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/lit/ - Literature

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5152901 No.5152901 [Reply] [Original]

Write a poem in the sytle of a famous author.

Linda came over
We tried to talk
But my mouth was full of her cunt
And her mouth was full of Vodka
Those commies knew something
I wanted to go to the races
So I mounted her
I wanted to watch the boxing
So I called her a fucking whore
She nearly knocked me out
I love you
I came over Linda

>> No.5152917

Should I read Bukowski? Note: I am an angry and ugly virgin

>> No.5152935

>>5152917

yes. also, man up, pussy is easier to get than it appears

>> No.5152939

>>5152901
>no rythm
>no rhymes
And you consider this disgusting shit as poetry?

>> No.5152958

>>5152939
Have you read Bukowski poems?

>> No.5152966

>>5152939
>>5152958
Example for you:

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

>> No.5152981

>>5152939
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Free_verse

The only kind of poetry that heterosexuals can enjoy

>> No.5152985

>>5152981
>The only kind of poetry that talentless pleb can write

>> No.5153003

>>5152966
I don't understand poetry. There is beautiful prose, and extremely rarely have I found it in poetry form but the form had nothing to do with its qualities.

Am I the only one?

>> No.5153025

>>5153003
It's just a feeling you get sometimes. For instance, listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1MIsh50bG8

>> No.5153029

>>5153003
Read sonnet 73.

>> No.5153034

Never understood why Bukowski is holding a typewriter like it's an accordion.

Stinks too thickly of "hold up the typewriter, or nobody's going to know how/why you're (supposed to be) famous".

>> No.5153040

The appearance of these visages in the multitude

Leaves, on a damp dark branch.

>> No.5153041

>>5153003

Dude, you're missing out. Try reading "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". You have to have a certain level of skill at analysing poetry in order to truly enjoy it, because only then can you marvel at the beauty of the way the language is used. LIke, the lines

"The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake"

are achingly beautiful if you understand Frost's use of the trochees "easy" and "downy" and the way their rhythms interact with the overall iambic rhythm of the line to creating a steady, swaying motion that's almost onomatopoeic. Frost's truly a genius if you understand him. I'd recommend looking at some theory of metre, you'll get SO much more out of poetic forms. Unlike prose. poetry gets to play with metre, rhyme schemes, form, structure, and blank space - blank space and enjambment is incredibly interesting. You can get so much out of really intricate poetry.

>> No.5153396

>>5152985
Do post your works, mate.

>> No.5153405

>>5153396
I have no talent, that's why I don't write poetry. You should do the same.

>> No.5153426

My ego, my being, born and grown,
was always allowed to lead the way.
As fortune forfeits no thing yet known,
I ask of self, so what then may?
What path picked now leads all astray?
The one which lived too of shame,
which thought love too has to pay,
averting gaze, if those hold blame.
Oh, shudder soon, to think today,
the sleight of hand makes fool of all,
as right of man does fall to ill.
Oh, what now, have i to call,
this life of mine devoid of skill?

My hands felt fear around your chest,
your clothing veers, my body leers,
my mouth does loathe, i stride my best,
just what awaits we, beyond, great seers?
Will she wait, just trust in me, i cheer,
a year, now free, i stalk those beams
to rid my head, to cleanse with tears,
this beast of mine i built for dreams.
Take up my hand, claim as my peer,
this future made once for our team
of two, now one, removed of blight.
A hallowed sight for death it seems,
to take what toll it deems is right.

My focus nears on this new night,
yet, I should not stop, I try not think
of our joy, just out of sight.
Will I fail, and start to sink?
What danger derives along this brink?
With abiding mind, I await my time,
i prayed, then moved to break the link,
and here, and now, i hear the chime.
Now hear me out, without your mink.
you watch my hands, you grant me time.
Man stands tall, when he is shown
that show of yours in light of lime,
but should I now just stand alone?

>> No.5153445

>>5153405
>goes into a joke thread about trying to mimic a writer's style
>throws a fit over submissions not being to his liking
>already unconsciously confessed to his utter ignorance by stating all poetry must have rythm and rhyme
>hasn't actually left /lit/ yet

Some people.

>> No.5153448

>>5153034
He's actually lying over the table it's on. Just tilt your screen.

>> No.5153461

>>5153041
Walking at the mall on a Snowy Evening

Whose store was this, was this old Bens?
Sold flavored popcorn packed in tins?
He will not mind me resting here
to watch them put the Starbucks in

My college friends say only queers
when they could be home drinking beers
and watching football glumly trudge
past Gap and Deb and empty Sears

But my cholesterol is high
My doctor told me, "walk, or die."
And so I stalk up wheelchair ramps
in Nike trainers, suit and tie

The mall is humid, loud and bright
And "Jersey Shore" is on tonight
And now I'll probably miss the fight
I guess I'll miss the fucking fight.

>> No.5153802

>>5152917
You should always read Bukowski, anon.

>> No.5153918

>>5153461
This is the best poem I've read on /lit/

>> No.5154003

>>5153918
he has other stuff, apparently

http://4poet.tumblr.com/

>> No.5154157

>>5152901
When first thy titties verged upon my sight
I had believed my lfe endured no lack
But then thy nipples peered thru blouse so tight
till all my hopes depended pon thy rack
Thine ass, tis true, is wider than the norm
thy face is but a shade above a two
but oh, fine boobs redeem indifferent form
and steal the eye from less engaging view
Let hips be broad and swathed in cellulite
Let stretchmarks reach across thy abdomen
Let thy left leg be longer than thy right
and hairy moles adorn thy triple chin
Love stops not for such minor flaws as these
whip off thy bra, and out those double Ds!

>> No.5154187

>>5154003
Romance is missing from that list.

>> No.5154200

>>5154187
Huh? he has poems about romance? Post them!

>> No.5154213

>>5154200
It's one poem called Romance. It has a very songlyricy feel about it, like something from Simon and Garfunkel (I cannot read it without hearing something close to the music of Sound of Silence).

It's probably somewhere in the archive. I only remember a few bits ("like something from the comic books", "I'd put on lipstick, you'd wear black", "my silly giddy point of view could never win a grin from you")

>> No.5154228

>>5154213
gotcha. I saved that one. Masquerade. Didn't know it was him:

Masquerade

Remember how we used to dance?
when every night was for romance
I'd put on makeup, you'd wear black,
we never thought of looking back
we'd meet in dark exotic places,
where no one knew our names or faces
you'd scowl and mutter, I'd just smile
we'd share the mystery for awhile
the others never understood
it wasn't about the bad and good,
we only had to be together
my crumpled velvet to your leather
my tousled locks, your dark good looks
Like something from the comic books
You'd brood and I would play the clown
I'd laugh, and you would always frown
my silly giddy point of view
could never win a grin from you.
But now I stare out through the glass
and watch the empty evenings pass
I smile above my cup of tea
and wonder if you think of me
and nights, as strong and rich as wine
when I was yours and you were mine.
I dont expect to win your trust
but there's no law that says I must
just sit here waiting for the grave!
and you, live like you're in a cave,
away from life and cool night air
and all the things we used to share
someday I may walk out of here
my cries may find some friendly ear
I'll repent of every rule I broke
and tell them it was all a joke.
and some night find you on some street
just like the ones where we would meet
we'll walk together through the night
and all the wrongs will be put right
we'll do all the things we never did
when we kept our names and faces hid.
and in one of those dim smoky bars
I'll tell you how I got these scars.

>> No.5154277

>>5154228
Ah, my bad, it's Masquerade. I think it's him, but I don't remember why. I think the one who posted it identified himself as "the gomorrha poet" but I'm not sure.

>> No.5154302

>>5154277
Yeah I asked for the page link when i saw somebody mention it in a thread and I didn't know a lot of those poems. I copy and save any good poetry I see on here and almost all of it turns out to have been by him. He really seems good. Too bad he can't get a MacArthur grant or something. I guess that's the only way to make any money as a poet.

>> No.5154594

>>5154302
Care to share your document of good poetry? Here's my email.

>> No.5154628

>>5152901
I didn't know this was a 'write a fake poem thread' and thought it was real Bukowski, who is obviuosly shit. This however was hlarious and brilliant - not even joking.

'Those commies knew something' juxtaposed with full mouths (of secrets) and the idea of the taboo is highly effective. 'I love you/I came over Linda' ends with a crepescular, alba-esque orgasmic concludion not unlike Rosetti's Sudden Light. Ace poem, a million times better than B. Got some others op? never seen any poetry i like on lit til now.

wrote with 1 hand sry for typos

>> No.5155124

>>5153461
This is... Beautiful.

>> No.5155135

>>5154628
You're the plebbiest pleb, aren't you boy? Yes you are.

>> No.5157163

>>5154628
T-thanks?
I just wrote it off the top of my head while making the thread, really.

>> No.5157184

>>5153025
He's talking about being gay, right?

>> No.5157231

>>5157184
I think he's talking about not wanting to be a tough guy, just wanting to cry like a little girl and be sentimental/vulnerable. Why would it be about him being gay?

>> No.5157238

>>5157231
perhaps a poor choice of words.
>cry like a little girl
I didn't mean that literally. I meant just to be emotional. As the last line is ''but I don't weep''