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/lit/ - Literature


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18179999 No.18179999 [Reply] [Original]

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>> No.18180008

"The ship sails over the sunset,
A thousand miles away"

You press your face against my arm
Softly breathing a gentle yawn
All the wide world couldn't harm
And this is what I say:

Life stops and bides the waterside
Ripples ride the sandy tide
Short sharp calls of the gull
You're sway inside the ships old hull
Drift into tranquility.

And that was all you'll hear from me.

>> No.18180304

Winter winds bend leaveless pines,
Drifting snow coats mossy stones,
I stand across my father's bones
And write these petty, awful lines.

Father, visit please my dreams,
I find no peace. My face turns blue.
I don't know where you are, but you
Have to be somewhere. Or so it seems.

I don't remember your face.
The snow hides your grave.
I'll go now. I'll buy your grandkids presents
And live through christmas in a restless daze.

>> No.18180355

Making my way downtown
Walking fast, faces pass and I'm homebound
Staring blankly ahead
Just making my way
Making a way through the crowd
And I need you
And I miss you
And now I wonder
If I could fall into the sky
Do you think time would pass me by?
Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles
If I could just see you tonight
It's always times like these
When I think of you
And wonder if you ever think of me
Cause everything's so wrong and I don't belong
Living in your precious memory
Cause I need you
And I miss you
And now I wonder
If I could fall into the sky
Do you think time would pass me by?
Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles
If I could just see you tonight
And I, I don't wanna let you know
I, I drown in your memory
I, I don't wanna let this go
I, I don't
Making my way downtown
Walking fast, faces pass and I'm homebound
Staring blankly ahead, just making my way
Making a way through the crowd
And I still need you
And I still miss you
And now I wonder
If I could fall into the sky
Do you think time would pass me by?
Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles
If I could just see you, oh, oh
If I could fall into the sky
Do you think time would pass me by?
Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles
If I could just see you
If I could just hold you tonight

>> No.18180399
File: 765 KB, 585x663, 1617602372506.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18180399

>>18180355

>> No.18181676

>>18180008
I like it. It's pretty basic though. I feel like you could dig deeper into your emotions. For example:
"You press your face against my arm / Softly breathing a gentle yawn / All the wide world couldn't harm" is not bad, but the picture you've painted could've been done by many different poets. What picture could've been done by no one but you?

>> No.18181966

>>18180008
This sounds like professional poetry

Walk beside the moonlight.
Share a glass of soothing.
Make a move together.
Time is whats worth losing.

And through those staggered meetings
Our comfort always blooming
Walk back into the daylight
Learning, thinking, moving.

>> No.18182294

>>18180304
>leaveless pines
All pines are leaveless.

>> No.18182393

Roses are red
Violates are blue
There's a ghost under my bed
Boo!

>> No.18182405

>>18182294
Pineless pines

>> No.18182464

>>18182294
so where's the lie

>> No.18182476
File: 35 KB, 576x768, 169514361_1759046084267014_2534421736020974327_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18182476

No diseased meandering dawn will ever break,
the culprit being these longjohns' waning bellyache.
"If no one can see me,
tell me, what's the charge?
No one could've seen me,
judge, what could be the charge?
"Flutter, dying mothwings blinded by the world,
most gentle cries will truly cease to be heard."

Crooked lampoon soldiery, a gentle pull of moons
marching along dormant fields, coldening the rooms.
"Kick the doors open
rob the shutters blind
Kick the doors open
See what we may find!"
"The night air accumulates, may we light our torch
to dispel these apparitions standing on the porch?"

With the burning evidence they all head back to town
Disorderly regiments, torn and tattered frowns.
The apparitions laying
motionless on their sides
Frying pans, lemminglike cast
themselves to the fires.
Kettles too, in terror dropping dead onto the floor,
all farmhouse ghosts were thus violated at the door.

>> No.18182527

>>18181676
There isn't much usable originality to be found in the still life of cumsocks and shitbuckets. Most smelly poetry has already been done by the likes of bukowski either way. I must say I like how anon's poem contrasts the life I imagine him living.

>> No.18182574

The repetitions of the faces of the clock
Know not of pipe weed country folk
Who downhill ride on motorboats
Through woods so holy no one knows

Some sailor says the foghorn blows
When some lone sailor drops his glow
Another says that matter moves
Like waterplanes towards the smoke

My pokets grey, washed up and broke
I'm without cash, I rest my case.
I bet my last soul on the human race.
I can smell the water, the woods and the smoke.

The screams grow louder. Through the bushes
Of thistlewood a motorboat rushes
Towards the water.

>> No.18182744

>>18182574
It's nice. I dislike the third stanza, not because of the typo, but I feel like it leads the poem astray from what is an interestingly described scene, pointing the focus towards (you) with what I consider cheap lines compared to the beginning ones. The prospect in itself is alright though. "My pockets grey, washed up and broke
I'm without cash, I rest my case" just reads terribly to my boozed brain. "I bet my last soul on the human race" is a line not even the decent "I can smell the water, the woods and the smoke." can save. The final stanza is nice, and overall I like most sonnets posted here, including yours, anon, godspeed.

>> No.18182766

>>18182464
>implying it's possible that it could bare leaves

>> No.18182791

>>18180008
10/10
>>18180304
10/10
>>18180355
10/10
>>18180399
10/10
>>18181676
10/10
>>18181966
10/10
>>18182294
10/10
>>18182393
10/10
>>18182405
10/10
>>18182464
10/10
>>18182476
10/10
>>18182527
10/10
>>18182574
10/10
>>18182744
10/10
>>18182766
10/10

>> No.18182850

can i get a prompt please

>> No.18182941

>>18182850
A fire burning in the antarctic wilds

>> No.18183023

>>18182941
awesome prompt. here's what i got without editing it

the station is meant to be colder than this
my fellows don’t seem to yet notice

out the window
across the ice
a black plume
blossoms
into the sky

the measurements are impossible
to conclude with a burning
researcher’s home

I’ve seen this plume before
during my study in south America
can you think of two
more dissimilar locals
than there and here:
southern arctic?

What are you
doing here
black plume

What is here
that we haven’t found
dying before my eyes

>> No.18183034

>>18182574
i really like the imagery here, but like >>18182744
said, I think the third stanza is distracting

>> No.18183433

>>18179999
Title: A Completed Quest

Things happen
Change

Get dressed
And rest

>>18180008
meh
>>18180304
starts stronger than it ends
>>18182393
Stupid but kind of fun
>>18182574
That's a no from me

>> No.18183445

>>18179999
Transaction in action
Another fraction
To you

I no longer
Love you

>>18183433
me

>> No.18184120

Bump

>> No.18184693

>>18183445
i think this needs to be expanded to really get your point across. i don't really get a sense of the reason you no longer love them. what are you a fraction of? what is this transaction taking place? a few more clues would do wonders

>> No.18185245

>>18184693
How would you expand it?
I like the fact it asks more questions than it answers. But the fraction is money. I though the word transaction would hint at that. But it seems that went over peoples heads. If anyone wants to build on it. Go ahead. I want to see what you can do with it.

>> No.18185815

Sometimes I get bored of you because I’ve seen you before
But then I see you and my heart races
And I don’t want to watch that because I’ve seen it before
But I’ll still put on interstellar when I’m bored
I love trying new food but that cheesy gordita crunch at 1am hits so different
And it feels different, I can’t put my finger on it
Maybe it’s because you’ve seen me cry
And now you know my dick won’t get hard when I’ve had too much to drink
But it’s 1am and interstellar is on but I’ve seen it before
The line at taco bell is too long
I feel dejected and its a snapchat from you
I’ve seen it before, a streak with the same filter you always use
The hearts around your cheeks look so good on you
But you’re in a car and I’ve seen it before
It’s not yours because you don't drive
And somebody just pulled in behind me on the drive through line so I can’t leave
I can’t leave you even though I’ve seen this before
We fuck and then we get bored because I’ve fucked you before
But my hearts still racing because you’ve seen him before
The precedents set
So the next time I get a text at 1am
It’ll be the same girl I’ve seen before
But I swear to god I’ve never seen her before

>> No.18185855

>>18180304
This feels extremely organic. Less of a constructed poem and more of a wild thrash. Towards what? A father figure, the natural cycle of life, being alone. Maybe towards yourself, a reflection of how you see yourself and your own fleeting existence projected upon somebody who's gone and can now become the target for your anger. Their image in eternity being molded by your anger, completely overshadowing any positive feelings you might have. No, I suppose that would make the feeling more cold and indifferent than angry. This made me want to know more about you and I appreciate that. Good work.

>> No.18185864

I tooted
And she welcomed
The fart
That would break her heart
Upon the threshold of marriage
Lest we depart
Because of a fart
A gruesome fart.

>> No.18185900

>>18185864
A poopie?
A fart
Or is it a shart?
Both at the same time?
A poop and a fart
But as they leave
the poop and the fart depart
drifting further from the start
Until one's just a poopy
And one's just a fart

>> No.18185929
File: 92 KB, 1000x563, IMG_0524.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18185929

>>18185900

>> No.18186207

>>18182476
>>18182527
these are me btw

>>18185815
not much to say except that some more line breaks could improve this one tremendously in my eyes, I do applaud the honesty anon, and feel sorry for you which means the poem has dragged more feelings out of me than most of the other ones here did.
For example, the safest line breaks you could employ:
>And now you know my dick won't get hard
>When I've had too much to drink
Or
>And somebody just pulled in behind me
>On the drive through line so I can't leave
I think this way the poem as a whole would look better.
Also consider playing with line breaks to introduce some unease like
>I love trying new food but that cheesy gordita crunch
>at 1am hits so different, and feels so different
>can't put my finger on it, maybe because you've seen me cry
etc.

>> No.18186375

>>18180304
Definitely potential here, very good, just try to cut away the self fixation (all the I) and the self deprecating stuff, no one wants to read even more of that.

>>18183023
Dont just cute up prose and add end-rhymes, you need to make aesthetic the Whole thing, the worst part is how arbitrary some of the line breaks are.

What are you
Doing here

Is the worst. Gotta try to avoid this contemporary empty image chopped up prose style at all costs.

>> No.18186376

The Whispers of the Wind

the Wind whispers a secret heard by few
“when the world was white and yet never knew
the corpse stones formed by winter’s falling tears,
and the music of the spheres sang to men
of the silent peace of the years of years,
men knew the lullabies whispered in sleep.”


the Wind whispers a secret heard by few
“there is a valley of diamonds which you
may plunder if you libate the serpents
and the black Jinn whose spirits haunt the glen,
least your flesh be torn, bones for all to view,
come to them as master to his servants,
all souls must bow to the voice from the deep”

the Wind whispers a secret heard by few
“spoke to me once a shade who lived untrue
what awaits an accursed apparition,
first a fiend bathes you in darkest blood, then
the million red faces of perdition
add you to the heap, another to weep.”

the Wind whispers a secret heard by few
“the sacred hue of a sapphire’s blue
is the reflection of a Royal star,
An ancient God’s avatar, born again,
give to him fragrant aromatic tar,
then you, with the precious stones he will keep.”


The Whispers of the wind whirl to and fro
blessed are they who listen when the winds blow.

>> No.18186387

Oh, and here’s an attempt at writing rhymes with a more rap-based style, first short trying to integrate it into my normative style.

the nightmare spirit takes his nocturnal flight
somewhere a snakes hiss curses eternal Light
beware the infertile lake kissed by infernal blight
Despair! the cyst of night! the turtle’s shell breaks!


Now longer, trying to apply it in a much more common rap style.

heaven’s pearly gates
seven worldly gaits

lunar beacons create the tides of faith
sooner freeman weight silver plates of black brides

mercurial reason in numbered dates resides
beaten aeons in terrestrial veil covered, colored each suffered and structured

Venusian lesion, upward passion, mates preside
union hides in flustered sighs, flesh fills with hate

solar deacons utter eight gold dyed visions
nobler sequences forbade lies told by millions

martial legions thrust their bold weapons straight into reptilian minions
partially weakens to rust their engines of controlled fate

jovial seasons adjust eagles from cold regions and beckons
bodily, heartily, parcifally prisoners of dust from untold directions each without questions


Saturnine secretions combust like lead burning haunted cathedrals filled with old shades of old allegiances to dark dimensions
impossibly, visitors, maids of Orpheus drum and chant to mold monarchical reflections with celestial signs

heaven’s pearly gates
seven worldly gaits

>> No.18186911

>>18186376
A professor of mine (István Turczi) gave us a sort of rule he tends to follow when writing his poems. It might not be as relevant in English since it's a much more subtle language than Hungarian, but the rule is simple: avoid "banned words". His banned words were words that he considers generally overused, cheesy, or directly telling the reader what to feel or see, obvious clichés etc. If there is an easy way to get what he wants across, he would refuse to go down it. In "The Whispers of the Wind" some words could be considered such ones, words like "secret" "tears" "peace" "sleep". Of course it's impossible to avoid them completely, omitting all of them will break the flow and form of any poem, but it's something to consider when looking for improvement. To be honest I dislike his poetry and the guy is almost certainly a pedophile but he is still celebrated as one of the greatest hungarian contemporary poets nowadays, whaever that titulus means.

>>18186387
10/10 bars though

>> No.18186959

>>18179999
'Tis better never to've been,
Than to have been and suffered;
Thus, I welcome my sleep--
Quiet, everlasting sleep.
That great-sleep which comes for all,
Yet we live as immortal;
Betrayal 'waits us all, why--
Prepone the inevit'ble?
Yet why postpone it either?
Who wants to work ev'ryday?
No more can the imposers,
Of nightmares and of concerns;
Who've made us logs for their furnace--
Hide from us our meaninglessness.

>> No.18187071

>>18186911
Thanks for the advice though there’s a bit of disagreement I have, not with the quality of my work which I know, could be much better, but rather on the usage of common (often considered kitsch ) words and concepts, while I agree that mixing concepts with material imagery has the great risk of producing a mush which is neither image nor conception, I do believe if well balanced this can induce a kind of phantasmal beauty to the sensual objects being described, I also do not think straight forwardedness or common kitsch beauty standards are bad, don’t get me wrong I understand the beauty in calling a coffin a bone-house, but I think it’s a question of time and place. I also cannot help but see things like sleep as universally beautiful.

And just for the meme of it, the tears line is pretty indirect, corpse stones formed by fallen tears would be, the frozen and already spent snows and ice that the winter winds produces, though I actually am more worried that the kenning is too obscure.

Thank you for the advice in any case Anon, I’ll see if I can’t find some of your professors poetry so I can see for myself if he has any value (to me)

>> No.18187095

Honestly wanna get into writing and reading poetry after reading some of these. Anyone got some suggestions for an absolute newb

>> No.18187131

Sneeds Feed and Seed
Formerly
Chucks Suck and Fuck

Car not of German origin
but from Guatemala
Loafers made by Gucci, it aint so
It is but bought from a hobo

Oh thy city slicker
with a park avenue manicure
Your soils ph level is too high

>> No.18187231

>>18186387
>writing rhymes with a more rap-based style

Ok. We did it! Now lets never ever ever do it again.


Next thing you know you'll be changing your name to Daddy Assy and prefacing your work in with things like

>And now some posey in the style of bard and gormand of note, Big Lurch.


Glad to see you weren't proscribed though.

>> No.18187761

>>18187095
William Carlos Williams

>> No.18187770

>>18180008
Very nice. Like Frost if he didn't take himself so seriously. Seems to have every bit of his honesty, though.
>>18180304
The structure here isn't allowing the emotion to shine through as fully as it could, or should. It's there, clearly, but seems shackled in, conforming to rather than shaping the form
>>18182476
Work a bit on flow: you seem to want to cram your lines as full as you can, which does not suit your poem well. Learn to trim more
>>18185815
Invokes pity, but not empathy.

>> No.18187779

>>18187770
I'll post some of my own stuff in a bit

>> No.18187835

At times, at night, it seems
That we meet to cath up in dreams
Talk about the where and whats of
Our goings in betweens

But then it seems to end
With sounds of alarms set that tend
To wake the both of us up at dawn
Leaves only a when again

>>18186911
>To be honest I dislike his poetry and the guy is almost certainly a pedophile
there is absolutely no chance of him being a bad poet. plus he gave good advice
>>18187071
jeez frater, how many times do you need to hear the same thing? btw was a leather bound book of love yours?
>>18186376
thats one long whisper. theres actually much i appreciate in this. the more minimal and more suggestive language, the structure and repetition. ye. still either too meaningless or not meaningless and ambigous enough.
>corpse stones
bit awkward to say
>music of the spheres sang to men
nice
>black Jinn whose spirits
spirit?
>blessed are they who listen when the winds
blow.
this has to be punchier with a few less sylables. maybe "when winds blow"
>>18185864
more than one farts, especially two farts back to back ruin the blow
>>18185815
i dont like archaic larping but i dont like any references to snapchat or interstellar either. i feel like the two end lines and the two beginning lines should mirror each other, and thats the heart of the poem.
>I love trying new food but that cheesy gordita crunch at 1am hits so different
>Maybe it’s because you’ve seen me cry
>And now you know my dick won’t get hard when I’ve had too much to drink
>But you’re in a car and I’ve seen it before
>It’s not yours because you don't drive
strong
>>18183445
this about divorce and 50/50 money split?
>>18183433
awkward to read but potential there. change happens, and changing your clothes happens and just that evokes a lot.
>>18183023
needs more structure
>>18182574
i like most of it but the rhyming needs to be more structured.
>sailor
>lone sailor
feels bad to repeat

>> No.18188051

>>18187095
just fucking do it, poetry is great because any rules are subjective (I'm gonna get a lot of hate for that but it's true).

>> No.18188816

>>18179999
Suck me moonlit when I'm lonely
Get over dying it's only
Gay if you can't just charge a dime
To slit my cock and never rhyme
manamammcmfwwwwooooo

>> No.18188946

>>18188816
the last line made me chuckle, not sure why, but thanks anon

>> No.18189055

If i were in heaven i wouldnt even know it.
I would just walk around waiting to be stabbed or robbed,
waiting for the roof to start leaking
or the neighbors to knock on my door
asking for retribution.

I would look at my garden of miracle flowers and trees,
with birds that sing to me and me alone
and trees with brances
like comforting arms
holding me safe
and i would think:
”Whoever gets to enjoy these things after im gone is a lucky guy,
now lets get back to it.”

And i would do nothing
but hope for wonders.

>> No.18189781
File: 36 KB, 364x503, naga.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18189781

>>18187761
thankyou anon

>> No.18189933

>>18187835
Thanks! Sorry if I have repeated mistakes, gonna have to work them out with practice. And yeah that was one of my short stories. Here’s the last couple stories I wrote if you want em.

https://pastebin.com/ZpXyBtDy

https://pastebin.com/hwEwhvfg

https://pastebin.com/GbbtBTY9

>> No.18191085

b

>> No.18191293
File: 17 KB, 619x299, 146925140_144793207460299_2855927981244608085_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18191293

>>18182476
You can clearly write, anon. Just take your meds before you post.
>>18187770
I disagree with this crit, it seems to flow well enough in my eyes, form seems consistent which I also like to see, but its incomprehensibility annoys me a great deal. It's as if it was deliberately trying to be so obscure, that you don't try questioning the content. I like the poem but I'm calling your bluff anon. What is this? If you still lurk here and refuse to elaborate, see picrel. Oh yeah, a title would also help. Will post stuff in a bit if I don't fall asleep.

>> No.18191545

Fearful, beautiful jagged eyes
Transgress my love
And bring it to its very knees.
Folding and morphing
Through strings of musical DNA.
Close, quiet steps
Across your moonlit toes.

Life, life - you are like fresh air,
Insanely full of breath.

>>18189055

I like this one a lot. It has a simple point and feels relatable, you express this intense emotion quite brilliantly and concisely.

>> No.18192465

My age goes up.
My dreams go down.
My hand does both.

>> No.18192603

>>18192465
Age up
Dream down

See
My frown

I'm
A clown

>> No.18192677

>>18192603
clowns pound
round mounds

in browntown

>> No.18192678
File: 14 KB, 361x408, Screenshot_2021-05-07 Poetry.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18192678

>> No.18192705

>>18192677
pound clowns
browntown
round mounds

>> No.18192923

>>18179999
a snippet of some poetry I wrote tonight. tell me how trash it is:

a man approaches --
i cross the street
over the lava rocks
memories
from my childhood
cul-de-sac towards

the mailbox, i'm
out of his way, the
cig smoke doesn't affect
those it need not.


the twists and turns of
postmodern perception of
those mislead by those
they trusted to lead.

a 300 does an x-point
u-turn, and drives away

as a man walks by with
groceries, and another
with shorts and a white
dad hat with his hands
in his pockets as i

write poetry. who would
have thought that a punk
like me would write for
a punk like thee as the

ash is blown off the right
cuff of the raw denim of
your humble narrator's levi
trucker, the san francisco

>> No.18193012

>>18192677
>>18192705
>>18192465
Age up
Dream down

You
A clown

See
My crown

>> No.18193117

>>18181966
You would be good at writing advertisement slogans.

>> No.18193173

>>18192678
lol you said semen

>> No.18193180

>>18193012

I'm no clown
Your pants are down
for every man in town
yellow, black, and brown

>> No.18193187
File: 67 KB, 1130x1082, 7de.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18193187

>>18193180
I got a gun
Its been fun
We are done

So bye
Now you die

>> No.18193797

AABB never sounds right when I write it

>> No.18195204

The night is here, and there the stars,
Spread out like open spider eggs.
The wind crawls up my aching legs
And through the leaves roll distant cars.
I feel the mending of long bleeding scars
And follow long the winding tracks.

The earth is moving still, and wet from rain.
I feel my feet. I think of home.
A tree that looks like burning Rome
Reminds me of familiar pain.
The tree has no one for his form to blame –
so it is written in an ancient tome.

>> No.18195214

>>18189055
Best itt

>> No.18195352

>>18179999
no one commented. please tear this to snippet to shreds:
a man approaches --
i cross the street
over the lava rocks
memories
from my childhood
cul-de-sac towards

the mailbox, i'm
out of his way, the
cig smoke doesn't affect
those it need not.


the twists and turns of
postmodern perception of
those mislead by those
they trusted to lead.

a 300 does an x-point
u-turn, and drives away

as a man walks by with
groceries, and another
with shorts and a white
dad hat with his hands
in his pockets as i

write poetry. who would
have thought that a punk
like me would write for
a punk like thee as the

ash is blown off the right
cuff of the raw denim of
your humble narrator's levi
trucker, the san francisco

>> No.18195386

>>18192923
>>18195352
Fucking gay

>> No.18195439
File: 36 KB, 305x551, 1591510682962.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18195439

>>18191293
Fair point, I might have gone too far with this poem. The main idea is that rural boomers are so out of touch and pace with the urbanites that they become an invisible backdrop to high society, relegated to occasionally being a resource to be exploited ie.: robbed and killed, but not integrated. With no real incentive from the state or 'society' to keep them afloat, (because they are weak, stubborn and deteriorating) they are simply dehumanized, then are left being burned away along with their legacy. The stabwound 'bellyache' belongs no longer to the dying boomer, but to their clothes. No one could have thus seen a stabbing since no one was stabbed, that is the legal defense. Like a mockery of a platoon of soldiers, an adventurous 'tide' (a pull of moons, a stretch, I know) of urbanites riot in the countryside as a pastime activity under the guise of the night (as if the moon pulled them out of the city, the metaphor worked better in my head). Those boomers who voluntarily shut themselves off are robbed, those who willingly stand on the porch are more respected, so they only get set aflame without the robbery part, at the end.The ghosts the mob refers to are these elderly residents. (the "night air" is meant to be a third policeman reference) The poem ends with no hope for a better future, the countryside is burned again, along with the archaic way of living associated with it (kettles and farmhouses). Thanks for the feedback boys, I will try to improve this and think of a suitable title.

>> No.18195605

>>18192923
No man wearing denim jackets should make the mistake of writing poetry. The worst-case scenario is that you make it, and we have another bukowski epidemic on our sorry hands. I really dislike the line breaks, but especially those in the last 3 stanzas.
Most sinful is the
>in his pockets as i

>write poetry. who would
part, for me personally at least.

I mean, that's just disgusting anon. Breaking a sentence in half like that, pretending there is a strict form to this mess (which there isn't), or maybe to add tension (which it does not), whatever the reason was, that was a conscious decision, and it's terrible to look at. The period in the middle of the next line is the cherry on top. Also, maybe just omit the unnecessary 'as'es.

So why not just do:
"A man walks by with groceries
another, with shorts and a white dad-
hat with his hands in his pockets
as I (sit here?) writing poetry.
Who'd have thought a punk
like me would write for a punk
like thee; the ash is blown off
the right cuff of the raw denim of
your humble narrator's levi trucker"
etc.

>> No.18195620

The sun is gone, but warm the sand.
No wind, no trees for wind to stir.
I run my wrinkly old man's hand
Along this youngin's greying fur.

His broken fang glows like a moon.
Things run together when you're old.
The night turns blue, it's getting cold ...
I'll light a fire, we'll have it warmer soon.

>> No.18195685

>>18195352
Nitpick here but i'm thinking of "postmodern perception" and wtf does it even mean? One of the critiques levelled at postmodernism is that it's so vague and relativist it doesn't stand for anything. You did a genuinely good job or keeping the rest very tangible, even if i may not care for the actual situations, but try not to bring up ideas like "postmodern perception" in creative writing as ideas. Give situations emblematic of those ideas then reflect on those situations. This is free verse so you can't tell me it's too difficult to expand this.
When you talk about abstract ideas, try to at least pair them with very small, well-selected and tangible images to add precision - dickinson does this very well.
What you have here is an aimless mess that either goes on 5 stanzas too long, needs 5 more drafts to know what it wants to be, or needs to be expanded for precision and to broaden it's scope.
Tldr: this poem reeks of one unfocused, unedited stream of consciousness draft.

>> No.18195763

>>1819532

Line breaks are all over the place affecting the rhythm a hell of a lot (which I know is very beatnik/punk to do) but it's just too much here I feel.

Can definitely get something out of that third stanza for sure though. Also, a 1st stanza suggestion, how bout something like -
"I cross the street:
Floor is lava!
Childhood memories" etc... or something along
those lines?

Don't know what it's about at all? Seems like a random stream-of-consciousness thing going on but there's definitely a little there and like I said there is definitely something in that third stanza so worth a re-working for sure.
Worth another draft for sure.

>> No.18196115

The Miss Havisham Effect Ain't Nothing but a Rancid Holiday

Good morning heart-ache
Good evening heart-break
Too little I gave;
And left it too late.

Some habits don’t die
These old 45’s
From far-away times
Remind me “that’s life!”

A suit once so neat
Now crumpled and creased
The record repeats
Play it once: for me

Hum along, for old time’s sake
You’re the one who knew me when
And now where-ever you are;
Here’s looking at you…old friend.

>> No.18196400

Excerpt from a punk track.

The Serengeti has nothing to lose
It's never had its hands on your slippery shoes
It's never had the kind of dreams that I have about you
Where anything is possible if you'd approve

This goes as deep as my panic
You've got to do some more damage
Baby baby, you have the advantage
You've got to visit my planet

>>18196115
Eh. Not good. Elicits no emotion, yet conveys a sense of pitiful ruminating navel gazing on the speaker's part. The only reason i would understand that the author isn't writing a happy poem is the "i'm so sad" lines plus the havisham reference. Not particularly fun, beautiful, or interesting. The fact that i relate to the feelings in here should make me like it more but it somehow comes off even more pitiful and cold when i think about the emotions and how unarticulated they are here.
>too little i gave
All writers needed to cut the goofy ass yoda speak out of writing of any kind about 30 years ago.

>> No.18196422

>>18196400
First half strong, second half whiny.

>> No.18196427

>>18196422
It's more fun if you imagine a half-disco half horn-rock beat to it.

>> No.18196435

>>18196427
>You've got to visit my planet
is fun. The three other lines are too used up.

>> No.18196454

>>18196427
I.L.Y. sm

>> No.18196469

>>18196400

Thanks for the critique but it's not really intended to elicit emotion it's more just a straightforward account of someone suffering from the Miss Havisham effect... which is literally what pitiful ruminitating is...

I don't want to come across as an arsehole but what you have goes from The Serengeti to you've got to visit my planet in 8 lines with nothing connecting at all...and you're criticising
the too little I gave line??

Oh well, guess neither of us liked what the other wrote.

>> No.18196502

>>18196469
Its more excusable when you talk about nonsense poetry. Even then, you can kind of get a sense about what they mean when you stop taking them literally.
The entire song is this:

Tell your baby, "Go be lazy"
On ya holds the front of Hades
In the garden they'll be watchin'
All the evil people talking

Getting with the program
Playing in a punk band
(I don't really need to be here)
Holding all these punk hands
Saying shit like, "no chance"
(I don't really need to be here)

Smashing through the smoking session
Pick my brain for some affection

The Serengeti has nothing to lose
It's never had its hands on your slippery shoes
It's never had the kind of dreams that I have about you
Where anything is possible if you'd approve

This goes as deep as my panic
You've got to do some more damage
Baby baby, you have the advantage
You've got to visit my planet

There's some pilgrims by the pool
They don't know who they're rapping to
I cried all night in the chlorine
Just waiting for my girl to say -

So you wanna have a séance?
With your clothes on?
(I don't really want to be here)
You think you've got the ghost wrong?
It just wants to sing songs
(I don't really want to be here)


Sleeping soundly, partly cloudy
Can you keep your head around me?

[X2]
The Serengeti has nothing to lose
It's never had its hands on your slippery shoes
It's never had the kind of dreams that I have about you
Where anything is possible if you'd approve

This goes as deep as my panic
You've got to do some more damage
Baby baby, you have the advantage
You've got to visit my planet

>> No.18196558

If you were me
Not far from where you are
Right now
You would know
That time is starting to get
Pretty damn important

Every second
Is starting to
Get too late
Youre late

You lost thet train
What now?

Nothing
30 years of nothing
Pigeans making nests
Whatever you say
I settle

There was
No
Dice rolling
I just
Slipped by.

Sorry.

The loss
Was
All mine

>> No.18196573

>>18196558
I cut m my wrists to this any day senpai

>> No.18196580

>>18183023
Good shit on lit? Ivbi

>> No.18196582

>>18196558
If i were her and she were him, we would go and fuck ourselves again and again

>> No.18196603

Dark storm clouds gather, bringing rain
Flooding the withered, sickly sprouts
Among them, a tired, dirty bird
Its journey proven to be a farce

A wing hangs loose and dyes the water
With rosy serpentines of blood
Disheveled feathers frighten, flutter
As eyes deranged look out for dawn

It chased the sun and paid no mind
To howling wastelands down below
The brittle bones so quickly crushed
As wind had laughed "you'll fly no more"

And so the bird's death-worthy fault
Had been to dream of distant lands
While its own wings could not uphold
The burdens of its daily life

>>18189055
I really like how "the outside" reflects all the worries. There is a lot to imagine about the emotions inside. A very captivating poem, anon

>> No.18196621

Ah, a existência,
Que bela coincidência.

Amaldiçoado seja o tal pecado,
Pois do Eden fui arrancado.
E da mesma mania,
De tão mesquinha tirania,
Pensei eu que tinha passado.
Mas primeiro do divino,
E depois do tarado,

E assim, perdemos o sagrado
Não mais à camera de Venús!
Oh, meus sonhos solares!
Que me serve este corpo frio e nu?
Mas pátria amada, não chores.
Eu vivo saudoso de ti.
Da morte.

Sorry lads, i only write on my mother tongue :( But i still want to share it with you.

>> No.18196655

>>18179999
Checked
>>18180008
>>18180304
>>18180355
>>18180399
>>18181676
>>18181966
>>18182294
>>18182393
>>18182405
>>18182464
>>18182476
>>18182527
>>18182574
>>18182744
>>18182766
>>18182791
>>18182850
>>18182941
>>18183023
>>18183034
>>18183433
>>18183445
>>18184120
>>18184693
>>18185245
>>18185815
>>18185855
>>18185864
>>18185900
>>18185929
>>18186207
>>18186375
>>18186376
>>18186387
>>18186911
>>18186959
>>18187071
>>18187095
>>18187131
>>18187231
>>18187761
>>18187770
>>18187779
>>18187835
>>18188051
>>18188816
>>18188946
>>18189055
>>18189781
>>18189933
>>18191085
>>18191293
>>18191545
>>18192465
>>18192603
>>18192677
>>18192678
>>18192705
>>18192923
>>18193012
>>18193117
>>18193173
>>18193180
>>18193187
>>18193797
>>18195204
>>18195214
>>18195352
>>18195386
>>18195439
>>18195605
>>18195620
>>18195685
>>18195763
>>18196115
>>18196400
>>18196422
>>18196427
>>18196435
>>18196454
>>18196469
>>18196502
>>18196558
>>18196573
>>18196580
>>18196582
>>18196603
>>18196621
All shit

>> No.18196668

>>18196655
Based

>> No.18197255

Mother Mary's wooden figure
Towers over empty cans.
I cannot find my goddamn pants.
Go ahead, call me a nigger.

My father said "This boy'll be bright"
And "Because of you" when mother died.
I wash my hands in endless sand.
I'm a nigger walking desert land.

>> No.18197661

>>18196655
Based

>> No.18198350

>>18197255
based

>> No.18198494

>>18196655
Met cassandra from cali on the slope
Meet her again I hope

Fresh air, white hills, she cures my ills
Will it be, will she come home with me

Make love to me
We will see.
>>18196655
Cringe
>>18183433
my rates
>>18192603
>>18193012
>>18193187
my baits

>> No.18198717

>>18198494
I'm making a couple of changes.
>Met cassandra from cali on the slope
>Meet her again I hope
>Fresh air, white hills, she cures my ills
>Will it be, will she come home with me
>Make love to me
>We will see.

Met Cassandra from Cali on the slope

Meet her again, I hope

Fresh air, white hills, yet she cures my ills

Will it be, will she come home with me

Make love to me

>> No.18198739
File: 33 KB, 1024x489, Metal-Muse-Esposito-Oppenheimers-Tears-05-1024x489[1].jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]
18198739

I am Oppenheimer's river of tears,
running white and blue through time,
with but specks of gold,
that struggles to keep the peace, of myself and mine,
while forcing them all to grow along my banks.

Yet my river is far too shallow and far too wide,
it has pooled in place for far too long,
and filled with so much salt,
it must now drain into the ocean.
"The time for war is over."

As birds we once flew,
far across that warring lake of fire.
I beset you, my night's star,
teach me to fly again,
that we may lift the weight of the world,
as if it were a feather.

>>18198717
Can't help but think of Cassandra Peterson's white hills. 7/10

>> No.18198893

>>18198739
>Can't help but think of Cassandra Peterson's white hills
That was not my intention.

>> No.18199001

>>18198893
Well, that's a shame.
https://youtu.be/LkgNNAJMvbs

>> No.18199451

Something's about to change
You know it, you can hear it knocking
It isn't knocking like somebody waiting to come in
It's knocking like somebody coming in regardless
And the 12 shots of whiskey have me knocking into tables
And you knocking on the bathroom door saying you're sorry
That it's all a misunderstanding

Now I'm knocking, waiting to come in and ask you why you did this
I'm knocking tables over but it has less to with the whiskey and more to do with who's with me

You're knocking, asking for your sweatshirt you forgot
And I'm knocking the vase over in the hall because I slammed the door shut,
knowing I burned it but telling you I forgot

And now my phones knocking against the wall, a new text on a saturday night after the bars close
And you're knocking because you're here
Not knocking like somebody waiting to come in
But knocking like somebody coming in regardless

>> No.18199633

>>18199451
I know OP said no rate no feedback, but daddy likes.

>> No.18199638

>>18199633
I've rated a few previously in the thread, but thank you

>> No.18199993

>>18196621
Whats a Venus camera?

I liked it.

>> No.18201228

>>18191545
I dislike that there's no rhythm or musicality.
I like the phrase "moonlit toes".
I dislike your pompousness. Life might be full of breath, but "insanely full of breath"? Do you really think that? Thomas Mann said: "Don't write when your agitated. Take a cool bath. Once your normal again, then write." If your buying groceries, is life, then, "insanely full of breath"? More like: mundanely.

>> No.18201242

>>18201228
Thank you.

>> No.18201275

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>> No.18201317

Does anybody have any tips on how to improve on poetry? These threads are great help, too.

>> No.18201421

>>18201317
You should definitely steal from poets you love. How do they transform everyday life into poetry? But you should also be true to yourself. If your temperament is cold and sluggish, let it shine through your words. The words you choose should be in some way a representation of who you are.

Read your poetry. Listen to it's rhythm. Try to put your words into musical harmony. Musical harmony is what most people look for in poetry. If you cannot put your words into harmony, you might be in trouble. To break the rules, you have to know them. Otherwise your just swinging your dick around.

There's no fosbury flop in poetry. Instead, there are many different ways to go about it.

>> No.18201963

>>18195439
Ehhh, nice idea, but at least half of it is impossible to extract from the poem itself. There is something wrong with the presentation here that I can't put my finger on, it feels artificially created to 'go over heads' rather than having something to tell to them.

>> No.18202012

>>18192678
I like the complicated structure of your poem. I dislike your images. They seem boring (crystalline waves, salted white shore). I dislike the story you tell. It's not heady enough to be symbolic for something important; it's not fun enough for a seafaring romp. So what is it? Alestorm lyrics.

>> No.18202873

>>18183023
Not bad anon. I'd've said "dying before our eyes" though. Feels better. I also feel like your longer lines work better than your ... more broken up lines.

>> No.18203211

>>18186959
Only the first two lines flow nicely. A promise unkept – and unkempt.

>> No.18203234

Tithons Trone:
til hvad nytte er sirener i kampens hede
alt er for sent nu
og nuet er alt
døv og blind jager jeg dødens kulde

uret tikker,
hvert slag hurtigere end det forrige
og dog kommer jeg ikke nærmere skæbnens time

en snurretop i et vakuum
en slange spiser sin hale
evigt accelererende om min akse
i en tilstand af stilstand


translation


Tithon’s Throne:
of what use are sirens in the heat of battle
everything is too late now
and the now is everything
deaf and blind I chase the cold of death

the clock is ticking,
each tick faster than the one before
and yet I do not come nearer the end

a spinning top in a vacuum
a snake eating its tail
forever accelerating about my axis
in a state of standstill

>> No.18203305

Oh dear, I seem to be browsing 4chan
Why is it that I drink so much
I get whatever I want
Maybe that's why I'm boo hoo
Flush a large sponge down the toilet
Of a government building
But I didn't tell you that
Most of the things I see here
Are written by assholes
Is this any different
I think not
Women and money can't solve this
Only war can scratch the itch
And I will be there
Will you meet me there
I don't think so
You seem like a pussy

>> No.18203319

>>18199993
Its suposse to be the uterus.

>> No.18203388

>>18203234
The first stanza I like, the second stanza I think is lame, the third stanza I don't get. Not bad, though.

>> No.18204493

>>18202012
It's describing spearfishing from the perspective of the fish. Originally I started it with the idea of some kind of creature in the water that was going to drown people but then I realized I was just describing what people do to fish.

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