>>	€urafag Tue Apr 15 03:54:55 2014 No.4778282 File: 274 KB, 1280x720, slava-insect-video.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] To mothers who love Only sons Mumbling squeezing Udders Mothers.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:55:55 2014 No.4778283 >>4778259 i haven't even written one fooktard

>>	Proet Tue Apr 15 03:56:55 2014 No.4778284 >>4778277 Shit.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:57:55 2014 No.4778285 >>4778281 5/10 >not going back to your home >not seeing a spider drinking apple cider Not bad, but it could definitely use some work.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 03:59:55 2014 No.4778290 File: 98 KB, 600x601, internet strongman.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4778284

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:03:55 2014 No.4778297 if any1 ever brings u down just get b4k up n keep tryen and tell them 2 fuck off cuz 1 day ur dreams will come true r8 pls

>>	Proet Tue Apr 15 04:06:32 2014 No.4778299 >>4778290 Listen up buddy. I was writing poetry when you were fishing Crayolas out yer shit hole. I have edited numerous volumes of poetry, taught at prestigious workshops (Clarion) and still find the time to fist my sister.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:09:31 2014 No.4778302 File: 50 KB, 772x769, horrid.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4778299

>>	Proet Tue Apr 15 04:09:31 2014 No.4778304 >>4778297 You are good. Do you have amasters in Poems?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:13:31 2014 No.4778307 >>4778220 Thanks for these man, very helpful critiques. >>4777966 >>4777985 >>4778161

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:13:31 2014 No.4778308
File: 119 KB, 242x350, mrjamaica.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Said I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown
Oba, ob-serving the hypocrites
As they would mingle with the good people we meet
Good friends we have had, oh good friends we've lost along the way
In this bright future you can't forget your past
So dry your tears I say

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:21:32 2014 No.4778314

>>4778279
i don't think a poem needs to be complicated or deep. check out some of billy collins' poetry. but yours lacks the spare simplicity of a haiku while at the same time doesn't develop. girl-breeze-shell isn't novel or striking. i feel like this is only the start of a poem which needs to open up into something else.

at least you aren't trying way too fucking hard and out of control like a lot of other poems in this thread.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:27:31 2014 No.4778324 File: 64 KB, 373x327, edgy.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4778308 0/10

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:31:31 2014 No.4778329 >>4778193 people who study poetry are the worst poets out there, just saying. quit before you end up a really, really shitty poet.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:35:31 2014 No.4778335 >>4778091 why do you have to samefag so hard?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 04:36:32 2014 No.4778340 >>4778249 change the last line of this to "however, i do not give a shit".

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 05:20:21 2014 No.4778384

Judge me
(be nice ;-;)

Praying to the unconscious stream
Votive wreaths and raining petals
Hateful glances at the twisting metal,
Holding up the sky
Some special hubris

And you and I
We loose ourselves, with him
Our teacher,
And he reminds us
The old gods do not die.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 05:28:21 2014 No.4778395 >>4777784 I like this, short bt satisfying

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 05:48:21 2014 No.4778421 >>4778384 Very nice.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 06:39:55 2014 No.4778499

I really don't understand why I still get surprised by the bad writing (and bad taste of those who rank) every time I go into poetry threads on /lit/.

Actually it's the ranking that's even more atrocious than some of the poems -- at least the poems are standalone, I suppose it's when you write a list of bad judgements then you can't avoid showing off your pleb [oops I used that word, sorry]. It's like no one here has read anything more than bits of some "essential poets" (the list providing such poets of course containing Ginsberg for reasons other than being important to s movement).

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 06:54:27 2014 No.4778519 >>4778499 you're correct. most people posting here are beginning writers/poets who haven't taken time to study the form they're working in

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 08:44:27 2014 No.4778686 >>4778499 Do shut up. Retard.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:17:21 2014 No.4778906 >>4778281 i do not understand this one >>4778161 edgy/pointless use of words >>4778080 nice. >>4778052 dull >>4778001 1/10 >>4778249 this is the only one i like, still not the best rest are shit. i'm drunk btw.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:23:20 2014 No.4778922 >>4778499 post a good poem then you can't fix things by just complaining

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:39:21 2014 No.4778969

after the estate sale

only mothers garden left
her strip of retail flowers
aside the stone pavers
to the chain link gate;
her tiger impatiens agate
veins, bubblegum geraniums,
purple loosestrife volunteers

and other family-bereft
guests. Down the pavers
gusts tumbled sweetgum
spike balls to the gate,
while Munchkin sunflowers
bowed to the code-compliant
fence they must be shorter
than to die here.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:40:20 2014 No.4778974

This is the pen.

This is the paper
that laid under the pen.

This is the hand
that shook over the paper
who stared at the pen.

This is the table
that beat the hand
who crumbled the paper
which laughed at the pen.

This is the word
that broke the table
who cradled the hand
which caressed the paper
when away ran the pen.

This is the mind
that regurgitated the word
who danced on the table
which supported the hand
when whiskey told the paper
how to catch the pen.

This is the man
that lied to the mind
who cried out the word
which flipped the table
when tears taught the hand
how to ask the paper
why we bleed through the pen.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:41:20 2014 No.4778978

stand up
stand still:
make my way to the bathroom
and pop another
chill pill

eat a bowl of popcorn
and
four to seven
cigarettes -
watch a film, watch the neighbours,
watch the mirror;
a face like carved
from rancid wax

slow, steady
i work my way -
(like a tired sun crawling across the sky)
through a tired, crawling day

seven hours sleep
and seven hours wake in bed
five hours TV, three hours Youtube;
an hour showering and an hour playing dead

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:43:20 2014 No.4778985 >>4777738 Sun Kil Moon! I like it.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:43:20 2014 No.4778987 >>4777715 dont read my fucking poem, cuz it's a contract, legally binding, and then your balls i'd own'em.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:44:21 2014 No.4778991 >>4778922 Ask and receive: >>4778969 >>4778974 >>4778978 best in thread. by far.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:49:20 2014 No.4779003 >>4778991 r u srsly

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:49:20 2014 No.4779004 stumbling out of bed I reach for a drink but there's nothing there. only an empty bottle.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:50:20 2014 No.4779005 >>4778991 >>4778969 very good >>4778974 good >>4778978 not really good at all... you have one nice simile here and nothing else overall these are some of the best in thread

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:53:20 2014 No.4779015 >>4778991 worst*

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:53:20 2014 No.4779017 >>4779005 >not really good at all... you have one nice simile here and nothing else to be fair english aint my native

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:54:20 2014 No.4779021 >>4779005 are they your poems and you're just samefagging yourself because you're a complete fagend?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:54:21 2014 No.4779025 >>4778974 This made me stop. Really cool. I would show this to a friend, Anon.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 10:58:20 2014 No.4779034

>>4779003
>>4779015
Completely serious. Try reading them this time:
>evidence of craft, rhyme, structure, intent
>full of concrete nouns, not raving abstractions
>emotional arcs with beginnings, middles, and ends
>actually about something, specifically one thing

Three poems in a row, each a crafted little curio of a single emotional event each of which actually bother to attempt something beyond random line breaks?

Yeah. I'm serious.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:00:20 2014 No.4779036 >>4779021 Do they really look like the same person? I'd say you got three different ages, and three different vocabularies. It's at least two different people, and likely three.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:00:20 2014 No.4779037 >>4779034 okay well thanks the third one is mine. i'm trés chuffed.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:03:20 2014 No.4779046

>>4778978
>stand up
>stand still: ----A
>make my way to the bathroom
>and pop another---B
>chill pill ----A
>eat a bowl of popcorn
>and
>four to seven
>cigarettes -
>watch a film, watch the neighbours, ---B
>watch the mirror; ---B
>a face like carved
>from rancid wax
>slow, steady
>i work my way - ---C
>(like a tired sun crawling across the sky)
>through a tired, crawling day ---C
>seven hours sleep
>and seven hours wake in bed ---D
>five hours TV, three hours Youtube;
>an hour showering and an hour playing dead ---D

This is contemporary, so vernacular, but it is definitely a poem.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:09:21 2014 No.4779062 File: 66 KB, 650x765, screenshot.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4779021 this is as much evidence as our little format allows.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:12:20 2014 No.4779071 >>4779021 nope. those first two poems are actually bretty good. not amazing but perfectly fine.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:25:15 2014 No.4779119 >>4779062 oh deary me you faggot

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:27:15 2014 No.4779132
File: 317 KB, 800x712, camels and coffee.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>4777715
I'm a freshman in uni,
I take philosophy and ethics/
Oh, and American literature

I drink coffee -
;and smoke copious amounts of cigarettes
so many>it becomes difficult to breathe
I'm I)rowning in my own inteligence

it hurts ;_;

/fin

What did you guys think?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 11:33:15 2014 No.4779155 >>4779132 are you mocking my poetry sir

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:16:49 2014 No.4779503

Part 1

Please poets and writers of /lit/, rate my poem (a speech in a play that I wrote).

>It’s a bit long, but if I can obtain any feedback I will be forever grateful :)

The play is set in Baghdad at the time of the writing of the Arabian Nights. It's a comedy with geniuses, caliphs, courtesans, slaves and sitar players. The plot is not the most important, but the characters and language.

The long speech shows Harut, a genius, speaking about human laws. He is pretending to be bad, saying that according to his laws (the laws of geniuses) another character in the play deserves to die (in fact he's just trying scare such character, play with him ... for this, however, he creates for himself a part of extreme seriousness). The character who thinks he is going to be executed is aided by another character, who says that the laws of geniuses should not be applied to the human world, but only human laws. Then it follows a legal debate about the law and its philosophy, which culminates in the speech exposed next where Harut says that all laws are artificial, that morality, in reality, is a human creation. He states that, for nature, human laws (or the laws of geniuses) mean nothing. Only the laws of nature (physical, chemical, biological) are the laws that truly exist.

The speech was originally written in Portuguese, in a verse known as “decassílabo”: it contains ten poetic syllables, with accents on the sixth and tenth syllable (decassílabo heróico), or fourth, eighth and tenth syllables (decassílabo sáfico).

Here's the excerpt:

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:17:49 2014 No.4779506 File: 71 KB, 500x338, 1382120697603.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4779155 >are you mocking my poetry sir[?] I don't think so. I didn't read any of the ones in the thread, I just wanted to make a "le edgy deep" poem.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:17:50 2014 No.4779509

>>4779503

part 2

Harut:
What deities are your judges?
The masters of the world: who are they?
The only solid laws and unchanging
Orders are in nature,
But she has no morals; she does not judge,
She does not sown convictions and awards:
She just exists, just float in the middle of nowhere,
Without requiring of herself any sense or meaning.
But justice: anyone has seen her face,
Held her hand, kissed her lips?
It is justice who guide the elements?
They are dogs in your yard? Do they restrict
their pleasures by the orders of moral?
If the darkness of night gives you fear
Can any god drink her, like coffee,
And then burp warm morning
And the gem of the sun spit only for you?
Is electromagnetism your monkey,
Golden-lion-tamarin of incandescent mane?
The snap of your fingers will make he
Dance? Will he eat peanuts
In your hands? What laws will refine and smooth
The misshapen features of gravity?
How to prevent her strong hands
And her dissonant fingers
to suffocate the running feet of time
And dig slots in the flesh of space?
Who puts a leash on the brilliant fire
That, salivating smoke, with pelage and fur
Of flame runs over the tender woods?
What rules follows the hurricane, of stomach
Filled with fermenting storms,
When he devours the heavens, when the hands and nails
Of the winds and gales eviscerate and gut the cities?
The choreography of the tornadoes:
Who wrote it? What mind drafted
The logical treatises that rays and thunders,
The electric travelers of the clusters,
Studied? Who guides their dives?
Prayers will prevent the seaquake
Of swallowing islands with green throats
And with armies of liquid tongues
Dissolve buildings, trample on people and populations,
Vomiting a mortar and plaster of corpses,
Rotten porridge of ruins
And confusing swamp of wreckage?
What orders serve as a barricade
For the arctic cyclone, the hungry
Polar Bear of cloudy and nebulous fur?

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:18:50 2014 No.4779513

>>4779509

part 3

How to contain the freezing carnage and slaughterhouse
Of the sharp spiral jaw?
Here are the actual laws, behold our judges,
But it will be useful to beg their ears?
When rains drown the crops
And choke the wheat and corn in the mold,
Melting the plains in a sludge of tears,
Do they feel sorry for the hungry?
When the flood waters plantations
While they are still a nursery for
Viscous babies sprouts and slender
Teenage branches with fragile hair,
Do they feel moral pain? When the farmer
Pours his sweat on the rough lips
Of the dried earth of the desert
Does he moves her? Makes he a pact with her?
Offerings of the offering will be born?
The white chest and crystalline breath
Of the blizzard's will no longer howl ice
By hearing a baby crying from the cold,
With little arms and legs blueish
At her mother's lap, poor and homeless?
The sparkling glory of the snowflakes
And the silver flowers of the frost
Do not feel sorry for the bastards
That they hug and embrace with their ghostly sheets.
Nature is moved?
When massacres dirty up the planet
And violence, ovulating and in heat, emanates blood,
The birds, mourning, sing no more?
The sun hides his face whose glory
Parading about the world (the features that
Revive the skies with bright pomp)
Behind dark clouds and bitter
Vapors, to cry sad frost and oppressed tears of ice?
No! A tower of carrion and bodies,
The host and inn to flies, can rest
About a field of white daisies
Without hurting the nostrils of no flower:
Neither of them will close their petals in pain.
Do you want justice? Well, then answer:
What justice is there for the wild boar
When the lions are opening his belly,
Dipping their noses into his body?

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:20:49 2014 No.4779519

>>4779513

part 4

What ears will feel sorry for his cries
When the sound of his pain
Crawl in the savannas? Where is the justice
When the snake injects its poisonous
Horror in the nest of the naked and frail
Babies of some defenseless bird?
The fear in the pupils of the gazelle
Will make justice
Be moved, rescuing the impala from the jaws
Of the Crocodile? There are laws against his teeth?
When death transforms herself in clouds of virus,
And the plague, in a dark mist,
Is pumped in the air as black and corrosive
Blood, toward the heart
Of the countries, what laws will bar them?
Court orders can stop them?
The fact that a boy had lived
Few years will dissolve in shame
The cancer that devours him? What moral
Will muzzle the hunger of that pus-gingiva
Gangrene that swallows the members
Of that unfortunate? What articles vetoed
The march of the armies of leprosy
Upon the sick flesh? You have answers
To solve so many problems?
How to force the larvae to cease
Their feast on the body in the coffin?
How to sue worms that open tunnels
In the bowels with mouths and suckers?
You can stop them with possessory actions,
Bar the spreading parasites
In their wild Usucapion?
For what reason human death is sad
But nobody cries when Star
Explode their spherical fires
In supernovas? What is the human body
Compared to them? Lice, nits, fleas?
Why to your people such giants
Are just pimples inflamed
With fire in the face of the night, mere
Pores to sweat light, while babies
(Which, in the eyes of existence, are no more
That meatballs, stuffed
With bowels and blood) are miracles:
The rosy cheeks of hope
And soft faces where sleeps the future?
The human tribe has a queen
On vanity: they want that the cosmic laws
Be remodeled to the taste
Of their pleasure and pain, of the eternal undulating
Sea and surging tides of their humor.
But you are not legislators;
And your gods also do not scrawl laws:
Morale does not hibernate in the ink-bottles of the sky.
Existence, that ripped the womb of nothingness
And the belly of emptiness, is the true author
Of the laws that govern us.
This primordial embryo of fire,
Misshapen soup, evolved into the Infinite body
And dark anatomy
(Dotted with the golden chickenpox
Of the stars) of the cosmos, the Shadowy
Leopard, stained by archipelagos
Of Galaxies, of which we are just cells.
The universe: that is the owner of the right;
The biological laws of his body
Are immutable, are general, are unique:
None pencil will ever scratch them,
No act is ever going to break them.
May then our toughs, the dreams
That live in us, in us, simple atoms,
Have some value for the absolute?
How much does it matters to the whole the whisper of the molecules?
Light and darkness, order and chaos,
Good and bad: such pillars say nothing,
They mean nothing, but only are.
But if every nation here on Earth
Has its laws, I will fulfill my own.

the end

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:23:49 2014 No.4779530

Worry.
Sleep.
Awake.
He sees it--the image of flowery fields
the air of July under a misty sky.
Again, he sleeps.
He worries.
And, he awakes to see again the flowery fields
His skin breathing the mist of August,
Until--his eyes open.
As wide as the winter sky
He worries but never the same.
Asleep.
Awake and never returned.

Thought #1 Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:36:49 2014 No.4779556

O! O! O! O!
My mind aflame! My cock aflame! The world aflame!
Baudelaire's false teeth rattle as they bite onto
my coccyx, breaking the skin but leaving the bone largely intact.
The world is allegedly comprised of facts,
Immaterialist! Suck my dick, refuting it thus!
Hip-hop braggadocio is the only self-demonstrating art! Word to Christopher Rios!
Life is a lot more complicated than I initially hoped or packed for!

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:36:49 2014 No.4779558 File: 111 KB, 691x790, tourists.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] I wrote this one a couple years ago when I came back from working in Cambodia. It's about child sex tourism. I'd appreciate some feedback.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:38:50 2014 No.4779563 >>4777793 Made me stop and laugh. 6/10.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 13:50:49 2014 No.4779591

me >>4779062 again.

Just wanted to re-iterate, look at the formal balls on these guys:

This >>4778974 is as difficult as a sestina, and is a powerful argument in favor of the rigor of structure in verse. Once you see the repetitants ending each line, stacking up each stanza, it is difficult if not impossible to be unaffected by the structural discipline in a poem about struggling with emotional discipline. It models its narrative and thematic triumph in its structure. That's what poetry always wants to do.

And what kind of >>4778969 sick genius does it take to write a grief poem whose only violation of its own rhyme scheme -- which seems to wobble, crumble, then break down as a memetic of its narrator's emerging crisis -- is the word "compliant" ?

I would also like to thank again these two, no offense to >>4778978 , for offering personal poems which make no use of the pronoun "I" and whose selves are that much more present and attention-worthy for the absence.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 14:07:49 2014 No.4779643 >>4779591 >no offense to >>4778978 it's okay i'm just psyched i even got mentioned

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:14:13 2014 No.4779852 >>4779503 >>4779509 >>4779513 >>4779519 Book of Job/10

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:16:13 2014 No.4779859 >>4779558 absolutely fucking garbage

sam the hetero Tue Apr 15 15:20:01 2014 No.4779871

>>4779591
Thank you. "This is the pen" is literally about trying to write "This is the pen". I think it is the most honest poem I've ever written. Confining myself to a structure is the only difference between my prose and poetry. For instance, my other post "Life of a Poem" took me awhile to the get the progression as 6,5,4,8,8,6 and the rhyme scheme A,B,B,C,C,A. Every word, punctuation, and negative space was carefully chosen. For instance the first draft had "me as a whore" but that wouldn't have contradicted the last line, though the last line is technically not a metaphor. I also had wanted every line to stand alone as an analogy for the "life of a poem" so that you could rip it apart, or read it from the end to the start and still only get one meaning. Add some irony as a little cherry, because as someone pointed out everyone writes an ars poetica. I think it does a wonderful job for what I wrote it for: a way to start arguments with humanity majors.

>>4778978
I like the idea, it just needs to be cleaned up. Like the first stanza seems has the 'motion' of waking up. On little step (little line) at a time until you rush to the bathroom. Then slow back down with the pill. Why does line 10 have two watches and line 11 only 1. the and line can go. Instead maybe use a semicolon at the line break to emphasize the pause. Another thing could be ".... slow, / steady / work my way / (???(I'm not sure, but I think you can do better)) / ....".

Contributing more: "Crap"

I've lost my muse;
inspiration burnt up
like a used fuse.

My soul is an empty cup;
with nothing to lose
I rhyme with a hiccup.

I know this is poetical abuse,
but that is what is up
when you can not find words to use.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:28:01 2014 No.4779891 >>4778052 Potential. Definitely needs some editing. I don't really have any suggestions though. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iiB1EIQi3Q was the first thing that came to mind. I could picture cat saying that strolling along a pier.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:32:01 2014 No.4779904 >>4777715 ;(

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:53:01 2014 No.4779999 Most of my poems are in German. I don't have them on my phone right now, maybe I'll post one tomorrow, if the thread is still alive.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 15:55:01 2014 No.4780006 >>4778249 grunge/10

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 17:36:52 2014 No.4780293 >>4779852 Is this good or bad?

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 18:02:13 2014 No.4780359

>>4780293
The book of Job is the story about satan and the devil making a wager to see if the man would sin. The entire book is Job and his friends give long speeches to each other. My opinion of the comparison is that it is a long winded expression with enough imagery to make old flash sites jealous.

84 Tue Apr 15 18:30:13 2014 No.4780459

>>4778126
appreciated. haven't been on /lit/ in a while, figured I'd see if the community had changed any.
Nope, we're all still pseudos to everyone else. I think most people here, loosely speaking, are caught in a stage of egodriven immodesty. Hence all the flailing attacks and attempts at art.
I'm only distancing myself, though.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 19:01:13 2014 No.4780534

A CROOKED FENCE OF PEOPLE

Where do they get the balance to stand as spokes and spears obliquely
in a palisade? Wooden, unliving, they are unanchored.

In globs of spit people left- so big gravity congealed them into waves-
from the encroaching perimeter. Few are left:

One has sparse, halfway eaten corn on the cob teeth like a hillbilly. But
I see him as the Buddha. "They stand erect, diagonal," he tells me,
"because they cannot yet bend. They are stuck in their childhood, playing
the limbo."

Another is nondescript... An out of place characteristic for an eccentric.
the man offers me countenance:
"The star in the north oozes hemophilia."

I notice one of the spokes rotting. Two of his kind are holding his hands.
"Think of it as occupying the penumbral region between wholeness and
fragmentation," a literary critic informs me when he sees my inconvlusive
face, lost in thought.

I can't help but notice the frosty pallor and pink upon their bald, listless
heads- for it is room temperature. I can't get past my own indecisions, so a
philosopher says "they're not yours anyway," and I agreed and agree.

Without hesitation I left. Far enough away, I realized the village was an
apparition of the desert. Yet the fence still stood, with dunes drifting
over their legs. The sun sets to the right of the mirage, and the whole
scene nearly petrifies me. Mouth agape, I taste salt in the sandy wind.

"Official" critfag Tue Apr 15 19:15:14 2014 No.4780577

>>4779046
5/10
I like the idea of greentext poetry. But so much of this just seems incredibly obvious/done better by Tao Lin
>>4779509
>>4779513
>>4779519
8/10
this is really nice so far, the abstractions are actually clear for once and the metaphoric language is extremely strong, look forward to reading/seeing this play sometime
>>4779530
6/10
I'm definitely intrigued. You might want to mix up the images a bit (why is it always just "mist")?
>>4779556
too much edge, too much all-over-the-place philosophy, too little substance
>>4779558
4/10
I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but all you do is graft abstract concepts onto the scene to make it less, rather than more real. Example 1, this being the most blatant: don't START OFF with a value judgment like "revolting", let the rest of the poem demonstrate this, without references to meaningless ideas like "waif seraph perverted".
I know I keep harping on this, but it's the biggest problem most of /lit/ seems to have.
>>4779871
glad you've found something to do when you can not find words to use, but wait till you can to write anything for a context more public than a /lit/ thread
>>4780534
7/10
feels a bit unfocused/lacking in flow, the initial jump from the spoke/palisade metaphor (already mixed) to the gobs of spit is jarring, and if it's not that central you might want to change the title, but there's so much cool imagery in here...

Overall this thread seems to be getting markedly better.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 19:29:13 2014 No.4780601 Off by one agen. Mabbee I should stop. Hope of winnin' keep me goin', But the fact of losin' sure do suck. They say it useless. They say it a scam. Ma brotha tell me I should stop. But everyday, I give ma bread to the lottery man.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 19:35:13 2014 No.4780612

Smog filled skies, overcast
I don't hate them but I should
Maybe if I was born into cleaner vapors I would

I've seen blue skies
With mountain trim
I've breathed clean air
In places where
few have been

I will return to living near
Empty lots and parking spots
I don't hate them but I should
Maybe if I was born into cleaner vapors I would

What do you guys think? I think I'm going to submit it to a local literary journal's contest with a few others. This is my favirote by far but I'm still not sure about it

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 19:35:13 2014 No.4780617

>>4777715

The Stitched King
He shuffles through the dying day
He picks though limbs and masks and more
He stops to stich another on
His needlework is light and fey

He looks now but a shaking fool
But was a king an age ago
He sees there’s little left to him
No empty country left to rule

His hands are from a Gaelic chief
His throat was once a poet’s soul
His head is of a man of God
His legs are tired and worn and old

He stops for rest atop a post
Adjusts an arm with trembling care
He spies his own reflection then
Romantic Ireland’s shambling ghost

He feeds on all the fables told
About his shambling in the mist
The stories told at night in pubs
To scare and strengthen all the fold

These arms, he thinks, they will not last
These eyes will rot and see no more
But soul he has to roam on strong
To tend the embers of the past

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 19:49:13 2014 No.4780661 >>4780577 i almost never have a focus, unless i write something extremely short what i'm writing now mocks focus, but it's not a poem

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:10:13 2014 No.4780743

The air is thin where you once breathed,
Where I still sleep

I was once a ghost, drinking the tears
Of others, and growing stronger
By the day, falling to weakness
By night.

Then I was a turtle
Crying in the pond, where the ghosts
Fed on my misery, and grew stronger by the day
Stronger by night

Under water, the sky is low
And finite, the same as clouds
Holding water, and letting it go
The same as the turtle
in the pond

Now the water has run dry
Leaving only sand,
and the ghosts have left me alone.

The waves of sound,
once flooding the pond,
can't find the air here,
thin, where you once breathed
Where I still sleep

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:17:09 2014 No.4780768

>>4780577
>this is really nice so far, the abstractions are actually clear for once and the metaphoric language is extremely strong, look forward to reading/seeing this play sometime

Thank you very much. It may be just a simple educated comment for you, but for me that approval means a lot: even the fact that you read the material means a lot to me.

I wish I could judge the works of others here on /lit/, but my native language is not English, and I feel I would be doing some sort of injustice by submitting works in English to my cripple understanding of this language. The author deserve better critics than myself.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:22:09 2014 No.4780788 >>4780768 >The author The authors

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:26:09 2014 No.4780804

These sheets are stiff
This pillow sprains-
My neck but if
I rise at all
I'll be to blame
When comes the fall

The springs, they're loud
They creak and moan
At every toss
They make a groan
With every turn
My arms, they burn

But I shall stay
A torpid slouch
Upon this all-consuming couch

Does not the Sun
Consume as much?

Does not the sky
Fall anyway?

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:34:09 2014 No.4780854 quiet victories and silent goals dreams that shatter into deafening silence inner lives inner thoughts. lives unseen voices that fade into nothingness.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:39:10 2014 No.4780878 Damp, decaying ruins of a home once warm. Mold at every turn, and a chill at every hour. Wood is not all that is rotting in this house... and there is no escape.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 20:40:09 2014 No.4780881 chop chop goes the skin searing wind speed overdrive the number laughs the time reflect the chase line

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 21:05:10 2014 No.4781027

tell me if u like this

stolen summer nights
spent around a firepit.
when the last logs faded
to flickering embers,
we'd walk to 7/11
and buy clove cigarettes
and watch as the night
consumed them all.
they burned away so fast.
but sometimes now
in these vacant streets
and cold bauhaus boxes,
i catch a whiff off my jacket
of thick smoke
and cigarettes.

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 21:30:09 2014 No.4781122 >>4780612 I like it

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 21:58:10 2014 No.4781236

Even the stars die
the song birds cry
the flower withers
and the rose dries

that is our fate
in this world of ours

that is our fate
as the clock hand turns

there is no escaping it
no postponing it

for we were born
too old in a
world too young

and youth
does not
dwell on it
so soon.

Death

>>	Anonymous Tue Apr 15 22:09:09 2014 No.4781280 >>4777950 >>4777885 Were these by the same person? I liked them. Bukowskiesque.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 23:49:52 2014 No.4781584 [DELETED]

Awkward moments
after the conversation
ends

Silent moments
where i think of
nothing else
but of her death

Her health is failing
My mortal mother

It's been 15 years
since i realized
the inevitable

And i have yet
to come
to terms with it

Her voice trails off
and the fear sets in

i don't want
to be alone

Her stories
are always so comforting

but they will be gone
when her voice
comes no more

The warmth of my mother
the toothless smile
of my caretaker

The one person
who has always been
there for me
and sacrificed
so much

I don't
want her to
go away.
Awkward moments
after the conversation
ends

Silent moments
where i think of
nothing else
but of her death

Her health is failing
My mortal mother

It's been 15 years
since i realized
the inevitable

And i have yet
to come
to terms with it

Her voice trails off
and the fear sets in

i don't want
to be alone

Her stories
are always so comforting

but they will be gone
when her voice
comes no more

The warmth of my mother
the toothless smile
of my caretaker

The one person
who has always been
there for me
and sacrificed
so much

I don't
want her to
go away.

Anonymous Tue Apr 15 23:51:53 2014 No.4781594

Awkward moments
after the conversation
ends

Silent moments
where i think of
nothing else
but of her death

Her health is failing
My mortal mother

It's been 15 years
since i realized
the inevitable

And i have yet
to come
to terms with it

Her voice trails off
and the fear sets in

i don't want
to be alone

Her stories
are always so comforting

but they will be gone
when her voice
comes no more

The warmth of my mother
the toothless smile
of my caretaker

The one person
who has always been
there for me
and sacrificed
so much

I don't
want her to
go away.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 00:29:52 2014 No.4781724 Chingo mcdingo Wingo lickingo Zapideedoo zapideeda Who are you Who are moi Baco gunney Taco money Give it to me for my honey

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 00:34:52 2014 No.4781735 >>4779503 by genius you don't happen to mean "genie" do you?

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:01:52 2014 No.4781806

a moon above with a red tinge
i waited all night for you
to bring me close to the ones i loved
because i knew they'd be looking too

i sat there staring feeling sort of clumsy
upon your arrival in the night sky so anticlimactic
i believed that my purpose would be made
and that this viewing would inspire

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:20:52 2014 No.4781855

Old Library - Sonnet
The desk's lacquer is bald in many spots
The chair's leather is worn straight through
A board behind the desk supports a bouncing shoe
Floating through that space are many thoughts
This space is lit by sun, not by watts
It smells of ancient paper and glue
A place where you might stand in queue
Where the contents are lines, squiggles and dots
Those books that hold the world and its humans
That paint pictures of war, conflict, and peace.
Those books that question what it means
That question views on people, rights, and victims
Those books that paint a picture that will never cease
To amaze and change the world with scenes

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:22:52 2014 No.4781859 >>4781855 i like this but add end of line punctuation and use enjambment appropriately

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:36:02 2014 No.4781885 Tar When I see you I feel my words Burn in my throat and then fall out of my mouth Like cigarette ashes And the tar in my lungs Makes it difficult To breathe.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:46:00 2014 No.4781901

>>4781885
Car Crash

I remember the car crash of your kiss
The way our lips collided
And shattered through our mouths
How our tongues intertwined like mutilated limbs
Your bite was glass through my skin
And when we finally stopped
How my head was dizzy from whiplash.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:48:01 2014 No.4781909

>>4781901
Storm

Long before you pulled me into your storm
I heard your whispering voice
Echo through the empty rooms inside me
And as you got closer
I saw your lightning eyes
And felt the thunder of your breath
Your arrival imminent
I began to drown in your tears
And your voice roared through me
Shaking me
And
Pulling apart my walls
Like muscle from bone
Foolishly I let you in
Thinking you would carry me
Far away
To some strange new world
But instead you filled me with your wind
And burst me open
My eyes shattered
And the shards mixed with your tears
Indistinguishable from each other
And now you’ve passed
And I no longer see your lightning
Or hear your voice
Or feel your thunder
Only silence
But
I’m still here
Broken.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:52:00 2014 No.4781917

>>4781855
The first few lines are decent.

Awful punctuation. Awful use of left hand caps.

>hold the world
all the lines after this, starting with this are maudlin.

The couplets don't couple thoughts here.
>glue
>queue
have nothing to do with each other

The rhyme in general doesn't really bind meanings together for the most part.

There's no turn, and the ending couplet isn't interesting at all. Dear lord that awful enjambment, that will never cease
to amaze and change

If you hard break on "cease" the rest of the line becomes a repetition. It'd be a good place to have the turn. never cease/to bore the brawny boys and blondies blah blah

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 01:53:00 2014 No.4781919 >>4781917 Read Fussel's book Poetic Meter and Poetic Form, a sonnet anthology, and try again.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 03:12:00 2014 No.4782159

Waking Hours

I am awake.
I know that I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I see the night wander aimlessly outside the window
but inside
I am awake
and the day struggles onwards in my head.

I sit up in my bed to see your half formed mirage resting in the darkness beside me
curling against my phantom self
a memory of peace, and I want to say something
anything,
about the Summer, or the year that
sprung inexorably from the days and months to savage it
towards the end of August.
But I don’t.
Because I am awake
and you are lost to your dream, muttering something about
classes and homework.
I’m not entirely sure. I can’t hear you very well.

I'm uncertain if that means anything.

Maybe I can hear about it in the morning,
safely after the sun has risen and you are back
in the daylight with me.
I smile at the thought.
A pleasant dream, that one.
But not possible at the time.
Many days from now perhaps.
Now however, you sleep.
I throw the thick covers off my single bed
and for a moment imagine that I perceive your imprint on the rumpled sheets
as I push my legs off the edge and plant them on the cheap carpet.
But when I stand and look around in the tiny room
I see no sign of you. Because you are off, living.
And I am awake.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 03:18:00 2014 No.4782179 >>4781901 I like it, but I'm too tired to put into words why I like it eloquently. It's one of the better of the thread in my opinion though.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 03:25:01 2014 No.4782204

>http://vocaroo.com/i/s0YVVJJCldso

A solid bar of
Stainless steel
Was jewelery
For the big wheel

It moved us on, it moved us on
And never knew where we came from

My heart was tied
To a lighting rod
The storm was taught
Then soon forgot

When he moved on, When he moved on
To another island you lived on

I saw a bird
And saw the sun
The moon was whole
Then became none

I want to see, I want to see
Any other star you could give me

In your shape
I made a town
Down the middle
The rain poured down

But you were gone, yeah you were gone
On the memorial you lingered on

<

>http://vocaroo.com/i/s0DFYIErEgmJ

Sometimes its hard to find the right words
Of signs to show that your words hurts
I know now its better to be silent
Quiet in companion of a diamond

You once had the scalping eyes of an eagle
Discerned my feelings for what was real
I know now its better to be silent
Quiet in companion of a diamond

All I have is a hokey little crush for you
You touched my senses and I felt yours too
I know now its better to be silent
Quiet in companion of a diamond

<

>http://vocaroo.com/i/s0ZLPfnpQUQa

Remember you were stuck in the corner
Seeing no difference when you're older
Caught my hand in your traps
Like scars the bruises will last

Just know that I was true

Was out walking last wednesday
Headlights and cars get in your way
A cartoon hazey december
Just like this autumn remember?

I'm a lot like you

Things weren't always so smooth
Saw facts, no circus to prove
Maybe I expected to much
Didn't want to fall on the crutch

Back then I needed someone

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

These are some finger picking songs, they were all written this week, the first one I wrote today and I would like opinions. I've post the other 2 before and would post on /mu/ (probably will later) but there's no real thread for them. Anyway the lyrics are whats important for me and I know there's some cliches there but I like cliches in my writing so I probably won't change them unless you can give a good argument.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 03:31:00 2014 No.4782220 >>4781901 the metaphor ends weakly. collisions, shattering, mutilation, then only whiplash. it's a minor or even faked injury.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:25:26 2014 No.4782306 >>4781594 the feels

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:36:26 2014 No.4782321 >>4782204 Are you the dude who did this one? http://vocaroo.com/i/s0LOVGEUJ3Eg

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:44:29 2014 No.4782333

A match is lit
Then touched to the tip of a cigar
He inhales the acrid smoke
And would know my allegiance

For Queen and Country
Loyalty to the crown
Perhaps a deeply rooted belief
Perhaps only a habit now

Smoke drifts away in silence
Dust whirls around his feet
Hands me a manila folder
They wanted me to have this

The natives look but they do not see
The foreigners see but they do not look
It is a long, twisting path
I am watched, but not followed

An agent of the Tsar
Hard eyes from years on assignment
Unblinking behind her long lashes
The colour of gunmetal

It is her Game now
But today she will be playing by my rules
A lazy sun sets in the west
The shadows run like ink

Silent tread through dust and sand
A turn of the head
No, I am no-one of consequence
Just a traveller on his way to the East

She suspects nothing
Picks up a carpet bag lying in the plaza
Unfastens the latch
Stifles a shriek

The clock slices off another hour
Twitch of a newspaper
Smoke rises to the open sky
My contact awaits my answer

He smiles, satisfied but cold
A carefully discarded envelope
He snubs out his cigar
No one will remember

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:51:29 2014 No.4782344

Dear mother
Where are you now?
I thought life had no frown
Why did you lie? How?

Dear Mother
Look at the pains I suffer
They can never be healed, ever
It my fight now, mother

Dear Mother
I'm alone in this world
Without love or someone to hold
Nobody is here, everybody is cold

Dear Mother
I'm almost dead
I have suffered and have been painted red
I'm free and gone ahead

I'm free

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:53:29 2014 No.4782353 http://pastebin.com/Fw0xmz2q I've posted this before, but I was never able to show the revised version. If anyone is kind enough to give it a once-over, that would be wonderful.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 04:54:29 2014 No.4782355 >>4777842 best poem i've read on /lit/

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 05:12:29 2014 No.4782381 >>4782355 stop samefagging

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 06:19:21 2014 No.4782538 >>4782355 cringe @ you

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 06:35:21 2014 No.4782589 Beneath the darkness, Lies nothing. Softly

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 08:24:20 2014 No.4782961 >>4782321 >http://vocaroo.com/i/s0LOVGEUJ3Eg holy shit you have link and you remember me. I must be the only person who post those here lol.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 08:58:21 2014 No.4783021 >>4781735 Yes, I do. Sorry. I am not very good at English.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 10:09:07 2014 No.4783146 http://youtu.be/48hehsqhIoA

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 14:48:47 2014 No.4783833 bump

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 17:10:22 2014 No.4784245 bump for poetry

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 17:15:23 2014 No.4784260

"Your fashion sense says more about your taste in music than it says about how warm you are

And every picture you take is in a crummy bar even though you’re barely 18

You only got in because people who are 21 have bracelets for this sort of thing

And you’re afraid to get a fake ID because your mom will find out somehow

So your boyfriend of 25 or something sneaks you a sip every so often but not too often

And your septum is pierced so when you’re sick you can’t blow your nose really well

But that’s okay because you can blow plenty of other things if you know what I mean

Maybe you don’t quite know what I mean but its on the tip of your tongue or something

Maybe you don’t like blowing dudes at all because if you did, you’d have a tongue piercing too

All the good ones do.

Maybe your favorite album is “In The Airplane Over The Sea” by Neutral Milk Hotel

And maybe you wish Jeff Mangum had his septum pierced in the same way that you do

Because if he did, you could connect your noses together and truly be one with the music"

Im sure the format is straight up fucked up, but oh well. I know it needs work, but hopefully the sentiment shines through. I have more stuff, too.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:00:53 2014 No.4784735 >>4782961 I actually downloaded the song. I really dig your style, like I said before. Do you have a website where you sell these?

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:03:54 2014 No.4784743

Something I've been working on.

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:07:54 2014 No.4784754 >>4784743 This is by Bukowski.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:09:53 2014 No.4784766 I feel the soft air And the turning of the wheel Motion tucks me in

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:11:53 2014 No.4784774 http://pastebin.com/iBd961Wn This rambles on, but I'm pretty happy with it. What does /lit/ think?

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:15:53 2014 No.4784781 >>4784754 Oh, no wonder it's terrible

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:16:53 2014 No.4784785

If I should roam, rather than seek
Tread not the pathways, but the grass
Nor fill each moment for its sake;
But let the idle minutes pass.

If whispering, rather than roars
Are all my pallid voice can will
And embers stir, rather than flames
Would I then be mothered still?

Or gold be counted by my name-
And Woland's knee heal at my touch
And I be crowned among the Saints
And seem a muchness of the much?

If shadows, too, beside me walk
And human sin for me's atoned,
If I could set the world alight,
Would I then be carried home?

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:16:53 2014 No.4784787 >>4784781 >terrible Definitely not his best poem, but no terrible. I actually tear up when reading it usually.

rondeau when my niece was born Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:27:54 2014 No.4784821

Fret not your failings. fledgling heart
If sin weighs heavy, truth atones
Live life in ease, in ease depart
And weigh your words for truth alone.

A man is most himself alone,
And pain's embrace is living art
In smearing sin about the soul,
Fret not your failings, fledgling heart.

Temptation plays a martyr's part
In evil flames all good is forged
So stay unburdened, as you start-
If sin weighs heavy, truth atones.

And vital too, the seeds you sow
As unto me, your joy impart
Since God awaits your coming home
Live life in ease, in ease depart.

Brief waking is a listless march
Time's a taste of the unknown
Fret not your failings, fledgling heart
And weigh your words for truth alone.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:43:53 2014 No.4784879

>>4784735
Thanks for saying so and I am glad you came back. The vocaroo links ITT are really rough recordings basically just to get the sound and speed of the songs down for reference when I try and finalize them. The song you linked in particular is a very very early interpretation of whatever that's going to end up being. I think it only has like 4 verses, I'm not too happy with the lyrics and I want to triple the length and just be saying the same thing with different metaphors so it actually means something when I say "every verse is the same".

Did you like the other three I posted, or were they not your thing? Anyway I don't have a website to post them and I probably will never sell them, they would be a free unless I'm starving or something which won't happen anytime soon. I'm going to write like seven or eight more songs and have a nice long home made lo-fi album that in dedication to someone. I'm only posting them to test out what people think or to see if I'm crazy or something, I can't tell if you are making fun of me or not, my brain is so fried. I just want people to listen to them really so when its done I'll make an account and be posting in bandcamp threads /mu/ vigorously.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:47:53 2014 No.4784890

stepping inside
himself, he watches children
in hospitals swallowing
the swallows which swallowed them

the gristle cements in
his plexus, feeling the schlerosis
every time he lifts his lungs

gowned,
he marries the pain
dormant under his integument
which waits

to bleed out, waits to
swallow the world which swallowed
him

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:48:52 2014 No.4784895 >>4784890 Also... I received a talent scholarship which is nearly full ride due to my portfolio and grades so I guess my stuff is good... what does /lit/ think?

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:50:52 2014 No.4784899 >>4784754 Why do people post what other dudes write especially on an anonymous message board? Is it someone who just wants to bump, or are they trying to bait people into critiquing something an artist they like did? someone explain

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:50:52 2014 No.4784900 >>4784766 I really love this. really... great haiku. nice atmosphere, very concise.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:53:52 2014 No.4784910 >>4784895 Where to?

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 20:54:53 2014 No.4784916 >>4784910 SFUAD

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:00:52 2014 No.4784937 >>4781236 I'd say we were born too young... but that's just me.

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:02:52 2014 No.4784939

>>4784879
I'm not being sarcastic or making fun of you by any means. You've got a good voice, good guitar skills (I think, not a player myself), and pretty decent lyrics. I enjoy all four of the songs here, and I think that /mu/ would too.
The lyrics could use a little work, I admit, but there are no major problems. I'd be happy to help if you wanted me to.
Make that Bandcamp account!

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:10:52 2014 No.4784961 >>4784939 Email me

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:38:52 2014 No.4785043 >>4784774 Bump, I'd really like some critique/thoughts.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:43:53 2014 No.4785065 >>4784961 Sent.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 21:57:52 2014 No.4785102 >>4784260 you sound mad bro

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 22:22:52 2014 No.4785160

"to the street lamps, from a child"

dearest lamppost
those monsters pace patter
perch upon my desk
and sprawl
comfortable
upon my floor
but not one is apt to linger
into your fuzzy rectangle
of light, but it is salvation
and i pray
that you might stay
just one night longer
you who unflinchingly bears the night
the unseeming spectral waste of all our fears
it had lain so heavy upon me
oh it smothers, oh my god
i can't breathe in the dark
lamppost, shine your angelic light
reach your vaguened hand in
swat them away away these
shadows have placed their murky
pond-water hands on my throat
and squeezed so tightly
hold them against the wall
so i might sleep once more
giant you, who keeps me safe
i shall repay you duly, for,
when morning comes
I shall say
good evening lamp, your work is done
Time for you to sleep, beneath the sun.
Let Father fix you up, as good as new,
Soldered wire, and a brand new screw.
So perhaps tomorrow, perhaps tonight,
Perhaps someday, I shall need your light.
Til then, my dearest lamppost, goodnight.

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 22:34:53 2014 No.4785195 in the end there is silence- nothing begins and nothing sends- but only is life worth living then

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 22:38:52 2014 No.4785207 >>4784785 good >>4784260 I can dig it >>4784890 good

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 22:40:52 2014 No.4785211

I don't want to be easy
to describe
I don't want to be described in words
I want to be described in novels
write a damned novel about me
before I die
write a book about me when
I'm gone
write about everyone I ever
killed
before my final days
I bet there were many

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 22:59:52 2014 No.4785279

Spring Girls

Eight hours of terrible music
young couples, never mine
old folks
no dinner
no visits, I will look at myself
in the mirror, again
I will read another poem but
that next one is kind of long.

Finally it is dark
Not too dark for passing faces
too cold for mid April
I want to sweat through my
shirt
My body is good for it, I bet
the girls are ready for it
Spring girls are ready for anything
anything but this
Commitment or casual sex
but something in the middle
An emotionally detached police officer
He'll open up when you're ready
to go
Spring girls are ready to go anywhere,
anywhere but here
A beach of calm water, warm sand
Hot sun
a good Belgian beer or a
coconut rum orange pineapple apple
cocktail
Anywhere but this beach I offer

Thanks, pig, fuzz, heat, for another
sunburn, sand in my car, in my body
I'll take another Bud Light and maybe
later I will touch you when I'm
drunk
For now I'll enjoy my crowded highway
traffic southbound ignorance
my name brand boyfriend, bad marijuana

..maybe I will go home and sing myself a song

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 23:06:52 2014 No.4785302 Stilled hands and eyelash waver No love for a false savior Downcast gaze, consign to dust A dessicated, weary trust

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 23:07:52 2014 No.4785308 Baby I find myself lying to you When you speak of a love so very untrue And it colors my voice a melancholy hue When you’re sweet and you sing with vicious undue

Anonymous Wed Apr 16 23:24:53 2014 No.4785344

Break all the things that make me
feel
Clocks chiming, singing
My singing voice
lost love I never captured
captured and let go,
weeping and angry
Loud voices from my TV with the
illusion of love
With all the feeling of love
Everywhere in the heart or the
mind, the ego or the id
or whatever,
Never in the body but always on
my mind
Because I am the intensity in my repose
I am learning to discard unwanted
garbage, and I will make you feel like
garbage, I will make you feel and
you will make me feel things,
I will feel you

Even before the sun set behind the
estranged palm trees, the old people
from the North, married and rich or bored
intellectually devoid
intellectual wasteland, Gulf coast Alabama
the white sport utility Lexus
I haven't seen a human in hours
This is where Time goes to die;
in a clock store, commercial and
Made in China, movement Japan
brag of oscillating quartz
like my mood, faltering pendulum
Orphan of my afflictions and
nephew of my heart
ticking and rocking,
beating alone in punch-drunk Eternity

>>	Anonymous Wed Apr 16 23:24:53 2014 No.4785346 Bump. Try to critique, people. It means a lot to us.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:07:52 2014 No.4785426

>>4785195
>nothing sends
This might be acceptable in another context, but as the center of your poem it's painfully obvious you're only pulling to get the rhyme with the last line. Something this short should be perfectly coherent all the way through, Rewrite/10

>>4785211
Not bad, but I dislike the ambiguity of "everyone I ever killed" (literal? metaphor? - if so, I have no idea what for), and "my final days" is hackneyed.

>>4785279
Not sure what to make of this, but it seem slightly malicious and smells faintly of pedophilia.

>>4785302
Expand/10, but "no love for a false savior" seems a touch melodramatic.

>>4785308
Well, you actually made me look up whether undue had some obscure definition that would let this make sense. But it doesn't.

>>4785344
I really like the second poem (stanza? It's good enough to stand alone), I like everything except "intellectually devoid", which comes across as unnecessarily redundant and is my least favorite line of the poem.

The first stanza/poem is too angsty for my taste, but does have some good lines, particularly towards the end ("I am the intensity in my repose").

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:08:52 2014 No.4785428 >>4785302 I like your writing the syllables are pretty

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:11:53 2014 No.4785438

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day
Or would starry nights suit you all the more?
Maybe some other over used cliche,
Some purple prose to agitate and bore

But if I was to describe our embrace
With enough fondness to make others ill,
Would you do more than grow red in the face
Or would you be infatuated still

Tremors of affection, soft to the touch
Bleeding hearts can't wash their stains from pure sheets
Laced hands and tongues have not always been such
Though they may as well whenever they meet

Heavy chests sigh, fall and rise in prayer
Tender breath hangs sweetly misting still air

In iambic pentameter and everything, niggers.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:16:52 2014 No.4785451 >>4784899 The latter, people really get a rise out of someone negatively critiquing something famous so they can jump in and say, "HA I TRICKED YOU THAT WAS BY A PUBLISHED AUTHOR HURR DURR"

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:18:53 2014 No.4785457

Doing some crits. Posting what I have for now.

>>4785160
I was drawn in by the enjambment in the first third or so of the poem, and I also liked the warm, nursery rhyme feel to the final third.

But the middle third feels a bit... off. While the other two thirds sound at least somewhat like a child, the middle contains so much abstraction and multi-syllabic words. It doesn't seem like it's from a child.

But the other two thirds have a lovely warmth to them.

>>4785195
A quiet poem for quiet hours. Good job choosing the word "sends" to shake the expectation... but it seems a bit meaningless as is. Perhaps there's still a way to make it work.

>>4785211
An refreshing take on the desire for being unique with a dab of arrogance and perhaps self-loathing. The passion of the persona is quite loud.

>>4785279
This grew on me as I read it.
Interesting.
The police officer's fantasy comes off as delusional and then the last line is a sucker punch to both the reader and persona.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:36:53 2014 No.4785496

>>4785302
Sadly comforting.

>>4785308
A nice bit of sadness to this one too, but I'm a bit stuck on the third line. I understand why the persona would feel bad when his/her love interest "reciprocated" the persona's false love, but why does that color the persona's ~voice~?

>>4785344
The angst is almost overbearing in the first stanza.
But...
>This is where Time goes to die;
>in a clock store, commercial and
>Made in China, movement Japan
>brag of oscillating quartz
>like my mood, faltering pendulum
>Orphan of my afflictions and
>nephew of my heart
>ticking and rocking,
>beating alone in punch-drunk Eternity
Mmmmph. There's something satisfying about that.

>>4785438
Hiya shakespeare.

Quite nice. The first stanza is almost a bit too self-conscious, but it works because of what follows.
Second quatrain makes me laugh (at "with enough fondness to make others ill) and you also do nicely by introducing a sense of intimacy that reaches full force in the third.

Then the delicate scene of one of the characters at church with a passionate memory running through his/her mind. The last line makes it seem like the persona is looking over to the love interest. A nice scene of romance/sexuality behind the scenes of a culture that hides it.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:41:53 2014 No.4785511

Two short poems.

In the silence of snow
Just breezes have shown
The way that things can float,
Suspended in air
A matter of moments to sputter
Now melting in hair

----

the song is over
it so fades away

to tales of fallen wood
trickled notes of gentle timbre

the outro ends
and silence tends
to the hearts of men

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:49:52 2014 No.4785523

>>4785511
The rhyme in the second poem is far more indulgent than necessary, the last line is weak, and I'm curious why you use "it SO fades away" when it's grammatically incorrect without contributing anything. Actually, the best line is "trickled notes of gentle timbre", and I would rewrite the rest of the poem to match it in quality.

For the first poem: the last two verses, and the penultimate one especially, break the rhythm that you've established for no good reason.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 00:56:52 2014 No.4785544

There is a day
In the warm months after the February chill
That makes me think of you -
When the light slants just so
And a breeze billows
with the smell of sunny afternoons;
When flowers May
dare to bud and the thrill
of wind-swept leaves shivers up my spine and I
hear the melancholy cry of
mourning doves.

Been a while since I wrote anything, would appreciate criticism.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:00:52 2014 No.4785552 >>4785207 Thank you >>4785523 Do you mind critiquing >>4784890 ? Thanks

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:10:52 2014 No.4785586
File: 108 KB, 768x1024, 1394248822304.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

I wrote this last night

A world seen through bloodshot eyes
A thick skin's nothing but a curtain
Everyone around you only sees the empire
Seeking asylum from myself, in white I confide

A universe to see with such a short dial
I didn't ask to be here, for this time
Once again I trek into the wild
I want to be, forever 29

This is one of my first poems, by the way.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:12:52 2014 No.4785596 Clowny wowny Don't be frowny Soppy sappy Just be happy Zoobagaga zingabinga Weenis seenis Suck my peenis

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:14:52 2014 No.4785607

>>4784890
>>4785552
It's pretty good. I love the wordplays, but unless I'm missing something (maybe a pun on "cements in" that I don't get? or something else?) the second stanza is more bland than the others. I love the third stanza, and "integument" is a pretension that you earn based on the subject of the poem.

Well crafted/10, its pretty sophisticated.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:16:53 2014 No.4785616

>>4785426
>I dislike the ambiguity of "everyone I ever killed" (literal? metaphor? - if so, I have no idea what for)
everyone's heart I have broken or will ever break. people I have "killed" is referred to in this way in a few of my pieces. see:
>>4777738
>I buried my first victim
--
>Not sure what to make of this, but it seem slightly malicious and smells faintly of pedophilia.
Sorry for any miscommunication. I'll elaborate on it more in my response to the other crit anon

>The first stanza/poem is too angsty for my taste, but does have some good lines
it is all one poem, I'll elaborate more in a moment.

>>4785457
>The police officer's fantasy comes off as delusional and then the last line is a sucker punch to both the reader and persona.
Spring Girls is a passive-aggressive rant on the tourist area which I live. I guess I'm expressing my irritation at seeing beach-dressed girls pass by my work all day long with friends and family while I ultimately go home and spend the night alone when my friends are busy. the lines about the nice beach, nice drinks etc, it's like a metaphor for what my arrogant, passive-aggressive self thinks he has to offer these girls. like "spend time with me instead, I'm a nice guy", much better than the "emotionally detached young hot cop" type which is what girls around here seem to go for. the "Thanks, pig" lines are spoken from the spring girl's point of view basically, a tongue-in-cheek thing I did where she is expressing her gratitude to emotional detachment for providing her with all the simple noncomplex, cheap fun she is looking for, sunburns, bud light, maybe I'll give you a blow job if you get me drunk enough. the last line is me getting back to myself.
when I write in this style, it is all out-at-once stream of conscious type deal, so it is not refined, but I think it is all expression and I don't like to change them when they are finished.

>>4785496
to address the angst in the first stanza; this poem was written a few minutes before Spring Girls. it's really a lot of the same sentiment. "intellectual wasteland, Gulf coast Alabama. the white sport utility Lexus" etc

it's all kind of passive-aggressive, egocentric writing that comes from some things I've been dealing with in my social life recently and it all comes out when you work in a watch/clock store that sees very little traffic in the middle of a busy beach mall. Thank you about the praise on the "Where time goes to die" lines, I actually felt pretty good about those as well

My main problem with writing is that my poetry has always had a tendency to start weak and end strong. the last line/lines of almost all of my poems have often been praised. see:
>>4777738
>>4777761
>>4777770
>>4777788
>>4777871
>>4777914
>>4777934
>>4780743

I fool around with numerous styles, but I think my comfort zone is the whole "Spring Girls"-esque free verse stuff

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:20:52 2014 No.4785627 >>4785607 Thank you, I really appreciate it. The second stanza is a bit obscure... I meant it to say that the gristle from the "swallows" (the bird), what's leftover from "swallowing" them, is permanent in his "plexus," his being as a whole.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:21:52 2014 No.4785630

>>4785616
>when I write in this style, it is all out-at-once stream of conscious type deal, so it is not refined, but I think it is all expression and I don't like to change them when they are finished.
And that's perfectly fine. In fact, I wouldn't want you to change them.
I just wanted to let you know how the poems came across to me, as someone who didn't know the context.

Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed reading them

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:22:53 2014 No.4785633 >>4785630 thank you very much for reading and responding :)

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:23:52 2014 No.4785636 >>4785438 this isn't really a criticism but i mean the first four lines are literally the exact same theme as the original sonnet you're referencing... the point of that sonnet is that he's not going to compare the addressee to a dumb cliche

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:31:52 2014 No.4785653

>>4785523
Thanks.

>For the first poem: the last two verses, and the penultimate one especially, break the rhythm that you've established for no good reason.

I break the rhythm because that's the point of the poem. The way the snow falls gently and then quickly melts.

>The rhyme in the second poem is far more indulgent than necessary, the last line is weak,
Maybe it is weak. I still like my choice of going with something simple though. You're right about the rhyme though. It could be better with a line or two that didn't rhyme.
>and I'm curious why you use "it SO fades away" when it's grammatically incorrect without contributing anything.
That was how I just wrote it the first time; I'm not terribly attached to it. I suppose it would do just fine as "and so it fades."

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:31:52 2014 No.4785656 >>4785627 I see it now, and I rescind my criticism of the second stanza. Nice job

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:41:53 2014 No.4785687

>>4785653
Yeah, I messed up my reading of the first poem, and you do an admirable job representing snow through the form of the poem. Honestly, it went over my head.

As for the second poem, the pun on "timbre" really is excellent, and although the first stanza frames it, you really fail to capitalize on it in the third. I wasn't being rude in suggesting you rewrite it; it just seems a shame to have such a good verse relatively unsupported. The first stanza doesn't say enough, and I'd argue the third stanza doesn't really mean anything.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 01:59:52 2014 No.4785709 Her hair is coarser, But she is so much warmer. I hallucinate, But she is more real than you. She is smirks, tobacco breath: More like me than you. You were my shadow; She is my very reflection.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:00:52 2014 No.4785712

>>4785687
>I'd argue the third stanza doesn't really mean anything.
The third stanza refers to the feeling of peace I get after listening to a poignant song late at night. It hits me with this feeling of something rushing through my head. I feel it the most at the various climaxes of the music. Once it ends, I feel calm in the silence. That's what I mean about the silence tending the hearts of men.

But if I need to explain that, then I guess the stanza isn't getting it across very well. I'll take some time to consider alternatives that are clearer. Perhaps I should make it more personal, "the hearts of men" may be too grand and distant.

>the pun on "timbre" really is excellent, and although the first stanza frames it, you really fail to capitalize on it in the third
I'll see if I can do this, but I'm not sure. This isn't the first time I've made a good pun only to have no idea how to follow it up.

Thanks again, and good night.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:07:52 2014 No.4785721 File: 85 KB, 680x459, 1393471772401.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] You guys should critique my vocaroo links while i'm asleep. I won't be gone for long.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:27:52 2014 No.4785754 >>4781027 Not bad. Your repetition of "and buy... and watch" is a little stretch out, though. I'd cut the second "and".

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:28:52 2014 No.4785760 >>4781236 "Dwell on it" is a little weak for a line so close to the ending. That's probably your intention, but it makes for a less satisfying experience. Nice poem, though.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:38:52 2014 No.4785785

>>4781909
>Or hear your voice
>Or feel your thunder
Nicely conveys brokenness of narrator. Feels like you could have ended the poem on "Only silence".

>I heard your whispering voice
"Whispering" feels like it's been jammed awkwardly here. Maybe use "whispered voice".

>And
>But
Cut down on these one word lines. They're useful for emphasis, but they really damage the flow of your poem. The "and", for instance, is unnecessary. The "but" could be merged with "I'm still here" as a single line.

Overall, the lines were a little long at times and your diction was a little too strong, but the ending was nice.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:46:25 2014 No.4785802 >>4782353 Anyone?

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 02:58:25 2014 No.4785820 >>4785544 Very nice. I like your rhythm a lot. The way you break it in the second half is effective, but is hard to get used to after the more end-stopped lines of the first half.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 03:20:25 2014 No.4785839

>>4782353
>>4785802
I'm casual enough never to have read the original Ozymandias poem, but I'll go through yours with what little knowledge I possess.

>his back to seem a perfect fit.
"seem" sounds awkward there. If you have to maintain the syllable count you could substitute "his back into a perfect fit".

The sentence spanning lines 14-18 has too many clauses. Clauses shouldn't matter in poetry because rhythm is dictated by line breaks, but these lines read too much like prose for enjambment to really have much effect.

>might your shoeprints not stay
>and might they not be the biggest
>nor may they be the clearest
>but might they always be the first
>and might they always be yours.
These lines could have fit into a nice 4-line "might they not...might they not...might they...might they" pattern if it weren't for "nor may the be the clearest" being in the way. If you cut that line, even the strange phrasing of "might they not" and "might they" would be acceptable.

Otherwise, the poem is quite nice to read. I don't quite understand the statement you're trying to make, but that's just due to my unfamiliarity with Ozymandias.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 03:55:25 2014 No.4785881

When You Find Oblivion Please Tell Me How to Get There

Nothing will protect you
from the relentless beauty
of yesterday. Maybe the road
is paved with black and white
dreams, and maybe the city
is one color like Oz, but indigo
instead of green. Once you enter
one of the buildings you can never
leave. There is one door here and
you know once you've crossed the
threshold all senses will atrophy.
There are four blue walls in
the next room where it's just you,
and real quiet.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:20:25 2014 No.4785920

This is probably shit. I wrote it in 10 minutes the night before graduation. A bit of context: I refer to the IB diploma where the highest grade is 45.

creases on cotton
they unfold under searing heat
a diploma roll with forty-five sauce
and would you like an interview with that.
the harder you press, the closer they spread
soon they’ll be invisible, woven into the fabric
press harder then and they won’t ever fade.

creases
like footprints still running
the cut-down forest track.
like whiteboard pens still out of ink;
if they won’t write on the old boards
the new ones will be just the same.
a play of sun on the crystal-stud stone:
our names will fade when the summer rains fall.

listen
butterflies are leaping with once-creased wings
daffodils are blooming with once-bent leaves.
the dusk can be no less beautiful than the dawn
already stars are singing in the midnight sky
and soon sun-stolen clouds will wake and blush for joy.

creases on cotton
heat and iron and they won’t ever fade
you can’t press them out
badges of honour unfolding over
the children we once were.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:22:25 2014 No.4785923
File: 245 KB, 600x819, 600full-arthur-rimbaud.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

In case anyone bothered to give it a read, i'd be grateful.

Greek Theatre, Berkeley, 6.1.13

My young arms
Wander in saturnine
Bitter red wine,
A painful Saturday
Wanting sober words.

So much for poesy…
Again they go, to ecstasy.
There, child among brothers,
Borne by the same ether,
I witnessed;

Amidst aching
Vacant smiles, I saw
Stripes of music,
Glowy orange wounds
Scattered salmon clouds

Plum-starred trees,
A rainforest of shadows
From Man to Gibraltar
All dripping like slugs
Lucent and green

A tribe:
Hunters, doctors, diviners,
Lost from another age
Faces smeared with paint
Beak to beak
Parched and blisters by their Sun.

I saw a thousand moons!
Just as milky and inclined
To the flow that drives us
All insane back and forth,
In violent pendulumtic blows

And down, down the blue steam’d
Umbrella; lungs shaped like moths
An opiumful of flowers,
To feast
To choke on that gas we call Love.

The hyper-electric albatross
Snake of many Symbols
Set wings upon our nerves
The sting cut through our spleen—
Scavenge he did on our coloured bones.

In the Armada where I strayed,
Swooned to the steel of guitars,
The deep trumpets shouted
Tunes and refrains
Of orgastic organs gushing red.

On my index fires lied,
The blossom of a million fireflies;
There they bloomed; there they died…
My compass flinched:
Run! Where to—my runaway?

To the neon-greased temples
Where cigarette burns and some minor nymphs
Bickered over the matter
Of metempsychosis and the pathway to
Old Joshua Tree.

All this but for a map? Just one vision?
I should have asked them
But the tides drew me away
I would I had asked the question:
Where is it, where is home?

I shored on the waters of Europa,
Sweet as black treacle, purpl’d
Mouth, so sick
And wet with desire, she
Danced to that Innocence in exile.

T’was a sway I knew well
My foreign faith and my Moorish ways;
I chased the alcoholic steps,
Cracked unwilling lips
Wrecked my heart in fleshy hips.

Leashed to a rotten mast
I sailed long across the night—
Kissed horrors and freckles,
Sacked cathedrals of broken glass,
And of rainbow Benzo I wept:

Still, it is one of those nights
That makes me wonder:
‘Will it ever stop?
How many times more? Ay, when
Will I find my ruins and rest?’

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:32:25 2014 No.4785935 >>4785923 is this a rimbaud poem

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:46:25 2014 No.4785952 >>4785935 Of course.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:49:25 2014 No.4785957 >>4785952 why are you asking for critique? its a great work, reads better in french tho obv

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 04:50:25 2014 No.4785960 >>4785957 I'm asking to critique my translation of it.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:03:36 2014 No.4785973 >>4785952 >>4785960 That's not me >>4785923 It's not a Rimbaud poem. Just something I wrote.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:12:36 2014 No.4785979 Petite girl, your nervous smile haunts me at night. It appears in my dreams small, shy hinting at something greater: what could have been.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:14:36 2014 No.4785982 >>4785973 its definitely a rimbaud poem

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:15:36 2014 No.4785984 >>4785979 bad unoriginal subject but the main problem here is the boring and pseudo poetic language

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:17:36 2014 No.4785992 >>4785982 I'm afraid it isn't.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:18:37 2014 No.4785995 >>4785992 im afraid it is >he thinks people havent read rimbaud before

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:19:37 2014 No.4785996 >>4785984 thank you! the thread needs more critique

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:27:36 2014 No.4786008

>>4785995
Can you stop with the bad quality trolling? I read Rimbaud in French growing up, and this has nothing to do with the poem I wrote and posted. I could have posted Plath's face and you'd have claimed that she wrote it. What's your point? It's not even edgy or funny, as trolling goes.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:29:36 2014 No.4786015

Dionysius resplendent perched upon the bow of the Barbary bound caravel looks out upon the maelstrom and weeps - for all the mead and honeyed wine that must go undrunk. Allah astride, the cavalry ride the steppe unto the parapet aside and seeks only newborns for the reaping. Tlazolteot in the temple sucks and fucks the conquistador-king and smiles sweetly; her mouth full of Spanish sickness sticky, and whispers: “El-Dorado”. Christ on rez’ land serves for the union command and lets the Gatling gun sing hu-thumpa-thumpa-thump and in the afterglow with bowie in hand take the scalps still sizzling.
And when they come I will stand on the altar proud with the fire licking my prick and there will be no transfiguration for me this time.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:29:36 2014 No.4786016 >>4786008 its obviously rimbaud

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:30:37 2014 No.4786019 File: 172 KB, 1600x900, pierrot-le-fou.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>4786016 k m8 >>4785923 shameless bump

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:30:37 2014 No.4786020

>>4786015
Another one of mine:

August 16th, 1977
On the day the Duke came to Memphis
the blackgum heat clung
onto little white crosses that sheltered
yankee bayonets underneath,
clutched tight in rebel ribcage
in blessed baptist holes

The Duke rode into Memphis
in a 63 Impal-a.
He'd call her Paula after his mother
(may she rest in peace)
in black leather like the cottonmouth
and a V8 that pumped her hot diesel venom
she had shed her former off-eggshell paint
after an armed robbery in 68'
that still lay as an open case,
unsolved, on the deputy's desk, in Sparta,
Tennessee

The Duke came dressed in his finest wares
cream linen suit - slight musk,
black creepers with the teeth soles shined
he wore his pompadour slick, with motel cream
and three rings on his left hand:
one for his brother, Folsom bound
one for his brothers, in foreign ground
and one for the monochrome King, america's crowned.

The Duke drove into Memphis city,
with a red rim sundown silhouette
hear the cottonmouth rattling in its jar

and the soft refrain from blue suede shoes

The Duke drove into Graceland
to usurp the King's royal seat
if Helen's face could launch a thousand ships
then it's plausible that the King's voice
could bring one mad man in the night

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:31:37 2014 No.4786022

>>4777738
I feel you, Kevin
I buried my dick
when I was 16.
She had no jeans, but had a mask on
It's all I think about,
Driving through parking lots at night
Where a chill wind blows
Where the dumpster cats hide.
Where I feel more like a person
and less like a handsome stud.

But she was nowhere to be seen,
only heard and felt.
And that's the best I could ever do.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 05:33:40 2014 No.4786028 >>4786008 >Can you stop with the bad quality trolling? Can you stop with uploading Rimbaud's pictures next to your shitty poetry?

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 06:18:42 2014 No.4786072 Bump

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 06:38:46 2014 No.4786105 >>4786028 I posted one picture. Why are you so upset son?

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 08:14:26 2014 No.4786177

>>4780293

I can only mean a good thing. Your excerpt reminds one of the final speech of God in the Book of Job, and that speech is regarded as one of the supreme poetic moments of all literature (certainly the greatest of the Bible). It’s a flattering comparison.

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 09:11:33 2014 No.4786236 >>4785920 No one?

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 13:13:00 2014 No.4786725

I fuck the muses
I make it cum
I fuck the muses with my surf 'n turf

Wannabe, have no fear, comes and goes, coast is clear
No one knows, feels so weird,
when it blows through my bones
I got a jones for it
I wanna know more, cuz its about what I got to show for it
I want some more of it
I want too much
I got so bored with it
I shot it up
Wanna light my torch with it and get all fucked up

What is it, where is it
How it affect me
Fuck that shit, I need that shits
bound to be the death of me
Fuck buying it I'm taking it,
and sharing it with nobody

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 19:43:14 2014 No.4788219 poetry bump

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 20:02:42 2014 No.4788281 >>4777715 i wrote a 22 page epic poem a while ago

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 20:06:42 2014 No.4788296 >>4788281 post it for us

>>	Anonymous Thu Apr 17 22:03:37 2014 No.4788727 Bump. I have a sudden irrational desire to validate my ego by critiquing your amateurish attempts.

Anonymous Thu Apr 17 22:17:40 2014 No.4788732

Outside the front door
the air was fresh and brisk
as if born anew

and the mountains
and trees
and sagebrush
so clear
they seemed to jump out at me
the sharpness of
the landscape
impossibly
well constructed

And i saw snow
and it should be cold
but it wasnt
and i stretched out
with memory
and thought
and i could feel
the cold crunch
of icey snow
in the palm
of my hand
but it wasnt

The sun was setting
but the day was young
and the land was young
the breeze;
it smelled of life
(so i went back inside.)

it was dark
but it was still light
the clouds like brushtrokes
or flowers in the sky

and i was alone
with the setting sun

then it was dark
and the moment ended
so I went back inside.

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/lit/ - Literature