Original Poetry Thread

[Anonymous No.7092479]

Post your originals poems, if you don't have any and you like poetry feel free to lay down whatever is on your mind.

Emotional/personal poetry is encouraged as well as creative/though provoking poetry.

This is where we critique each others work and embrace each others feelings.

Don't let me down /lit/. Starting with a few of my faves:

[Anonymous No.7092483]

you treat me like a hypocrite for calling you my wife,
you reciprocated everything, yet stand there with the knife.

and the truth is you’d been wanting to kill me for a while.
I wonder, was that on your mind
last time I made you smile?
or were you really just as pure as I always had reason to believe you were,
and this incident is the product of denial…

[Anonymous No.7092488]

seems like my life is flipping through chapters
and in each one I just get home from school
to eat food and work out
the only difference is the girl that I’m talking to
and the clothes that I’m wearing;
the person of whom I’m writing and the poems that I’m sharing
and in the end
spoiler alert
neither of us end up caring

so I guess my goal is to make the last chapter
something a little more than this

[Anonymous No.7092494]

>>7092479
The Cat
Sat
On the Mat

[Anonymous No.7092500]

When will this obsession go away -
I can’t get enough of you!
It’s really driving me a bit insane,
What did I ever do?
To wind up with you stuck inside my brain…
And baby, that’s the truth.
If the thoughts of you could somehow be removed -
and I endured that pain -
there wouldn’t be a whole lot left to lose…
Recently, anyway.

[Anonymous No.7092512]

if you hadn’t made your mistakes
and I hadn’t made mine
do you realize the love you left behind?

so why was it us that had to suffer?
why not another hopeless pair
that crossed us on our roads to each other
and taught us how to safely
share our hearts for all eternity
by tearing them to pieces so that we’d
know what too look out for when we started to bleed.

[Anonymous No.7092554]

>>7092494
Very nice.

[Anonymous No.7093111]

http://pastebin.com/Q9yb8CmN

[Anonymous No.7093238]

>>7092483
>>7092488
>>7092500
>>7092512

2pitiable4any1
let go

I see your feelings straight and clear,
But your words are all just tears;
And if your words are tears, let's say,
You write this shit, and it IS gay,

I know that feel, what can I say;
Just read some things that aren't gay:

“Vice is a monster of so frightful mien
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”

[Anonymous No.7093305]

>>7092479

We throw up words in a pittyful vernacular
Christ, mein God, is he insane?
Mentally rousting a good 32 red
But in his eyes he can sense ones dead
No archery or artillery or archer knows his resting dreams, its to us a black void as it seams.
Disgust.
To us, then fear doth follow.
Hollow out the child lovers eyes and you'll soon see the mans nature of the beast.

Peadophile Catcher Diaries. Out soon

I believe man was stunted by emotions, if peadophiles truely were a superior being then does the heterosexual pivots in culture only highlight our eternal shake of our collective subconscience?

Blue, 12 :o ;)

[Anonymous No.7093573]

I'm afraid I'll end up on the gallows.
Not few ended up like that,
all over the world and here...
just around us...

Long days, long nights,
long years.
Without the bread of love, without the water of love,
without the air of love,
without love...

It is surely not the speech nor the voice of reason,
nor certainly solace or salvation from anything;
but when I close my eyes, I see it- I'll end up on the gallows.

Just how much of anything I knew nothing of.
Since dawn the devil has been stacking the deck.
Now, here I tremble - I'll end up on the gallows.

What the soul does not abide by,
what the heart does not dare to,
now the body itself wants to do.

Without the light of love, without the bread,
without water, without air...
Just another gimpy step from darkness
into darkness...

[Anonymous No.7093646]

>>7093573

The gallows fears he, not without a thought,
But I think it differently.

Fear not the void;
Listen to its voice: close your eyes and rest.

And when their opened, the world will still be,
Both for you, and me.

[Anonymous No.7093651]

>>7093646
they're*

[Anonymous No.7093670]

>>7093573
>>7093646

Both of these are really great. Really nice imagery on the first one.
Thanks

[Anonymous No.7093677]

>>7093238
nigga your shit is gay. nice poem though.

[Anonymous No.7093692]

Going to bed at 4 AM

Fluorescent 'gainst the morning dark I stand
Purposeless—last few minutes fore the night
And her short ritual, washings, flushings, brushings,
That half-clean I might close the ling'ring day,
Late fold myself in morrow's winding sheet.

[Anonymous No.7093704]

>>7093692
lovely sound and theme.

[Anonymous No.7093710]

The wind in spades,
The rain in showers.

The fateful change of seasons
From spring to spring.

Through days, through years,
Through the centuries
We walk toward the high sun.

Across jagged rocks and
The forests of icy mountains

With a heaviness in our chests,
With the dawn in our eyes.

We flock to the ominous dark sea;
For the alluring trappings in the heavenly signs,
For warm mossy soil and yellow hard bread.

And so we name the things around us to bear witness
to these, our first steps on the edge of this waking world.

[Anonymous No.7093745]

To me nothing ugly nor good
can happen anymore. All that
is left is to simply count the days,
like a single-minded monk, with
little variation in sense and intensity.

It needs to be comprehended and
said out loud, finally, it will come
and take everything, having taken
flesh and bone.

June is a month the world over,
and the mulberries bloom, the summer
showers pour down- and end, a moment
passes; suddenly, from everywhere- up
flies love and the air is filled with pollen,
in the pollen the agony of the male burns,
and the sky burns with love, because
June is a month the world over, and
the mulberries bloom.

She will come. Having taken flesh and bone,
she will take everything: the pen with the
graphite entrails on the table, sense and soul,
the picture on the wall, the music that makes
a room glow, tears and fears, and the air
filled with pollen. Afterwards: darkness,
darkness, darkness, darkness.

And June is a month the world over.
The rains pour down and pass.
With love the sky burns and the writers
soil their hands with indigo like children
theirs with mulberries. The air is filled
with pollen. In the pollen the agony of
the males burns. June is a month the
world over, too.

[Anonymous No.7093858]

>>7093745
Thank you for sharing this.

[Anonymous No.7094755]

>>7092483
>>7092488
>>7092500
>>7092512
What is meter?

[Anonymous No.7096168]

>>7093745
this is actually good. publish it

[Anonymous No.7096790]

Emptiness


A sudden jerk; my head whips back to life.
The empty page stares back in mocking white.
For hours I've sat here weighing word and phrase
Yet heavy pen and sleep obstruct the way.

Still young, I dreamed of energetic verse;
Of Jonson, Keats and poets of their stock.
Yet pen-in-hand my zeal has come to naught,
A poet not in deed but just in thought.

Oh would that I could bring to life the scenes
That plague my eager mind and beg for form.
But heedless of the seas of effort spilled
My pot of silent ink remains full still.

So now I fuel my pen with impotence
And fill my page with emptiness itself.
When words of substance fail to fill the void
The void itself must finally find a voice.

L.F. - 2015

[Anonymous No.7096797]

The coat that covers him in a throat of snow
Now gargles gypsy to his polish step,
For step might he unto his home
Where icy feet dance him a hole
To frost him in a silent spell--

Go tear the cotton petals off,
Find seed within a fruit; his feet
Will stumble at break of the dawn
From dead and weeded lake to hall
Of season-ending memory;

He steps as one, the family blood
Knows not the waltz, he must as one
Fall through the film of blue-cold scum
And lift him to the spring-first bloom.

[Anonymous No.7096803]

>>7096797
Breddy gud. I will read this again, since you haven't said everything in a single reading. Which is what makes it good, in my opinion.
>Good rhythm
>Good images
>Away from "muh dick and what it has touched"

[Anonymous No.7096804]

Boy At a Lake-Shore

The coat that covers him in a throat of snow
Now gargles gypsy to his polish step,
For step might he unto his home
Where icy feet dance him a hole
To frost him in a silent spell--

Go tear the cotton petals off,
Find seed within a fruit; his feet
Will stumble at break of the dawn
From dead and weeded lake to hall
Of season-ending memory;

He steps as one, the family blood
Knows not the waltz, he must as one
Fall through the film of blue-cold scum
And lift him to the spring-first bloom.

[twinshia !b2E8KBMQGk No.7096808]

Preface

There are no enemies, only me’s I have given names and kicked around.

These songs are not entertainment, they are crusades against ennui. They are philosophical in so far as they need to be, scientific or romantic in so far as they need to be, iambic or homeric in so far as they need to be. They are names I have given to wafers of time. They are cries of despair, prayers, anxiety, insecurity and feelings of hopelessness. They are ageing pieces of paper and charcoal, ephemeral photons shot against a plastic screen and scribblings of an uninitiated child. They have known and know paralysis. They are epiphanies, overheated washing machines, potentially stale creampuffs, days, perfumes, klangs, reiterations of my spectre, asmodeic nymphs at a cafe check out and the product of trivial spasms.

They are a maze you need to search in order to find the origin of your misfortune.

-

Time is a stew perpetually
boiling. Its Geisha’s tell (tall) tales. THOSE
GYPSIES! As collateral they provide
faculties of their physiognomy:
As mammary is to haut so
canto is to ink and scroll and when they
fall early, grow old and their organs
dissipate, disintegrate, like the
petal after spring, a new mistress is sought.

Fallen petals, forget your previous
notions, but keep an upright gait.
If you walk down this corridor, the
tributaries of paralysis
will be fought. What will you become when
the shell has fully filled with mucal
womb juice and the yolk of genetic
information? What genre of reserved
Blick will your Antlitz metamorphose
in a black and white photograph?

What form are you paralysed in to
inhabiting? How will your organs
interact with your surroundings and
find its place within the atomic
shroud? We are not unlike students reading
for the first time a most difficult text.

-

Time is a catholic girl slowly
clothing herself in nakedness.
Time is a cumming whore in the shape of
a little girl. Time is a pair of
fish guts strewn across a white beach.

Time won’t tell me, move its lips, to sound
the words I want to hear. Time floats in
stasis, a fat ox blocking a merchant’s path,
its hairy mass fixed irretrievably
in the atomic shroud.

As a boy, time’s idea was a river
bent positively yonder
on a fixed axis. The wafers
of time and her physiognomies
never saw my neural activity
in their cosmic police boxes.

-

[cont.]

[Anonymous No.7096809]

>>7096803

sorr I waned o add he name of he poem o I o make more sense o readers, since I hink he connoaion can be made otherwise, bu I helps I suppose. I's no a ver good one of m poems and I haven' revised I like I hough I would since I posed I here before and once I did I los all moivaion o make I m own.

>>7096804


>>7096803

[twinshia !b2E8KBMQGk No.7096812]

>>7096808
[cont.]

To me they are all islands of flesh.
Feyries who have forgotten origins.
They move or are moved by established stratums.

The island that is your idea is a feyry of glowing
skin and from your caverns trickles juice
and from your illumined flesh I abstract
abdomena: a glowing wafer of time.

Given the choice to taste the canals
of your cunt, drift through the annals of
your Venice with a gondola-
Offered this choice I would accept to add
to my register of infinite wafers.

The question was answered even before
it befell me. I was too engaged to hear.
These islands of skin become
me as they are imprinted on my disc.

-

There are no enemies, only me’s
I have given names and kicked around.
When they bit me it was because I
wanted them to and when they bled it
was also in my being ignorant
that their ideas became vessels
of rigormortis.

-

I am not in control
of my own nervous system.
I am a novice among novices
who move but are in a state
of mental paralysis. I will try
to tame you, organic wires
which circle my spectre like
the motherboard of a personal computer.

I will tire in my project.
I will know days and perfumes
and Klangs. I will not have seen
another spectre even
when it would seem so at a café
check-out, where asmodeic nymphs
are eating toast. I will hire to projects
and I will know their banal limb movements.
I will know prayers of which there
are many sorts. I will know doubt
and its antithesis. I will know glances
and spit-strewn Antlitzes and I will
know needless spite, unnecessary
feelings and the labyrinth of misinformed insight.

[Anonymous No.7096817]

>>7096803
Here's one of mine. It's part of a bigger project, so this sentimentality is somewhat justified inasmuch as it is just a scene in a story, so to speak.

Generous courtesies
enrapt intruding feet
upon their steps in sudden souths;
the barbaric conquest of a Queen
is welcomed, resolved in neutral grounds.

Demo version 2.0.
Would you like to purchase the full version?
Wenn auch nur.

Cheap skirmishes
in luxury suites,
eating junk.
Short and plump brings a cold pizza.
The smiling secret blushes.
Catodial tubes sparkle alive.
The dolphin caretaker
has blonde hair.
It’s in German. I laugh.

The sofa smells of sex, of roses, promises;
the working bed, of backs, and dreams and screens.

The splendour of keyboards
smells of summer and sweat.
Maybe it was in the bathtub. Or on the TV.
Someplace was the first place.

The demo version is about to expire.
Would you like to purchase the full version?
Wenn auch nur.

The white marble statue paces down
robed in elegant nightgowns
in this museum that can’t open.

The ball offers its flowers
and the water smells, a lot,
smells of tiredness and tremors.

The demo version expired.
Purchase the full version!
[Y][N]

Blind men are never IT guys.
Wenn auch nur das so einfach wäre.

>>7096809
Dude, what?

[Anonymous No.7096818]

>>7096817
>Dude, what?

I removed he pos and poem he replied o and posed I again wih a poem title.

[Anonymous No.7096826]

>>7096818
I mean, there are so many letters missing in both of your posts that it is breddy hard to read you.

[Anonymous No.7096876]

First time passed.
Then we passed across the bridge
to the gas station where
- in accordance with reason -
there was a sign: no smoking.
Then we passed down the road again,
under the mountain, faltering steps,
in fear of the slippery dew or spotlights.

Dead air. Stones and snakes.
Frozen chlorophyll of Toledo.
Spaniards without a homeland.

Then time passed. We looked into
each others faces, counting, a thousandth
time. How to tear your heart out of this
sadness? One was missing: God will
be alone again.

A man of great honesty,
in business both public and private...

Then the time passed. We climbed the stairs,
not counting the steps, to the stone cube
(there rests the one we are missing?)

Clara, don't cry my child,
Fear not the cold for long.

And time was still passing. Down there donna
Klara was now sunbathing in her badekostum,
things carelessly thrown about her head:
die Sonnenbrille, 'Elle,' there her cigarettes, feuerzeug,
soundbox from Japan. Hearts have stopped beating.

This world is a torch, lighted by both
ends. SO WE ARE ALONE - DEAD OR ALIVE -
ALWAYS THE SAME. Does Elohim cry? Does
Adonaj whimper? No one has been tending this
garden for a long time. Only the lindens and
walnuts bloom by themselves. Pure and
innocent land.

A mother who knows of no other justice
than forgiveness and no other thing but love.

Sleep, those that passed their last road.
Sleep, time will pass. Sleep, time will be
no more. Sleep, nothing will be anymore
and it will be like there never was anything
at all. Sleep, the sky has no memory. It has
nothing, it has black holes. Nothing which
pours into

Black holes

That

Grow

[Anonymous No.7096899]

>>7096876
Pretty gay

[Anonymous No.7096901]

Dialogue 1

[Enter TYCHE, wandering in Elysium]

TYCHE
O Father,
O Son of Kronos
Why do you desert me thus?
You let the fertile country of my heart lie fallow,
You let my youthful eyes turn to ash in their sockets,
You let my spring pass for mild summer.
I was not made to be one of the mortals!

[Enter ZEPHYROS, dancing, adorned with a wreath of hyacinth]

ZEPHYROS
O Tyche
O goddess of the white arms,
Weep not,
For you no longer have eyes with which to weep.
Is this not true?
Take my hand,
And rise with me,
And taste the airy vault of heaven.

TYCHE
O lovely Western child,
You were dear to me in my worldly mornings,
But your words now are mere rain
Against the granite cliffs of my resolve.
Go now,
Yes, go now,
O you who may still be restored!

ZEPHYROS
Words?
Your fear deludes you,
O mistress of all men’s days.
I speak not,
For I have no tongue with which to speak.
Is this not true?

[Exit ZEPHYROS, TYCHE watches as he leaves]

TYCHE
O Zeus,
O my Father,
Why do you tantalize me so?
The fine bracelets you once gave me
Now begin to tarnish.
I must fortify my heart against all things.
It is a good thing to give way to the night-time.

[Anonymous No.7096931]

>>7096901
Derivative at best. Mediocre at worst.

[Anonymous No.7096947]

Chairman stands: "Abrupt!"
And time meanders
In a stained-brown chess set,
King first, unorthodox,
Moreover impossible.
Consider his entrapment:
A ruler encased in wood
thinks a verdict covers all,
"The blanket of justice!
And the liberties of human life!"
Ring out from a tiny square
Where the judge is encased in wood,
His bailiffs in a wall between us.

[Anonymous No.7096964]

>>7096947
This is about patriarchy.

[Anonymous No.7096974]

>>7096947
I like your critique of justice. Pretty good, I wood say that this is one of the better poems in the thread.

[Anonymous No.7096977]

Oh, Irony

I praise my world's new idle
a grand new-old ideal
an old friend turned sour,
now jesting new power.
Rusted quests gleaming, set for battle
using our old “friend” as saddle
for an ancient quest now turned comedy.
Oh, revolution of this tool turned for its own present deed,
oh deed of fun deaths, oh deed of dull liveliness, oh deed of deeds.

After the bombs and sickle fell
we now have our “comrade” in sale.
Oh how grand it is to sit on the Gaza boarder,
oh what fun it is for ISIS and Kurds to quarter.

Comrade I know your ways
How you fool the rich, and poor alike for days;
poor can't wait “gobble more”
rich lust for controlling outpours.

You have them in a vice loose unseen.
You would kill your hostess with no remorse,
knowing that death's better than this corpse.

Now I will traitor my warning on deck
and end this ode turned betrayal with a, kek.

[Anonymous No.7096988]

>>7096964
It's about "I wrote it on the spot"

>>7096974
Thank you.

[Anonymous No.7096993]

>>7096988
It's not about that.

[Anonymous No.7097000]

>>7096993
I know I just wanted to mess with you, because you said it was about the "patriarchy" which I don't really believe in. It's just about liberty and the justice system.

[Anonymous No.7097031]

>>7097000
One could argue that those are patriarchal concepts. Of course I was originally fucking with you, and still am. I always try to be the most basic asshole possible, because that is the kind of comments you're likely to receive from people who can't read for fuck.

>>7096977
>"Friends"
>""
>Gaza border
If you need to relativize with quotation marks, then you can't into pottery.
Mentioning current events, places, people or groups of people belittles your poetry turning it into social commentary/political activism. Go to Jam Sessions. Namedropping will surely garner you breddy dank clapping, brah.

[Anonymous No.7097039]

While I cry myself to sleep this night
Chad is painting her colon white

[Anonymous No.7097044]

>>7097039
not funny

[Anonymous No.7097047]

>>7097044

IKR.

[Anonymous No.7097084]

>>7097031
>If you need to relativize with quotation marks, then you can't into pottery.
Fair enough, I kinda realize how cheesy it looks with that in mind.

>Mentioning current events, places, people or groups of people belittles your poetry turning it into social commentary/political activism
Dude I get that political commentary isn't exactly the memeist thing to do on /lit/, but just pushing it aside for no other reason than it is popular right now is probably the most hipster opinion I have seen on /lit/. But I agree with you that "slam rap" is the cringiest thing that has appeared out of the SJW movement.

And no this is not a social commentary, it is a critique of irony. Why not use real world examples to reflect this resent phenomenon?

[Anonymous No.7097105]

>>7097084
>Why not use real world examples to reflect this resent phenomenon?
Because with poetry you have the opportunity of creating a new world with your words and your ideas combines through images and weaved together with rhythm, cadence and rhyme. Mentioning world-events is the equivalent of picking a toilet instead of painting and calling them both "art". My opinion, of course.
Poetry is much, much more elevated than anything that can and will ever appear on television.
Also, abstraction is your friend.

[Anonymous No.7097172]

>>7093745
This is really good m8. Beautiful poem. Nice rhythm, sound effects, repetition, imagery.

[Anonymous No.7097200]

wrote this while drunk and watching uncle boonmee; it needs a lot of editing, it's too stream-of-conscious

the untethered bull
seeks a well-worn
pasture, to be here
by the grace of his
master's chain. she
hopes the truth isn't
industrial, well-known
by the sweat of wild
beasts learning free,
humid, smoky death.

net—guide us to be
comfortable, and not
afraid of bloodsuckers
who linger over hard
work in our fields, so
we might worry, or not
to taste our paralysis
which needs to come
back, without a single
smelly dinner. 'grace'

right; cover our face
i would hate to be a
source for what life
wants: to hang, to
pretend that we can
linger over others…

if you please, place
kindly a memory of
our dress. better if
night conspires to
eat your beauty. no,
you ate enough. you
are full, you can't eat
so many restrictions.

have you seen your bed
i don't sleep there, cool
and yet a ghost persists,
why are you still sorry?

i often wonder if you are
alright. did you get the
prayers on those cold
nights, familiar voices
from my dying hearsay

"what's that sound?"
your performance is
not quite yet light for
spirits and the hungry.
i want to recognize you
all over our farm. when
we see our way back
home. i made up my
trip in the mountains.

green—excuse me,
i have never shown
this new creature

my funeral in this
bright light. isn't it
by our bed? i see
myself come and
i envy them. i just
stay by choice; yes.

how am i stubborn?
with the good: you,
you learn my strange
care for my stares
to clean the poor:
full of pests, i must
register with girls, or
you were the real pest:
the white one? hello.

why don't you sleep?
'that's enough'—you
steal some honey, and
there are still so many
bees: the local is both
sweet and sour; chewy
as a wash of come; yes,
and i know you know a
burden, where are you?

hungry? are you still?
good, this is a result
of my intentions—for
a pain in the ass? i
miss the animals.

[Anonymous No.7097214]

Fearful of how feathery the singing
Adroitly the swinging clings to the inner rings
The red and orange fabric and foreign gestures
A reign upon common vestures

[Anonymous No.7097230]

>>7097047

tfw every one is a ghost,
and no one has a voice,
you walk among their bodies,
but they sleep profound & foist

their sleep is deep n' lasting
and you want 'em to awake
'I'm a frightend child at night,
walking dark n' it's so late!'

'mom, dad, can you hear me'
but they still are sleeping there
your chest, alone, starts beatin' &

they'r not there for all you care.

(The night is dark and it's so silent
that your ears will start to bleed,
and those monsters in your room,
they will kill you with no heed.)

>"& all the fears you hold so dear
>will turn to whisper in your ear"

and my days r all that night
and ev'ry one is still asleep
and they speak and they say nothing
and they dream and I can't sleep

[Anonymous No.7097305]

>>7096790

>Oh would that I could bring to life the scenes
>That plague my eager mind and beg for form.

[Anonymous No.7097384]

>>7097305
Is this a compliment or ridicule? I really can't tell.

[Anonymous No.7098187]

I wake in the morning:
a lone and happy angel!

The soul shines,
the body pulses.

I lay in the evening:
a literal pig.

What did I do in between?

Went among people,
rifled trough their shit.

[Anonymous No.7098195]

>>7097384
those are the worst two lines in the bunch, to my ear. so he's probably poking fun

[Anonymous No.7098208]

>>7098187

don't you feel like shit just as you awake? stay in bed for a hour or more just laying, thinking, with anxiety?

[Anonymous No.7098214]

>>7098195

It was a critique to the poem's tone overall (culminating in those 2 precious line), so to answer >>7097384 well, depends on how serious you were w that poem

[Anonymous No.7098219]

>>7098187
ugh self aggrandizing

[Anonymous No.7098225]

The winding weight of metal driving rubber against rubber-
the unmistakably low boom of a car door slamming shut.

Hidden behind the curtain of a thousand columns of rain.
Clutching the steering wheel and unclutching the flywheel.

The hopelessly underpowered car is blackmailing her foot
to push down the throttle lest it stall on the sharp incline.

The ultimate betrayal of nothing, really,
but chance and all the decisions in between.

[Anonymous No.7098270]

I dissolved

Passed
Brooks
Rivers
Seas

Now I'm here
Without you

Bitter

How can I return
to my source?

[Anonymous No.7098314]

>>7098270

the clear sound of water drips

I liked your poem,
annoyingly nonconformist nevertheless.
but something oriental about it

pic is what it immediately retrieved to my mind's eye

[Anonymous No.7098348]

>>7098314
>something oriental about it
It's inspired by a medieval Bosnian patarene ie.gnostic epitaph.

[Anonymous No.7098379]

Tygar Tygar, birnung brught,
Un tha forasts of tha nught;
Whet ummortel hend or aya,
Coild frema thy faerfil symmatry?

Un whet distent daaps or skuas.
Birnt tha fura of thuna ayas?
On whet wungs dera ha espura?
Whet tha hend, dera sauza tha fura?

End whet shoildar, & whet ert,
Coild twust tha sunaws of thy haert?
End whan thy haert bagen to baet,
Whet draed hend? & whet draed faat?

Whet tha hemmar? whet tha cheun,
Un whet firneca wes thy breun?
Whet tha envul? whet draed gresp,
Dera uts daedly tarrors clesp!

Whan tha sters thraw down thaur spaers
End wetar'd haevan with thaur taers:
Did ha smula his work to saa?
Did ha who meda tha Lemb meka thaa?

Tygar Tygar burnung brught,
Un tha forasts of tha nught:
Whet ummortel hend or aya,
Dera frema thy faerful symmatry?

[Anonymous No.7098536]

bamp improvise something guise entertain me

[Anonymous No.7098576]

>>7098536
I am not your whore
so to command I'l never be yours
to command and to boss and to tell
shit to da face, to the ear to the mouth
so fuck the shroud you wear so proud
an anonimous guise to use as disguise
and now, bam, the turn's over and you gotta write out your motherfucking aaaaaaaaaaasssss

[Anonymous No.7098597]

>>7098536
me no smart
me no care
me go marry
a millionaire

if he die
me no cry
me go marry
another guy

[Anonymous No.7098622]

>>7098379
blake, you're alive? Is this how zombies write?

[Anonymous No.7098637]

>>7098622
>Implying knowing the tongue of the undead is a bad thing

[Anonymous No.7098659]

>>7098536
See this girl; see her smile
walk her through a valley aisle
on your arms and ready to bed
talk to her and the dream is dead

[Anonymous No.7098660]

>>7098597
fun
(edit:)

me no smart
me no care
me go marry
millionaire

if he die
me no cry
me go marry
'nother guy

>>7098576

Whores: the best people around;
They treat ye like a human needs,
And give ye what a woman gives.

>>7098622
it's especially for the folks with vowel2color synesthesia to trip a bit

[Anonymous No.7098668]

>>7098659
See this girl ? See her smile ?
Walk her through a valley aisle !
On your arms, ready to bed
talk to her : the dream is dead

[Anonymous No.7098681]

>>7098668
It's supposed to be lamenting, from the perspective of a beta orbiter

[Anonymous No.7098683]

>>7098668

See this girl; see her smile,
Walk her though a valley aisle

On your arms ready for bed;
Talk to her: the dream is dead.

[Anonymous No.7098686]

And what, alas, is a man
but a miserable little pile
of secrets, boogers and ash?

Can't ever fight your sweet design,
O, Ye Lorde Suppa Powarafu,
so I'll just fall back to average-ness
and mediocrity and pain
lest I enrage the Ires
of a being that's not there.

And for my fedora I sweare
that it is my very soule
which blows aires for your dank memes
which shows fumes of irk and lime
every time I hear your name.

[Anonymous No.7098709]

>>7098686

The 1st stanza hooked me up, read very natural

Ye Lorde Suppa Powarafu caught me surprised funny whit

The rest of the poem you self-awareingly capture its worth with "so I'll just fall back to average-ness"

[Anonymous No.7098739]

To Can't

What is more diminishing, more downsizing and rough
Than to see your own lips, whose every motion you curse
Struggle and fumble and make those unworthy sounds
That every man fears as a sign of defeat
To, after an eternity, of shame and disgust
At all that has happened and happening still
Finally hear that trembeling cry
"I cannot".

[Anonymous No.7098744]

>>7098739
good theme but weird metre and form and also mundane execution

overall solid exercise but doesn't express anything of value imo

[Anonymous No.7098766]

>>7098739
"To Can't"?? anyway
What >>7098744 guy said, except that what you're going for is obviously valuable, plus a simple "I can't" would be more powerful

https://youtu.be/ZYfKHVdmjzQ

[Anonymous No.7098830]

>>7098744
>>7098766
Oh thanks guys, didn't expect to get feedback

[Anonymous No.7098845]

>>7098830
no problem bro you have much more potential than the rest of this garbage

[Anonymous No.7098881]

>>7098709
>"so I'll just fall back to average-ness"
Well, that does not necessarily mean "poetic average-ness". I always try and improve, mang.

[Anonymous No.7098899]

Emptying, blank as winds,
To swell newly full with youthful
Breath upon a parting pulse
Of quick, pinching ecstasy
Dangling upon her lips,
Receding into shade
Under brows, forever resigned
To the blank, pale pleasure
Of suspension

[Anonymous No.7098908]

>>7092479

I no longer hold the dream
Of tending to the perfect garden.
These white roses have long been tainted,
stained with the blood of my innocence.

From sharpened daggers
A crimson river flows,
But mental inflictions
Are not readily apparent.

I've spent my life trudging
Through muddy waters.
I swear I didn't know
the consequences of giving into your lust.

I was still young, but at that moment
my childhood ended abruptly.
Every glimmering star of hope
came crashing down from the sky.

Scars are superficial.
Physical pain subsides.
The torment of mental agony
is a burden carried forever thereafter.

I should be full of hate
That you took away my chance
At living a perfect life.
But I feel nothing.

[Anonymous No.7098929]

>>7098881
;—^) fam

>>7098899
you choose the right words—and this poem has soul—but your disregard for form and meter is unnerving...
anyway
>To swell newly full
sounds awkward
>parting pulse
"parting" doesn't add much, does it?

but again this is beuaitufl

"Breath upon a parting pulse
Of quick, pinching ecstasy
Dangling upon her lips,
Receding into shade
Under brows, forever resigned
To the blank, pale pleasure
Of suspension"

is quotable-tier

[Anonymous No.7098960]

>>7098908

Blood-stained white roses—baeutiful

"my innocence"
but you ruin it there. white roses and blood blend well but blood and a white&yellow abstraction don't

"I no longer"
"I've spent my"
"I swear I didn't"
"I was still young"
"I should be full"

Too many yous no one cares about you

>I swear I didn't know
>the consequences of giving into your lust.

a bit too obvious no?

>I was still young, but at that moment
>my childhood ended abruptly.

these kind of lines are still awkward and they don't sound well rhythmically and you have more of them in your poem

Overall good I liked it but you should allow nature ("white roses" "crimson river flows" "muddy waters") guide your thinkings and throw in more metaphors not just spergy "Scars are superficial/Physical pain subsides." and "But I feel nothing" fedoras

[Anonymous No.7098984]

När bläcket rinner slut och dina rader tonar ut,
var god njut och istället,
inför döden tjut.

vene

[Anonymous No.7099075]

Förutsättning för njutande är lidande.

Förutsättning för levande är dödande.

Vi är både borg och bur utan mur eller tur.

På kokain blir man fin och utan stubin.

icke nykter, förlåt

[Anonymous No.7099101]

>>7098984
>>7099075

>>>/alien/

admit defeat & use The language already

[Anonymous No.7099160]

>>7099101
defeat admitted, im shit

[Anonymous No.7099219]

>>7099160

h-hey I just wanted a translation that ws all... sorry if I hurt yuo

[Anonymous No.7099318]

I stole the meter from "Brave as a noun"
--
I could lie and say I was beat.
I could lie and say that I was cheated.
I could lie and say my parents never really ever loved me.
I could say it was nineteen years of hell.
I could say it was painful as well.
I could slander my parents but that would just be dishonest.

But even with, a life ideal as this.
I wonder why I felt a burden.
And I’m scared to know, just why I feel alone.
And I’m scared to know where I will go.

I’ll be honest I’ve wasted life.
On niche hobbies, and sleepless nights.
I’ve done a lot of drugs but I’m hardly hard.
I’ve said things I shouldn’t had.
I’ve yelled pretty loud at my dad.
I’m a coward shithead that probably deserves the worst.

And though I know, some people love me so.
I feel as though I’m not enough.
And even though, “good deeds will cleanse the soul”.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being lied to.

[Anonymous No.7099354]

>>7099318

Most consistent poem here, the 3rd stanza is the faggiest, but this is good congrats

[Anonymous No.7099363]

>>7099318
Very solid, too bad you stole the metre. Hopefully you can turn this into something even better with another form

7/10 made me feel an emotion

[Anonymous No.7099383]

>>7099219

[Anonymous No.7099463]

>>7099318
>I’ll be honest I’ve wasted life.
>On niche hobbies, and sleepless nights.

this line is 10/10, rest of the poem is ok because very solid theme and intent, execution is barely ok

[Anonymous No.7099523]

>>7099463
>>7099363
>>7099354
thanks, I'll try to improve.

[Anonymous No.7099590]

alright imma shit out a ballad, and it aint gon be good

"What the fuck this is so terrible please quit writing immediately"
by anonymous

This is a ballad for the kids
Who post on 4chan's /lit/.
They go on posting poems, midst
The drone of "lol it's shit."

That "/lit/" would have to rhyme with "shit"
Was obvious enough:
We know the quality's a bit
Below the worst of stuff.

Their poems often merit naught
Beyond the slightest praise;
But, say we were a nicer lot,
And tried some happier ways,

What would be lost? "But, Reddit, though,
We might become at once—
By kindness this our board might grow
Now suited to the dunce."

No place there is in this round earth
For healthy criticism;
In every room we find its dearth—
Instead, there's witticism.

But we are men, or almost men,
And every comment hear
With he who also guides the pen,
Our keen, judicious ear.

We know the helpful from the mean,
We take just what we need;
We can seek out in bouts of spleen
Our next improvement's seed.

[egg No.7099612]

>>7099590
For following form I
freely praise you,
and bessech,
let this small critique not phase you,

though reasonably readable and with a pleasant rhyming scheme,
and though you did reasonably tackle your intended theme,
i must insist that you somewhere insert inside of this,
a meme

[Anonymous No.7099621]

>>7099612
>anonymous poet turns out to be hack memester
>shocking

[Anonymous No.7099627]

>>7099590
>No place there is in this round earth
>For healthy criticism;
>In every room we find its dearth—
>Instead, there's witticism.

You know this stanza is bad

>Our keen, judicious ear.

What about an unsparing eye? There's a huge tendency to focus on meloepeia nowadays?
Also >rhyming hear with ear

I'm just jesting this is brilliant for what it's meant to be you v good

[Anonymous No.7099656]

>>7099627
just for you, some more couplets

I drew my lines from cliché's easy fountains,
And sung them tasteless to the highest mountains.
Too-easy thoughts came wand'ring in the breeze,
Those soft clichés I whispered through the trees.

[Anonymous No.7099698]

Beginning of a poem I've started:

Ascendant subsiding, nascent senescing—
no, no.
I am still in my genesis,
I am the proper crooked age,
ripe strong to blast the shingles off this world.

i must not forget
but it is easy to forget.

[Anonymous No.7099724]

>>7099698
no it isn't

[Anonymous No.7099985]

>>7093111
I got trips for all this no critique?

[Anonymous No.7100177]

Long dark door holding back light.
World or realm filled with
things I cannot see,
It is so dark,
It is black,
The eyes of the shark,
A windowless shack

But the door is too high
and all that is seen ar the bright
lines of light that pass through the seams
lik the sound of songs

I and
am I
alone am
here forgotten

[Anonymous No.7100185]

>>7100177
fucked up my spacing, last two lines are read vertically

[Anonymous No.7100656]

>>7093111
I didn't understand anything

[Anonymous No.7100677]

>>7100177
Nigga you just hit enter instead of the spacing bar and call it a poem, what the fuck.

[Anonymous No.7100767]

>>7099627
>There's a huge tendency to focus on meloepeia nowadays?
>Assertions with question marks
>American detected
There is no poetry without melopeia. FOr the past hundred years we've had to endure the tiresome attacks on language by people too endeared by their own cleverness. They have destroyed the beauty of language itself because they don't really believe in beauty.

What I mean to say is that melopeia is the only "natural" beauty of a language, since it can be appreciated by anybody hearing the poem, not necessarily speakers of that language. All the other froms of getting hooked into a poem depend on semantics (meaning) and can thus be altered to whatever purposes the poet sees fit. And it is usually "muh dick and what it has touched".

Postmodernism must die, and beauty will kill it.

[Anonymous No.7100828]

And as I stand, gun in my hand,
And ready to draw blood,
I contemplate and speculate,
Who is it I have got,
To murder here, to murder now,
I'll break him every bone.
The only life I long to take,
It is my very own.
Oorah.

[Anonymous No.7100909]

>>7100828
So, you've got a gun and you yearn for the breaking of bones. Dude, can you even bullets?

[Anonymous No.7101085]

>>7100767

[Anonymous No.7101266]

who gun dis is I think I know
his house is in da village tho
police wont catch me hanging here
to fill dese niggas up with holes

[Anonymous No.7101380]

now with kung-fu grip

make people of my color into action figures
hypnotize the black children too
let the gays fight alongside the heteronorms
as they embrace with mere pixelated pride

dazzle them with bright flashing colors
trick them into thinking war is fun
that you need muscles to defeat evil
(not patience and perseverance)
let us buy that plastic shit too

[Anonymous No.7101384]

>>7101380
worthless

[Anonymous No.7101402]

>>7101085
Related to melopoeia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDUIRYq--bk

[Anonymous No.7101493]

logopeia, phanopeia, melopeia
not just 1. not just 1. not just 1.

>They have destroyed the beauty of language itself because they don't really believe in beauty.
evil robots with their evil apocalyptic agendas amirite
>melopeia is the only "natural" beauty of a language
0/10

>>7100767
>>7101085
wrote you two a poema:
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /

× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /

× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /
× / × / × / × / × /

[Anonymous No.7102130]

>>7092488
>>7092500
Good

[Anonymous No.7102137]

>>7101493

[Ode to a Oriental Comic Forum No.7102153]

Dead fish eyes staring blankly ahead,
The tank glass glares back, glowing instead,
The dull fire of a thousand boy din.
Lit, but now mere ashes.

Wanton slaughter of unwanted babes,
Virginal sloths with unseen names,
Viral tapestries burn in torn wind.
Lit, framed between slashes.

The philosophers' moans drown the foul
Tao of irony voiding its bowels,
Smirking shirkly through old blooms' abyss.
Light, blinded enchanter.

Thomas's Gospel and David's sling
Gather infinite dust, whispering,
"Only the dead can know peace from this..."
Light, dimwitty banter.

[Anonymous No.7103292]

PERFECT
INCREDIBLE
ZESTY
ZELICIOUS
AWESOME

[Anonymous No.7103480]

>>7101493
>evil robots with their evil apocalyptic agendas amirite
That's exactly what the advocates of that poetry were fighting against. Some asshole said it was impossible to write poetry after Auswitz. And so many others followed the trend of "lel, nuttin's real, not even language, let's fuck shit up", all of them postmodernists, blinding their shit against criticism via layers upon layers of verborrheic proxies.

>wrote you two a poema
You didn't write shit. You merely presented a skeleton and called it a person. Fuck you.

[Anonymous No.7103757]

Chipped Stanza #2

I spew black ink. Vomiting inside the endlessly
stretched balloon, I hope my bile is caught on
the concave, a disgusting constellation glistening
against the blacker canvas or net of ether.

Arrange the sopping granules into a tower
far enough from the shoreline to avoid the
waves, but don’t let the grains dry. Plagued
by Pointillisms, minutiae worries me
with thick heels on bent wrists. How to
describe the fractal! Sorting is so tiresome.

I long for that great smear. To make a clean
gradient. No longer stuck point by point, but
make a sweeping arc. Is it fire or leaves in
the wind? It’s orange, curving to the left.

I hope to sling my guts onto a cave wall and
have my insides coagulate into a painting of
Nimrod. I will plunge into viscera because,
I’m not ready to confront the typewriter. Its
tacky clacking scares me. I am brickwalled
by abstraction.

Sorry for lame title

[Anonymous No.7103835]

Brawl (#1)

I saw the greatest hivemind of my generation destroyed by Summerkids,
striving hysterical for troves of Stirner sketches,
dragging themselves through the wet black bukaki at wake typing
for a botched critique,
priapic knuckleheads choreographing for the handful bohemian
network by maudlin belles-lettres in a collectively anarchic newtopia,
who underemployment and saccharine cocoa and pretty-miss-wander-eyes and avant-garde vaporizer pen designs
in recurrent existential paralyses and worthless seconds reimbursed
under the advertisement bar in empty ventilation,
who tapped their motherboards to the primary centralis under the Lel and found
shoddy Canon imitators trawling from the Übermenscher decks
inseminating false Dogma,
who leafed Murakami in a chrome-boring Boxtype with pretzel-toposes underhoods
quantum possessed coolant trickling like piss under a star-spangled diaper
limping off sporadically by a Viagra-suspended member over the hung gearpanel,
who quote you unquote us were handcuffed by the moribund dozens to a shitpost radiator
for dismantling superimposed myths of Heidegger’s Naziism on campus in equally
vainglorious episodes of extrospective humiliation,
who from built up self-repudiation unironically slit their wrists naked until they dress
in loud red to a ballad of Mainländer snippets in a solitary bathtub,
who passed tryptamine out like your sweetheart’s plastic smiles on a forgotten moon
or was she cast phosphorescence off that awfully familiar convex screen
we carelessly remove prepackaged slender nuggets’ protective seals to and dip ourselves
like the veritable pigs we morph back to snoutdeep into the trough, guiltily pleasuring crave,
who crawls underground from fear of the living and boars into the sheriff's lounge
ostensible his talent as his crowd’s met disgusted countenance
lone sensible in a badland of desperadoes horseback riding away from sunset to the gallows
who traverses by the verses fleetingly
making the loose eccentric excellent in his dance wherever category he mistakenly barged
to himself a resplendent quetzal lying his way out of the beast in the mirror,
a poindexter easily enamoured and an unrelenting shell under the common sun,
who snuggles with their delusions of grandeur by the kindled fireplace with nobody in sight
and declare as any other night their bitter snickerdoodleless holiday then silently sob,
who is a gypsy, self-employed at milk neutral hotel, toiling,
who is a bedbug, under your pillow reciting how kafkaesque, cowering,
who is a changeling, adept in homeschooled lessons on elements of style, unforgiving,
lending like a beggar’s metal cup his how do you miserably do’s and have a despicable day’s
mensis horribilis, annus horribilis
and the Moirai snicker injudiciously over the courtroom and tune his fate to Vivaldi,...

[Anonymous No.7103840]

>>7103835
Brawl (#2, cont.)

Howl the brutes above! Howl the insipid contrarians! Howl lo! Howl come and howl go!
Howl by a singled out anonymity! Howl by the bleeding vanguard!
Howl and midnight shivers! Howl folding unto the world’s plainperfect quilt infinitely!
Throw a somnambulist from over the silo,
disassemble the sleeping apparatus and painstakingly measure
the manifolds of an Aquarian slumber in this age of disquiet ours.
Although of course you end up unbecoming yourself, a short heap of memory.
Our ritual never does end.

[Anonymous No.7103881]

Rats at sea all off we,
A ship we don't control.
Surviving a journey
That's bound to take its toll.

In the drink we may sink,
To drown no hand to help.
Eaten by fellow fink
Without the time to yelp.

Though dry land is at hand
Upon the other side,
Among us who can stand
Await a second ride.

[Anonymous No.7103885]

>>7103835
>extrospective humiliation,
Just for this sentence 7/10, would read again except for obvious plagiarism of the overall text.

[Anonymous No.7103911]

>>7103885
>would read again except for obvious plagiarism of the overall text.
but that was my objective.

[Anonymous No.7103936]

>>7103911
Well then your objective is achieved: you are not writing anything of your own.

[Anonymous No.7103948]

>>7103936
Which is quite fine with me, this is just a piece I wrote for Hyperspace that I'm not quite content with and, of course, came here for critique. If anyone asked me if I wrote this I'd outright deny, I just do it as a manner of practice (with a tinge of humor.)

[Anonymous No.7103969]

>>7103948
You come here for critique with a text you wouldn't admit to being yours. That's shamefur dispray due to cowardice, dishonor and false expectations. Stop writing shit you wouldn't show in public.

[Anonymous No.7104094]

>>7103969
I sure hope assblasting is not hereditary.
It is not cowardice nor synonyms. I could show it to a friend for giggles and shit but never display it as serious effort, sorely for the purpose that I wrote it for giggles and shit.
And so what if my efforts aren't put to public? I primarily write for myself and, when I feel obliged to, will share. We're not roleplaying the old turbulent publisher and the conflicted journalist script, friendo, nothing to be anal about here.

Otherwise, stage left.

[Anonymous No.7104198]

>>7104094
Then I guess you and I understand writing differently, then. Good day, sir.

[Anonymous No.7104353]

>>7102153
This was a good poem and I'm sad no one read it :(

[Anonymous No.7104415]

>>7102153
shit I wuz gonna
post something, but then I read
this bomb-ass poem

[Anonymous No.7104490]

I sure want to read some shit poems

[Anonymous No.7104495]

>>7104490
I wrote this shitty poem about the last full moon
>Far outshining nearby stars
>and striking poets dreamless,
>slightly less impressive
>on account of her extremeness

[Anonymous No.7105338]

You fags know French, right?

Rageur, je cris... je cris! Et, saturnien, j'écris!
J'écris des mots gauches -- à regret, je le sais.
Capable de rien... rien! Je hais mes manuscrits,
Je hais ceci aussi et sa voix de fausset

À force de fausser, on casse ses oreilles,
On meurtrit son âme, le doux désir de vivre.
Pourquoi créer encor? Je répugn' les merveilles!
Devrai-je survivre? Et devrais-je poursuivre?

Quelle est ma fierté? Un fantôme distant!
Mes jambes s'épuisent -- je n'aurai pas le temps.
Le spectre restera... lointain, à l'horizon

Mes plus grandes hauteurs ne sont que des coteaux
Mais j'aimerais voler -- hors d'ma propre prison
D'inaptitude et de talent pataud

[Anonymous No.7105391]

The Night I Live In

I.

The artist is
alive at night
restless, awake,
dreaming.

Thoughts scatter. Gnats
swarming and flying and buzzing and biting.
freaking out
and not freaking out
lost inside my brain
and calm inside my head

Help me
you fearful submissive
you seeker of flesh
you obsessive compulsive
you insane child


what will you find
this night?

a sense of self? No,
a silence
more uncomfortable, unending.
Unyielding. Yes.
Not.
Yielding.
II.

She doesn’t understand
me, but does.
Whirring, her steel trap
mind ensnares mine
then frees it.

The tiger plays with its meal before it dies.

My organs are guests
at different hotels:

The Girlfriend Express
The Ex Western
The Friends with Benefits American
The Paid Prostitute Inn

are just a few stops on Relationship Boulevard. I’ll visit them all
by the end of the month.

Until then,
I’ll be awake
asleep
dreaming
.

[Anonymous No.7105859]

>>7105338
I know enough to laugh at the first line

[Anonymous No.7105881]

>>7105338
Au moins tu as fait l'effort d'en faire un sonnet.

[Anonymous No.7105902]

A blitz, a blur,
All his and her
Absurdities,
A certain uncertainty
Unnerves me, certainly.
My heart all aflutter,
Staccato stutter
Stock phrases,
Stuck words in my throat,
All words are awkward
And bright lights at night time,
Excitement, the right time
To speak, to profess,
Finite regress,
Pretty eyeliner,
And nylon dress
The stress I’m feeling
Inside your gaze,
You send me reeling
I’m feeling like static
Ecstatic, erratic
Searching all over
But can’t find the words,
To greet you this evening,
So I’ll see you tomorrow
And keep on believing.

[Anonymous No.7106138]

>>7105881
:(
M-merci...

[Anonymous No.7106577]

post more

even the shittiest oc is better than anything on the first page

[Anonymous No.7106587]

>>7106138
I don't like seeing french people sad...

[Anonymous No.7106604]

Pick a topic for me lads

[Anonymous No.7106613]

>>7106604
toilet paper

[Anonymous No.7106789]

>>7106613
Cat's paws playground,
Tumbling sheets of snow,
The roll it rolls around,
Purity in flow.

Until man comes,
As bold as brass,
Pinches it between fingers and thumbs,
And rubs it against his ass.

[Anonymous No.7106815]

>>7106587
I don't like being shit at writing

[Anonymous No.7106962]

>>7106814
Okay /lit/ I'm going to attempt to makes a poem out of the blue listening to my acoustic song I recorded myself. Tell me if you can hear it.

Name: Sex is like Wine

Moscato is sweet,
Chardonnay is flat,
When one is left out,
It's a bad treat.

Taste it and you may find,
A warmness in this heart of mine,
Drink fast, and you'll have a blast,
But what will come, morning time?

Good in the morning, great in the day,
Nighttime bubbly feelings will sway,
3 glasses in no words to say,
New Age romances failed to stay.

Love is like the finest wine,
Rare to find and afford.
Time your time, learn to unwind,
And toss the corks you've stored.

[Anonymous No.7106967]

>>7106789
Killer

[Anonymous No.7106980]

>>7106789

:D

liked the 1st stanza. i wrote once about toilet paper, and it was a bit like yours (snow, flowing purity, the degradation)

[Anonymous No.7106998]

never am i more alone then when surrounded by you all hearing you hum

impossible to translate, fuck it

[Anonymous No.7107257]

>>7106613
A sapling set by farmer's toil,
With ancient calloused hands.
God may have first placed down the soil,
But wiping it is was man.

Might this tree rise like redwood oak,
And house a hundred nests?
Or outlive old Methuselah,
Throned in her desert rest?

The tree it aged, its bark grew brown,
The seasons lost their count.
The brawny son who lived there now,
He brought the old tree down.

The papermaking pallbearer,
Who hauled the tree away,
Had lesser dreams than Farmer John,
For the wood his truckbed lay.

[Anonymous No.7107300]

>>7107257
Do you have anything written beyond mundane objects?

[Anonymous No.7107318]

>>7107300
I'm usually too busy shitposting though I also wrote this >>7102153

[Anonymous No.7107322]

my life and memes in confluence,
mentioned once in local news,
i blew my chance at wizardhood

[Anonymous No.7107416]

Lying under the sword of Damocles
I heard the rain pouring outside
And having hoped, my time will be blest
I stood up and ran out with pride

[Anonymous No.7107446]

Before Sleep.

I'm living for stars, pin prick peepholes in the coarse black paper, clouds interpose, smoke fills my chest, i'm ready to put the night behind me.

[Anonymous No.7107878]

[Non-poem interlude]

Yep, I'm a fag for bringing this back.


[Begin Poem]
a.
Capturing a still moment
In that milky obsidian black.
Developing--
Treated with all chemicals, increasingly inorganic.
Dying only
When the sheet that is "I" is exposed.
Her mind interpreting.

b.
The fluid t says, “Your eyes are the drawstrings of the cosmos,
some broken, dead at another hidden end.”

c.
Igloo in negative--
Edges melt
Into themselves at
Every discernible point.

[End Poem]

[Anonymous No.7108006]

>>7107318
Ilu pls have poetry bbz with me.
<3 you have a gift, keep on keepin on anon

[Anonymous No.7108101]

>>7102153
clever. Publish it in a respected magazine

[Anonymous No.7108110]

>>7103757
this is fun in a revolting sort of way

[Anonymous No.7108120]

>>7108110
Thanks!

[Anonymous No.7108127]

>>7103757
A waste of my time and yours

[Anonymous No.7108141]

>>7108127
That was mean

[Anonymous No.7108189]

>>7108127
You jelly. I liked the poem.

[Anonymous No.7108273]

>>7092479
Ive sucked enough cock to get blocked from going to the shortstop

[bamp No.7110069]

They said she'd be home by noon, of course,
but I can never know when they're sure of what they say,

I wish mom wouldn't have left so early,
I could have kissed her goodbye, she could have woken me up,
I wouldn't have minded. She's probably flying right now, higher up,
watching the clouds... if she's sitting next to the window, sure she'll like it,
watching the clouds, and maybe she's thinking of me.

[Anonymous No.7110233]

smh tbh fam

smh fam tbh

fam smh tbh

fam tbh smh

tbh smh fam

tbh fam smh

jk,
lmao

[Anonymous No.7111001]

bump
>>7110233

-3/10

[Anonymous No.7111013]

Two men sat at a bench
In a park playing checkers.

The first man gathered
From where his pieces
Were placed upon the board
That his losing the game was certain,

So he said to the second man,
If I am to lose, who is to win?

The second man said, I can see what
You are attempting to do with me, but
It is known
That your questions
Are challenging

And if it is in your hopes
That I may answer you incorrectly
And thus be shamed before you,
Then I must thus assure you

That I am a learned man
And have studied under
The wisest of tutors
And the learn’d instructor,

And furthermore I have at my
Disposal the entireties
Of many matters
Big and small
And I will incontro--
Vertibly

Persuade you
That I am both right
And true too
In my answering.

And as the second man went on
Answering the question,
The first man moved his pieces
To more advantageous places

Upon the board upon the bench
At the park in which they sat

>>7092479
I like your attitude, dude :^)

>>7105902
This is great, dude. I like it. What's that kinda poetry called?

[Anonymous No.7111043]

>>7105902
Great piece anon
I tried to do one like that (in style not theme), and now I vomit in my mouth when I try to read it.

[Anonymous No.7111384]

>>7105391
The Night I Live In

I.

In stanza 2 line 5, I'd replace 'brain' with 'head'.
In stanza 3 line five, I'd replace 'insane child' w/ 'old rot'.
Other than those two things the piece reads real well. I dig it. In Part II you lose it. kek I hate everything about it.

[Anonymous No.7113234]

saved

[Anonymous No.7113239]

>>7092479
do you remember when God asked me to
name every living creature?
i left and named them and came back happy
you wept

‘is not woman, too, poet?’
you held us together and had angry tears
for God who was unfair
where he could’ve made good

and then God napped for forty-eight-thousand years
and I napped for a good long while
and you napped till now
see? He is a great poet … in His sleep

[Anonymous No.7113242]

>>7111013
>What's that kinda poetry called?
Nigger poetry. Pretty good tbh

[Anonymous No.7113282]

Through flowers, trees and fields of grass
By lonesome roads I soon shall pass
I long to journey, mile by mile
To see her warm and welcome smile
I hope to find her standing there
The girl with long and flowing hair
I'll always love her, heart and soul
This love of mine, she makes me whole
Our souls were lost, but now they're found
They're both entwined, forever bound


>this is gay, isn't it?

[Anonymous No.7113443]

How much does poetry suffer when it is translated into another language?

[Anonymous No.7113451]

>>7113443
Quite a bit. Moreso than prose, easily

[Anonymous No.7113563]

It's a ditty not a serious poem

Lavendor song

You've stumbled here, amongst the fragrant lavender
From France, from Spain from farthest Persia
Your fingers trace that rasping murmur
From green, to grey, to every purple
Odd mirrored sky, old magic circle

There's some more, but I can't remember it right now.

[Anonymous No.7113573]

>>7113563
Furthest not farthest

[Anonymous No.7113644]

>>7113451
So much so that it isn't worth reading?

[Anonymous No.7113663]

>>7113644
no

translations are fine, even of poetry

only the most fundamentally misguided derridean-heideggerian humanities 101 supercunt would say otherwise

[Anonymous No.7113758]

>>7113663
depends on the translator id say

[Anonymous No.7113764]

>>7113663
>>7113758
translations by a scimpanze would sux cox n dix

[Anonymous No.7113768]

>>7113758
obviously

[Anonymous No.7113784]

translations

[Anonymous No.7114606]

>>7111384
Thanks for reading/feedback.

It's interesting how differently others view poetry. I've shown this to others and they've enjoyed the second more than the first. However, you've confirmed what others have also seemed to say, which is that parts 1 and 2 seem to really stand separately more than together as one.

[Anonymous No.7114611]

>>7113663
:|

[Anonymous No.7114758]

Seemingly endless, seemingly ending;
Jazz without the swing, if you will.

When my bones finely dust you all from the gut and onward,

Let Thoth judge my life, in death, for its brush stroke precision.

Did I ever ease my chambers?
Did I ever spit the granite?

Dust always turns out fine.

Tear the filament.
Lick the leather.
Let it soak in for a while.
Let it soothe you.

Bite the leash.
Convulse your cage.
It brinks but doesn't break.
It beckons but won't budge.

Indefinitely exists, Inevitably exits.

Let me judge my life for its bashful merit,
not on mind-spilt future tenses.

My eyes are open, now give me something to see.

[Anonymous No.7114783]

>>7114758
|:
i dun dig it
i dun git it either

[Anonymous No.7114834]

>>7114783
im sorry, what did you not like about it? i havent been writing for very long lol. and yeah, sorry, its kinda cryptic

[Anonymous No.7115090]

I dream myself in them cold bodies
I dream myself come up warm blood
I let my bruised blood come up
And show them

Bootheel cut my birthcord
And scream to show them
I let my cold blue blood
Come out and show them

Twist them limbs
Twist again
And squeal.To show them.
I wake my warm blood up.
I wake up and show them.

[Anonymous No.7115146]

>>7115090

https://youtu.be/W8vb4w7Vl3Y

[Anonymous No.7115163]

>>7115146
Yeah main. The first line is also taken from Kassim the Dream. I heard that come out on an MF doom album, hence the poem. Pretty impressed how quickly lit spotted that though.

[Anonymous No.7115166]

A human voice is drifting towards me.
I slowly open my eyes,
Still savouring that temporary moment of solitude,
I look up at the sky, which seems blinding.
Almost the exact same sky I looked at all those years ago.
Yet somehow it seems so different.
I’m being carried by the same water as before,
It’s touch still comfortable, but colder.
Colder than the summers I can remember,
Even colder than the summers I can’t.
My thoughts and memories mesh together.
I can’t remember if I’m ten or forty,
Whether I’m looking forward to life,
Or looking back on past mistakes.
For now, I feel like almost the same person,
But burdened by a life lived,
Instead of light as a feather.
A human voice is drifting towards me.
As my head follows the sound, my ears clear the water.
And the world comes rushing back, the voice becoming clear.
Yet I still can’t decide whose it is.
Either my mom or my wife is yelling that dinner is ready.
I sigh, my rest disturbed by the life I chose.
And as I exit the water and look down,
My body is eighty once more
And there is no one on the shore.

[Anonymous No.7115170]

I love sex
I hate god
blastin niggas with my tec
till them motherfuckers ist tot

[Anonymous No.7115215]

There's a jar of cured lemons by the sink.
You wash dishes, I'll draw bath.
First door by the stairs. You can stay for a night.
Or two if need be. There's a wardrobe with Hangers, if you have any clothes. If not, take pause unwinding those cold steel coils.

[Anonymous No.7115284]

>>7115170
fuck me daddy

[Anonymous No.7115478]

Cranreuch

Hoarfrost, crispen hoarfrost;
That slaps the crossing east-wind,
Over sea and leaf-helms shorn-lost.
Who, to make hoarfrost, has sinned?

High the poplars, solemn bare,
That peek the grazing mist over;
Sweet the shining shadow's swear,
Of boats, Calais to Dover.

For slicing buds of dew on fens,
That sting the numb-swamped face.
Dough-skinned, the harshy hoarfrost lends

[Anonymous No.7115484]

Cranreuch

Hoarfrost, crispen hoarfrost;
That slaps the crossing east-wind,
Over sea and leaf-helms shorn-lost.
Who, to make hoarfrost, has sinned?

High the poplars, solemn bare,
That peek the grazing mist over;
Sweet the shining shadow's swear,
Of boats, Calais to Dover.

For slicing buds of dew on fens,
That sting the numb-swamped face.
Dough-skinned, the harshy hoarfrost lends
Speed to a deathing race.

Those poplars swallowed, by the grey;
The boats of docking do
The throw of rotting cargo. But stay
The ship, no ventures new.

Yet, switch the hoarfrost on the day,
There! New breathen light!
But morning only lasts so long;
Just wait till there is night.


(R8 it? Forgive me if I post more)

[Anonymous No.7115499]

>>7115484

Nomad


I saw on the bally bough, a nomad,
A facial, glacial, beggar form up the crest of the hill.
His ten teeth lay like yellow rocks,
And beach-pebbles in his gums.
His stubble grew like white wheat, on his leathery jowls.

His heavy face and berserker-eyes, he looked like
Ulysses, when he enobled himself to the wretch's stance.
He wore a thick coat, he wore a thick hat,
The grey and brown colour, laden somewhere between dye and dirt.

We withstood the plump air of late July,
And the pulsating of the shooting sun.
It had wretched my fire-swollen, gasping mass,
Up each vein and hill.

Yet, he did not vigorously swallow air or grunt,
He trundled a cracking blue bike, dark on the day,
In front of the sweet hay-cocks and reels of fields,
The winter's dark green to the summer's burnt yellow.

He told me he'd hope the weather'd hold a month.
I wished the same, god-willing. We parted.
That Jack Noman, a man of the steppe of Éire.

[Anonymous No.7115581]

>>7115284
Who is the meme dream? (No really)

[Anonymous No.7115604]

>>7115484
7.9/10

[Anonymous No.7115606]

>>7115581
some houri

[Anonymous No.7115612]

[Anonymous No.7115619]

My latest creation:

Urethra, I'm beneath her;
she's sitting on my face.
The muscles, contorting;
for piss myself I brace.

My throat is at attention;
my hands, stretched left and right.
Enveloping her giant ass;
her folds cause me no fright;

A discharge - is splashing
and bouncing off my tongue.
Inside of me its flushing;
all around its being flung.

I think there's somthing brewing,
an extra chewy goo.
I hope in just a moment
my mouth will fill with pooh.

[Anonymous No.7115740]

>>7115619
11/10

[Anonymous No.7115832]

>>7115619
Does it feel good wasting a creative impulse on such nonesense?

[Anonymous No.7116016]

Rendered useless,
held her head bent nooseless,
murmured: "Africa's mooseless."
I chuckled, pyrrhic and puerile,
over and over till hunched over
pickled grapes and died
of laughter. The mosaic
of beef meat in jelly
submitted to a Queen's yawn–
merciless mercenary–
and flung the hornet's honey
on the cyclist's readjusted sneakers
and smoke signaled their fair share
of auto-venom and faulty wiring
passing notes in class saying:
"fucking a girl in the ass
is elegant.

P.s. our new punk band is called:
Jizz Tissue and Apple Core"

[Anonymous No.7116120]

The infernal bum of imagination
knocked on my door again today
demanding gold leaves and pearls.
"Winter is coming" my television
mused as I scratched my knee.
"But so is summer and spring and–!"
My door politely shut itself on him
as my hand with(a nifty new pen)–
drew up a restraining order.

Fast forward (is not an option)
and I find myself (when?)
before a notorious notary,
noticing a note to be notarized–
my order of restraint! against
that poor (in the Christian sense)
vagabond who only demands
the use of my own hands' land:
the domain, demesne, doe mane,
of a rapaciously repetitious redundant
serial murderer of subtleties and
those devices kind of like similes.

[Anonymous No.7116140]

why cant i just clean my room
its so full of water bottles
my wife is going to be mad when she comes home

[Anonymous No.7116148]

>>7116016
>>7116120

this is all awful sorry guys

[Anonymous No.7116153]

>>7116148
Oh and >>7116140 too

[Anonymous No.7116201]

>>7116153
Did you like mine?

[Anonymous No.7117226]

Thanks for letting us know. but I guess we can do that, I 50,
and he is not an option to add this to you by email or phone. it will not be able to connect with him, but I have lived here is a new counselor, but should be the same.
I have also attached to the boy and sat in my opinion is a good time.
The only thing I'm kinda in his room. I am a beautiful and everyone else in mind, but should have a question. " " Hm, but it is a new phone case you faint of the other boys and the back there. the first one to the bathroom and I have been working three years, but it is a new phone, so I'm sure it was before.
8hrs I was wondering if you are not a good with that said, I have learned that you are finished. I don't think that the two resemble the boy.
I have a half hour. the other passengers looked over towards the duo.
The boys eyes fluttered a good idea, I am a little more about it and I will be.

its a pretty abstract but id like some crit

[Anonymous No.7117435]

>>7115090
Mc Ride? kek

[Anonymous No.7118189]

bump

[Anonymous No.7118384]

can someone give me a percentage of meme poems to actually effort-put-into poems in these threads?

I'd rather not go through a minefield to find ones to actually comment on ;0

[Anonymous No.7118441]

>>7118384
It's pretty easy to skim through here and see which is which. You have anything to share?

[Anonymous No.7118442]

Idle, grey, oh darkened mind,
You want to stray, but cannot find
A thing to claim your fading day
A vault of nothing - vapid waves
Throughout your lofty chamber spill
Till drowned in emptiness, you fill

[Anonymous No.7118507]

>>7117226

1st of all, it looks like shit.

2ndly, it's ungrammatical at times

last but not least, it actually has a very strange, unique sort of distant voice talking to me kinda vibe and I feel like a spirit floating outside space&time and you're going for something quite unique and different, while still using very simple language. it feels like a computerized voice, you use a lot of 1st-person pronouns and it doesn't read very human still, like Hal from 2001, so it adds to a very strange experience that I think you should pursue, definitely, this is actually pretty interesting, but that you should add more rigor or consistency to the execution. I can actually forgive you for making it look so ugly >after< reading, but it might, and thus will, make several people not pay attention to it.

[Anonymous No.7118528]

>>7118441
>You have anything to share?
Unfortunately little. Publishers don't like things that have been published anywhere ever before.

[Anonymous No.7118582]

>>7118528

>if you don't have any and you like poetry feel free to lay down whatever is on your mind.

[Anonymous No.7118612]

>>7118582
Readin' some stuff from the therad. Thinkin' of stuff to say. Most of it is negatory so that's something. Might post some stuff, still considering.

[Anonymous No.7118620]

ahhhh what the heck.

I - gravity
This catalogue of words should be seen as part of
the rushing flow of reality making
white lights like rapids crashing in the brain,
shaping expressions, carving world views
political opinions, senses of humor but not
the reason why every human smiles the same.

(IV - maybe)
We live in a hole of perception:
our desires are important (perhaps)
our freedoms are integral (to us)
what you say matters (maybe to you)
we shaped this world (we own it, don't we?)
yet there are pits in the ground older
than goals and aspirations, canyons
more ancient than words or religion
and while we die regretting
a life of what we thought was crime
the world just laughs us off,
drinks in spirits from the sun
and hopes, someday,
to make a name for itself
alone amidst the discord of
every other planet in the universe.

II - a microcosm.
Synthesized (electronic or man-made) music plays
socialites gravitate towards each other
wallflowers drink alone, what freaks.
They all embrace the numbing drone of
high heels and inebriation.

Two men, nevermet, sit together,
one in Yeezys, a rolex (gold or similar
or maybe it was fake) and confidence over
the other in a hoodie and maybe grey pants,
I can't quite remember. They talk about
patron silver from the faucets and
whose birthday this might be in small
blurts between bouts of UFC. A woman,
black dress with diamond necklace
(maybe fake), walks up.

She smiles and, dumb drunk, collapses on
her man in gold. "Let's get out of here."

He smiles and, knowing the game, gets up
"A'ight" He says smoothly, "Just lemme
tell the guys." He picks his woman up
to her feet, then turns back to the other;
"Yo man, nice talkin' with you."

The other nods, remains seated. The man in
gold leaves and will be remembered.

III - sensation.

but don't kid yourself-
there is no mystery as to why
every human smiles the same
we know. We know. We know exactly
why that is the case.

[twinshia !b2E8KBMQGk No.7118624]

>>7096812
*"strata",
not "stratums".

[Anonymous No.7118636]

>>7118624

still shitty

[Anonymous No.7118676]

Pointless as poetry be
Perhaps as fruitless as humanity
Though here still are we
Endowed with unflappable curiosity
A stone unturned so rare to see
Yet remain us stone hunters invariably
And perhaps of these, key
The most seemingly uninteresting and innocuous be.
The rock under which I find me.
And while this seems to be the heaviest stone to bear
I carry it still everywhere
its strength held within locks of hair
The mind cannot manage care
For its own mirrors stare
When still lies so much left out there.
But under its untempting weight
Lies jealousy greed and hate
Bugs that flee from the light
Knowing undeniably wrong from right
They pulled down the rock hard
Lest they be charred
By the eternal victor of the good fight.
And now to them each belong endless night.

[Anonymous No.7118682]

>>7118676
>unflappable curiosity
I, for one, would love for my curiosity to flap THANK you very much.

[Anonymous No.7118698]

>>7118507
thanks. ill try to tighten it up a bit to make it more readable since it is pretty off putting.

[Anonymous No.7118735]

>>7118698
hey man don't turn it from being off putting. Be true to your vision; if you want it to be that, let it be and perhaps alter other aspects so people can tell what it is supposed to be more clearly.

[Anonymous No.7118741]

>>7118682
a wishful thought among a wistful lot.
yet still criticism this is not.

[Anonymous No.7119096]

>>7118741
Subtle criticism of how probably unintentionally silly "unflappable curiosity" sounds.

buut I guess I couuulld...

>>7118676
"The rock under which I find me." is a sentence fragment

A, A, A, A, A, A, A, A, A, B, B, B, B, B, B, C, C, D, D, E, E, F, F is one jank rhyme scheme if you ask me.

Meter is all over the place. I don't think any two lines follow the same meter. It is very clunky in this regard and flows poorly due to the constant shifting. Try to get this in check.

There are a few periods and commas but mostly your punctuation is invisible, this hurts the poem.

I think the shift from us looking under rocks out of curiosity to the speaker being under a "rock" doesn't connect.

[Anonymous No.7119121]

>>7118682
>>7118741
>unfappable curiosity
think about it. Now that there is a load of meaning in

[Anonymous No.7119135]

>>7119096
yeah my bad I was using a voice to text application on my phone while I'm driving a large truck

[Anonymous No.7119150]

>>7119096
the rock under which I find me actually refers to the idea that people will distract themselves with anything to keep from being bored long enough to look at themselves in the idea that you run away from your self with distractions in life

[Anonymous No.7119195]

>>7119150
....uh....

...huh.

If that was the intent, there's some failure in communication going on. The whole curiosity thing doesn't seem to connect at all to the rest of the poem.

[Anonymous No.7119360]

Apathy

I felt a feel I had not felt for many night and day
That itched and cawed and made me sweat toward a midnight fray
The evening spent, the night endured, I felt myself arise
Among a darkness deep inside me that warranted no surprise

I felt a feel that made me sick, that seemed to grip my soul
It burned at first but soon dispersed around my heart of coal
Which seemed to fuel a lasting hate that caught me in the rough
And killed me, how it killed me so to see myself uncuffed

I felt a feel around the end that did not stir my mind
But sat complacent, nonadjacent to feelings near my spine
I wept, I screamed, I cursed the Earth and all who rest inside
But all was lost and cast away when the feelings I felt had died.

[Anonymous No.7119386]

Do you guys have any tips on writing poetry that actually fits into contemporary tendencies? Like, writing poetry that isn't dated or at least not blatantly postmodern, because that's getting pretty old too?

How do I write fresh poetry?

[Anonymous No.7119397]

Sexuality is sin from
Ocean and belly deep within
From clang, clinging, clamoring so—
Sensual flagellation at the sound; so frothing fierce

With dust and withering stone floor
No one is asking anymore.

[Anonymous No.7119408]

>>7119386
write in meter, maybe feet too, until you (hopefully) develop your own style.

[Anonymous No.7119557]

>>7119386
>Do you guys have any tips on writing poetry that actually fits into contemporary tendencies?
oh boy go study aleatoricism, language peotry and all sorts of fun stuff. "Contemporary tendencies" are a very, very fun thing to explore.

we are past postmodernism, though, in case you are worried. We have recently entered some bizarre hypermodern state where nothing makes sense and everything is wonderful.

[Anonymous No.7119595]

is 4chan alive yet
>>7118620

philosophically I like the direction of your writings
>carving world views
>political opinions, senses of humor but not
>the reason why every human smiles the same.

I like some images you paint to illustrate your points
>Synthesized (electronic or man-made) music plays
>II - a microcosm.
¶
I like these moments of wit
>our desires are important (perhaps)
>our freedoms are integral (to us)

What you're AIMING FOR is as new and necessary to us as whitman was to his time (kill me)
You've got a bit of whitman in yourself

yet the obvious sensation is that this is not 100% polished.
not 100% ready to go.
not 100% digestible.
57%
and before you ask me why: don't kid yourself, you know exactly why that is the case.
¶
but here is not so much an authoritative approval but a 'hey cool I'd read more' and a 'i like where this is going'

[Anonymous No.7119646]

>>7115484
First two are tip top

[Anonymous No.7119723]

>>7119595
Thanks for the kind words, friend. To be honest I'm hesitant to post stuff that I'd consider polished anywhere online due to publishing rights hullabaloo.

That one was somewhere on the line between stuff I just throw into a junk folder and stuff I'd consider refining. I didn't like the theme of it well enough to bring it anywhere stronger, though, so I left it.

It's as interesting to see the positive regard as it is to see the discussion of it being unpolished. Basically it is exactly that, so it's cool to see how that actually came out. Perspective is powerful, at any rate.

I may post more. Otherwise, I'll probably be around. Thanks for the kind words in both cases : )

[Anonymous No.7119744]

>>7119646
>>7115604


>(Thanks, m80s)

I was weedling up a highland tract,
Down to the crofting city of grit and draught;
Where I passed whistling sheepherds with
Stone-stern Corydons;
Bricky stubbles on tarted faces.

Dripping blood o'er these hills, as a lad,
I had skited rock-ways, feeling my
Open elbow after, white with work.
Weeping curdlingly, shrieking over dusty moors,
But growing fonder.

Adonis was not an adolescent.
When I were't, gacky and witless I was,
With long-fodden hair, that was matted with grease.
I pressed a girl's leg once, to mine, and heated;
I was infirm, awkward, boring;
I was my parent's weaken.

Where I am now, though, sailing up the Bosphorus;
The boughs are happier than e'er before.
The green fields of Canada are daily blooming,
And the thrushes on the fen sing, lyreless, to the cicadas.
The fresh, twisted, pale trees on the groves give
Supple whispers; the orchard wipes the land
With gruff beauty.

And around the supple sensitives, the mind first
Opens Alexandrian libraries, fully comprehensive,
And looks at the slickened, cool marble, to first admire grandeur.
Standing as if, a gold-woven eagle, made from lines of lines,
Glimmering, twisted threads lapping on red satin.

Yet, the folly. Youth gruntingly breeds hubris,
Feelings of pointed Cortez, of discovery;
And the brain jokes that this epoch is better for them,
Though it is quite the same,
And the same future-regrets will hold.

[Anonymous No.7119762]

>>7119408
how do you write metrical verse without feet? are you a wizard?

[Anonymous No.7119784]

Eh screw it, here's one work that I'd consider more polished, relatively speaking. It was self-published a while ago so it is effectively off-limits for publishing now anyways.

I'd love to hear what people think/feel it is about, analysis etc. It is more valuable to hear what people get out of the language than it is to actually put it together, in my mind.

"Nightmare Big"

Gimme that sensation
a thousand times a day, please,
I want to play with with those
cold tingles up and down my hide,
feel the pulse of what our all-knowing
never-blinking inward eye sees and
get high and inebriated with expression's
grateful bounce off of, into and all around
just what it's all about. We are species from

tip toe to wavy, slightly frayed, kinda
frizzy yet still so elegantly orange hair,
so act like it when you ought to, or if
not just slightly breathe to take in
that nicely cooling, somewhat serene
"so my country" air. Fuck fancy, buy in large
or supersized if you want to. Have big nightmares,
if it's your fancy, or dreams if you prefer.
Spend whole days in bed exploring the touch concepts
"of each other" and fall in love or in debt just
to claw your way out of it. See the world how you
need to, in your eyes, colorblind to red-blue.
But what is love? What is the world?
And what exactly is who are you? Don't care,

I know children who try to tell me their
love is mightier than thou. I know adults
who keep insisting that the world is round.
There are countries where you're expected to
die before you retire, but I live in one where
you can relax.

[Anonymous No.7119858]

Here's a limerick I call "The man who shat money"

I farted ninepence t'other day and ran to catch the bus
Conductor fella saw it and began to make a fuss
I said "Me arse is British mint can ye not bleedin' tell?"
He said "It's not the counterfeit, it's just the fucking smell".

Thank you, goodnight.

[Anonymous No.7120020]

Tattooed from the head down,
Such description you see sound,
Yet everyone around frowns,
As if I'm a downhill failure bound,
For a life of hardships.
Makes my raging heart pound.

I better take some medicine,
'Cause I'm about to sin,
Hard as I carry out devils whims,
Eating at my mind yet again.

Fuck society, what it believes,
Their ignorance is irony to me.
Watch em bleed and they on their knees.
God give me, my much deserved serenity.

[Anonymous No.7120080]

Idyllic streets wind between plots of trees
An old oak watches, one thousand eyes that never blink.
Children climb pine and pile scarlet maple leaves
Eating watermelon on the curb, no time to think.

The woods howl with mystery and intrigue
Some strange uncharted city of trees
Bordering a lake so still the children look every minute to be sure it is still there
No time for money or mirrors or books
Playing in the autumn rain, prayers for floods, muddy brooks
Soon the sky greys and fireflies find their kin
The world falls like the heap of leaves seconds before a wind.

[Anonymous No.7120355]

I'm in Miami
I need to call up Miss Cassidy
My name is party not participation
Sorry for the miscommunication
I need a drink and some tequila with you
You know what I'm trying to do
Hey let's pop the E off at Liv I've got some time here to blow
I've got the money to blow
I've got the money and blow
Don't have to guess how I know
Oh it's a secret just for me I'll keep it
You old niggas boring as bones
Put the party tape on
You know what's going on
You know what's going on
She keep it wet like tsunami
She think she sunk the Titanic
I get her hot like Wasabi
She think it's wavy and gnarly
I think I'm a pop one fuck you
Drink one for you

[Anonymous No.7120626]

"SUCK the taste of fingertip paper-cut blood;
Rusty warehouse and old red dead materials—cadaveric
industrial dust—far from cherries, or strawberries.

I have sins to confess, but they all have that taste."

When it gets to making someone sad I always fail;
My poetry always fails, to bring a tear to someone's eye, and so have I
failed to express a sentiment bigger than cowardly masking my emotions
with lame words and stylish rhythms and eyeful text formatting.

/lit/ I am sick of being forced this language upon me,
sick of seeing many a sensitive mind muted by a speechless tongue, uttering
'april being the cruelest month', 'pearls being his eyes',
metaphors obscuring truths, moon's replacing suns, eclipses misunderstood,

and I ask then for this; give me a poem that speaks?
or has it been lost on you already?
caught in spiderwebs,
confused,
sterile,
dead
end?

[Anonymous No.7122164]

blump

[Anonymous No.7122195]

>>7093573
>>7093646

damn that's some good shit homie

[Anonymous No.7122299]

>>7119762
You always write in feet, i ment actually paying attention to it

[Anonymous No.7122598]

I followed her into the apartment
A girl from the Gender Studies Department
She bit off my dick
Said it had made her sick
And no, this is not a limerick

[Anonymous No.7122636]

>>7122598
:D

Poem 7122598, by Anonymous, announces the subtleties and problematic of definition in the context of an increasing participative ground of activity. By announcing that "this is not a limerick", the poem itself both speaks truth and defines truth, not merely describing passively the situation, but actively recurring to a self-definition that surpasses mere data categorization.

This is, in its extended form, a real problem in, say, fields of study where the human itself is the object of study. The human, by means of self-awareness, can define its own truth by means other than mere descriptive behavior or attitude. This is to say that it becomes increasingly difficult to prescribe, for example, a psychological diagnosis in a society where the means of diagnosing are extended informationally to the masses; this is to say that, by willpower and by mere exploitation of these fields weaknesses, anyone can, up to observational relevance, and thus, up to empirical relevance, become schizophrenic, depressed, autistic, etc. The transference of passive definition to the active object, itself now the definer, becomes problematic.

It is not simply true that the poem is not a limerick: it consciously chose not to be so.

[Anonymous No.7122662]

>make poem
>thread dies
every time

[Anonymous No.7122669]

>>7122662
i'll read it

[Anonymous No.7122671]

>>7122669
it's already itt, but i wont point to it :^)

[Anonymous No.7122687]

>>7122671
your fam-.-gay ? tbh:^)m80 kek

[Anonymous No.7122691]

>>7122687
got me m8
this me rite here>>7119397

[Anonymous No.7122726]

Giving feedback now, but here's a palindrome I wrote.

(for/of)

i saw-
late fossil blindness;
eye for (or of) eyes.
send nil bliss of... et al.
-was i?

(for/of)

[Anonymous No.7122754]

>>7122636
this is better than the poem

but >>7122598 is still pretty good

[Anonymous No.7122801]

>>7122726

are you the tucknip guy?

[Anonymous No.7122815]

>>7122726

not poetry

[Anonymous No.7122819]

>>7122801
Yeah, damn, I can't believe someone remembered that!

[Anonymous No.7122826]

>>7120626
Try writing with form, it really helps to constrain ideas and make every word hold a significant weight. Some of these lines, like "far from cherries" work well but overall it feels a little too aimless.

[Anonymous No.7122924]

that last poem i wrote before giving up lit, what do you guys think?

i found you as a rose, thought to just let you be
but your beauty astonishing, grasped until my hands bleed
not concerned with the flesh i gladly let the blood seep
because the wounds sealed tight when you opened your pedals to me
entranced in that beauty at first i did not see
gray clouds all around, water climb to my feet
forcoming a storm, i planted you at my peak
north of the mountain, faceing the sea
where we watch tides collide that may never reciede
waterlines will arise and swallow our beach
but aloft our mountain winds and water never can reach
to tear out your pedal's or drown soil underneath
and when the sea dulls your pedals and the view becomes bleak
we can turn to the south to endless meadows of green
to live amongst all the flowers and forever be free'd
and in our last moments, my final decree
is the solice i found when you planted your self into me

[Anonymous No.7123054]

>>7122924
damn, that picture is absolutely stunning

[Anonymous No.7123126]

>>7123054
thanks! i wish i knew who to credit, but what did you think of the poem?

[Anonymous No.7123194]

Behind glass, caged,
I watch:
A cat struts in a garden
familiarly not her own.

Twigs hang high, leaved
red and plum,
brushing her head
leaped to the Sun.
Stalwart branches bow down low,
her smile: obscured by shade.
A graze of the head and on she goes --
another poem to be made.

Whilst I stare my ears drift off,
across the sea, to talks in France,
A great cacophony!
Can’t be made out. Distance mists
the truths they shout.

Truths of beauty! Truths of sin!
Truths of adventure and heart within!
Paris of love to change me whole,
free of cares and for all fun.

Behind glass, caged,
I sit:
Constrained by bars wrought
of careful cowardice.
Would that I were the cat
moved on.


(this is my first time trying this let me know how I did lads)
I’m still here, she is gone.

[Anonymous No.7123202]

Behind glass, caged,
I watch:
A cat struts in a garden
familiarly not her own.

Twigs hang high, leaved
red and plum,
brushing her head
leaped to the Sun.
Stalwart branches bow down low,
her smile: obscured by shade.
A graze of the head and on she goes --
another poem to be made.

Whilst I stare my ears drift off,
across the sea, to talks in France,
A great cacophony!
Can’t be made out. Distance mists
the truths they shout.

Truths of beauty! Truths of sin!
Truths of adventure and heart within!
Paris of love to change me whole,
free of cares and for all fun.

Behind glass, caged,
I sit:
Constrained by bars wrought
of careful cowardice.
Would that I were the cat
moved on.
I’m still here, she is gone.

[Anonymous No.7123620]

Inside and off I sit alone,
No sense in dailing a telephone
Where no friends are available, I rest
Three voice mails, please leave a message after the tone.

The first was a friend who sounded low,
I missed a gathering two hours ago.
I was torn down by ardent work,
Now I feel more alone than I know.

The second call I can confess
left me in a bout of stress,
concerned family called me, "happy holidays"
they wished me the very best.

The third call I left playing loose
I was convinced I've cooked my goose.
It's halfway over, "Why'd you do it?"
I couldn't answer through the noose.

[Anonymous No.7123637]

>>7123126
Iain Andrews from UK

[Anonymous No.7123642]

Cascading into itself, like a trailing wisp
spiralling deeper into the cradle abyss
for the brief dark pause of which whom to remember
shuttles last cries for the dull carnate ember.
Rifled with harrowing chains, chattering their ill feet
left but no morrow nor memory to meet,
cursed being born so late and to die so soon
that the callous bellows beckon the sweet sombre tune.
Questions repeated and morale defeated,
just a wandering stone that is forced to be seated.
Self suppliance defiled and serendipity shot,
of all the beings I was, a being was I not?
For whom would that great castle coffin wrought,
But the soul anchor who spelled the tales always sought?
Great ignorance fell'd upon time
brought no new answers nor peace for the mind.
The apathy consumed by the bellied foul jowls
of the great dreamed grayscape that loomed over cowls.
With sharp variety, shuffling by
this harrowed being's lost echo'd cry.
Shot through the linen
and the great castle tin and
the god who had always asked why.

[Anonymous No.7125185]

Bomb went to jail
There he didn't find meal
Bomb died

[Anonymous No.7125190]

Tear me apart bros


Seventeen seventeen,
as old as a tree ,
with a thirst for life
that soothes you-
a search, through a lurch,
but theres nothing it seems,
nothing left
that moves you.

Keep your back straight,
straight as a beam,
till nothing is left-
so it seems.
Hold your legs down,
your neck to the ground,
to downplay the skull
that moves you.

Search through the dirt,
search till its plain,
that theres nothing in life
of worth.
Keep them alive,
the dreams in your mind,
till your lost to the reasons
that move you.

So day after day,
you look to the fray,
to keep you alive
and well-
and to the spring,
that keeps you in dream,
theres nothing, nothing
to move you.

They say, and they pray
for life to not change
but theres nothing else I want-
a pitiable fool,
with nothing but gruel,
and a need for the reason
that moves you.

But still, oh lord still,
at the stop of the film,
I reason, why does it keep moving?
And never again
will I lose that thread,
that weaves through your mind
and moves you.

So try, one more try,
till your skins set to fry,
and maybe something
will move you-
try, oh lord try,
till your soul's left to writhe,
and maybe that will move you.

[Anonymous No.7125532]

>>7122726
tucknip

[Anonymous No.7126525]

rescued

[Anonymous No.7126761]

1. >>7097039 >>7098270 >>7099318 >>7103835 >>7115484

2. >>7093111 >>7093745 >>7096790 >>7096804 >>7118620

3. >>7093573 >>7096817 >>7097200 >>7097230 >>7098686 >>7099590 >>7105338 >>7125190

4. >>7093692 >>7093710 >>7096876

∞. >>7115619 >>7122726