/lit/ - Literature

>They tend to turn out nice

>>4510391
They do! That was the most surprising thing for me, when I started coming to this board. Maybe I'm biased from the shitfest that are lyric share threads on /mu/.

My first try, so yeah, I don't know

>Don't forget me

Seeing your eyes, as beautiful as the ocean.
In which I see love, as we float,
on the raft, we call love, we made togheter.

Oh my dear, how I can't stop thinking,
Worrying, about the idea you leave me,
As my love for you is higher than the mountains of the Shomal

Your voice, calming, me softly,
Taking away all my worries, and making me sure,
That all our hope, we invested in love, will never die out


>inb4 cliche and shit
This is my first throw at it, I don't know.
Yes, I feel this for a girl, no, she is not my girlfriend

Yo, yo, yo.
Hey, hey hey.
Baby baby baby baby
Baby baby baby baby.
I'll be your omelette du fromage.

Drippin on muh fryan pan.
Sizzle sizzle,
fryan pan.
Yeah.
I'ma I'ma breakfast
I'll break you fast
and bust yo ass.

I'll take my fame and fortune now.

The chickadees wake with the sunrise and shy their slight notes
among snow-laden breezes; in reveille
finches sound off: now one, now another.
But what morning is this for songbirds?
Hear now the cardinals mimic and guess
at your baltering language of laughter and touch
that excites the ear with strange orchesis.
They flush the blank air like a rash;
they are not you.
I favor the mute falling snow,
the waltzless white dust: unmoving and unreminiscent.

>>4510381
Not a fan of lengthy alliteration, but given your aim here I wouldn't say it's awful. Your first line could use some rhythmic improvement ("Antiquity, [trochee of your choice] and artistry aptly articulate", or maybe "Antecedence, ancestry and artistry aptly articulate"). Not sure what you're shooting for with "all as an autumn", but "alphabet" might better serve you as an adjective here, "alphabetic adherence". Also not a huge fan of enjambments which clip articles from the arguments they modify (e.g., "an / apparent"). It fucks with stress, and hardly ever in the good way.

>>4512755
>Not sure what you're shooting for with "all as an autumn",
Events preceding that phrase are happening at the same time that an autumn feels attrition for dead trees and summer fun coming to rest.

Thanks for all your advice. I've been wanting to expand it, hopefully to at least 150 words, but I hadn't gotten any real outside critique yet.

In my dreams I
beg you to use me,
destroy me In my works
I take the way you push hair
behind your ear and damage it
In my thoughts I can only say
I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry
over and over for not being good enough
or being too scared Sometimes
I go to bed shivering

Sliver Of Fall

The winds of yore still shake the branch,
untouched by time, guided by chance.
The greyness of the skies still hold
the untold prayers and sighs of old.

Am I just another face beholding
a sculptor's touch, unseen, unfolding
beneath the canvas of the clouds?

The mossy treebark's verdant hues
smudge like dirt around my shoes.
The brink of winter in the air,
as crisp and sweet as amber rare.

That resin drips likewise from my veins;
crystal bubbles from sweet champagne.
Like pigment on autumn’s leaf chateau.

Here's a rap verse


Stay frosty; I'm not salty
But get these thirsty bitches off me
I stay strong: you can't stop me
If you doubt me your logic's faulty
Four lines and five cliches
But still sincere when I turn a phrase
On that double proto-post-ironic brag rap
Meaning what you say? It's 2K: we can't have that
Dick bigger than the wealth gap; hit 'em with a price cap
Flow bulky like a bitmap; I'm post-post-Riff Raff

>>4512755
>Not a fan of lengthy alliteration
Also I'm not a fan of lengthy alliteration either, really, but any time I read something titled alliteration (aside from single phrases in other forms of poetry and the like) it always bothers me that they can't help but throw in a bunch of prepositions and article and things that don't actually match. I get why, of course, but to me it just kills the vibe of it. I wanted to see if I couldn't do better.

>>4512778
Oh, okay now I see. I like that, I just wish it had come across more clearly when I was reading through. Maybe try an em dash or comma before "all" to pace the reader a bit?

>>4512790
Drop the "over and over"; the repetition gets your point across well enough. The lack of punctuation actually works in your favor in the later half of the poem, but it suffers from the clunkiness of "In my works... and damage it".

>>4512803
Yeah, your lack of interrupting prepositions is actually one of the things that held my attention.

>>4512822
>Maybe try an em dash or comma before "all" to pace the reader a bit?
Sounds perfect. Thanks.

>>4512801
End rhymes are hard enough as it is to write well, and your tetrameter does you no favors. I would suggest you read some of Plath's sonnets before coming back to this (because it needs a total rewrite). Look at some of the ways she plays with syllable shapes and consonant voicing to curb her rhymes in poems like 'Ennui' and 'Conversation Among the Ruins'.

>>4512802
I'm moved to tears.

>>4512831
No prob. Good luck reaching your word goal!

>>4512840
>I'm moved to tears
Is that sincere, or are you making some 2meta4me half ironic point regarding the verse's theme of irony versus sincerity.

>>4512822
Makes sense, appreciate it

Sixteen
My breath running
up your soft thighs
an ache of pitch
audible now.
My hands falling
onto your breast,
hollow breathing,
grasp trembling now.
Eyes darting now
anywhere but
into yours as I
am so afraid.
We are so not
ready for this
but together
we feel safe now.

>>4512840

I'm the tetrameter guy, thanks broski, will look up. The only poetry I've studied is modernist, Yeats and Eliot etc. I just wrote this on a whim one day, no actually familiarity with other end rhyming poetry.

>>4512844
Both

>>4512802
>Dick bigger than the wealth gap
Great line right there. 7/10 would download illegally.

Try harder cant find horizon
Big mouth I'm a fucking lion
Stuck my dick in the dirt
Just to feel the hurt
Wipe my cum on my shirt
Stuck it up in the whole universe
Turns out that shit's void
Like Nietzsche and Freud
I fell out with the world you
Myself and the girl too

>>4512852
Thanks, I was going for something very "of the time." Like 2Chainz/Big Sean style dumb punchlines with a tiny nod to income inequality and whatever.

This is one I had published a couple years ago.

Memoria

Entering the home,
my eyes shift to the ceiling.
The chandelier hung unlit
as the setting sun showers through its glass shards,
luminous rain half-shatters shade.

The walls were whitewashed- dead.
Empty frames hung, clutching walls.

The stairs tug me towards the attic
and the air smells of age.
At the end of the room
a dollhouse breaths in,
suspiring shadow.

>>4512848
I'm not a fan of your use of clause-final "now" as a refrain. "Eyes darting..." only works because the "now" doesn't have to carry the weight of the preceding clause; it does its job without impeding the poem's motion. If you change "running" to "runs" in the first line, I think that might give the overall poem a better sense of action--as opposed to simply keeping the Noun+Participle formula. "We are so not / ready for this / but together" functions pretty well as a unit, but the last line kills it. It's redundant at that point: "but together" already communicates everything you're trying to convey, and it does so with more precision than "we feel safe now" could ever hope to achieve.

>>4512957
So how much of linguistics and lexicography am I going to have to study if I want to make use of my potential

>>4512953
I know you intend "hung" to be read as a participle (and it makes for some love vowel harmony with 'unlit'), but I can't help but wonder how many readers mistake it for a past-imperfective verb on their first read.
The pairing of "empty" and "clutching" works marvelously.
"a dollhouse breathes in" (beautiful imagery) is hindered by the following verse.
Do you have any particular memory attached to this?

Summer showed its teeth in Braille
A six-eight dance of flying hail
We screamed as sugar shards of glass
Shot bright black pictures of our past
And with our stomachs on the wall
We all fell

A moonset setting vista gaze
Of frozen breads and carrot cakes
And shaken by the roof's remarks
We stuffed our shirt fronts full of scarves
When mantra men screamed through the doors
We cried

The cage bars clanked with muted horns
The tin roofs tricked their icy thorns
The children ground their teeth to mud
And dreamed of diving into floods
And as we clung to table legs
They cried

The section leader killed the ants
And silenced all the tangent rants
He x-rayed all the luggage bags
And wrapped the rifles in red flags
The gunmen had their fill
And left

>>4512975
I skyped a girl I met over facebook through mutual friends in a music scene I used to be associated with. She gave me a tour of her house and it was just really somber suburbia.

>>4510394
>>4510391
The criticisms for the poems can end up being very nice, sometimes even thought out, but I wouldn't say they lead to anything better than you can find from the good writers/poets of the Young Writers Society.

>>4512970
Poetry is a music; sound comes before all else.
Play around with phonaesthetics/phonosyntactics a bit, see what it does for you.

>>4512992
You got a bandcamp/soundcloud or anything?

>>4512979
This is very pretty to read. I don't know that that makes it necessarily good poetry, but you have a very good feel for prosody. It sounds good. I don't know what it means exactly (sounds like some sort of breakin or school shooting) but it's pretty, it juvenile.

>>4510381
why is that guy staying on all fours

>>4513011
Because otherwise the car would end up straight up, on its bumper. Can't drive that way.

Carnival arrives in town after the flood's washed in to the drain
Precipitation's over and done with, I tell myself as I try entering and playing
Instruments outfitted for the trumpet and truth welding wailers

I wrote this on the spot. I hope you don't mind the slant rhymes, and it's obviously not finished. I'm hoping to adapt it to music, the idea's been swelling in my head for a while but I've always been too conscious about the terribleness of my poetry.

Ok, so english is not my mother language, and the way you formalize the metrics of the poem comes a bit unnaturally to me. Thus I just tried to make them flow...
Here's nothing:


as this dawn begins
and I sleepless inside remain
birds outside chrip, and I
hoping for art,
in vain

The noise returns
to a night-leafless street
cars squeaking left turns
none walk,
winter


soon all is bright
still the shutters are closed in
and by the electric word-mill
is my hand laid
as quill

>>4513115
>and I sleepless inside remain
Move "inside" between "and" and "I". Unless you had some specific intention with that placement. I'm assuming it's just odd because it's not your first language.

Other than that it's great. The last two lines really speak to me.

>>4513135
it does sound better, although I was trying to keep both instances of 'and I' — now I'm divided.
Also, not being my first language is a bit, and despite having had several years of english, it's just that portuguese words and syllables have a diferent flow and length to them, you know.

Thanks for the appreciation :D

>>4513135
I'm not trying to sound like an attention hog, but was there a reason as to why you skipped my poem? >>4513025

>>4512979
Hey man, this was incredible. Hit me up if you want to Skype and trade poems sometime.

>>4513161
I did his because it caught my interest, with the aspect of non-native language.

This guy >>4512999 is the one that was doing all of them, if you confused us. Very nice of him too.

There once was a young man from Suther
Who wanted to fuck his own mother
He tiptoed at night
And turned on the light
To find her in bed with his brother.

>>4513161
It sucked so much it wasn't worth commenting on.

>>4513218
Which explains why you're commenting on it now.

>>4513218
i don't think it's a matter of sucking or not even, it's just that what you have there are three lines of text
It's simply not enough to make crystal ball-less evaluations

>>4513218
Fuck off.

>>4513226
>>4513161
There was no reason. It was never my intention to critique every post in the thread, just the ones I thought I could comment on constructively, I got tired, tried to go to sleep, failed, and now I'm back. So:

>>4513025
I'm not a fan of "precipitation"s bulk. "Instruments outfitted" feels good on the tongue & sounds even nicer, but the verse develops clumsily: drop the article before "trumpet", and consider slapping a hyphen or two in there: "trumpet- and truth-welding wailers".
You should also think about trading "in to" for "down" in the first line: it's more consonant, more rhythmic, and above all else, more natural.

be gentle
Buzzing Red Lights.
We walked around that night,
not because we had anything to do.
More because we just liked how clear the air was,
it was a thick gelatinous summer.
Autumn brought with it sharp frigid air
and a few more moments that I spent with you.
Squinting under the streetlight,
I could barely see your features.
The only thing that really stood out
was the two oak colored eyes staring ahead.
Your eyes were like spears when they wanted to be,
but the smile usually softened the blow.
I really didn’t care where we headed that night;
it just felt good to walk next to you.
The small talk just leaked from our lips.
We left it on the sidewalk behind us.
They fit right in with the cigarette butts and leaves.
Maybe those phrases we laughed out would get washed away with them.
Or picked up by someone else.
The buzzing red convenience store light let me see.
Your features, beyond the spears and smile
just all fell right into place.
I’m never going to be one for using words to proclaim love,
so I just walked besides you in the dark.

>>4510753
Please, someone, rate

>>4513529
>We walked around that night
Maybe something like; the lonely night, instead of this?
>not because we had anything to do
Seems a bit irrelevant, change to something else, or just delete it
>cigarette
Haram

Nevertheless, sounds and feels good!

>>4513898
When you write about women in the 21st century you need to watch out for sentimentality. It's the dubious duty of the modern poet to do this. You cannot possibly say anything worthwhile in the language you use, nor can you even touch at the artistry of poets who have done it before you. Your worst offense is comparing her eyes to the ocean, it might as well have been a sentence in a Twilight book.

I am not deliberately trying to piss on your poem, but it's just not that good. So you have these feelings for a girl, but your relationship is not romantic? How does that work? Tap into the difficulties, disappointments or unusual greatness of a weird relationship and tell us about it in general terms. Don't apostrophize the girl, that's hard to do, especially for a first shot. Work on your style - you use the language prosaically. Try rhyming, alliterations, words that sound interesting together, something.

Take the second verse and rewrite that into a poem that's intriguing.

3/10

Some quotes from ''Conference of the Birds'' by the Persian poet and Sufi Abū Ḥamīd bin Abū Bakr Ibrāhīm

>Heart’s blood and bitter pain belong to love,
>And tales of problems no one can remove;
>Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine -
>And if you lack the heart’s rich blood take mine.
>Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,
>Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.
>A mote of love exceeds all bounds; it gives
>The vital essence to whatever lives.
>But where love thrives, there pain is always found;
>Angels alone escape this weary round -
>They love without that savage agony
>Which is reserved for vexed humanity.”

>Since love has spoken in your soul, reject
>The Self, that whirlpool where our lives are wrecked;
>As Jesus rode his donkey, ride on it;
>Your stubborn Self must bear you and submit -
>Then burn this Self and purify your soul;
>Let Jesus' spotless spirit be your goal

Well, either Persians or Sufi muslims are born poets

>>4513931
I see, well, I probably will not contact her in a while, Valentine's Day is far ahead, so I got plenty of time.

What kind of advice can/would you give on exploring someone's own style?

>>4513948
Write, read and get critiqued all the time. Reading a lot gives you a sharp eye for what has worked and what works now. Writing a lot will improve your skill, like any other. Through critique you can see your work with an external eye.

>>4513962
So, this girl is in a higher social level than me, she is more populair than me and she is from a minority group. you know any poems that correspondent with this?

*insert looped Al Green sample*

Feeling like a week old paper, out-dated and faded.
Like a labrador at a hose, biting somebody else's flow.
Like a forty dollar mic off of ebay, soaking up spit and cliches.
Do I wanna die, or just find something to do?
Call a friend, fuck a bitch or write some music,
any motion I gotta go through.
Am I hoping for sweet release or just a sweet release, don't know what I wanna do.


foned in dis phresh freestyle till I find my notebook fellahs.

>>4513948
>What kind of advice can/would you give on exploring someone's own style?

Not the anon you're asking, but this is a general point to /lit/ - the answer is honesty. Just because it's a poem doesn't mean you're obliged to go around comparing women to the ocean and suchlike. Too often what one sees here in people's poetry and writing in general is that they don't write the things they think - instead they write what or how they think a poet or writer would write. There's just no point to this. If you feel a need to express yourself, express yourself, don't express someone else or some idealised version of yourself.

If you think your natural expression is lacking, then you need to educate and develop yourself until you think and express yourself in a more complex and sophisticated way. Either that or simply embrace what you are. Honesty has a greater virtue than artifice.

>>4513529
>gelatinous summer

if you mean it was a bit muggy then there must be a better way of saying it than this

Otherwise, i was ready to tear into this but it was sincere and sweet and you won me over anon. I liked the second half very much.

>>4512801
This is very nice work

With one exception - 'likewise' is jarring in the final stanza and the final line doesn't seem connected or make much sense to me.

>>4513529
Pretty good! Your style is very describing and there is almost a little narrative in there. This is both what works and doesn't quite work with the poem. Sometimes you feel like you are reading an economic short story, not a poem. But the pictures you paint in and on themselves are beautiful:

The small talk just leaked from our lips.
We left it on the sidewalk behind us.
They fit right in with the cigarette butts and leaves.
Maybe those phrases we laughed out would get washed away with them.
Or picked up by someone else.

This is my favorite part, it combines the narrative with the poetic beautifully. Have you ever given a shot at highly poetic short-stories?

Um, would anyone mind giving me some feedback here..? >>4512755

I filled the unfulfilled
Desire up until it seamed
that it would burst at the seams, so
when it was fulfilled the heart's
range was too abundant.
On this i built the castle,
its foundation cast on a plateau
made of plastic and cement.
The cement was nothing but
a treacherous thread, too thin
to hold the weight of the fulfilled
unfulfilled.
Though the walls were shaky
they made me shed the sticky skin
of Longing for a second.
The world now seems sharper,
more true on my retina as the
treachery was revealed.
My condition is Longing
unveiled and uncured
by the chameleon, Desire

>>4514011
I like it. Similar to a lot of my poetry. It paints a nice picture and lifts the view a little at the end.

Unbequeme Fratze

Heut' Nacht hat mich die wilde Sonne angeschrien.
Ein grauenvoll Gesicht auf gelber Scheibe,
Mit Schreckensaugen, die wie leere Winde zieh'n,
Damit ich mich im Angstverstand zerreibe.
Und als im Donner Weltenzörne auf mich fuhren,
Auf mich allein, wie ich mich nackt im Staub verkroch,
Da brannten meine Ohren von dem Dröhnen noch.
In manchen Fenstern grinsten blasse Kreaturen.

Uncomfortable Grimace

Tonight the wild sun yelled at me,
a horrible face on yellow disc.
with horror eyes that roam like empty winds
so that I grind myself in a fear mind.
And when in thunder world wraths drove on me,
on me alone as I hid naked in the dust,
my ears were still burning from the roaring.
In some windows pale creatures grinned.

Lips parted smoke flows,
An endless habit to calm a busy mind,
A thousand miles an hour,
But stationary,
A thousand thoughts,
But only one,
You

If only you knew what you do to me,
Why can't you just let me live,
You run around my mind,
Leaving footprints as you pass,
Like the first steps on a snowy day,
Try as I might to fill them,
They will never be the same

>>4510381

I'd recommend this poem:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AW0zD-KaUzE

It also has the alliteration thing.

boredom is the
worst yet also the
best thing to happen to a
human being

Does anyone know a good poem regarding this theme;

The woman is in a higher position than the man, the man loves the woman with the woman not knowing it, and the woman is from a different ethnic group which frowns upon the man?

>>4514167
Someone, please, I beg

>>4514138

garbage

>>4514138
Change the last word to "bean" and you're set.

I write letters to the future
full of words and snapshots (full color Kodachrome).
Images and images, skeletal hands in the soft sand, stretches of fence around homes
turtles crawling on blister hot pavement tar.
Tar on the ground and black oil-water brushing the shore, shining brilliant in this
unique wavelength.
A noise for every picture, sweet slushing,
semi-silent heat shimmers,
phone poles all abuzz,
etc.
Included are pictures mailed from some past self, a reincarnation of a reincarnation of a rebirth,
some seabird cawing and screaming through the sky,
divebombing and stuck in a cycle of longing and confusion and
food thrown in an imperceptible arc towards the trash.
Pictures and words and fragments of words all neatly arranged in wood pulp envelopes,
scribbled with wood pulp pencil on wood pulp paper.
That tortoise is still their, broke backed and de-shelled,
impotent and scoliosis-spined but still there after years and years

Posted elsewhere. An old assignment from before I was a college dropout.

This is the pen.

This is the paper
that laid under the the pen.

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

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

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

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

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

>>4510753
Retry, second time
>Fields of the Shomal

Oh my dear, how I can't stop thinking,
Worrying, about the idea you leave me,
As my love for you is higher than the mountains of the Shomal

You, my love, are the definition of perfection,
as beautiful and peaceful as a symphony
never, ever I want you to leave my mind,
as you bring me to places, far beyond my mind can comprehend

I see you running, in the field of blossoms,
While smiling, laughing, with your dark brown eyes, which penetrates me in my deepest part of my soul

You, my dear, are as the Shomal, mystic, beautiful, incomprehensible for the human mind
I see you run, run towards your freedom, which is love, but not for me

Because I know, that I am just a ghost, in the fields of the Shomal, when I see you run, smile, and laugh for the other man, which is not me

But still, my love, never leave my mind, as the nightingale sings, and the snares tinkle, as my heart, which flows for me

Going to California
Try and find my head
Gonna swim in the ocean until I'm dead
Let the infection spread

On my way to Texas
drive upon my ranch
Gonna take you fishing up Big Branch
Well, now you're my catch

Somewhere in between the wrong and right
We fight
It's fair to say that in your eyes I'm wrong,
And in my mind that's alright

Somewhere in between the wrong and right
We fight
It's fair to say that in your eyes I'm wrong,
And in my mind that's alright

Off in New York City
good to see some friends
Scratched my nose upon a barette on her head
Laid up in a rental bed

Then back home to Seattle
fed the monkey man
I proceed to throw up all over my hand
Well, it ain't so bad

Somewhere in between the wrong and right
We fight
It's fair to say that in your eyes I'm wrong,
And in my mind...

This moment, composed of broken blocks and chunks and primal jagged pieces, torn and dismantled,
purposefully clutched and clung to.
Points dig in, twist and are finally stuck
deep .
Two people perceiving each other as if from a distance while
simultaneously existing in
parallel
closeness,
Drifting seaward unprepared and unsupplied (no compass, no star chart; no salted pork or travel ready citrus fruit),
icy chunks &
razored metal;
sweltering coal-fires stoked and powerful,
smokestacks tumble and crash. They sink and settle in the silt and seafloor smog.
There is nothing that can escape this, nothing to surface gasping for air, pulled up by the waist.
We go down with the ship, heroic metaphors or honor or something like that.
1514 dead

>>4512979
Please add punctuation or teach me how to breathe in the air to read that

>>4514829
How to breathe in the air? What?

>>4513529
I laughed

It was a merry laugh

>>4514855
My lung capacity falls short

how can a determinist
have regrets? and yet, just the other day
i found myself crying in the shower
over the memory of a highschool girlfriend and
her endearing lack of shame
vis-à-vis
masturbation, public fellatio, and passive aggression

may the lethe wash away her big brown tits
may the lethe wash away her chubby waist
may the lethe wash away her long black hair
may the lethe wash away her pretty face

>>4514902
HAH

>>4514902
How old are you

>>4514902
That's actually pretty good.

>>4514924
Seriously?

>>4514935
High school romance and rivers of hell what's not to love right

>>4514935
Yes.

>>4514902
had a good laugh. thanks

>>4512801
Nice.

>>4514945
no problem
three parts personal experience + two parts Bukowski pastiche = comedy gold

Quand je pars, j'espère que ce sera rapide
Cou à être rompu, coeur à être percé
Parce que j'aime vie, mais bientôt tout sera vide
Je vous en prie, un fin brusque, s'il vous plaît
Je baise, je baise les mors de mort
J'espère, j'espère voir un néant
Je cours, je cours, mais bientôt je dors
Ah, je me jette dans le vide béant

>>4514953
My greatest regret is not understanding more than one language to a deep degree

Whenever someone says that a language is easy to learn I dismiss them for a fool

>>4510381
Those poems are shit because the words create the story instead of the other way around. Fucking gimmicky bullshit.

>>4514967
don't worry, I only know English myself
about half of >>4514953 is guesswork, and it's pretty bland stuff

>>4514975
I translated it, yeah

>>4514973
what do you think this is, b
prose or some shit?

>>4514973
Interesting. I never post in these threads or read them but I find this common in new poets.

Expand on this? I often think people don't approach poetry with a framework in mind, or edit, instead they just let the metre flow and see where it gets them, and pluck a meaning from that.

>>4514973
Actually I created the story. Certain adjectives built themselves but before I started I had the ideas of autumn's attrition for the bare trees and the "alliteration, end" part. I don't remember how much of the other part I built myself.

Some parts build themselves, but you control where to put all the words. If it's going somewhere you don't like you can change it all around.

>>4514989
He's talking about alliteration, not poets in general. And I can see why he'd think that.

>>4514902
Ye, I like this

>>4514759
mmmm


2 Haikus:

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Waiting in a queue,
Watching others’ behaviors;
While the same happens.

--------
I initiate,
You retaliate right back;
Our wrongs congregate.

in three cells the one platted in gold and the one they think I can't see and the one I put my mind in so I could be free

This is a poem I am not too sure about if it is translatable. It is not very good either, but it is not as pointless as it seems. If anyone is interested I can explain it.

Katharsis

Was stößt der Mensch sich immer seine Köpfe ein?
Was schreit der Mensch die Wonne in den Regen?
Was lallt er lachend Trauer in den Sonnenschein?
Und wann beginnt der lang versproch'ne Segen?

Was stößt der Mensch sich immer seine Herzen ein?
Was weint der Mensch die Sonne in den Segen?
Was lallt er lachend Trauer in den Wonnenschein?
Und wann beginnt der lang versproch'ne Regen?

Translation:

Katharsis

Why does man always hit his head?
Why does man scream bliss into the rain?
Why does he laughingly babble grief into the sunshine?
And when does the long promised blessing begin?

Why does man always hit his heart?
Why does man cry sun into the blessing?
Why does he laughingly babble grief into the bliss shine?
And when does the long promised rain begin?

Give me your sweet breath, your face against mine.
Give me your tongue, steamy and body heat hot.
It moves and twists under its own volition in that cavernous mouth of yours so full of white
teeth root filled and sprouting,
gnashing and pulpy.
Speak into my ear (but please do it quietly)
Make noises and bits of sound warm (yours alone),
noises just for you and I.

>>4515628
let me restructure that

In three cells
One plated in gold,
One they think I can't see,
One I put my mind in so I could be free.

>>4515811
What is this about?

Clouds are like towering waves
or tiny blots of foam
The sky is the sea
Far below the surface
We cling to the bed

>>4515849
I just wanted to post something I wrote and I forgot what that one was about. It's really personal and I don't think anyone but me and a couple of people in my life would understand

remove the third line and it makes sense for everyone else

In two cells
One plated in gold,
One I put my mind in so I could be free.

>one plated in gold
society
>one I put my mind in so I could be free
I locked myself inside my head so I'm alone with my thoughts and imagination through that I'm free

Dear God, in your kingdom high
What do you look like?
When we're all out getting high
Are your eyes red too?
Dear carpenter, modest, be
Brutally honest;
When you held The Son did he
Look just like you?
Dear jealousy, when you take
Men by their throats and make
Them put their souls at stake
Are your eyes green too?
Dear temptress, the tempest
Of all of the restless
When all seek repentance
Who will atone for you?
Dear Anxius when you grip
Men by their minds and flip
Time over time, tell me,
Do you know why
We can't help but to use you?
Dear Father, I've wasted so
Much and I'm sorry
Dear Brother, you've worked your whole
Life and I'm sorry
Dear God, in eternal might,
I've but one wish in life
When I'm lying down getting ready to die
For once, can I look more like you?

Putting it to text takes it away, but there's supposed to be ambiguity between "The Son" and "the sun" in line seven.

The sky brought fire
The sky brought rain
The sky brought strength
The sky brought pain.
Forevermore will it exist
Without us here to bother it
Don't look up

>>4510381
I've seen this before in a thread I made a while ago. With an image of Rimbaud.

It's a pretty good poem, and I ask again, do you happen to write hip-hop or do slam poetry by any chance?

More of a haiku guy, but I'm still getting the hang of it.

A wide street quiet
Spacious house filled with laughter
Soft inviting bed

I want to write a love poem for my girlfriend for Valentine's Day like something from Medieval times. Any advice?

>>4516327
Write a sestina. If you can't, write a sonnet. If you're gonna bother at all make it impressive.

>>4514902
One of the best I've seen on here in a while. Not even joking.

I hope that the Ukrainian
Protests do not interfere with
The Sochi Olympics
It'd be a shame
If the athletes-
Who have trained for years
Had to have their moment
Dampened by the rowdy
Putin, please stand up for
Yanukovych

>>4516351
This isn't a poem, it's a sentence broken up into lines.

>>4510381
Reminds me of Charles Bernstein I hate Charles Bernstein

>>4516359
What year is this?

>>4516367
I don't know. I just let the calendar say whatever it wants. I feel like I'd be infringing on its artistic freedom if I changed it for some shallow reason like being current.

>>4516372
What do you mean? The whole cut up prose conversations been dead for decades and all you do is ripoff language poetry ideas that were awful to begin with.

>>4516381
What's at stake? Splitting a thought into multiple lines doesn't make it any more special than if you'd left it as prose. I don't know what you think it adds to the artistic nature of it, and really if you can justify that artistic nature to yourself that's all that matters, you don't have to argue with internet strangers over a subjective matter, but to slice up complete thoughts and make it look like poetry just seems like an attempt at gaining additional validation from the name you call it without putting in the effort that would make other people call it a poem in the first place.

If it looks like a duck, and it walks like a duck... it may actually be a loon. Someone who isn't an ornithologist insisting that it's a duck doesn't change that.

a tear in an ocean;

drip

drip

how dare one believe
otherwise?

>The Village

Oh homeland, where I was born
Please be gentle, for the times to come,
I don't know what the future will bring,
Except death, but that song will soon not sing
Don't temptate me to evilness!
Before I bow to thee, oh magisticness
People, hold strong!
Before thy children will be among
Oh my village, I have seen thy grow
In misery, pain and despair,
But yet, thee, my village, I love you;
Till death

In Butterfly Fiction


I don’t believe
each everyone deserves the love
lent them so candidly.
but that is where it all ends up:
wadded lint in zip-lipped pockets,
the failing insistence
of an unlidded jaw
frightened from speech,
the fibrous light losing muscle and reach,
embering and threadbare
while shadow grafts itself, like skin
out from the sloe, moon-shy window.
love’s not experience

it’s memory--
the way one may
remember, then demand their death
be nearer to dream than compost,
or, via sleepwalking
vies for some life ago
in butterfly fiction.

>>4516233
I really enjoy this but in the last 8 lines are rather weak. In fact from Dear Father onwards it weakens.

Those first two quatrains are great though.

>>4517244
Thanks. The Dear Father/Dear Brother quatrain is supposed to go off meter, sort of like a restart in the middle of it I guess but I think the next one going way off meter is a real hindrance. I'll try to revise that and see what comes out.

>>4517258
>meter
Meter is the wrong word there. No idea how else to phrase it, though.

>>4510381

Hey guys, critique mine:

wide aware black soundless vertigoes trees growing in your backyard and smiles in the sun and eating with foreigners on trains in vienna blue mittens dead cats drunken flights in green pastures hesperian songs waking red phosphors yellows and blues and vast peninsulas under star-infused amnesias and fuck fuck fuck fuck beauty fuck fuck fuck fuck belief fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck hear that? fuck fuck fuck emanating fuck fuck fuck fuck fufckkfuckfuckcufkuckfuckfukcfukcufkcufkcufk

Search C:\
Lost_

Lost_.bat
Lost_.txt
Lost_.cpp

Open Lost_.cpp

#include<iostream>
#include<cstdlib>
using namespace std;

int main()
{
return "hope";
}

Open Lost_.bat

@echo off
:a
msg * Hurt me, you bitch
goto a
start
start
Lost_.bat

Open Lost_.txt

I'm not much into poetry, I can't really write, haha. Here's my first (and probably last) shot:

wide
aware
black
soundless vertigoes

Delete Lost_.txt
Execute Lost_.bat
Execute Lost_.cpp

Blue screen

I'm on my phone,pic related.

Parallel lines will never meet
Such is the consequence
Of moving forward
Lines and lines and lines and lines
That fill the space
That should be void

A line is just a point
Running away from itself
Leaving traces
Of past mistakes

The still lines of your eyes
Gaze upon you from the mirror
Trembling from the vibration of
The terror, the dread, the permanence
Of the last chord of a dying throat

Scarlet drops fall from your fingers
To rest at last
In a puddle of blood
The tepid arm
Stretched across the floor
Reaching for a why

And why, why, why
Do points keep running away

Kohle ist grau.
Feuer ist bunt.
(Feuer ist gelb.)
Feuer ist hell.
Betrinkt sich Apoll?
Feuerwasser, nicht Wein.
Im verglühenden Schein
wird alles anders, alles neuer.
Man verbrennt ins Freudenfeuer
Quacksalber, Brandstifter,
doch stehen im Blau
über Scheiterhaufen Heißluftballons.

Coal is gray.
Fire is colourfull.
(Fire is yellow.)
Fire is bright.
Does Apoll get drunk?
Fire water, not wine.
In the shine glowing away
all becomes different, all becomes newer.
Into the bonfire
quacks and arsonists are burned,
but in the blue
over the pyres hot air ballons stand.

"Feuerwasser" (fire water) is a german expression for a strong liquor.

I am metaphor, I can make common sense, more intense, I have the unique ability to enhance the joy and tragedy of reality and give it more texture and depthmore or less, i can create this illusion from your vivid imagination, so that your heart feels every subtle detailyou see, I’m metaphor im the colorful thoughts you’ve been keeping, but should be free,
the visions of success, that youve been seekingso permanent joy or more vivid, deeper meaning, expressed with more intense feeling I mean, metaphorically speakingim like the best part of sex being freakyor like the best part of cheating is being sneakysometimes if you need dangerously delicate descriptions of decadence state, you seek meI’m very ambitious,I seek the type of verbal bliss, that i created something zest, so deliciousyes, i am metaphor, i am for instance, the all need to feel the needle upon your skin, or sting like a bee, get the pointthe picture is strong, you see where im going im a metaphor, a metaphor

can pretend i'm not like them, i'm not like them
in a story
count all your friends, where are your friends where are your friends?
i'm sorry
i'm not like them where are your friends where are your friends?
in the story

the voice i read with, it's
the voice inside my head, it's
the voice that let's me think, it's...it's
it's slightly feminine,it's slightly feminine
it's slightly feminine,it's slightly feminine

where are your friends, where are your hugs, where is your love
on sunday morning
where is your mom, where is your dad, where is your
brother
i'm not your friend, this is the end, you are my friend
in the morning
where is your girl where is your girl where is your girl?
in the morning

the voice i read with, it's
the voice inside my head, it's
the voice i think with, it's...it's
it's slightly feminine,it's slightly feminine
it's slightly feminine,it's slightly feminine

Why squander precious time trying to elucidate that which already lacks all opacity?
I sing
They dance
We cry
No one dies
Now that past lasts forever
And the future is always
The present is ephemeral
He weeps

>>4518324
Sorry, posted from phone and it butchered it and I can't figure out how to delete it, but here.

I am metaphor, I can make common sense, more intense,
I have the unique ability to enhance the joy and tragedy of reality and give it more texture and depth
more or less, i can create this illusion from your vivid imagination, so that your heart feels every subtle detail
you see, I’m metaphor
im the colorful thoughts you’ve been keeping, but should be free,

the visions of success, that youve been seeking
so permanent joy or more vivid, deeper meaning, expressed with more intense feeling I mean, metaphorically speaking
im like the best part of sex being freaky
or like the best part of cheating is being sneaky
sometimes if you need dangerously delicate descriptions of decadence state, you seek me

I’m very ambitious,

I seek the type of verbal bliss, that i created something zest, so delicious
yes, i am metaphor,
i am for instance, the all need to feel the needle upon your skin, or sting like a bee, get the point

the picture is strong, you see where im going
im a metaphor, a metaphor

>>4517471
are you in middle school or something? how about you tackle something that's actually challenging, like the analytic continuation of the Riemann zeta function and the absurdity of its subsequent results like 1+2+3+4+5... = -1/12?
that... thing you wrote would be just as powerful, which is to say, not powerful at all, if it were prose. that's a very bad sign.

>>4517471
Stop trying to appear deeper than you actually are.

>>4518329
Are you writing song lyrics or written poetry? The third stanza is the only one worth anything. The rest needs to be polished with liberal amounts of Windex.

>>4518342
Self-reference? Come on, man. You're overdoing the rhyme as well.

This house had a fire, I think, crushing the glass
underfoot. (Miniscule shards.)
The ground's papered with black splinters, tiny bits of the night
lit on fire and hurled skyward, except these didn't become stars
and fell Earthward - bright specks
extinguished by feet and dirt and spit and
the fire department.

Maybe you'll catch fire too, maybe
you'll bathe in gasoline and light yourself
and the stars (though dead) will be
bits of you, flaming just over the city lights
of Anderson - Each one the way your pupil reflects light
instead of swallowing it, how your eyes always seem
more mirrors than lenses.

In a sense, you will vanish
and be everywhere, are halted
and progressed.

>>4518339
I think this is about the sorrow of God and the perpetual frivolity present in everything we do in a world where no one dies, one that became possible thanks to technology. It's beautiful.

>>4518358
What's wrong with self-reference? And yeah I admit, it was overdone.

r8 this b8

1,2,3…4, the numbers rise
you wait for your own demise,
you aren’t sure when it will come,
but you know it will.
it’s like a warm blanket, like those nights when mother tucked you in
you pop it open, gulp with no hesitation, you wait
it’s too late
you forget about it,

>>4518376
..p.s, I wrote this when I was hooked on oxy

>>4518339
>>4518371

but why is god weeping? is it because he's sad that he'll have no more company in heaven, or is it because he feels disgusting and worthless when he realizes that his creations would choose eternal suffering over eternal happiness in his domain?

>>4517471
This poem just makes it obvious that your high school math education never went past geometry.

Turn you to literature they said.
Turn the page, burn your cage
in hopes to never fly back

But onward with your maze.
lost in this haze, you gaze away
in need of a map marked with a big red X
Only to find a dead end

pls be nice

I posted this a while ago, and received some nice critiques. However, I forgot to post the finished version, so here I go. Be brutally honest, /lit/.

Is it hot in snowman hell?
Do these visions ring a bell?
Of times well spent, a girl named Mel?
All are gone, burnt away in summer heat.
Mel, burning coat, cheeks ablaze,
Made you of ice, with a demonic craze.
She forgets you now, but you forget her not,
I ask again, is it too hot?
Snowman skin, cracking and churning,
Slowly, slowly, slowly burning.
And mow you melt away,
and Mel is sad,
That you couldn’t stay one more day day.

I don't know what I'm writing, /lit/.
This could either be very good, very bad, or somewhere in between.

Two steps forward, then three steps back.
That's how he fights, that indecisive hack.
His knight moves into the wrong damn row,
Now he takes his crowd down in tow.
Sweat drips on down his brow,
Looking pretty scared now.
Clock keeps ticking,
He'll go down kicking.

Still he takes a while, I say , "Go."
He's getting pissed, he's gonna blow.
Two step steps 'til checkmate,
Looks like he ain't too great.
Stands up, knocks over his chair.
The door opens quick, a whoosh of air,
Walks out quiet, now he's not too tall.
So comes each Kasparovs' fall.

I write a lot of poems about fighters. This particular one takes a couple lines from The Relatives, a band that deserves more recognition.

On his last day, he fought once more,
Against his idol, he threw his punch,
With feeble arms, once strong as a boar.
With the final hit, his back did hunch.
His opponents, dressed in singlets,
Carry him to his grave.
eyes circled by ringlets,
Over cheeks sporting a brand new shave.
They set him way, way down,
When they wish to help him to his feet,
For one more fight, that fearsome frown,
The one-two, then he'd know he'd been beat.
Now the pugilist lies six feet underground,
While he once stood six foot five.
He lived life pound for pound,
Now the dirt lies heavy on his eyes.

>>4518918
I like the content, especially the transition between the two stanzas. I think it's fine until the last two lines. Maybe it's just me, but I feel like, if nowhere else, this is where meter and rhyme should make an appearance. I'm no great poet myself, but I keep feeling, I guess, the last line, matching the penultimate line in both rhyme and meter.
But hey, that's just me. You do you, it's a fine poem as it is.

>>4512802
d-d-d-DOPE! My nikka!

Seriously, I really like this one.

I am all alone in this never ending tedium of existence,
The Final Word beckons,its anger sweeping over me.
The indignant Eye casts it's cathartic shadow- Judging,
Casting the Beasts of the Word to devour me.
For I am all alone...

>>4512755
almost perfect except for IMO "But what morning is this for songbirds?" and "unmoving" in the last line (because you just stressed the movement in the line before) are phrased more awkwardly than the rest of your lines

also i don't think the use of "orchesis" is worth it here but w/e

bump

ur mum is
fkn hot m8
just like
me

>>4519584
Those two last lines were difficult to come up in the sense that I couldn't come up with an end. But I agree with you, I still have that feeling but I like it.

Thanks for your input.

at the summit
there's nowhere to go but down
just hope you figure out that you're falling
before you have tumbled to the ground

You're killing the monster you where left to save
than you popped out the top of his head and started on the way home.
than one day you put a clamp on your own brain while still in the middle of your old voice

>>4521850
U wot m8

>>4521887
Do you wan't me to tell you the meaning? it's pretty too long didn't read