Poetry Thread

[Anonymous No.18111991]

Post and Rate
Do both
No rate = No feedback

[Anonymous No.18112005]

Niggers
tongue
my anus

[Anonymous No.18112007]

>>18111991
I bet, lose and sleep
It repeat

I bet, lose and sleep
It repeat

I bet, lose and sleep
A three peat
Yet again

I bet, lose and sleep
Again

I bet, lose and sleep
Yet again

I bet, lose and sleep
Almost a week
Again

I bet, lose and sleep
It's been a week

If you must know
At the Bellagio

Yet again

[Anonymous No.18112010]

>tfw first in line for the poetry thread
Posting this one a final time before moving on to another piece.

I must've known that evening,
and maybe long before,
that you would never be mine,
or I, yours.
Still, I watched you there,
in that impossibly bright room,
where the air itself seemed to bend
around your form to take the shape
of not your body, but the tomb
of that which within you, I knew,
would soon leave me.

And now, sometimes at night,
when I sleep until I can't anymore,
my capillaries screaming,
I use the window, not the door.
My gaze is raised to find stars,
the way they stain the sky
like boxcar graffiti, beautiful
but distant in their long voyage,
to know the pain of their light,
that it has died, now dies,
is always dying upon us.

But we are bound by gravity
and neither of us can be sure
exactly where our bones will rest,
in graves, or just dirt.

[Anonymous No.18112079]

>>18111991
>I will rate later

You gasp and gape

You can't escape

A rape
>>18112010
How many times have you posted this. You need to increase your imput

[Anonymous No.18112173]

>>18112079
Twice

[Anonymous No.18112426]

>>18112173
>I must've known that evening,
>and maybe long before,
>that you would never be mine,
>or I, yours.
It takes a turn for the worst after this.
This could be a poem on its own.
I suggest you rewrite the rest.
What did the other anons say about it?

[Anonymous No.18112927]

Bump

[Anonymous No.18112951]

>>18112010
>in that impossibly bright room
"impossibly" makes this line read weird, I'd go with "too-bright"
>where the air itself seemed to bend
Get rid of "itself"
>capillaries
But why? Just say blood.
Otherwise I don't mind this piece at all. Pretty well put together.

I posted pic related in the writing general last night at 4, but apparently people stopped doing poetry in the writing general in the few months since I've checked on /lit/

[Anonymous No.18113257]

>>18112951
Kind of a word salad. What does it even mean?

[Anonymous No.18113337]

>>18113257
I was really grooving with this painting.

[Anonymous No.18113609]

Would it be too hard?
And if it would
How hard would it be
To be good

>>18112010
parts of it work better than the whole like >>18112426 said
>>18112079
>gasp and gape
good
>>18112951
good ending. appreciate the lack of cliche words except maybe
>ashes
>eternal
otherwise could either go in a more blurry impressionistic or a less blurry straight direction to be impactful

[Anonymous No.18114419]

>>18113609
>Would it be too hard?
>And if it would
A line break between these two lines would be good.

[Anonymous No.18114439]

>>18112010
You ruined something that would be a touching and cute poem by ending it by aping Billy Corgan in 1979.

[Anonymous No.18114532]

Oh, doddering king
stammering lukewarm warrior
You bear my pity and disdain

No one chose you
but cruel fate
and we are subject to your madness

But not the brilliant, beautiful frenzy
of the artist, not the brutal formidable insanity
of a would-be priest turned robber

A madness like a room temperature bowl of oatmeal
that contravenes physical law
with every tasteless gulp

Every time I hear tell
of something that you've done
I am convinced I'm dead in Purgatory

[Anonymous No.18114636]

>>18111991
Cute tattoo
On her but

Want to nut
Inside
As she ride
This dick

Hope I don't cum
Quick

[Anonymous No.18114930]

>>18112007
The only kind of degen I can tolerate.

[Anonymous No.18115042]

>>18112951
>>18113609
This is helpful, thank you.
>>18114439
Good god you're right

[Anonymous No.18115300]

>>18114636
The bard of nignogs.

[Anonymous No.18115314]

>>18114636
Not a fan

You made me forget about.
The drive, force and exert.
And somehow, I feel proud.
These stitches line your shirt.

We walk beside the moonlight.
Lets share a glass of soothing.
Make a move together.
Time is what's worth losing.

[Anonymous No.18115320]

I used to think.

Real eyes see real lies.

But now.

Now I think.

Real eyes see real flies.

lol.

[Anonymous No.18115452]

>>18112010
It's missing that sweet, sweet flow of a rhyme scheme.
>Poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
yeah, but I like it.
>>18112079
based
>>18114532
>A madness like a room temperature bowl of oatmeal
your best line. take out everything else and just leave this.
>>18114636
based

Alright, enjoy my middle school poem that lost the poetry slam.

Flower’s bloom, fire grows, that's just the natural way things go. Trees don't think to drop their leaves when the time comes, they drop by the keys. Butterflies fly around the buzzing bees headed for the brightest bloom easiest to see.
I look at her from across the room, but she will not look at me. I take a glance, another glance, she rolls her eyes in vain. I hear that noise, the awful noise, the man's oink of lame.
She fights the ways of natural things to defend herself from what? Her ears are filled with voices to treat the men like mutts. Sex is nothing special. Just like me and her, but to say that something is, is something that's absurd.
This goes out to all the ladies thinking that they're easy. Stay that way and never change and your life won't be misleading.

[Anonymous No.18115656]

>>18111991
Hey anons, thanks as always for posting your work.

I write poetry idly when inspiration strikes, without any desire to publish it or show it to anyone other than myself. But, if I wanted to have poetry published, will I be limited to the fact that I like to incorporate iambic pentameter/rhyme schemes? I get the impression metrical poetry isn't published any more.

[Anonymous No.18116248]

>>18115452
>no rhyme scheme in that first poem
But he did include a rhyme scheme

[Anonymous No.18116455]

FUCK YOU BUSH

Fuck you, Bush.

It’s time to get out of Iraq, Bush.

What were you even doing there in the first place, Bush?

You didn’t even get properly elected, Bush.

Are you happy now, Bush?

Fuck you, Bush.

[Anonymous No.18116828]

>>18115656
what is that painting?

[Anonymous No.18116850]

>>18116455
based

[Anonymous No.18116865]

Hvem kan se livet i øjnene, når drømmen venter bag øjenlåget?
Hvem kan se øjenlåget i drømmens blændende virkelighed?
Hvem kan se ind i livets tomme øjenhuler uden at blinke?
Hvem kan se livet fra drømmen med et øje uden øjenlåg?
Hvem kan se at livet er drømmen og virkeligheden slet ikke er?


And a bad translation:
Who can see life in the eyes when a dream is waiting behind the eyelid?
Who can see the eyelid in the blinding reality of a dream?
Who can see into the empty eye sockets of life without blinking?
Who can see life from dream with an eye without eyelids?
Who can see that life is dream and reality is not at all?

[Anonymous No.18117210]

a recent sort of extended sonnet i wrote, based on John 11. i feel like my emulation of that religious language perhaps wavers but nevertheless it was a fun exercise

O' Lazarus, the Seventh Sign, 'twas you whom
Wouldst die afore Iesus, and His bitt'rest
Tears would wet the threshold of your meek tomb.
For four days and nights thy sisters (John attests)
Had mourned — Mary, Martha — sisters to Him,
As to thee; Mary would not flit fro' thy
Abode as the Lord approached — Xenia broken,
But forgiven. Christ knew Martha's news, yet cried
for thee.

Alas, Mary came out, at word of that guest,
Her mourning subsided, for faith (a' hope) in thee.
Martha saith: "I know when, upon the last
Of days, arise wilt thou, and he with ye."

"Whosoe'er liveth and believeth in me,
Ne'er shall die;" the tomb opened (decreed
By Him).
Lazarus 'woke, shroud peeled —
Mary fallst, with tears of joy 'pon the field.

>>18112010
brilliant up until
>like boxcar graffiti, beautiful
>but distant in their long voyage

i always feel a slight sense of distaste when modern vernacular finds its way into poetry - but that's probably just me

[Anonymous No.18117222]

>>18111991
He tells me
Love is pain,
So he puts his
Dick in my
Ass

[Anonymous No.18117251]

>>18117210
another one i wrote after reading part of an essay on Coleridge's childhood - i try to explore his relationship with his siblings and their mother, and how behind all of his christian "logic" he felt the pull of nature and perhaps some "pagan" force. he wrote himself: "Tho' Christianity is my Passion, it is too much my intellectual Passion: & therefore will do me little good in the hour of temptation and calamity."

again, with this one, i feel like my sentence arrangements become complicated because of the attempts to stay within the metre. for context, Coleridge tried to kill his brother in a moment of rage when he was about 8, then ran from home for a night to the river Otter nearby.

'Otter-Goddess (A Song for Coleridge)'

O' thou wanton Rimer; a forced Abel.
Darling you were to thy mother —alas,
Sidelined —
Afixed the role, barely able —
Of Cain — marked black like a stained, fair glass.
Imminently was thrust in your youthful hand
A crude dagger towards thy kin's red neck...
His same favour unchanged — thy psych' surely scathed,
And the damp blade from thy grip, wrenched, still meek.
In shame, anger: love strained — fled thou 'cross the plain;
Crossing the plank, o' er, down the grey-willowed marge:
Aptly held long in Her embrace 'midst the rain.
As Pelides, weeping in Thetis arms;
Thus would Otter, thy dearest Mother-Naiad
Inspire thy verse, behind that Holy Triad.

[Anonymous No.18117291]

fuck you all,
i fuck bitches

[Anonymous No.18117402]

>>18116865
Could you explain how it can be bad when you translate yourself?

Nabokov hired someone to translate his work into Russian, his native tongue...I don't get it.

[Anonymous No.18117437]

>>18115656
You can do whatever you'd like.

But you're probably going to have to publish your own poems. I think the only poets a publishing house will actually seek out are by poet laureates, and that pointed head shit tier rapper that was at Bidens inauguration.

[Anonymous No.18117506]

>>18112010
Good job at painting a scene, I like it

>>18114532
I like some of your alliterations, could work on the flow of it imo

>>18117210
>>18117251
You do a good job of telling the reader how to say the poem in their head. I should try to use some dashes in my poems.

This poem is really childish and very sing song but I had fun writing it

There the flagro headed prince sits
upon his silver swivel throne shrewd
turquoise royal garments neon lit
by the infernal glow he moves

hither wonders children so foolish
so bliss, enchanted by the prince’s ignus
factus, into flames they march for fun
in line, methodically strapped to the sun
for rides

round n round, it never slows
through the dark
through the snow
round n round, you never leave
beg to God
beg to Meese
round n round, it never ends
by a red danger
you’ve been,
condemned

[Anonymous No.18117537]

>>18117402
Poetry is hard to translate thats all

[Anonymous No.18118067]

>>18115452
You could use more line breaks.

>Flower’s bloom, fire grows, that's just the natural way things go. Trees don't think to drop their leaves when the time comes, they drop by the keys. Butterflies fly around the buzzing bees headed for the brightest bloom easiest to see.

And this could be a poem on its own.
>>18115314
Ditch the first stanza
>>18117506
Not my thing. But that's just me.
>>18112079
>>18112007
>>18114636
Me
I have rated.

[Anonymous No.18118355]

>>18117506

I enjoy how you go from this sophistocated imagry "ignus factus" into the pseudo nursery rhyme of the last stanza.

It feels very profound to me at least.

[Anonymous No.18118436]

Where do I start if I want to become a poet and write poetry /lit/?

[Anonymous No.18118482]

>>18118436
You write and post. And respond to feedback. Repeat this process enough and you will become proficient in poetry.

[Anonymous No.18118607]

>>18118355
Yeah I was doing it during a class and I knew i wasn’t going to finish it so i just wrapped it up with what ever.

[Anonymous No.18118747]

>>18116455
Excellent, Jeremy

[Anonymous No.18119014]

>>18117210
The language and structure feels authentic.

Bible-inspired stuff doesn't move me much because I've read so much of it.

[Anonymous No.18119222]

Any good poem exercises to try out? I want to get into it more but don't feel confident yet to do a original piece from scratch.

[Anonymous No.18119278]

>>18119222
Just do one from scratch man. The best way to get better is to just write poems. Imagine it like running a facet to get the air out, you actually have to run the facet. If you need a prompt. Write one about something that happened to you today.

[Anonymous No.18119320]

>>18116455
Damn neocons!

[Anonymous No.18119347]

>>18119222
read The Triggering Town by Richard Hugo

[Anonymous No.18119374]

>>18111991
Like gold
Her hair

At her
I stare

Nothing else
Compare

Fendi
She wear

Skin like the snow
White like blow

Lets go
Wanna know

What I gotta do
To be with you

[Anonymous No.18119506]

>>18119374
This is pretty good I like the blow imagery. Although the ending is a little awkward since "gotta" is to many syllables. I recommend using "must"

What must I do
To be with you.

flows smoother with the rest of the poem.

[Anonymous No.18119542]

>>18119374
>>18119506
Actually the awkwardness starts in stanza 6 because you abandon the pretty strict rhythm you established. I recommend:

If we may go
I wanna know

What I must do
To be with you

Imo it flows to the established rhythm of it better this way.

[Anonymous No.18119570]

Under stars, on an asphalt river.
I hardly see the banks.

All I know is I want to move-

I speed. I speed. I speed.

[Anonymous No.18119574]

this is literally my first time trying to write a poem and all I feel is corny

[Anonymous No.18119589]

>>18119570
I love this. The asphalt river is great imagery.

[Anonymous No.18119618]

>>18119589
thanks. If I ever try this again I'd really like to tease out a comparison with Aguirre, the Wrath of God. I feel like there's something you could do there with the river/boat being replaced by the car/road- men still journey aimlessly for something they'll never find. But now everyone can do it in the course of one night, instead of going all heart of darkness, the pace has just increased so rapidly.

Aguirre dies slowly- drifting, marooned, capable of considering up all the mistakes that led to this moment. Car crashes happen instantly. Idk.

[Anonymous No.18119659]

>>18119506
>>18119542
It does flow better.
I changed it in my notes.
Thanks.

[Anonymous No.18119674]

>>18119574

If you write enough and read enough, you'll be beyond that feeling. Sure you'll write some poems that are hot garbage, but it won't matter because it's worth it for the good ones.

[Anonymous No.18119707]

She said to not say nigger
that they're a protected class
I said this whole world's diseased
and you're infected lass

She said that I had privilege
that I should learn to check
I told her I gave no fucks
with me you earn respect

She said I was the problem
and to strive to be more woke
Why was I even with her?
she fancied being choked.

[Cranly Chickadee No.18119767]

>>18119618
I really like the idea reminds me of the imagery in Lost Highway by David Lynch

Also Fuck it! Im now active on /lit/ poetry, so pen name time. Also here is another poem I wrote just now.

Armed with the poison of guilt
You destroy and diminish my gilt

Now
No more smoke
No more sins
What now awoke - rejects him

Hard truth tarnish our tilth
Oh fallen angel in love with filth

Now
Kills
and kills
Though now I love - you still

[Anonymous No.18119810]

>>18117222
Here Anon, I'll make this better
>He tells me love is pain
>and dicks my ass again.

[Anonymous No.18119859]

>>18119506
>>18119542
>Skin like the snow
>White like blow
Should I get rid of the like as well?

[Anonymous No.18119866]

>>18119859
>Should I get rid of the like as well?
Phrased that wrong.
Should I get rid of the >the.

[Anonymous No.18119925]

>>18119767
>Im now active on /lit/ poetry, so pen name time
Please commit not-be

[Cranly Chickadee No.18119927]

>>18119866
>>18119859
It can be said fast enough where it still keeps the rhythm, in fact I kind of like it. It adds a little asymmetry while staying part of the rhythm. But its up to you, you could also add a 'the' to the blow line. I would keep it the way it is though if it was my poem.

[Anonymous No.18120100]

>>18119810
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[Anonymous No.18120520]

>>18119767
The second stanza doesn't feel like it belongs with the others.

It's also much stronger than them too.

[Anonymous No.18121328]

>>18119927
I might just do that. Thanks.
>>18119767
>Hard truth tarnish our tilth
>Oh fallen angel in love with filth
This was fun.

The last stanza is underwhelming and hard to read let alone understand. Rework it significantly .

[Anonymous No.18121355]

>>18111991
Concise

>>18112005
Overplayed

>>18112007
I feel like you are mocking something that sounds like a greek drama.

>>18112010
Couldn't finish just to corny

>>18112079
Repetition works better on human brains, also not bad anon, almost effortless.

>>18112426
Doesn't rhyme but the plot is good.

>>18112927
Most dumb so far.

>>18112951
Fascinating, but yeah completely context dependant.

>>18113609
That was bad.

>>18114439
Sep

[Anonymous No.18121397]

The shadow lies like a suit
on the floor.

It's like a dark open door

a dark street
where those that run after themselves disappear.

[Anonymous No.18121443]

>>18118436
read poetry, playing close attention to different kinds of rhythm and rhyme, and how short lines for example can have a strong effect on a series of full length lines. look into the notion of metre: most poems will be in iambic so its really just understanding how different syllables can be used as "shorts" or "longs." i'd say you need to have an intuition for metric poetry by ear and voice nevermind by pen, before you think of tackling free verse.

the key is to absolutely never read metric poetry as if its prose, follow the natural lengths and 'correct' emphasis of the words as you recite, or even "sing" as some people do. a thing no one ever told me is that run-on lines shouldn't always be read without any form of break or intonation, which i would reccomend keeping in mind.

i really reccomend Ted Hughes' essay 'Myths, Metres, Rhythms" in his collection Winter Pollen, it gives a good rundown of both formal and more experimental kinds of verse, as well as a 'poetic explanation' of entirely free verse - though you only need to read about half of it. i'm sure other people can reccomend better 'handbooks' like Stephen Fry's ode less travelled, which is seemingly popular right now. Hughes also has a text called 'Poetry in the Making' but it isn't very useful for understanding the actual writing of poetic forms imo.

other than that, read poetry and emulate older forms until you find your own voice.

[Anonymous No.18121464]

>>18121355
>Fascinating, but yeah completely context dependant.
Thank you. It does probably need some sort of accompaniment, I think I'll either use it as a preface for some short prose piece or lengthen the poem itself and go that route for clarity. Not easy to contextualize the inner dialog of a sociopath inflicting their brand of judgement on mankind. I've already got something with a similar topic in my apocalyptic sonnets or else I'd try to rework the format in that direction.

[Anonymous No.18121785]

bump

[Anonymous No.18122018]

Think of the Unsatisfied Ones

When despair—
you who enjoyed great triumphs
and walked with confidence and the memory
of many gifts of delirium and dawns
and unexpected
turns—
when despair wants you in its grip,
and threatens you from some unfathomable depth
with destruction
and the guttering out of your flame:

then think of the unsatisfied ones,
with their migraine-prone temples and introverted dispositions,
loyal to a few memories
that held out little hope,
who still bought flowers,
and with a smile of not much luminosity
confided secret desires
to their small-scale heavens
that were soon to be extinguished.


They Are Human After All

They are human after all, you think,
as the waiter steps up to a table
out of sight of you,
reserved, corner table—
they too are thin-skinned and pleasure-seeking,
with their own feelings and their own sufferings.

You’re not so all alone
in your mess, your restlessness, your shakes,
they too will be full of doubt, dither, shilly-shallying,
even if it’s all about making deals,
the universal-human
albeit in its commercial manifestations,
but present there too.

Truly, the grief of hearts is ubiquitous
and unending,
but whether they were ever in love
(outwith the awful wedded bed)
burning, athirst, desert-parched
for the nectar of a faraway
mouth,
sinking, drowning
in the impossibility of a union of souls—

you won’t know, nor can you
ask the waiter,
who’s just ringing up
another bock,
always avid for coupons
to quench a thirst of another nature,
though also deep.


Hymn

That quality of the great boxers
to be able to stand there
and take shots,

gargle with firewater,
encounter intoxication
at sub- and supra-atomic levels,
to leave one’s sandals at the crater’s lip
like Empedocles, and descend,

not say: I’ll be back,
not think: fifty-fifty,
to vacate molehills
when dwarves want space to grow,
to dine alone,
indivisible,
and able to renounce your victory—

a hymn to that man.

[Anonymous No.18122076]

>>18122018

Evenings of Certain Lives


I

You don’t need always to be scrubbing the tiles, Hendrickje,
my eye drinks itself,
drinks itself to death—
but other drink is in short supply—
the little Buddha there,
Chinese grove god
in exchange for a ladleful of Hulstkamp,
please!

Never painted anything
in frost-white or ice-skater blue
or that Irish green
in which the purple shimmers through—
always my own monotone,
my compulsion to shadows—
not pleasant
to pursue that path so clearly.

Greatness—where?
I pick up the slate-pencil and certain things appear
on paper or canvas
or whatever the heck else—
result: Buddha bronze hocked for booze—
but I draw the line at homage under ornamental plants,
banquet of the painters’ guild—
something for the boardroom!

...Creaking,
little sheep squeaking, chromotypes
Flemish, Rubensish—
for the grandchildren
(same idiots!)
Ah—Hulstkamp,
hits the spot,
midpoint of colors,
my shadow brown,
stubble aura around heart and eye—


II

The blocked chimney smokes
—the Swan of Avon blows his nose—
the tree stumps are wet,
clammy night, emptiness mingled with draft—
enough characters,
the world is overpopulated as it is,
plentiful peach-fall, four rosebuds
per annum—
asperged,
set to tread the boards
by this hand,
grown wrinkled
and with sluggish veins!

All the Juliets and Ophelias,
wreathed, silvered, sometimes murderous—
all the soft mouths, the sighs
I extracted from them—
the original actresses long since turned to smoke,
rust, leeched dry, rats’ pudding—
Ariel too, away with the elements.

The age takes off its frockcoat.
These lousy skulls of lords,
their trains of thought
that I pushed into extremes—
my lords makers of history
all of them crowned and sceptered illiterates,
great powers of the cosmos—
yes, like so many bats or kites!

Sir Goon wrote to me lately:
“the rest is silence”—
I think that’s one of mine,
could only be mine,
Dante dead—lacuna
of centuries
to my logomachic quotes—

what if they didn’t exist,
the booty never brought to light,
the booths, the scaffolds, the cymbals
never clashed—
gaps? Gap teeth maybe,
but the great monkey jaws
would grind on
emptiness, mingled with draft—
the tree stumps are wet
and the butler snores in porter dreams.

[Anonymous No.18123758]

Man this thread is trying to die

[Anonymous No.18124160]

>>18122018

I liked the first one. The second is meh. And I think the third was the weakest of the lot.

>with their migraine-prone temples


Just beautiful. Truly.

[Anonymous No.18124621]

>>18115314
Cool ideas, though it could have fone better with more concise word choice overall 6,5/10

[Anonymous No.18124632]

For all of those who stand in my way

You shall pass

I shall fade

A passing


They fading

[Anonymous No.18124832]

Golden and purplish pastel beams across my window.
A clouded crystal dome
limits my view.
A blurry film corrupts images
of whisper by wind through the leaves,
and birds sing
is wine and bread to my ears.

Long silhouettes in the horizon,
they mark graphite prints
in the rough fractal coups of trees
like artificial geometric dream.
These pictures are memory,
the shape of your smoked hairs,
and fading afterglow crossing a narrow river,
chasing ephemeral shadows
as you, through concrete labyrinths
and asphalt canals.

[Anonymous No.18125103]

>>18123758
No thread dies on my watch
>>18124832
This has potential, I like your images. Syntax is weird in a few spots though.

A Symposium of Lights

The farmhouses that stood up and down that road
seemed to be made of stone, the way each one
pierced the silence between us with a silence of their own.

Nightfall there came on slowly, the eventide
stretching the horizon line and its sunset,
casting a day so long one forgot how to value time,

and I did. When the endless quiet of that drive ended,
we sat on the grass and blended into dusk to watch
color splash the sky, your eyes, and a feeling not mended.

[Anonymous No.18125449]

I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my Feet the Sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch —
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience.

[Anonymous No.18125665]

>>18125449

Presentiment — is that long Shadow — on the Lawn —
Indicative that Suns go down —

The Notice to the startled Grass
That Darkness — is about to pass —

[Anonymous No.18126075]

>>18125103
>This has potential, I like your images. Syntax is weird in a few spots though.
Thanks, actually I wrote it in Spanish and tried to translate it to English


Our feet hang over a liquid mirror darkly,
where her reflection is no more than diluted olio,
a lost sketch of blueish scarce light
in which everything is of same mother.

The floor contracted and retracted.
Bits of unfinished bread
is all of what is left of a brief,
infinitesimally short and pervasive instant.

Invisible sounds form a stage of velvet and wood.
My memory plays dice and dances in probabilities,
but nothing of interested was born,
nothing worth hearing anymore.

[Anonymous No.18126168]

There is no world
It wasn't made
it will not end

An angel voice won't guide you
Nor will sulfur burn your nose
Time doesn't pass, it cordons you

You will sit here
as you always have
reflect and you'll see

The greatest moment of your life
when everything was joyous and pure
is not now.

[Anonymous No.18127148]

>>18111991
Love, gazing upon me again

with his cerulean, languid eyes,

launched me into Kypris

in impenetrable nets

through various seductive arts

And I really shiver while it’s happening

just like a horse carrying his yoke.

Once he used to win, now is growing old?

reluctantly resumes his challenge with rapid chariots.

[Anonymous No.18127490]

>>18126168
>Time doesn't pass, it cordons you
This is good. Keep this. The rest is boring, second-person cliches. This line right here is the only one with an inch of personality.

[Anonymous No.18127514]

>>18115320
I like that it's fun and silly. I would say though that you don't need a full stop at the end of every line.

We plan for a future,
ever postponed.
Then,

We die.

[Anonymous No.18128081]

>>18127514
This reads like it belongs in some section of Readers Digest.

>>18127490

Advice well taken, thank you.

[Anonymous No.18128495]

>>18121355
>I feel like you are mocking something that sounds like a greek drama.
Is that good or bad. IDK
>>18121397
I dislike this
>>18124632
I also dislike this. The first three lines could be an ok poem though.
>>18127514
I like this. But the a could be replaced with a the. It sounds better in my opinion.
>>18111991
>here is a throw away.

A piece of a lot
Can buy a lot of land
On demand

[Anonymous No.18128751]

>>18111991
A sonnet about me being a coomer.

The filthy mistress Lust with all her follow
Does strain my faith whene'er I am to sleep
And over my restraints so slyly creeps,
That wipes away all thoughts of future sorrow.

"When could you now, why should you wait to-morrow?":
'Tis thus that in my brains her vanguard seeps,
Eagerness, the imp, and therein deep
Does sow seeds of desire within the furrows.

Indulgence, whore of trade, tends to their growth,
Perfecting what her changeling brother starded,
And says: "What could so dread by this be brought?".

Seizing fast the chance she open blarted,
The mistress foul the fruits then reaps thus wrought:
And once again I from my oaths have parted.

[Anonymous No.18128881]

>Paired Things

Who, who had only seen wings,
could extrapolate the
skinny sticks of things
birds use for land,
the backward way they bend,
the silly way they stand?
And who, only studying
birdtracks in the sand,
could think those little forks
had decamped on the wind?
So many paired things seem odd.
Who ever would have dreamed
the broad winged raven of despair
would quit the air and go
bandylegged upon the ground,
a common crow?


>Sharks’ Teeth

Everything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark’s-tooth
shaped fragments
of rest angled
in it. An hour
of city holds maybe
a minute of these
remnants of a time
when silence reigned,
compact and dangerous
as a shark. Sometimes
a bit of a tail
or fin can still
be sensed in parks.

>The bath

My skin is so soft
Fresh from my bath
It pains me to see it touched
Covered by the fabric
Of an everyday world

>After love

Hair unbound, in this
Hothouse of lovemaking.
Perfumed with lilies,
I dread the oncoming of
The pale rose of the end of night.

>All that is me

Made to punish men for their sins
The smoothest skin
The longest black hair…
All that
Is me!

[Anonymous No.18128982]

>>18118436
Paul Fussell's Poetic Meter and Poetic Form

[Anonymous No.18129009]

>>18128881
I really like the first one. The rest I dislike.

[Anonymous No.18129320]

In the station

In the underground tunnel
cigarette butts grow,
not daisies.
It stinks of loneliness.

[Anonymous No.18129356]

Autumn

Autumn is always too early.
The peonies are still blooming, bees
are still working out ideal states,
and the cold bayonets of autumn
suddenly glint in the fields and the wind
rages.

What is its origin? Why should it destroy
dreams, arbors, memories?
The alien enters the hushed woods,
anger advancing, insinuating plague;
woodsmoke, the raucous howls
of Tatars.

Autumn rips away leaves, names,
fruit, it covers the borders and paths,
extinguishes lamps and tapers; young
autumn, lips purpled, embraces
mortal creatures, stealing
their existence.

Sap flows, sacrificed blood,
wine, oil, wild rivers,
yellow rivers swollen with corpses,
the curse flowing on: mud, lava, avalanche,
gush.

Breathless autumn, racing, blue
knives glinting in her glance.
She scythes names like herbs with her keen
sickle, merciless in her blaze
and her breath. Anonymous letter, terror,
Red Army.

[Anonymous No.18130140]

>>18119707
Love this; it has great rhythm and the repetition of the stanzas structure make them flow easily from one into the other.
>>18129320
Doomer waiting for a train.
Good idea, poor execution, there is no rhythm, rhyme, flow or even alliteration. Sorry anon, this is prose, not poetry. But you have inspired me, I'll make a doomer limerick now.

I Really Shouldn't:
When I saw the bright neon pink
come directly from my sink
I thought, "what's the harm,
it has some charm
I guess I'll take a drink"

[Anonymous No.18130450]

Old friends, you cannot break what's been broken
Beneath that line,my favorite mask
Not of order, token, or task..
A simple answer for the times we live.
An honest question of how much to give.
I think you have a hard time steering.
My life falls blackened shadowed
Eyes in darkness myself revealing.
Forgive my sister,mother and brother. Fate is not just shining plunder

[Anonymous No.18130470]

>>18124832
Beautiful imagery. Liked it a lot

[Anonymous No.18130473]

In the jacuzzi,
We all fart from time to time.
Who counts the bubbles?

[Anonymous No.18130481]

>>18130473
11/10, go home everyone shows over

[Anonymous No.18130486]

>>18129356
J.R.R Tolkien vibes, 5/5

[Anonymous No.18130724]

>>18129320
I lied anon, I wrote a sonnet (haven't done that even tried in years), not a limerick inspired by your feels, hope you like it!

Doomer Sonnet

Far from the light of sun, beneath the streets,
littered are signs of growth and decay;
remains trampled over by countless feet.
Forgotten in the depths, they stay.

Not daisies, but ash and cigarette butts grow;
leftovers of those who've stayed in the past
unveiled only by a faint ember's glow
as the trash continues to be amassed.

With a sudden squall and haunting howl,
the lumbering steel cages creek as they arrive;
doors open to cast a light faint and fowl,
revealing a place with nothing alive.

The light fades as the doors wind themselves shut,
leaving me with just my cigarette butt.

[Anonymous No.18131405]

>>18130450
looks like nonsense

doom often trembles in a manger
peering at the queen with a baby in her arm
then he becomes trembling
and you’re often him,
but to her everything must seem simple
the rain must be liquid gold
dripping off ruined temples to Earth
who’s broken heart birthed doom and wept

[Anonymous No.18132867]

Bump

[Anonymous No.18133857]

>>18111991

[Anonymous No.18134213]

Laid my dreams to waste in moonlight
All those shaded glares can see
I am nothing, slouched in my mediocrity
Dirt and gravel sealing in shoveld heaps of earth. My agony presumes my innocence but loathing self resumes,beside the light my mind turns dark and my soul is lost inside, my thoughts consumed

[Anonymous No.18134226]

>>18134213
Garbage

[Anonymous No.18134281]

Finally hate what I can't believe
Its important don't you see? The tree is bare ,13 knots will set you free .
If you go, go unashamedly, now I believe, we're all in hell with me. I need to get him outside of my head but he keeps hiding underneath my bed, its the last place I thought to look ,he took my eyes and laughing watch me shook till daylights chime
Disappeared upon sunshines arriving
Till next time whispered in twilight as laughter echoed from inside my mind.

[Anonymous No.18134286]

>>18134281
Trash

[Anonymous No.18134382]

>>18116865
Based and Odinic

[Anonymous No.18134659]

>>18130724
Nice sonnet, though it's missing the turn in the couplet.

[Anonymous No.18134999]

The Rain Wants to Kill Itself

With its fingers the rain stains your window and mumbles.
It wants to come in and kill itself.
I see you are in bed and couldn't care less.
In the dark. Naked. Couldn't care less.
Your hair loose. Your thighs spread open.
And there, in plain sight, black moss!
Your left middle finger busy, busy!
Villain, searching for the red crest.
While golden honey already oozes.
You call me from your delirium tremens.
Me already changed into a crow.
I fly down into your lap and peck, peck.
And then in my beak carry the caught fish away,
to go play cards and drink.
While the rain with its fingers
makes stains over your windowpanes and mumbles,
counts its beads,
wants to come in and kill itself.

[Anonymous No.18135528]

>>18134213
>>18134281
>>18134999
>>18130450
>>18129356
>>18129320
>>18128881
>>18128751
Somethings wrong
In this thread

I hope your post
Goes unread

Yet the problem
Goes unsaid

[Anonymous No.18135536]

>>18135528
>Yet
Ignore this word.

[Anonymous No.18136343]

>>18112010
>of not your body, but the tomb
>of that which within you, I knew,
>would soon leave me.
I get that this is supposed to add to the overall aesthetic, and it sucks to have a picture you've created and realize you might want to get rid of it after going through the work of creating it, but this bit is clunky. Try to say it all in one line, it might make the piece overall a little less consistent and muddle up the through line but it's better to cut off as many things as you can early on.
>when I sleep until I can't anymore,
There are a thousand ways to say this better, perhaps "when my resting mind is spent" or "when my place of slumber finally rejects me". Perhaps those aren't what you had in mind but that line is less imaginative than the rest of that stanza.
>But we are bound by gravity
This line also feels played out, though it's more tolerable than the last one I mentioned.

Overall I respect that this poem was written in confidence, early on it's hard to find that. Work on your rhythm, and don't be afraid to cut parts you like. You're better off reusing them or just scrapping them.

[Anonymous No.18136362]

>>18128881
>>All that is me
>Made to punish men for their sins
>The smoothest skin
>The longest black hair…
>All that
>Is me!

whore

[Anonymous No.18136534]

>>18135528
Alright, I'll try to redeem myself (>>18128751):
>>18130724
The metre is a bit off, but I like the doomer atmosphere; I'd disagree with >>18134659 in saying that a sonnet should by necessity have a sudden turn in the couplet: wrapping it up, as you did, is more than enough.
>>18135528
The word problem breaks it up a little, I'd go with something monosyllabic like snag, catch or rub.

[Anonymous No.18136551]

first try at a poem in forever:

In the park of my hometown something revealed itself to me
Interrupting nature's passing over
Among the dead and discarded stood tall an apple tree
My eyes climbed the naked limbs to see a sorry leftover
Selfishly it clung, the Autumn winds had failed to shake it free
But as I sat a dissaprover
I realized that ugly old leaf was me.

>>18125449
i really enjoy the imagery you set up in this, i think the second half is a lot weaker than the first though.

[Anonymous No.18137216]

bump