Poetry Critique

[Anonymous No.7748033]

Didn't see one in the catalog. I'll start -

You came floating over the ground,
eyes red and wet. The hocketing
spirits chanted “kiss,
kiss, lux, kiss, come with us into the
night that spins and spins over our heads
oh our heads that nod
and our heads that break at
the noise”.

To the rhythm of your
self-similar silence, I
felt you, I felt you kicking
and clawing in the dark and I held you still
for an instant that pounded at the gates of my eyes and ears,
O ocean eyes that spill
and burst upon my bulwarks,
red and fleshy, red and pleading,
I love thee!

[Anonymous No.7748642]

the light powdering
through the hole in my head
can be seen through the hole
in my feet for I am hollow.

[Anonymous No.7748649]

DASHING SOUND OF THE TRUMPETS

(ent. Undercut sound as villain arises)
Come, Saturday whispers –
“Today comes the adventures of this & so with so & that,
With his lil’ buddy, Bow the Bear”
We perch to these songs of our seasons
Underwhelming in perpetuity, yet graced with ardor
As we have not yet known
What the mollusk knows about perpetuity

“Fear! Dr. Dread! Your evil plans are ended to this day”
As we collapse in fabulous giggles, finding this no-end
Nor aware that the smiles are affixed – the villain never triumphs
The heroes never die

“Fear! Dr. Dread! Fear!” is the chorus that strikes
But what fear? Fear of the eternal nocturne?
Or the otherwise – eternal summer?
At out points stretching out to locales imperceptible, morning
That expects to come, is brighter than this morning.
We levitate over the seer’s nest, we see, see-er
We are happy in the vices of the prophecy
And whichever end, in the plus or negative, will never be our sight.

“Join us again next time for –“ this What?
Sounds of Who? and Why? violate from this one allomatic flute
That bends season into season,
Soon I will see all, soon I will know less
And the sounds of the morning are like geysers ringing
Into vast ear, ringing – tremulous whisper of Saturday
When ardor strikes this chord again into perpetuity
This perpetuity and perpetuity – the sound that makes when the Villain arises
And gives this air the disgraces of the evening.

[Anonymous No.7748716]

mind bobbing side to side
to weak to feel immortal

cold feet sweat and smell of grass
the park is now closing

masters
daughters
friends of foreign friends
end the day while I wait

tomorrow the headlines will ring
jesters spew out tragedy again
I will watch everyone from a million screens

they will all know my name.

[Anonymous No.7749332]

I hardly hear them now.
Just auditory clues,
cues to signal– keys to
slot in neuropaths and
drafts to notes to sheets to
this music. Peace in the
pieces– where I sit but
don't listen. These songs that
tend to sidle step in,
change some stone to flesh and
numb law to love. I want
rest but instead this sly
test sets in for the night.
I hardly hear them now.

[Anonymous No.7749335]

>>7748642
why is there a hole around it?

[Anonymous No.7749439]

Move me like a stranger
under burden of the night.
Treat me like a trained bird
at bid to sullen flight.
But think me your beloved,
drag me out into the light?
I'll sit with garrote waiting–
I'll string your lacing tight.

[Anonymous No.7749499]

>>7748642
I kinda like the content, but the way the last the lines are line breaked felt awkward the on the first read.

[Anonymous No.7749887]

I'd like some constructive criticism

Rumour as the people arrive at scene
Fear not fellow human, the karma police is here
Judge, jury and executioner, they know what is best
Save the good for society: Save the good in name of the rest
No sympathy for the victim, one of which living too many
Empathy disregarded for those committing social felony
Of rumour enough to commit the punishment
No defence given for those lost, in abuse of the moment
Of no value to this world or yet still
as they stare in the soul of the devil
Look in the eyes a reflection of the worlds pain
Abuse and intellectual murder: A person of vain
Has nothing been lost, nothing left to strand
Presented now the finale, the void of the end
With my last love left, I say Farewell my friend.

[Anonymous No.7749948]

Were we now to fall
To our stubborn knees
And sink to rest, my
Self sunk in yours, then

What would hold us
Together but uninteresting
Weight. Do you believe
Love and how much.

[Anonymous No.7750072]

>>7749948
I like it

[Anonymous No.7750807]

>>7749335
idk
>>7749499
thank you. I was not too sure about how to break the last two - making the last line "for I am hollow" seemed too corny and obvious to me. any suggestions?

[Anonymous No.7750821]

I think I look good
From a distance
In dimly tinted
Windows

[Anonymous No.7750940]

>poetry "critique" thread
>5:1 ratio of poems to critiques
typical

came here just to say that

[Anonymous No.7751131]

>>7750807
>making the last line "for I am hollow" seemed too corny and obvious to me
I'm totally with you on that. "Unfortunately" after reading it a few timed it feels quite natural to me as it's written so it's hard for me to judge what what would have felt more natural the first time.

The only suggestion I could come up with would be to split the third line into

can be seen
through the hole

but I'm not sure that's better.

[Anonymous No.7751135]

Mirror mirror, on the wall,
Tell me, who is the bravest of them all.
I'm just a lost girl in the woods
Which name should I even call.

Unfold me, I am small
I'm like a child who lost in mall
Reach me, im so high up in the sky
Grab me, I don't want to fall

[Anonymous No.7751164]

>>7751135

Wow, this reaches new levels of terrible

[Anonymous No.7751193]

99% of the poetry on /lit/ is just extremely lazy

[Anonymous No.7751197]

If it can't be sung it's not poetry

[Anonymous No.7751207]

>>7751197

smuganimeface.png

[Anonymous No.7751226]

>>7751207
but what I said is true and is the reason why modern poetry is garbage
write poetry that you can sing and see how much better it is

[Anonymous No.7751235]

>>7751197
this, desu

[Anonymous No.7751260]

>>7748033
3/10
All brains, no heart.

>>7748642
5/10
Read outside your comfort zone for once, you narrow-minded spaz.

>>7748649
0/10
You don't have to write poetry, so don't.

>>7748716
7/10
Vaguely embarrassing but you'll improve.

>>7749332
Just read this aloud. Just.

>>7749439
2/10
Why are you posting this?

>>7749887
1/10 or 9/10
I can't tell if it's a joke.

>>7749948
10/10
Best in thread.

>>7751135
5.5/10
All heart, no brain. Fire without ice.

[Anonymous No.7751266]

>>7751164
I'll have u know my defult leangue is now English :D

[Anonymous No.7751272]

>>7751266
NOT*

[Anonymous No.7751285]

>>7749948
This is "The Mechanic" by Robert Creely

[Anonymous No.7751292]

I'm trying my best with English :D Hope i can get better by time

Cursed, in the edge of madness,
Filled with sorrow, despair and sadness,
Wearing that mask, swallows my mentality and fitness
Come, fill my heart with light and brightness

[Anonymous No.7751300]

>>7751285
No one cares, fuckface.

[Anonymous No.7751402]

>>7751260
>Read outside your comfort zone for once, you narrow-minded spaz.
what the fuck are you talking about

[Anonymous No.7751413]

This isn't really my sort of thing. I was bored waiting on a movie screening outside a classroom that I put this:

This numbnut in the mess hall spreads syrup over his omelette.
Like, motherfucker, put your pancakes on another damn plate.
Are you some food connoisseur, the next Gordon Ramsey, bitch?
It's not even sightly. I can get around sriracha, ketchup can't pass.
Certainly Dr. Pepper for breakfast is not a champion's feast.
Now, about the syrup: would you like some hot gushing semen
All over your slanting stack of tasteless buns? You decide what
I mean by that: the pancakes or your cheeks wide abreast for two.
Only God and your sexually frustrated roommate know. If so, then I
Can get around your scrambled taste for eggs. The looks on you draw
The idea that you climbed out a rape van this morning: wrinkled
Polyester and freckled denim. Is it paint? Did you major in the arts?
I pity you more
As I drink and eat my poison.
In a rare, sunny evening I saunter the bridge, to and fro, for a smoke
As it is outright banned in the dorm. Nobody gives a kid's piss but I
Am too much a puss to bet on red. Daylight flickers, hides in a bed
Of clouds like a hyperactive child to an unfortunate foster couple
Caught earlier gnawing at one of those rubber dildos that look like
Gummy worms. You can't blame the boy, but still finger off the sun.
Today, leaning by the rail, pass a fleet of women, eights by truth.
Puff I do, puff do they. We're all in race but we all know I'm nearer.
The committee never said there was a prize for first, but I'm game.
Not a minute passes and she, this tempest-tossed stick of a virgin,
Weeping and limping her tired jog or slithers away, what was memorable
Of her vanity was that she was breathing from her fucking nose all
The time. Jesus Crucified Christ, use your fucking mouth. And Hell,
I'm a pro at it, do you see me snorting my cigarette? Keep on and
You'll end up like a Buscemi love child. Stop reading Cosmopolitan
Or whatever the hoot's on your pony pink nightstand, gain a gracious
ten or twenty pounds because, yikes, that ain't no woman's figure.
Oh, I pity you more
As I breathe and smoke my poison.

[Anonymous No.7751417]

>>7751402
No one cares, fuckface.

[Anonymous No.7751447]

>>7748642
last line doesn't read well; if it was one syllable shorter it would read better.

[Anonymous No.7751546]

>>7751226
you do it first, assface. or if you can't then at least point me to examples written in the last 50 years, and then i'll make my judgment

[Anonymous No.7751571]

fucking tired of working on this shit,but it's almost done i think

[Anonymous No.7751804]

>>7751571
It's not. Or is that the joke? I honestly can't tell anymore, friends.

[Anonymous No.7751816]

>>7751804
please help me then
i'm always open for criticism

[Anonymous No.7752552]

>>7751816
>>7751571
There should be a comma after "and" in L2. Fluorescence is an abstraction, and I don't think you're getting anything out of it. We're moving from cup of tea to lava lamp (?). "Lays the day's texture" sounds jagged to pronounce. I don't like it. "Plastic shining..." is not a complete sentence and I don't like that. I don't know who "they" are. Here begins a series of insipid and grating phrases: "thick grass," "bored child," "wet green," "soft earth," "soft hair," "tied ribbon." The adj-noun combo irritates the ear after so many repetitions. Additionally, the adjectives are quite weak. I don't like the word "squiggles," it's juvenile but more importantly it lacks rich association, it's childish. I don't know what you're going for with "stretched tigerwood" and "theatrics of the corona," it's all a bit much at one time while saying very little substantively. "Wriggle" is alright but "playfully" isn't. "Swirl-whirl-unfurl" is pretty juvenile. "Screams" is too close to "streams." "Vermilion" (one L) was obviously chosen to rhyme and I don't like that. "Hands once braided-rope" doesn't make sense (yes it should be hyphenated otherwise it's ungrammatical). I don't know what you're trying to do with that image. I don't know what you're doing with the rest of the poem and the return to the "couple." It's all vaguely sappy and bergeron-esque.

My main criticism for you is that you're trying too hard to show off. It comes out in your diction, with large words (mostly abstractions) thrown in seemingly at random and without thought concerning their relation with the more narrative elements. It comes out in your comparatively oversimple diction (mostly boring adjectives) that fails to arouse my sensibilities. It comes out in your impulse to rhyme, which makes the final stanza sound extremely stilted and overwrought. It comes out in your extremely disjointed images, which all seem to gyrate around this cup of milk tea without actually getting at the thing itself. The poem seems almost riddle-like, except that you've given us the answer to the riddle at the outset, therefore defeating all the obfuscation. (I am not a fan of obfuscation in general.) That's my first impression.

>inb4 "this isn't actually my poem"
even if you pull one of those, it wouldn't undermine my opinion because I don't care

[Anonymous No.7752559]

>>7752552
thanks, man! I appreciate your feedback (i know you care you big softy:) )

[Anonymous No.7752762]

>>7752552
>>7752559
Please don't listen to this guy. Please don't.

>There should be a comma after "and" in L2

This criticism is valueless. I ran the verse through several times and it makes little difference.

>Fluorescence is an abstraction, and I don't think you're getting anything out of it

This one I agree with. It feels like a general association to the Kinetic Sculpture but

>We're moving from cup of tea to lava lamp

He's right to point out the narrative schism here. Like you're bringing out the connotations of the cup (microcosm) to the Sculpture/Universe (macrocosm) but the beginning is quite weak to make the connection.

I would cut out the whole first stanza and second last stanza and focus on the image of the sculpture with the universe, but the result would be the need to create a better narrative bridge from the main description to the ending stanza.

>here begins a series of insipid grating phrases

Obviously from a person who hasn't read enough Wallace Stevens or some later Moderns. Either way this provides no value.

It applies to "dewy bump" and "yellow sun"

A fisheye lens stretched against a bump
map lays the day's texture like shrinkwrap
Plastic shining in response to a sun
which serves as the axis of the polaroid

But it doesn't apply to the child description part because in there the kinesthtetics are increased with the drags and grates.

>juvenile, lacks rich association

And he even missed out your motif to try to transform the sculpture into a child, thus justifying the cadence here. I prefer this mixing into the juvenile before dealing the cosmic verse at the end.

>swirl-whirl-unfurl is pretty juvenile

Stupid fucking criticism based solely on individual aesthetics. If you cut the swirl, the other two are okay.

>"hands once braided rope" doesn't make sense (yes it should be hyphenated otherwise its ungrammatical)

This part I agree

>"screams" is too close to "streams"

Agree. I would write as

Screams whirl into Jupiter streams
Unfurl in a streaking sandtorm

Jupiter peters out at the end whereas if you end with "streams", the verse becomes hardier. Fits the theme.

>large words... thrown in seemingly at random and without thought concerning their relation with the more narrative elements... fails to arouse my sensibilities

Another name for: basically, I can't read nor parse the communication behind the cadences and so I'm going to critique banal shit because I can't comprehend the ideas properly.

>>7751571
>folded slinky

this is the part where the above criticism of 'juvenile' applies simply because over here the tone is too changed to allow for words like this.

>the couple crashed to the ground facing away from each other like

I actually like this turn. It's a place where ambiguity actually fits. But maybe a narrative arc needs to be built to the image. That part I agree with. It's surprising but there's no link between the previous parts.

[Anonymous No.7752788]

>>7752762
>Fluroscence

Woops didn't finish my thought there. I was going to say it feels like a general association to the sculpture but there's probably a better way to make the link

Anyway your narrative is like this
1. First-person, milk tea whirling
2. Description of the sculpture
3. Motif of sculpture to child
4. Linking up child to universe motif
5. Returning to first-person milk-tea
6. Ending with the rough cosmic imagery
7. Having the narrative twist at the end

1 and 5 are quite weak, which was why I said to cut those out, or find a way to make it tighter. But if you do that 4 and 6 has a bit of a schism. That part you have to work on yourself

The narrative twist at the end, actually I like, but there's not a proper motif to link it up to that. It's probably stronger if you pull that up somewhere earlier, but that's up to your own discretion.

But beware of people who like to poke at individual word choices for being too 'rough' or 'juvenile' and seem to have an air of 'the critic' around them. Most of the time, they like to hide a lot of bullshit in their haughtiness.

[Anonymous No.7752854]

>>7752788
Thank for your feedback too!
I'm not quite so fragile as to change everything for one person's opinion, but I firmly believe that any viewpoint (no matter how misguided) can offer valuable insight as long as it's specific.

That said, I seriously appreciate to work you put into deconstruction my work in a way it is hard for me to do. Sometimes I find it hard to distance myself form the work and people like you and some others that have helped me in the past provide a buffer for problems I wouldn't be able to notice staring so closely.

[Anonymous No.7754624]

>>7751413
I enjoyed reading this

[Anonymous No.7755562]

TO A SHITPOSTER

A little boy came to me one day
And wondered how I learnt to play
The violin so well and clear
“Well little boy, I’ll tell you, here

I found a shitposter in the street
And gutted his chest of all the meat
And took his guts to craft my strings
And thus this bow so lovely sings

Indeed these fags are a waste of space
And lord their cocks all over the place
But being good for this one thing
To make my bow, so lovely it sings”

[Anonymous No.7755589]

>>7755562
A pair rhyme and not sticking to the meter...

[Anonymous No.7755628]

He said, ‘Reflect upon my being There,
There is truth in this.’
And she ardently promised,

Now, what was her reward?
Of her choosing? Heaven? Goodness?

Or egalitarian payment –
Now tragically void –
The compost of Orthodoxy.

For you say ‘Pray’ and I pray. And we say
‘Pray’ and you pray.
Pray – is this the truth he intimated?
In whose mind would kernels sown
Obviate the first need spoken?

He lies dormant, now, In our belief.
We see his face in every face –
A symbol upon a shunt
Of will. The world usurped of antecedence

And by stark implication we believe
Everything about him.
We love him and suffer him –
know him – fear him.

[Excrement Ecosystem No.7755653]

An ecosystem born out of waste,
His apathy furthering its evolution,
No practised method of cultivation,
Self-inflicted, continually debased.

What we see of it could manifest disgust,
But if we trust that he could survive -
survive amongst these foul environs,
Perhaps even thrive as it grows,
Blossoming from the fermented excrement,
Health in detriment, though remaining uncaring,
Almost proud of his abominable creation,
To the point it stops him not from sharing.

For even encrusted in filth,
And even surrounded by desolation,
Is it not beautiful that life has sprung forth?
At peace with the loathsome ambience,
Undisturbed remains his kingdom,
And why should it ever change?

About the property the story remains the same,
Evidence of neglect,
No visible presence of respect,
Filth atop filth,
Precious items lost in the fray,
A sorry few saved and hidden away,
Encased and protected for who knows -
there may come a day,
A day whereupon it is brought to an end,
All for nought, perhaps - it depends.

Though some glimmers of a different world exist,
Few and far between,
Scattered in the midst,
Obscured by dank and decrepit mist,
That perhaps are sorely missed.

Standing alone in the bathroom,
He stands and stares,
Something within him stirs,
And he notices,
A half-empty shampoo bottle on the bathroom sink,
Evidence that at he may have tried at some point -
to be human.

[Anonymous No.7755780]

>>7755653
Ridiculously melodramatic, especially the ending.

[Anonymous No.7755827]

>>7755589
The meter fairy with his bong
Came to me with a book of songs
And told me why not choose the best
And flagellate with all the rest

I told him songs are overblown
But I strum my viol with sticks and stones
Sometimes sticking to the tune
Sometimes running awild with mews

Sometimes cutting, gnashing, crushing
Something soft, languourous, fluttering
Sometimes lecturous and grave
When I input penury, and draft

All these songs in violate
Of the songstress's cleaning prate
But eitherway I spake my clear
In rancid mews, for those to hear

[Anonymous No.7756730]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CJtqnokW4Y

[Anonymous No.7757492]

I haven't written in english for a long time, so here's some old embarrassing stuff

As moon to water
Never am I nested from under.
By a rock thrown my rest may too be cut
And my bone faked alive along night's dotted gut,
But all that taste for motion is not mine at all
For the cracking is only gesture of the wall.

[Anonymous No.7758757]

>>7751292
very clunky and too serious. I like the last line though.

[Anonymous No.7758838]

>>7750821
A- or B+

Betty, betty nice.

[Anonymous No.7758844]

>>7751292
First two lines A-OK.
Last two lines kind of lose its rhythm. Keep trying, ESL-anon!

[Anonymous No.7758848]

>>7751413
B+

I usually don't give a shit about poems that don't rhyme unless they don't fuck around, and I gotta admit, your poem did not fuck around.

[Anonymous No.7758862]

>>7755562
Overall, B-

>"To make my bow, so lovely it sings"

Should be

>"To make my bow, so lovely sings"

The extra syllable just threw me right the fuck off. You don't need to spell out your words for us in poetry. The majority of your readers will be smart enough to understand what you're trying to say if you sacrifice one or two syllables to match the rhythm.

My personal revision:

A little boy came to me one day
And wondered how I learnt to play
The violin so well and clear
"Well little boy, I'll tell you here"

I found shitposter in the street
And gut his chest of all his meat
And took his guts to craft my strings
And thus this bow so lovely sings

Indeed these fags are waste of space
And lord their cocks from place to place
But being good for this one thing
To make my bow so lovely sing"

[Anonymous No.7758957]

>>7755827
B+ to A- again

Personal revision:

The meter fairy, with his bong
Came to me with book of song
And told me why not choose the best
And flagellate with all the rest

I told him songs are overblown
To strum with vi with sticks and stones
Sometimes sticking to the tune
Some with neither, like a loon

Sometimes cutting, gnashing, crushing
Sometimes soft, languorous, fluffing
Sometimes lecturous and grave
When I write with pen, I pave

All these songs in violate
Of the songstress' cleaning prate
But eitherway I spake it clear
In rancid mews for those to hear

[Anonymous No.7758961]

>>7755827
Oh man, I just noticed your poem was supposed to be about how sometimes you rhyme and stuff, and sometimes you don't.

Muh bad.

[Anonymous No.7759006]

>>7758862
I accept
>And lord their cocks from place to place

But you really failed at the end with
>Indeed these fags are waste of space

You sacrificed grammar for meter. That throws me the fuck off more than adding an 'a'.

>To make my bow so lovely sing

This is just a failure of sensitivity to tone overall. 'it' does more than just spell the words. 'it' establishes the terms matter of factly. 'it' pushes out as a declaration the last part.

If I used your tone that last line would dissapear in song. "bow", "lovely", "sing" are so light that they vanish if I decided to pull it as a Blakean Songs of Innocence thing. There would be no thrum at the end. It's so weak like a baby's piss.

Criticism grade: C-

[Anonymous No.7759118]

>>7759006
Maybe I'm just not as experienced or critical as you, from a writing standpoint, but I don't really see the net-profit one might gain from withdrawing, or including, the "it" in the last few lines of the poem.

Like I said, I feel as if the average reader is smart enough to string together the grammar and context on their own without someone hand-holding them throughout the poem.

When people say poetry should be "free", I'm not imagining some talentless hack who threw a bunch of words together on paper to create some unrhythmic, uncoordinated bit of "slam" poetry. I'm talking about freedom from grammar, and freedom from conventional word usage.

I'm talking about the ability to "invent" new, and exciting words, and the ability to tie them all together to form a song or a rhythm that you can bob your head or tap your finger to on the bus or in the car.

Poetry is freedom fly
Words that do not really rhyme
Fit within my narrative
Grammar is all relative

Hear my voice and hear my loud
I will helter verbs and nouns
Freedom write amocracy
Tap and type with poetry

I will not make any sense
Doesn't make me very dense
You know what I'm getting by
Poetry is freedom fly

[Anonymous No.7759139]

>>7759118
The problem is that to do that you must stick to the rules you set. For that poem I set myself a wry conversational tone, and so I couldn't kill the grammar halfway. If I wanted to play with language I have to do that from the start. e.g.

SLEEPING DITTY

I slept in late today, because
In sleeping state my soul was Lost
I could not find the Elder Tree
That always woulds’t help beckon me

With crystal pears and persimmon
Led me to my awakening-
For the fruit dripping sweet,
Helped the scented morning greet,

But tree O I lost her thee
Stark in darkness (musk so fair)
Let instead I saw a pond
That held a soliloquous divonne

Who bore her angrous head and spake
Why dou-st hurt my curtained wake
I am crying for the Murder of
My beauteous gracious Lovest gone

And she stark, and and she Shed
Her blackly coverlets and hair
And turned into a furious Gheist
That scared me to a friv’ius gasp

And serpent chased me one and three
Steps down the path of ‘finity
And tumbled me down dusted stair
And broke my fall on abyss Aire

And fell forever, then and there.
Till waking brought me morning’s glare.

Or, more extreme

SAUTIMBA AUF GAUD

Min Lauf, Min Lauf
No Ordure slight as this
Could fricassee yau Laf
Au mock-Haven au froth

Min Lauf, Min Lauf
Heats me hearts timpani
Laddadaly daun dances
Earths gudt, Min Lauf

Min Lauf, Min Lauf
Freemen weathermen
Harks du rain evanesce
We hobs ladaddy from the can

Min Lauf, Min Lauf
Leopard-cree cruel thing
Leper longing heartspring
Daun dances might me fling

Min Lauf, Min Lauf
Sautimba auf Gaud
Teir in mind’s mitest ring
But Lauf, Oh, Sing Me, Sing Me, Lauf!

Both I made purely for fun, so I would rate them around B or less.

[Anonymous No.7759173]

>>7759118
How I would write this one

Poetry is freedom fly
Words with I not really rime
Fit within my narrative
Grammar – All relative is

Hear my voice and hear my loud
I will helter verbs to nouns
Freedom writes amocracy
Tap and type with poetry

I will make not-any sense
Doesn't very make me dense
You know I – Getting by
Poetry is freedom fly

[Anonymous No.7759181]

>>7759139
Well, now that you mention it, the majority of your poem IS being spoken to by some random guy, so i can see what you mean when you say you want to keep the tone "wry" and "conversational", but there's really nothing tying you down to those rules. I mean, other than yourself, of course.

I just thought changing the words around to make it seem more lyrical wouldn't hurt the poem's tone too much, because the poem, by itself, is pretty fantastic. And by that, I mean there's a lot of fantasy to your poem's story. So I guess, in my point of view, it wasn't such a stretch for the guy narrating to be a little whimsical with his word choice.

>Sleeping Ditty
A-

>Sautimba
Uh...G? G and a half? Kind of reminded me of Gaelic shakingmyheadtobehonestfamilia.

[Anonymous No.7759190]

THE MARCHIONESS

O Hibiscus! Your purple gates
Swinging, splatters the dew around
As the beetles embellish in congregate
Chirruping clicks in manifest sound.

The land, that seems, to brush like fur
Ablaze with the longitude of sheen,
Though the shadows fell in lacquered curls
Intermixed with the dew, a sound of clean

Rattling, pistils dreaming of the bees,
Or feathers in calumny upon the heights.
But the devious worsening through the trees
Of a fanged imposure, shatters the calm.

The Hibiscus awaits the break of day
And the beetles, in fear, see One Mind, like the Sun

[Anonymous No.7759194]

r8 my haiku

White moth fluttering
against jet streams of my breath;
please, call me Ishmael.

i'm new to the genre and would like to understand them better

[Anonymous No.7759204]

>>7759173
>>7759118
>>7758957
>>7758862

Holy shit, I just noticed something that might've been painfully obvious to anyone else around here.

Maybe our little disagreement going back and forth right now is not because anyone is "wrong" or "right", but it is simply how our tastes have developed and evolved as writers, giving us our own personal "style" that makes us identifiable from others.

Similar to how Picasso had his trademark abstractism, and how Greek sculptors could chisel really fuarking muscular half-naked men, it's just an evolution of style that doesn't make anyone objectively "right", but is instead a choice of personal preference.

Sorry if this is old-hat to anyone else listening in, but I feel like I just discovered fire or something.

[Anonymous No.7759205]

will try to translate something, not my best one (none of them are really that good), but i guess it's something.

-My relationship with dream is strictly professional-

I've fallen in love with a concept,
It could as well be some color.
I've fallen in love with the intangible,
It could as well be some god.
I've fallen in with the untouchable,
It could as well be some star.
But what's worse:
I've fallen in love with self-harm,
The pain of trying to reach the unattainable

[Anonymous No.7759230]

>>7759205
>posting self help in a poetry thread

[Anonymous No.7759241]

>>7759190
B-...No, I change my mind. Just a regular B.

Rhythm is kind of inconsistent, but you sure do know how to describe a flower like it's nobody's business.

>>7759194
C+ to B-
I feel like I would appreciate this haiku a lot more if I understood the reference. Sadly, I do not. That's why the last line doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to me. (It was used in Moby Dick, right? Is this a Moby Dick reference?)

>>7759205
A- to A

Also one of those "not-rhyming" poems that I've come to respect, just because it doesn't fuck around and it's short and to the point.

Makes me think about humanity and shit.

[Anonymous No.7759250]

>>7759241
it's a moby dick reference

[Anonymous No.7759296]

>>7759250
I think my grading scale is a little flawed. I gave you such a low grade because I reasoned

>1 line I don't get out of 2 good lines means he has 2 lines I like out of 3
>2 out of 3 is 60 percent
>I'll give him a little boost because I don't want to be a meanie and hurt any feelers
Thus, you get a C+ or B-

Now obviously, my grading scale is flawed, so instead I'm going to give you a B- to a B, simply because having one bad line does not suddenly mean a 1/3 drop in quality, especially since I don't even know the thing you're referencing.

Therefore, I give you a B- to a B.

[Anonymous No.7759305]

>>7759241
>-A to A
wow thanks anon, i think the cadence and the words i choose in the original language (portuguese) sound better, but i don't want to turn this into some "oh it's much better in the original but you will never know" kind of thing, just would like to say thanks.

[Anonymous No.7759312]

>>7759296
don't worry about being a meanie on my part
I usually post in these threads, because IRL are too worried about submitting stuff.

[Anonymous No.7759321]

>>7759312
>submitting stuff
I meant critiquing stuff
I might be retarded

[Anonymous No.7759686]

this machine stands tall
and terrifying in the sun
gleaming like a sign from god
inner workings a mystery
cogs shift and shudder quick
jarring awkward halting might
the sounds like strange music
rhythm defying order and all
we should reach it soon enough

[Anonymous No.7759918]

Hey /lit/. Yesterday I could not sleep, as in I did not sleep a minute of the night. What I did was scavenge the paper recycle bin by the copy-machine and reading other students' assignments and flyers. Yesterday, I came upon these three poems, written by a freshman and followed by a very inadequate cover letter for The New England Review. Here are the poems in question, no alterations whatsoever. The discrepancy in paragraph jumps are the poet's and they are close approximations.

1) Pizza

The smell of your sweet stench
The salty warmth of your tasty skin

That I roughly tear into my teeth

and slowly chew with a soft crunch


your grease continuously smooshing

With the rich sauce the streams thickly hot

down my throat


What is this feeling?

as you fill my hungry belly

Oh pizza I think I'm in love!

----

2) Chocolate

What is it about Chocolate

The creamy rich goodness


that whispers to me in my dreams

calls to me with cravings

Comforts me when the day is gloomy


"It'll be alright," It says

When clearly it's not


the sugary sweet kiss like that a mother might give

and relaxes me as it slowly melts in my moist mouth

----

3) Because I'm Fat

Because I'm Fat
I am ugly
Because I'm Fat
I am Useless
Because People can't accept flaws

I accept I'm fat
But people can't accept fact
They can't accept me

Me who's [sic] ideal beauty is warped by society
Because only the skinniest girls are pretty
How sick

I see their eyes so full of me
Of shame
Because I'm the one to blame

For my own body
A nobody
Because I'm Fat

[Anonymous No.7760571]

Is it poetic to call my poop "butt barf"?

[Anonymous No.7760634]

unknowable things spin
great fucking lights
exploding faces-
high above in cloudy sky
the others see me cum apart
split at seams and joints-
at tendons and at ligaments
great fucking lights
shining thru my skin
unknowable things spin

[Anonymous No.7760674]

This is an advertisement.
I expose my poetic work a bit
With words like lilting and carmine
Followed by some intricate rhyme
And so convince you I'm worth investing time into
As well as thought and emotion if you have it.
Eventually I reveal a universal insight
And you nod in congratulatory agreement.
(A tired meta comment slips in annoyingly.)
You sigh mad mutter about 4chan tropes turned meme
Then realize you haven't learned a damn thing.
So you indulge in your personal vice and leave.

[Anonymous No.7760679]

>>7759918
very amateur but i've read worse. they're more suited to a high school literary zine

[Anonymous No.7760686]

A fart
A splash
A thunderous crash
I stand up to admire
The bangers and mash
That I've gracefully left
Behind in the loo
The colors
The textures
The smells of my poo
It's a sight to behold
It's a smell to be savoured
There are corn kernels in there
I wonder if it's flavoured

[Anonymous No.7760701]

This line has five words:
Your marriage is pure turds.
"But I'm not married..."
Shut the fuck up—
Your wife is life—
No, you.

Petty vendettas pointed in the mirror
Shatter not glass but your own fuhrer.

This is the equivalent of a filler word
Like like my Instagram pic
Stitched to a clip of frankensteins dick
Like this isn't just for filler.

My message is from a masseuse,
Eat green ham and eggs like Zeus.
The non sequiturs man the caboose.
Anyway just hanging with a noose.

On fleet.

[Anonymous No.7760734]

What I write when drunk and on Xanax


Oysters served live brine the tongue, jive
And tongue of the dance, backward pride stance.
I want to say I have a message—we'll there it was.
Vanity, fair enough for its own magazine:
Bulled and spit bullets for some fan zines.
Famous enough for pop culture? You've heard
The usual response. If you have to ask
Then your curiosity compasses. Your flask
Helps you turn rhyme to stutters, samsara shudders.
Tickle the cyclical nipples pickled in picking tiddlywinks:
I am not a crook. Cook. Brook. But a book,
Read me. First learn gibberish. 10 months later:
He's a New York Times titlest. Genius with Midas dick.
Profane, Mae West brained, sans Rh- blood stains
On the church clock tower, tower, tower.
Heights make the mouth water, call a gargoyle hired.
I hope I'm not having to hope or perspire.
Higher, higher: now earth lies there
Limp like a cold fish, limp like a dead wish.

Find solace elsewhere.
I'm just here to get deep
Like Marianna's trenches—
Whiskey mad wenches. Please,
I benches.

Sad.

[Anonymous No.7760851]

>>7756730
lol wut

[Anonymous No.7760977]

INCREASE CRANIAL PRESSURE!
(listening and learning,
prerequisites for yearning; their
communion late soon abandoned in light
of latent Epicurean developments
from post-Gaelic imperial Englandb

efore French screams of queens,
smolders did churn in Romans dreams
while those poor unamerican Christians
politely hid burns in the old gods' streets.
A portion of nero's victims become Him, some take lead in libation-

take little cigarette breaks from The Modern Dance,
a bio-industrial beast fueled by Vyvanse,
who is often taut, seeming as stocks and finance

until awakened by hungry withdrawals
which color his cataracts fall
and temper his hard skin winter;

his memory splintered
so that history is now beneficial for the perpetuation of his chosen survival tactic belief set.

Government employees scramble to keep his neurotransmission in balance his hormonal economy efficient just like-
It's regular that
a lone endorphin
might peer across the
synaptic void fear
fully, however

homeostatic
democracy voids
individual
ity. They see a
runner's high achieved.)
THE FIRST CHURCH OF MY HEAD HURTS REMAINS UNNAMED!

[Anonymous No.7760981]

This thread reminds me of why I don't write poetry.

[Anonymous No.7761186]

Up early
Fucked it early
Got work
Gonna twerk
God it hurts
God, it hurts
Please kill me
Alien resurrect me
Back barn check me
Touch break neck me
Wet lap dance free
Cystic STDs
God just please
Just resurrect thee
Just resurrect thee
So you can cure
My fatal disease
God please
Believe in me

(Or donate like 3
The dolla trinity.)

[Anonymous No.7761208]

Myriad miracles flow through the streets:
A honking honkey, a nigga with Nike sneaks.
NYC: your blood boils cold like liquid nitrogen,
Or green vamps screaming "invite us in."
My uncle died in your arms, grandpa too,
Both were stillbirths, both tragic and new.
But every big apple has a worm and witch's
Hand sewn around the skin like diamond stitches.
Over drafted wishes, autoimmune frenzies,
Scope donned smiles: all the fires friendly.
But I've never lived with you, but for a minute.
Yet when I do lock up my heart, don't shiv it.

Prison turned prism: ride the bow.
Prism turned isms: bone marrow,
Drained and bent, cupids arrow
Pail led me with the a cliche or two
Till tomorrow, or tomorrow.

[Anonymous No.7761435]

SONNET FOR THE AUREOLE

She is an outcry of red knot that seems to hold
The whole body, or a pint of flask that bears
The violet nectar, while caverns of bold
White, a mouth, and a tongue and seeks and tears

Into an ecstasy. A suspended breath of air
Serenades into these peaks, the tongue points
Of a serpent upon a map lain pink & bare
While one theater nestles in your loins

Of a cold violence, speaking in turns, and break
These turns to rest, to recreate noise
And forever, intensify, and recreate

The opal sigh rising from your tongue
Speaks of nothing but the rise
Of a song that is sung, rising fast, unsung

[Anonymous No.7761811]

Russet spiraling
endlessly, verdant mirrors
waiting quietly

[Anonymous No.7761952]

>>7759205
-What time does not heal-
Reunited with old forgotten friends,
Those he loved so much.
He got questioned about the usual -
Answered what was expected,
An ended it.
And got over it.

[Anonymous No.7761987]

Written for my four year old:

Do monsters ever cry at night in bed, snoring fast asleep?
Do monsters ever stop and think of who they're going to eat?
Roar goes the lion.
Growl goes the bear.
What noise does a human make:
Sleeping under there?

[Anonymous No.7761991]

After the having been forsaken
Return to the soft earth
But where is the soft earth?
Far like a volcano bound
Full of invisible soft rays
That leapt away from your heart
And your burnt smut hand stubs
You are lead into a warehouse
To choose from a thousand pairs
Of new hands that have grown
From the warehouse districts co
ld hard earth now
But where has the soft earth gone.

[Anonymous No.7762548]

>>7751571
This is fucking GOAT lad. I always see this one in these threads, I feel like I've seen its entire public evolution.

Post your one about coagulating your innards and making pictures of Nimrod on cave walls.

[Anonymous No.7762908]

>>7762548
awh, shucks
here you go

[Anonymous No.7762992]

>>7762908
Are you a fan of Hart Crane?

[Anonymous No.7762994]

>>7762992
I don't think I've read any.
My big thing when I wrote that one was Sexton

[Anonymous No.7763028]

>>7762994
Ah, I guess its also more confessionalist than your other one. But I think it also has that problem where confessionalists like to talk too much about their internal detritus

>I spew black ink
>Vomiting inside the endlessly stretched balloon, I hope my bile is caught on the concave
>I hope to sling my guts onto a cave wall and have my insides coagulate into a painting of Nimrod

Not saying that the imagery is bad, because you still make some twists to it unlike a lot of Confessionalist wannabes out there, but maybe a bit overdone.

I would probably remove the first sentence and find some way to shorten the first stanza, because the last stanza does the job better at the viscera part.

[Anonymous No.7763041]

>>7763028
yeah, It's definitely a work in progress
I find myself prefer the 2nd & 3rd stanzas more than the other two by a significant margin.
I'm slowly becoming less edgy.
My first big piece was probably my edgiest.

[Anonymous No.7763044]

I've heard songs
Sung as light blistered out all sight
Sung as rain laughed at old men
And their falling balling canes
I've heard songs
Sung in times of morning
When there was still time for learning
And it seemed the wheels of the world were turning
I've heard songs
Sun in the afternoon
When we were tested for something to prove
Seeing what we could all do
I've heard songs
Sung during chilled nights
When people were yodeling out their lonesome plights
Others looking for ecstasy laced rides
Masking their innards fights
To make everything right
I've heard the songs again and again
Again and again and again
And again and again and
Again and again and again
The repetitions got my ears bleeding out
My eyes are weeping down clouds
I need new songs
Telling me
Myself and I
Everything ain't wrong.

And now I hear a new note
Ringing out
Somewhere somehow
Something newfound
I barely know the sound
But it's everywhere, all around
A voice defining bliss
In this world of yell and hiss.
Something telling of a beating heart
Giving others reason to start.

I'd try using my voice for conversations
But my time isn't worth hers to be wasted on
So I stay silent
Telling myself I've got something to say
Something that'd make her attention way
But I don't have any words to lay
So I stay silent
Making in my mind our own conversations
So hers aren't wasted on.

Not finished, will be adding a fourth stanza eventually.

[Anonymous No.7763144]

He..res
Y--ou're
((you)

[Anonymous No.7763152]

>>7761987
I love it.

Short, funny, musical; I give this an A-.

[Anonymous No.7763157]

I'm deep in trouble
some fat boy weeps
From through the tunnel
red rats come feast
teeth rotten and gnawing
Christmas only cums
Too soon

[Anonymous No.7763175]

>>7763044

>When there was still time for learning
>And it seemed the wheels of the world were turning

>When we were tested for something to prove
>Seeing what we could all do

>When people were yodeling out their lonesome plights

>Others looking for ecstasy laced rides
>Masking their innards fights
>To make everything right

>My eyes are weeping down clouds

>I need new songs
>Telling me
>Myself and I
>Everything ain't wrong.

>I barely know the sound
>But it's everywhere, all around
>A voice defining bliss
>In this world of yell and hiss.
>Something telling of a beating heart
>Giving others reason to start.

>I'd try using my voice for conversations
>But my time isn't worth hers to be wasted on
>So I stay silent
>Telling myself I've got something to say
>Something that'd make her attention way
>But I don't have any words to lay
>So I stay silent

Greentexted are all the cliches & sentimentalism.

The first part is the only thing preventing this from devolving completely into a pop song, but even that part doesn't have much poetic stature.

Go back to the drawing board and read more.

[Anonymous No.7763439]

That eye drips down its cheek.
"Jesus," I curse.
Yes says the nod,
"Me" says he.
But how did it get so TALL?

[Anonymous No.7763471]

A wheel turns in Cammanaugh,
the file tore to fray.
They kneel for a punishment,
forever and today.
A deal drums out gluttonous,
all sound and good to they.
My keel breaks a harmony,
the Devil looks to say-
a Wheel turns in Cammanaugh.

[Anonymous No.7763580]

>>7763439
this could be more interesting if every line weren't lolsorandumb.
>>7763157
what's the point of the last two lines?
>>7763144
no
>>7761811
"word, word
word, word word
word word"
is your poem
>>7761186
reads like Kolsti after traumatic brain injury. cease and desist.
>>7760571
hmmmm. yes.

[Anonymous No.7763588]

>>7763580
I was raped by a man dressed as Santa Claus at an early age.

[Anonymous No.7763610]

>>7763588

[Anonymous No.7763678]

>>7763580

I admit, it makes a tiny bit more sense if you know that "he" and "it" refer to the same thing, and that thing is the one that's nodding in the third line.

[Anonymous No.7763702]

>>7761186
>>7763580
Try reading it to the tune of R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)".

[Anonymous No.7763711]

>>7763702

Hey, cool! It got worse!

[Anonymous No.7763724]

sittin in the kitchen whippin whack ravioli
vaping on my dick which is wide as the north sea
you can even count to two, im already at three

[Anonymous No.7763741]

>>7763724
very political.

[Anonymous No.7763746]

>>7761811
>>7763580
Sorry you can't put the effort into finding true meanings of words and how they may be connected

[Anonymous No.7763815]

It's the first "poem" I've tried to write. I know it's shit and uses a cliche or two, but try to see it for what it is. Also I wrote this about love and the idea of oneitis.

A pit, so deep and dark
A fluttering light on the floor
A boundless naivety
Feeding off the core.
Falling,
falling,
falling,

No foothold in this fissure
No vine or rope to latch
A strobing light in sight
An ill love to hatch.
Falling,
falling,
falling,

Ephemeral is the nature,
I seem to operate
Perhaps it's nothing more
Than a faux-pas of fate.
Falling,
falling,
falling,
gone.

[Anonymous No.7763817]

in this intricate arrangement
of silence
at every bend and twist
of things
I build my world around your handkerchief.
and such quiet
flows through my life sometimes
that I open the door
to my balcony
and pluck the light over the leaves
and put them into poems.
necessity of recounting
days gone
by
adds a lot to my now.
snowman ,
if only I could show you
how timid , how sparkling
my aunt's shawl was.
if only you can open my
fist and see
that I still hold its corners
to help me in times of happiness and grief.

[Anonymous No.7763827]

>>7760686
I regretfully giggled.

[Anonymous No.7763933]

>>7763746
>you didn't get it!!!!
have you ever received criticism in a creative writing class? you wrote a fucking wordy haiku you loser

[Anonymous No.7763959]

>>7763746
faggot

[Anonymous No.7764002]

>>7755628
Rolls on the tongue nice. I get the feeling that it's religious disillusion. I feel like it's unfinished.
>Compost of Orthodoxy
I like that. It's a powerful line about modern religion. The same old thing- but now a crumbling and a featureless, decaying pile.

>>7757492
>As moon to water
Should more punctuation be included?
I like some of the images- like the slowly cracking wall under the moon, and the 'night's dotted gut'. That's awesome.
I get a little of what you are saying.... but there's a better way of saying it. Those pictures have potential.

>>7759686
Needs punctuation. I like it though... makes me thing of a steampunky-leviathan ship on it's it way to Columbia, the floating city.

[Anonymous No.7764017]

>>7760634
???? is this real

>>7760674
>Personal vice and leave
you forgot the part about how we always come back

>>7760701
fun nonsense to read out loud. a dry voice, with a rhythmic body. Just fun.

>>7760734
reading this makes me feel a little sad, actually. like that's the feeling I get.
>On the church clock tower, tower, tower.
Heights make the mouth water, call a gargoyle hired.
I hope I'm not having to hope or perspire.
Higher, higher: now earth lies there
Limp like a cold fish, limp like a dead wish.

I really like that bit

[Anonymous No.7764019]

I’m a little too excited,
and a little too tired,
and a little too kind,
and a little too scattered,
and a little too giddy,
and a little too much of everything, really.
I sometimes overflow and spill.

You, you are just enough.
In fact,
you are there to catch the little things I drop,
picking up the tickets behind me,
and playful huffing when I’ve left half my belongings.
The patient silence and open palm
when I’ve brought too much.

You are there to catch me as I leave bits of me everywhere-
the careful reproach when I’m overstretching myself,
the stern reminder that I don’t need to leave my mark on everyone,
keeping me from oversharing and overspilling on the past,
keeping me from forgetting myself on the things behind me,
and you are there to catch me
and catch the feelings I bubble over with-
the giddiness, the affection
the tears, myself…
and you store it in the most thoughtful places-

like the crook of your arm and neck,
and your memory- for when I’m tired and you remind me again
of what’s good.

Your heart, specifically,
so big that it holds all the things I overflow with.
You’ll catch it, and keep it safe there.
until I need it again.

>wrote this to my bestfriend

[Anonymous No.7764092]

With each pull of the stiffened pages, spotted with neglect,
A flurry of dust ascends in snaking curls.
Freed, they allow me to watch their stretching limbs—
Freed, from their cell of one hundred and fifty years.

[Anonymous No.7764102]

>>7764092
Why dont you people ever try to write something more than 10 lines?

[Anonymous No.7764113]

A presentation of Horace's Odes:

https://youtu.be/Ow1bowLXhzg

He summarizes, performs the Latin and then introduces a translation into English by Joseph P. Clancy.

[Anonymous No.7764122]

>>7764102
I like short poetry
besides, a short bad poem is more readable than a long bad poem imo

[Anonymous No.7764125]

>>7764122
this so much

[Anonymous No.7764472]

>>7764122
>he admits that he only posts bad poetry

[Anonymous No.7764525]

I survived abortion; got mushed in that canister-shaped coffin
stolen from the garbage I was tossed in
Instincts, snatch your cream like links
Blow shotguns through the sky, making E.T. eyes chink
See me twisting leak with my peeps from psychiatrics
Get high, run up in your crib and fuck your moms backwards
Lost in the dust, don't give a fuck about dangerous
I'm in it for the whip, plus the cream and the head.. rush
Ready to bust any trick that talk slick
Know a crew of devils in my head that force me to walk..
With, Death in my pocket for the curious
At your execution see twelve faces of Jesus in your jury

[Anonymous No.7764651]

>>7748033
I seem to be
so endlessly
unable

I seem to see
unstoppably
a fable

I seem to flee
just constantly
that table

Which they're sitting around
Which she's sitting around
Which I am sitting around.

And whereof I seem to be free,
is the recollection
a solidary memory
of what "I" now chooses to call "me"

[Anonymous No.7764654]

>>7764651
If it's a joke it's slightly funny.

[Anonymous No.7764664]

>>7764654
What kind of joke you took it for?

[Anonymous No.7764669]

>>7764664
A seemingly unintentional one.

[Anonymous No.7764680]

>>7764669
the funniest kind

[Anonymous No.7764712]

>>7764651
>Fleeing a table
wat?

[Anonymous No.7764752]

a little starving ant
and anus
blood outside
blood inside
why ami alive
show me to the freeway
let me dream in Norway
my ass need u
why
is it
there
a hole inthe wall
a place to fall
man screaming outside my window
no teeth or time for hime
his butt sore from his last transaction
sleepy sleepy
weepy weepy
a polar cap implodes and sends a wave of desire into the next place the rings of some foreign planet begin to dance around themselves in some perverse fashion no time for a little pee or poopoo you need to get up and feel the bern baby give it your all and see what the real potential of humanity can unlock into the volcano the real way the other side you stupid cunt faggot just look into the dirt and give it a thorough licking theres real demons inside that portal dont just laugh about it you dumb piece of shit find the urine and piss it away there no time left for joshing around

[Anonymous No.7764774]

>>7764752
Obviously bad, but I kinda enjoyed myself reading the non prose part; it would go well as lyrics for some indie song.

[Anonymous No.7765541]

>>7763815
Aww, cmon :(
someone say something
I'm shy :(

[Anonymous No.7765616]

>>7763815
I like it, keep it up anon

[Anonymous No.7766923]

>>7764017
Hey, writer of the last three here, really appreciate the comments—if you have any pieces itt, I'd love to give my thoughts

[Anonymous No.7766945]

>>7763580
>reads like Kolsti after traumatic brain injury

This is the best and most deeply insulting criticism I've received on \lit\ yet, so thanks for the new feel

[Anonymous No.7767192]

What is a silver medal,
But an invitation that shines,
In another mans shadow.

[Anonymous No.7767212]

I hate what this has done
to us
where once i spoke all honesty
now i must speak in riddles
play games
if only to keep you around
That's how exes act
I guess

Speak in code, walk
softly and utter lies
eggshells break and
the hurt keeps us caged
apart
weeping alone, desperate
but too proud too scared

It's all become a
farce

[Anonymous No.7767269]

>>7749948
obviously copied. It's good

>>7760734
My favorite in this thread, good job

[Anonymous No.7767686]

>>7764472
every amatuer poem posted on /lit/ is bad until proven otherwise

[Anonymous No.7767763]

Fish lens of thoughts on the phone with me and I will be in touch

[Anonymous No.7767785]

>>7760734
Those first two lines are so lyrical I want to sing them out

[Anonymous No.7768511]

Silhouettes cutting the moonlight,
into long dark rooms;
each of them greeting another.
With a smile and a bow
they part ways
each thinking
that the other will remember him

[my latest poem No.7768544]

title: C:/user/downloads
Pink Floyd - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn (whole album)
Kendrik Lamar - Good Kid M A.A D.city
Albert Camus (translated by Stuart Gilbert)-The Stranger-Vintage.pdf
Cough syrup - Young giant.mp3
Hentaiporncomics.MS.exe
Jenniferlawrence-nude354.jpg
Jenniferlawrence-nude355.jpg
Jenniferlawrence-nude356.jpg
JimMorrisonGreatestHits40.zip
Kaleidoscope-TangerineDream(1967)(@224).torrent
kurtvonnegutcollections.rar
Little book of String Theory.PDF
Pink Floyd - Comfortably numb.mp3
Sadgreenfrog.jpg
Sasha Grey - The Girlfriend experience.avi
SunnyLeone fucked on a table.mp4
ThatfeelwhenNoGirlfriend.gif
TheFrontBottoms-all3albums.zip
[Bret_Easton_Ellis]_American_Psycho.PDF
[Bret_Easton_Ellis]_The_Rules_of_Attraction.pdf
[Chuck_Palahniuk]_Fightclub.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Lunar_Park.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Less_Than_Zero.PDF
[Ellis_Bret_Easton]_Glamorama.PDF
xvideos.fuhd577436.mp4
xvideos.fh566fh577.mp4

[Anonymous No.7768575]

>>7751413
Not poetry.

[Anonymous No.7768581]

>>7751571
Best in thread. Which poetry would you say inspired you the most when writing this?

[Anonymous No.7768593]

>>7751571

>This qualifies as poetry nowadays

JUST

[Anonymous No.7768597]

>>7768544
Brilliant

[Anonymous No.7768803]

>>7768581
Honestly, probably my friend's. Our styles kind of bounce off one another's. Sorry, if that's not a good answer for you.
I was reading some of poems by this guy named Gregory Fraser at the time.

>>7768593
Hey man, I'm trying.

[Anonymous No.7768805]

>>7768544
Best in thread.

[Anonymous No.7769192]

>>7768544
would publish

[Anonymous No.7769207]

>>7748716
spelling error and too short, needs more substance.

[Anonymous No.7770208]

>>7768593
>meter oldguard

Fuck off from /lit/ shitlord

[Anonymous No.7770329]

>>7770208
>shitlord
C'mon m8.

[Anonymous No.7771015]

>>7768544
jealous of how well this is executed desu