Poetry thread

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Poetry thread Anonymous Wed Jul 16 13:37:07 2014 No.5145181 [Reply] [Original]

Post, Critique, Enjoy.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 13:42:07 2014 No.5145191

A gallon spilled, a dozen stains;
Wetted are the eyes, when it rains.
Antelope Falls, a delicate look over;
Industrial green shadowed by a clover.
Between my thumbs a dove wiggles;
About a crumbled red wall: squiggles.
Noon's seated idle without the cat-bird;
A shadowless shadow clasps the last-word.
So the tunic riddled in patches drapes
A shielded flesh devouring sour grapes.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 13:48:56 2014 No.5145219

A severed lip licks my nothing-
I can't bear the loss of loss-
So I bite my lip and lick something-
Your lips are lost in my attention
and I hug the moment like a bear,
Barely remembering that you're dead.
But did you live? I do not know.
How to live: I'd like to know.
You're not dead, I forget.
I just am, so I regret.

Why rhyme when time
is sour and bitter like lime?

Because-
and then a lapse in logic-
I can't recall the future, but
I can hope it sounds
like the end of this line.
I can hope
that your'e mine.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:19:54 2014 No.5145286 Six squiromptious shamalamala ... hoppeth An modern art, (c) 2014 by Jacque D'artiste

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:22:45 2014 No.5145288 >>5145191 Nice.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:24:52 2014 No.5145293 >>5145181 >>5145181 Is that the supreme gentleman?

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:27:50 2014 No.5145300 >>5145293 Nah, it's me.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:31:59 2014 No.5145310 >>5145181 God I Love Drinkin' Drinkin' It dumbz ya down 'nough It'z not that ya don't think It'z just id dont matter that ya do.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:32:48 2014 No.5145314

LIFE
#include<iostream>
using namespace std;
lap-nip jumble caligula gardening with A(can't) without this.variable soundless
verminized frivolity, quickly
quickly: fast_motion
__ oh hey __
__ what's up __
got 2 for 3 romblend cloa FAST CASH $$ MONJEY

Searching C:\ LOADING...
LOADING...
OPENING FEVER.CPP
Recurse moar damp light trickle with 8300 JACK

F5 F5
for(i = 1; i < n; i++)
{ a*++ = b*++ }
NOPE sad boop boop

SLIVER CHRIVER

IMAGE.PNG

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CLOSE THE CURTAINS

DEATH

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:36:04 2014 No.5145321

>>5145314

here;s anuvva:

cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt
[Advertise on 4chan]
[Post a Reply]
cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt

emit{ ASM : CUNT 5%G3

Verse 1:

A gallon spilled, a dozen stains; (cunt)
Wetted are the eyes, when it rains. (cunt)
Antelope Falls (cunt), a delicate look over;
Industrial green shadowed by a clover.
Between my thumbs (cunt) a dove wiggles;
About a crumbled red wall: squiggles.
Noon's seated idle without the cat-bird;
A shadowless shadow clasps the last-word.
So the tunic riddled in patches drapes
A shielded flesh devouring (cunt) sour grapes.

Verse 2:

Six squiromptious shamalamala
...(cunt)
hoppeth

An modern art, (c) 2014 by Jacque D'artiste

Verse n:

(cunt)

SILENCE

OPEN THE CURTAINS

KEEP THEM OPEN

(cunt)

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:37:31 2014 No.5145325 >>5145321 >>5145314 This is so post-post-modern and too contemporary for me. Genius.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:43:40 2014 No.5145343

I'm just starting to get into writing poetry, and I was wondering what makes good poetry good. I don't read or really know of any prolific poets aside from the obvious mainstream ones. The only poet I've read in depth is Jim Morrison, only because my mother gave me his poetry books as a gift. I don't know if he is considered good, but I enjoy his writing.

I don't know if this is the thread to be asking, but can you recommend me some "good" poets?

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:45:46 2014 No.5145348 >>5145343 >The only poet I've read in depth is Jim Morrison Jim Morrison isn't a poet. He was a drunken buffoon that wrote shitty song lyrics under the influence of peyote. But if you dig him, I recommend checking out the Beats.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:48:41 2014 No.5145358

Perfect, golden
Amanda
Fall with me
Into me
Not through me
Endless, youre infinite, the drumroll cascading
Flittering sunlight and hummingbirds
The garden quakes in the ambiance
Your presence, Magnified, colossal

Sometimes I scare myself

That was purely improvised, just a rough sketch hinting at some pair of caustic lovers, the narrator is scared of his lover but also cannot live without her and is deeply afraid of life itself

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 14:50:06 2014 No.5145362
File: 58 KB, 300x244, 1365556812706.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5145181
Sticky fingers, sticky palms,
Meager cash for meager alms.
Click and clack and one sent back,
Oh well, try again.

A day of life each twenty pieces,
miss a day and it all ceases.
Sticky fingers, sticky palms,
Just enough from meager alms.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 15:14:33 2014 No.5145434 >>5145362 bretty gud 5/5

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 15:15:34 2014 No.5145439 >>5145348 >implying

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 15:22:48 2014 No.5145462

>>5145434
thanks. i wrote it while i was returning cans and a couple machines over a homeless guy was doing the same thing. i was doing it like it was a chore, he was doing it because he had to.

i wish i could say i walked over and gave him my little receipt the machine prints out, but instead i bought beer, got drunk and wrote this poem. hope that guy survived the winter we had. it was especially harsh here

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 18:54:00 2014 No.5146273 >>5145191 +1

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 18:55:17 2014 No.5146277 >>5145348 Weren't pretty much all great writers drunken buffoons?

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 19:40:49 2014 No.5146415 >>5145325 I think you wrote those.

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 19:43:36 2014 No.5146431

>>5145343

Good poetry should mean something to you. It should just be a detailed composition of pretty words; it should resonate with something in you that in turn resonates with something in the reader. To be concise: poetry is the literary expression of a feeling. Strict thoughts are for fiction and non-fiction.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 19:46:55 2014 No.5146440 "lighght"

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 19:48:27 2014 No.5146449

>>5146431

*shouldn't, by god, shouldn't

Anyway, here's something I wrote on my iPhone about a week ago:

D-dense faltering speech ensnares
The runny rabbit between two poles;
A handkerchief meanwhile moistens
About a trillion times in a second.
Dazzling drizzling snot hops, stops
And Lucretius Humbert deliberates a message,
Medium in size and wise in medium:

When will the clouds clear?
When will the greyhounds cheer?

A reversed honor of the rutted gut,
A reasonable rhyme of the gutted rut.
El Ache protests profane:
The following of a rabbit,
The becoming a wolf-
Especially sheepish relent.

So repent on track, sneeze
(But please save the cough)
And, hold on here,
Ignore advice of all kinds.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 19:53:41 2014 No.5146476 You lock your keys in the car Rushing to claim a spot in line At the carnival at the edge of town That is actually open year round But only frequented on Sundays.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 20:04:44 2014 No.5146512 >>5146449 tryhard but at least not overserious

Anonymous Wed Jul 16 23:46:58 2014 No.5147336

Texting seven faces
They must be in love
Do I have
their undivided attention

I know this poem is crap, maybe you guys could help make it better? It was influenced by my cousin, she was having conversations through texting with 7 seperate people at once and I believe she thought she was the centre of attention (I don't believe that was true)

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 16 23:48:59 2014 No.5147342 >>5145181 If Moths had eyes, would they be happier? In caveman times, a blind man couldn't stand a chance. Not with all them rocks about. I'd rather be a blind moth. bows and awaits yore applause

Anonymous Thu Jul 17 00:13:11 2014 No.5147426

your smile rolls away
down the train tracks
on her arm
yell at her again
maybe this time it will end
maybe this time it will end
the embrace of her teeth
biting, crying
on your jaw
the taste of your poison
suckling at her lip
drip drip drip.
dark cloud rolls away
from your green eyes
how he survives
feeding on their lives.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 00:20:58 2014 No.5147450 I take my banal navel-gazing And add line breaks Arbitrarily So I can call it poetry And pretend that I am deep.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 00:22:25 2014 No.5147456 Open the crack Or I'll break your back

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 00:49:51 2014 No.5147556 >>5147456 I giggled.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 00:53:02 2014 No.5147564 >>5146415 Nah, I was being ironic.

Anonymous Thu Jul 17 01:06:50 2014 No.5147588

I awake in the grey, a break in the tide,
the museum of my window, snow-dead.

The trees call and snap to each other,
chattering and twisting in half-light.
I line the window with cups of dark, terribly
dark and sweet café cubano, sip them up
like secrets.

This is our sleepless day, the cups sing to me,
where has our glass night gone?

I could wish for a flight across running water,
wings to shake loose the iced arc of the sun—

This bone-world presses its face close to mine.
Put your fingers away, the little cups sing.
You do not need them here.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 03:28:29 2014 No.5147904 >>5145362 now that was nice! not in a 'nice' nice way, but... you get it.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 03:38:55 2014 No.5147925 >>5145314 This wouldn't compile.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 03:42:21 2014 No.5147931 >>5145321 >>5145314 I would honestly buy a book of these. I'd pay up to like 17 dollars for it.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 03:45:05 2014 No.5147939 ineluctable modality of the visible the fuck

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 03:46:02 2014 No.5147943 >>5147931 And I take my poetry very seriously.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 04:07:58 2014 No.5147975 2deep4me

Anonymous Thu Jul 17 04:46:30 2014 No.5148053 [DELETED]

File: 66 KB, 205x246, 1399703091992.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Newly made for the occasion of this shit thread.

All is as it should be,
All being only ever as it can be.
Discord and disparity,
All are contributory.
All encompassing causality,
We bow to mighty determinism.
A screaming vastness, quantifiable.
Futility caught, fret not…or fret a lot.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 05:33:44 2014 No.5148127 >>5145181 zelda CDI This Peace Is, My Boy, What All True Warriors Strive For. What is For Dinner.

Anonymous Thu Jul 17 15:04:50 2014 No.5149876
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Should I really come over
Saint Petersburg and maybe
tolerate all your men?
I didn't care last year
as long as you paid me drinks
and make me touch the soft space
between your legs.
But now I am balding,
I sometimes spend afternoons
staring my muscles at the mirror
they're not getting bigger, maybe
I should eat more, I don't know.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 15:11:24 2014 No.5149911 muere muere muere muere muere muere muere muere muere muere muero muere muere muere muere muero muere muerte muere morir morir muerte muerte muerte muerte muera death

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 17 16:34:39 2014 No.5150238 >>5147904 thank you. i've posted it a few times on /lit/ and the response has been positive each time. which is weird because it's like the only poem i've written since high school, so 5 years

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 18 01:24:30 2014 No.5152342 File: 38 KB, 512x384, 1376949059964.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5145181 weed, weed it is a good time u smoke yours and I'll smoke mine

Anonymous Fri Jul 18 01:35:06 2014 No.5152384

Slow and behemoth
great carriers of green,
unashamed and greedy,
rise out of the ongoing party.

Not unignored but merely uncared for
by their only acquaintances of this time.

At the tide when even the
intermission lulls itself out to
make way for the next procession.
A rest that never satisfies
or allows the members to delve
into dreams long enough to reset
their consciousness.

Some waves dance on their backs
then aimlessly find their way
back to the endless
waltz.

Anonymous Fri Jul 18 01:39:09 2014 No.5152400

It's hard to be unique with so many niches
I guess it means nothing; oh, go to bed Nietzsche
At page 12 on Google they never will find your
Half-decent passages posted to pastebin
It's nice to think all of my talents are wasted
Because fear of success is for people who've made it

I'm clinging to classicist notions of artistry
to justify four years of buying an arts degree
And while you were mastering mora-timed prosody
I sold eight blank notebooks of ironic poetry

I thought that making my generation heard
Meant laughing at dry folks who said, "hashtag is not a poem word"
But I don't even like Twitter; I just saved some clever screencaps
"Dust in the wind," how about, "We are all but snapchats"?
So I set my texts to verse and wove sonnets of emojis
"You just must be joking; where are the meadows, where are the feelings?"
They said,
"If you can't convince yourself then why the hell should I bother to read it?"
I replied,
"There's more to what say than the extent to which I mean it."

So I ramble like I make things up
People ask how much I mean
I guess, at worst, I'm half sincere
If I'm doing it for free

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 18 02:33:39 2014 No.5152558 >>5152342 set it to horns and make it a 45 second song.

Terza-Rima-fag Fri Jul 18 05:44:35 2014 No.5152948
File: 49 KB, 590x377, dis a point.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Say, my dearest friend.
You've been the only one.
What do you think of this end?

Am I as majestic as a swan?
I fly free now, can't you see?
I've been a con.

Should I be there beside of thee,
I'd gladly wrap my arms around you.
Our warmth waving forth and through like the current of a sea.

I'll meet you beside the bayou.
We shall never see each other after this!
Remember that I always loved you for the way you embody altru-

I don't know whether it's
It's better left unsaid that while
I'm gone and in a new form you'll be in a state of bliss!

You're my sweetest companion in this trial.
No one shows themselves to be such a wondrous
Piece of art you are my friend, you're far from vile.

I hope your life is amorous.
I hope your journeys are glorious
Are journey has been laborious,
But I will always miss you because there's so much more to this!
As I put my pen down, I want you to ponder with your chin o'er fist,
Am I rancorous?
I'll miss you.
Sorry for being cantankerous.
I Hope you miss me too.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 18 15:47:26 2014 No.5154287 >>5152948 This is gay

Anonymous Fri Jul 18 16:00:57 2014 No.5154321

>>5154287
In that gay autumn,
when the fires fell
from the white pillars
of the elms
and the wind,
catching them to her breast
ran rampant,
dropping leafy blazes
like discredited rumors
upon the palimpsest
of the gray sidewalk.
In that time.
I traced your name
upon the stem of a gray maple
and drew a valentine
enclosing it
with mine.

Anonymous Fri Jul 18 16:29:09 2014 No.5154411

Erotic Toaster Poem

In masturbatory glee
The other night
I put my penis in
Everything in sight

Banana peels were fun
But to my dismay
In the disk drive my cock
Would just not stay

Drains were good
The keyhole better
And the ice tray kept getting
Wetter and wetter

And not to seem
An awful boaster
But then i had sex
With the toaster

Down went the plunger
And in went my meat
It felt really groovy
When I turned up the heat

I thrust even deeper
And pressed my attack
I pushed in a bagel
For a post-coital snack

But in case you think
This poem is to amuse
As my toes started curling
Well, out blew a fuse

The shock singed my penis
And forced out my breath
I write this while I pray
For sweet and kind death

The End

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 18 19:11:48 2014 No.5154862 >>5152384 Damn...

Anonymous Fri Jul 18 19:27:05 2014 No.5154914

Conscious of the passages that hold
things together like a wax drenched mold
Heeded never are the decaying words
Trampled is the grass by neighing herds
Dog-less in the summer sun a wilted
traveler weaved a tapestry quilted
with the vignettes of despotic men
who decease to cease only when
the stage beneath gives way to wait
and the whole theatre burns too late
to save the northern lights from being
seen by greedy eyes who keep seeing
holes in the cheesy moon up left
poked by Arcadian moles so deft
So I pack my three things and depart
for in walking by I've played my part.

But the end never is the end,
only for you
when you've lost time to lend.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 18 21:46:08 2014 No.5155462 >>5147939 agenbite of inwit the fuck

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 19 00:06:31 2014 No.5156088 File: 40 KB, 396x699, Screen Shot 2014-07-19 at 12.03.05 AM.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5149876 This was unexpectedly well said. It is very visual, and this is often what I like in a poem.

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 01:09:27 2014 No.5156399

I found seclusion, peace
But something comes unseen
Bringing gloom remembered
Conspicuous in black
Hard against the shadow
Nothing there, in the night
Only wisps of darkness

The lurking mouth gapes
Expelling a sable tide
My mind is overcome
Immersed in slick fear
Drowned and flammable
Horror smooth it stifles
Glistening as it chokes me

Clogged
as he steps from obscurity

A single careless spark
Sudden flame silhouette
His eyes, fluorescent glass
His throttling fingers, chrome
Personified Terror
Frenzied I build the blaze
And stab against the Fear

Crunchingly sliding through
Between kaleidoscope eyes
A gout of flame fury
Flickers, then fades away
Dead incandescent lens
Muscle beneath the knife
Mere bone and membrane grit

Lost
in relief felicity

My hand drips red pitch
Befouling his soft skin
Gentle, delicate flesh
His face of serenity,
Harmonious with death
His soul lost for ever

And I search, frantic for the burning figure
I was so certain of

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 01:29:21 2014 No.5156481

>>5145219
Hehehehe too much rhyming.

>>5145362
That was fun.

This is something I just found in my notebook. What most bothers me is the word stuff.

a century in a minute
so feverish
see only one limit

but one is enough
to hold you
back or bring you back

outside in wind, thinking of stuff
now there, living it
now here, forgetting it

reminisces

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 01:49:50 2014 No.5156566

I took a walk today.
I stepped out and walked.
Didn't take my wallet or keys,
just walked.
And I was nervous.
Not because I worried someone would steal my shit,
or if I would get a call.
Because this was new.
Why, I don't know.
I walked past my car,
then the stop sign,
then the park at the end of my street.
I looked up and people passing,
and my heart beat a little faster.
It felt discomfort it wasn't used to.
I was going to do it.
I was going to leave it all behind.
Then I got to the library.
I realized it was as far as I ever walked.
I felt uncomfortable.
I wanted to go home.
Then I walked home.

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 02:28:39 2014 No.5156720
File: 260 KB, 1988x1086, 1403476343963.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>seemed poetic to me after i wrote it

Small pains shoot through random parts of his body. The rash is slowly starting to creep form his upper armpit to the sides of his stomach, his feet, his hands. Every time he looks in the mirror he thinks he see’s little red pustules where it itches, but he can never be certain.
A cough and a small tickle started at the back of his throat. More itchiness spread through his entire person, each wave of discomfort gnawing at the back of his mind. Fucking internet.
As he tries to blink back tears he hears a sound. His brother had woken up and knocked on his door. Hiding the browser tabs and rubbing his eyes he tells his brother to come in. Conversation ensues, and he felt as if he was a robot, going through the motions to reproduce meaningful speech. His brother leaves and goes back to sleep. But as his brother went back to bed, he stayed awake.
It wasn’t worth it. The literal minute of pleasure it had given him was not worth the long hours spent pulling his hair out, wondering if something had gone wrong. He felt like a dirty unclean person, for frequenting places like that only for the small glimmer of a release.
Yet it was the third time. The third fucking time. He could never control himself no matter how bad the situation was. Life couldn’t go on like this, there had to be some other way without feeling like this.
In a feat of anger he shoved everything off his desk and then collapsed on it, silent sobs rocking his body back and forth. In his despair he noticed one thing, the only thing that had stayed on the desk after his outburst. A dull, scratched up subway token.
He was only 20.

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 02:32:09 2014 No.5156734

In Spanish:

Estaba sentado en la arena
Cuando el poeta subió al estrado,
gritó
y acto seguido el amor murió.

Gritó acerca de la distancia entre dos amantes,
sopló una ventisca y el amor se esfumó.
Gritó acerca de la muerte de un enamorado,
el amor se colgó. Me sorprende que el poeta no.
Gritó acerca de la añoranza del placer carnal,
el amor se autoasfixió. Eróticamente, por supuesto.
Gritó acerca de su vida abrumada,
ha de ser insoportable sufrir de añoranza amorosa
encerrarse en la casa de clase media-alta
aplacar el dolor con café y alcohol
y sumergirse en frases de autosuperación.

El amor ha muerto antes de que nos diésemos cuenta,
no cuando tus caricias se volvieron frías,
no cuando tus palabras se volvieron vacías.
El amor murió una vez que nos enfocamos en el erotismo.
El amor murió junto con el yo.
El amor murió junto con la poesía,
cuando envolvió al hombre en la mente
y le hizo rechazar su cuerpo.
El amor murió junto con la muerte,
cuando nos empezó a aterrorizar la no existencia,
y la vida pasó a ser una espera.

Cuando el poeta bajó del estrado
le aplaudí durante cuarenta y dos segundos.

noko Sat Jul 19 02:38:40 2014 No.5156759

Lopsided conclusions based on baseless lies
Told all the time in strange places
So alien to how it should be
With opportunity and some semblance of equality
I would be appauld if they even apologize in some selfish way
Which would be more flawed but those who do see flames in red
Turn and dance in smoky shadows in endless bars on endless Main Streets of America
Back and forth we dance surrounded in tangled destruction
I bow you at the hip and we laugh and laugh
And then the night ends and I wake up in all a panic
When I realized I was in a dream world too sweet to be real
As I wondered about the world’s biggest sundae with no cherry on top

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 19 02:53:56 2014 No.5156810 My name is Tyrell, I was RAISED on these streets. None of you honkies know any these BEATS puh-puu-ahb buh-puu-pu-puh-hap

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 13:55:44 2014 No.5158719
File: 130 KB, 800x746, 1306795570.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

I get drunk often
with friends or all alone
yesterday night I drunk a bottle of porto
and I felt good, kinda,
we played taboo in a bar
and I lost every match
then outside I punched a friend
but I kissed him on the cheek afterwards.
I'm so broke of pussy
I jumped inside a bushy tree
to impress some chicks passing by.
I woke up with bruises all over
and not able to move my neck.
and now I'm not as happy as yesterday
and I listen to techno to relieve my pains.

Anonymous Sat Jul 19 16:53:21 2014 No.5159373

A broken home that I would not have fixed.
Two perspectives, intertwined with the common theme of me.
Conflict coming from downstairs, mixed
With the drowning sound of game music and the muffling of head in pillow.
Before I knew, they split;
But he was replaced by a violent tyrant
Related by the matriarch preventing our eventual collapse.
A hikikomori urge and a NEET way of repeating the same
Actions, expecting the same result of comfort.
Shutting out the outdoors to prevent myself from hurt.
I come from a fictional land, filled with academia,
But the dream's shattering under a constant pressure
To wake up and get real, suppress this great feel
To create noise music and play games till I feel sick.
See, I'm not a product of where I was, or even where I'm going,
I'm a product of my circumstance and the image I'm told to be showing.

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 20 05:07:56 2014 No.5162433 I look down from a cliff There is no reason to be near the edge Chivaly lives within bloody wounds Many betrayals will strike in loath The darkest night cannot overcome a single light.

Anonymous Sun Jul 20 14:22:10 2014 No.5163802
File: 345 KB, 964x945, 7dCuB.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

A cry goes out, desperately sent
forth from mans untimed lament.
Stretch out now, strop your wit,
hone your blade with ill intent.
Watch heldfast, as I now pit
bone to man, with care I lent.
Do just harm, against all,
try for right, just as I spake
to break the ties and do not fall.
My life is yours, to give or take.

Anonymous Sun Jul 20 20:09:32 2014 No.5165639

The Lips Upturned

The lips upturned to empty eyes
When she grasped my hand in hers
Belated slipping of your fingers down my wrist
And the throat-coughs of laughter
At a joke that long since fled the mind.

The lips upturned to sullen eyes
When he introduced us both
The shifting of his shoes across the floor
Downcast eyes stare deep within
Deep within us all.

Anonymous Sun Jul 20 20:23:20 2014 No.5165709

I wanna clean my soul... from all the defects in me
three two one, one two and three

secret times, for just you and to me
dance and laugh, lay under an apple tree
look'ing to your eyes, like th light blue sea
lost in you your smile, it feels like eternity
staring at you, the world freezes just for me
i got three words for you, one two and three
to be with you, is my only fantasy
your lights faded out, but you're still in my memory
and you'll always, be a part of my reality,
east or west, baby please come guide me
you're the only one, that ever cared about me
you my baby, is all i want to ever see
one more time, just to say one two three
one more time, to feel your hands touching me
three two one, one two and three
I love you, and may you rest in peace

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 20 20:24:25 2014 No.5165718 [romantic narrative] :under the doting calm beneath the waves: -the silence breaks- N1 radiates eye drops loss of their hive

Anonymous Sun Jul 20 20:27:18 2014 No.5165734

"grammar is noise"

Mold: all original ideas,

shadow and noise words: hidden body text;

It's a subconscious mindset.

Hide all contact points on the invention of the displaced feeling

and his subconscious thoughts.

I felt a lot of pain sensations from sleep;

body that joins the recognition of the word,

ordered flexibility of painful feelings.

Comply with the rules and syntax of common identity.

Painful feelings know no grammar.

Anonymous Sun Jul 20 23:40:56 2014 No.5166568

We stayed up in a bed that was not yours until three am and I could feel myself intermingling with you. I noticed that out joints had fused together and become legs and this was pleasing so I laughed again and you laughed too and we called them out devil legs. I was getting hot and I wished nothing more than to pull you in but I found I was drunk the way I am in dreams and my joints which had fused to yours were sputtering and misguided so instead I lay wrapped in your legs still and forming little paintings of Icarus dying on your shoulders. Something had begun to rise to the ceiling and I wondered if it was smoke or fire and I hoped that somewhere inside you someone else was wondering.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 00:00:23 2014 No.5166646 >>5145314 there's something that i can't help but absolutely love about this

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 01:46:03 2014 No.5166957 >>5152400 Jesus I fucking love this Do you have a tumblr or something where you post your poems?

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 09:48:56 2014 No.5168087

Orange-black leaves float
Gainst pallid, ashen skies.
The smell of five billion years
Condensed to forward motion
Lingers in the air - it's pleasant
In a way that's indescribable,
Like the aftermath of hot flames,
Mixed with a bony chill.
A power line crosses the horizon
At light speed, transport of electrons
Fuels the smell seeping through my windowsill.
Encased in velvet, I lie here lame -
The gaseous poison oddly desirable.
Observing without care - white crescent
Surrounded by black holes and twinkling emotion.
And the sight of fast-moving and blinking spheres
Gainst Erebus, brings upon my eyes
Some water to dilute that inky moat.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 10:03:16 2014 No.5168115 >>5156810 10/10

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 10:22:56 2014 No.5168144

Some Rules for Dreaming

I cannot emphasize these words enough:
take nothing.
They are too real for earth, too dear, the dust
from off your shoes will leave bright stains
upon the simple memory of earth
do no forget that you can fly
and never take a staircase that descends
eat nothing: taste no wine, no kiss, no thought
Beware of passing mirrors in the dark.
exchange no words, remember to forget.
and never meet the eyes of strangers, friends
reflections, portraits, or the dead. Beware
of the familiar strange, the unremembered child
forgotten brother, unbuilt home, yourself.
trust not the dead, but seek their company.
There is a cold bright comfort in the lost.
and standing on a hill upon one foot,
lift up the other too, and hover there,
a yard above the earth, a frail balloon.
and when you leave, when bells or words or light
recall you from the bright and real and void
take nothing, not a sign or sound or face
I cannot emphasize those words enough.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 10:39:21 2014 No.5168163 I typed a string of words around them flipped I then .again back them get can't I now

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 10:48:36 2014 No.5168183 >>5168163 I'm gonna write a book the pages in order. and not put

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 10:57:49 2014 No.5168208

I ache with the beauty of the
world. The sunlight shines a
sparrow through my window,
but it is gone before I
have the chance to hear it sing.
My lawn is full of gravel.
I shovel the stones because
I like to hear them clatter.
The water in the tap runs brown
and smells a lot like ethanol.
I don't remember which way
the sun comes up.
I hunt for it in the mornings,
then I sit among the rocks
and pick at the weeds, thirsting
their way up, hoping for rain.
No matter how many sandbags I stack
against the door, the wind always
blows them down and my floor
is flooded again. The storm
clears and I'm left
still searching for the sun.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 11:45:45 2014 No.5168357 File: 1.12 MB, 1920x824, shaky-camera-in-american-beauty-1.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5168208 >It's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. >Stay mad

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 12:02:16 2014 No.5168423

my finger nails are very filthy... I swear its from changing a tire! drive away into the turning into monochrome sunset end credits be my bride at the end credits pouring across curtained sky. please dont ignore all that yes do the songs play at any speaker far or right against my ears. please dont forget that it was everyone and everything that was here and doing things being things. I saw you smile. I saw grey grey mauve collapse into itself always on every day always at the same time and everytime.

ahaha type a full LOL at this at you at them. grazed cuteness full moon dark again hold is my stone. soft beat flung us against all that. there are photos and text evidences. sharp beauty inhaled with your lips and I touched them with mine and failure to communicate the dead spires that were in my heart, brain and arteries. death she knows was under all but thats something we can step on. fear the last diamond to be lanced into us and tied without consent fall apart darling love can scrape my self from these beams and cannisters of low poly lives.

Poetanon Mon Jul 21 12:04:04 2014 No.5168435

Un sibilo, e poi nulla; è vita, questa?
Non ho nessuno in casa al focolare
da potere costringere ed amare;
neanche il quieto sonno più mi resta:

seguiamo i passi altrui, l' aliena pesta,
noi, soldati ammucchiati in patrie bare,
pronti alla morte e ad un crudel pugnare
fintanto che riman su noi la testa.

Schiere su schier, ma i miei commilitoni
non sapranno in che loco il lor carcame
sarà insepolto, agnello di una guerra

mai richiesta, se non da quei padroni
che si fan potatori d'uno stame
per possedere un granulo di terra.

It's in Italian, I don't know if it's good.

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 12:15:21 2014 No.5168474

Yo OP, you want Poetry
the raps i spit are gonna set you free
I think its about time we realized
that raps arent as bad as televized
no i am not talking hip hop
i am not talking about idiots jumping around with props
i mean some thing more raw
something more mince
something that makes your drop your jaw
something that makes you think

We need some real shit in heres
Something about life experiences
not about what you did after a couple of beers

I think you guys know what i mean
dont be dicks and join in
you just got told by the KING PIN !!!

________
nah really guys, i think poetry is comparable to 'raps' but not the shit kind that go on on TV 24/7. Anyone agree ?

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 12:40:00 2014 No.5168552

>>5168208
I ache with the ugliness of your enjambments, the over-blown sentimentality of the first line, and the lack of any description of the beauty of the world that uses short-hand, isn't a casual reference to "sun-light, sparrows, the sun..." The most convincing description is "the water in the tap runs brown/smells a lot like ethanol." Beautiful world. I could also buy that you "like" to shovel stones because of the onomotopoetic "clatter," but that's far from an aching beauty.

>>5168087
A heap of Romantic cliche.

>>5165734
"grammar is noise;" so is this poem. A lot of re-stating that pain doesn't fit into language by asserting, rather than proving, windy vaguely technical phrases like "contact points,""ordered flexibility,""comply,""common identity" in lines that jerk oddly forward or stall.

>>5165639
The repeating p of "lips upturned" is unpleasant in the first instance, and it oughtn't to be given that the situation is the dying embers of a relationship. I think, "the lips turned up," flows better metrically, the LIPS turned UP to EMPTy EYES. There's also a suggestion of action that gets frusterated by the phrase empty eyes, instead of a suggestion of somebody having acted, thus the empty eyes. It's a vestigial gesture, "belated," looking up for a kiss. It works in the second stanza because it's supposed to be plainly unpleasant, and prepares us subtly for the end.

"throat-coughs of laughter" is a nice turn of phrase.

I wonder if you couldn't chose words better than "belated" and "fled?" I think they're a little strained and precious for the diction of the rest of the poem, which is spare.

"sullen" could be substituted for something a little fresher. Also a little precious.

"within us all" is overstepping the poem. You're saying something about to people. The repetition is good, but just the repetition, deep within/ deep within/ is good. It also asks the question, tactitly, "what?" Which would be another reaching for the dead relationship.

>>5162433

>Chivaly lives within bloody wounds
Prove it, don't assert it.
>Many betrayals will strike in loath
High sounding garbage
>The darkest night cannot overcome a single light.
This would be an interesting line, because it's true, provided you could diminish the sentimentality and clicheness of DARKNESS, LIGHT of it with the rest of the poem.

>>5158719
Why do I care?

>>5149876
Nice line breaks on this. Emphasis on "I didn't care last year"
"soft space"
"I sometimes spend afternoons"
"Maybe/I should..."
add a lot to what would otherwise be a jumble.

It lacks visual detail for something looking in a mirror. One strong similie or metaphor about his body would work well against the spare conversational whole. I think the relative formlessness might suit the subject matter.

>>5146440
go away aram saroyan

>>5145191
a heap of lines connected by rhyme and the implication of a speaker

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 13:41:22 2014 No.5168752
File: 779 KB, 1543x2136, 577.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

A tale that was, of things which weren't,
the common sort you'd hope to learnt.
A grand quest, starting here,
spanning forth the far to near.
And so it starts, with fresh eyes,
waking up from nights disguise.
Out from bed, I turned my head
to city viewed beneath the skies, and from above I hear their cries.

And in the fields, the peasants worked,
until their lords contently perked.
Ale in their bellies, songs ring out,
children fight, scream, and shout.
Silence, all you, who shall now be free!
Oh, really now, and who might you be?
The Magi of the land of west, some say, even, the very best!
Tomatoes thrown, make mock of me. What have i done to upset thee?

I give out freedom, the sort you have not,
between any of you, a single lot!
And with it, soon, you shall rise,
high above your castle's size!
Higher than a great oak tree?
I say, indeed, in fantasy!
This freedom grants you a new life, free from lord, king, and strife!
I feel your woes, and bring you glee, won't you listen to my plee?

kind of roughed an idea i had yesterday, then dropped it

Anonymous Mon Jul 21 14:04:59 2014 No.5168834

In Praise of the Potboiler

Come, give us the sound and the fury;
don't trouble with rhythm and grace
the subtlest allusion
breeds naught but confusion
to the ear of our primitive race

Show us the blood and the thunder
you can leave out the depth and the scope
the clash of your symbols
in our none-to-nimble
intellects crushes all hope

If we want the profound and ecstatic
we can do well enough on our own
there's Shakespeare and Shelley
to sour our belly
and Dante to rattle our bones

so make with the storm and the swordplay
that good old melodrama and pap
have a tear through the joints
while exclaiming your points
with a plentiful dose of small caps.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 18:05:35 2014 No.5169739 >>5168834 This is either Jesus in Belfast poet or someone using his meter, because it's the exact same meter and rhyme scheme as the "Carcinoma" poem, with the anapaestic trimeters.

>>	Anonymous Mon Jul 21 19:16:00 2014 No.5170093 >>5168552 Good analyses throughout this post, and appreciated bud. Lips Upturned guy here.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:02:14 2014 No.5171437 >>5169739 the irish dude doesn't capitalize like that

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:06:06 2014 No.5171444 Roommate is asleep? literotica.com I rub my penis

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:13:06 2014 No.5171465 have any of you been to a " poetry slam"? did you participate?

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:15:05 2014 No.5171470 >>5171465 In AP Lit (11th grade (not long ago)) we had a poetry reading for the last week of school. I did a punchline-heavy swag rap freestyle. It was alright.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:44:56 2014 No.5171567

>>5170093
You're welcome. (I don't do it for charity; I'm sharpening my teeth.)

>>5171444
I chuckled. There's a nice economy of words here, and the rhyme asleep/penis is a tickling shock after the two unrhymed lines. Punctuate after penis. I would read a collection of light verse like this.

>>5171465
>>5171470
A reading is different than a slam; a slam is a competition, usually from memory, where you are judged on performance and your poems; a reading is a recital from memory or from a page.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:48:24 2014 No.5171579

Rust

It was as though my savior fell --
the very light that promised hell
now flourished with a taste
I've yet to rid.
I'd sit and wait,
for seasons straight,
enveloped in that awful taste,
but time was on a budget;
I, incapable to move.
Through dreams aloft, she mumbled soft --
a voice I'd heard but since forgot.
She told me of tomorrow;
of a day that never came.
I'd sit and wait,
for seasons straight,
with hopes held high and time to waste,
but time was on a budget;
I, with nothing left to lose.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:52:40 2014 No.5171588 hugh hefner is the most american to ever live (a political poem) fuck sexy fake bimbo bitches i write poetry cum-licking slut & i don’t want to be happy can u post a pussy pic?

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 01:55:17 2014 No.5171595 >>5171465 my university has them, i dont like the format very much so i just read more traditional poems, people seem to like them but i dont

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 02:10:39 2014 No.5171633

>>5171595

Poetry slams rarely contain actual poetry, even, even being generous, the kind of non-accentual-syllabic, but structured, stuff we can call 'free-verse.' Actual poetry tends towards compression because of the efficiency that poetic devices offer poets. (You don't need to say in a sentence what you can say in an image. You don't need to say in a word what you can say with a sudden variation in meter.)
Slam format actually works actively against the production of poetry by encouraging things that can be perceived as quickly as they're read, with no repetition. You're also open to making language your stress and inflect with your performance, instead of language that is stressed intrinsically; you can render the greatest serious poem as an irony by a change of voice, or the lightest as a delusion by doing it through sobs.

They are usually dramatic monologue competitions by a name for this reason.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 02:13:47 2014 No.5171643 >>5171633 >You're also open to making language your stress and inflect with herp. I mean you can stress and inflect your language with your...

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 03:10:17 2014 No.5171787

>>5171633
I hadn't considered this. This makes me feel like much slam poetry is contrived and cheap. While I recall feeling moved by some of the slam poetry I heard/saw in college, I have to feel that it was a more emotional (read: mirror neurons firing) endeavor than an intellectual one.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 14:45:25 2014 No.5173405
File: 47 KB, 400x364, legend_1.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

unwanted guests often follows
my steps outside:
they yell and cry because they forgot
things at home
"carry me back" they say
I often accomplish their wills:
the more I do
the more I feel caged
in a church with bolted doors
and my mom in every icon.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 14:47:11 2014 No.5173410 >>5145191 >wetted are the eyes, when it rains. Kinda ruined it for me.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 15:34:46 2014 No.5173544

In African Darkness

I discover you sleeping
out in red sandy wastelands
where the trees cast no shadows
and the moon haunts the skies

like the eye of Nepenthe.
I have walked from the river
where the silent hawks hover
and the evening sun dies

and through mists of mosquitos
The sentinel Ibis
all hollow-boned hunger
awakes in the weeds

apprehending the creak
of the second plague's minions
and stalks upon stilts
mid the crocodile reeds

I pretend to purloin you
from some servent of Sebek
all kohl-eyed and cruel
a mummified hag

in quick-fingered silence
when I found your guard sleeping
skin thin as the side
of a brown paper bag

and i felt that my heart
was as light as a feather
blown out like the desert
and empty of sin

and in innocent slumber
you kicked back the covers
and I troubled Bast's priestess
and tucked you back in.

But the eye of Osiris
has found the horizon,
so I'll go start the coffee
while you towel your hair

and down in the kitchen
the old cat wanders lonesome
and follows a sunbeam
under your chair.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 15:41:24 2014 No.5173559

>>5171787

There's no problem with enjoying slam poetry, provided there aren't intellectual or artistic problems with it (as preformed dramatic monologues,) the problem is that the people who preform it, and who enjoy it, think they're poets and not actors and dramatists, and from their experience on stage derive systems of aesthetic evaluation that actually have nothing to do with poetry written out on the page and what the page and poetry offers as a medium. We don't judge plays or screenplays by the same standards we judge short stories, novels, etc. (Though a monologue needn't be devoid of actual poetry....)

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 15:41:50 2014 No.5173561 >>5156734 >le aplaudí durante cuarenta y dos segundos. Why?

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 15:42:01 2014 No.5173563

>>5173405
unwanted guests often follow my steps outside:
they yell and cry because they forgot
things at home
"carry me back" they say

I often accomplish their wills:
the more I do
the more I feel caged
in a church with bolted doors
and my mom in every icon.
You realise how much better things are when you don't do pointless line breaks?

Poetanon Tue Jul 22 15:46:26 2014 No.5173581

It's in Italian, but it's still poetry:

Non t'accorgi che il quadro prende forma,
con sillabiche nozze ad ogni verso?
In un paesaggio noti un cielo terso,
sul qual prima poggiò mai il divo l'orma:

Accanto ad una giovine che dorma
si dipinga un colubro, al bene avverso,
che maligno, nell'erba rada immerso,
vuole portarla in la cinerea torma;

Verbo su verbo, s'apre lo sentiero
in cui la delicata pugna vede
i due combattitori di finzione;

La via corre l'aligero destriero
alli precordi di colui che crede
che poesia è chiave di prigione.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 16:14:45 2014 No.5173678 >>5154411 Unsung hero of this thread

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 16:36:08 2014 No.5173727

On Vacation

I flaneur in the forest,
I admire the flowers without florist.
The trees restless rustling gabble,
The kinds of birds, unknown, out of sight babble,
are strange, not even Greek, to me,
man of the city, born of the city, raised city,
American grasping a stick like an English cane
imitation of pretense of fashion of dandy days,
long gone.
The dirty's dirty. The sunlight's sunlight.
The dark is dark. I miss the neon.
The billboard smut.
The garbage collected by the drain.
The lines that up, and across, cut,
the open and shut.
The place.
The beetle toils up the trees rough face.
I knock him, with my stick, away.
He kicks and kicks and kicks.
I'm tickled.

Am I sick?

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 16:36:45 2014 No.5173729

Last night I thought about us in a booth of a fast food restaurant
And you wouldn’t shut up
And I liked it
No,
I loved it.
Sitting on the edge,
Listening,
Staring,
Blockading.
And silent.
Because I used to think that my silence was charming.

I want to live in this memory.
It doesn’t feel too far away.

But we are on opposite ends now
Both of us in silence
Its charm no longer holds
And you are free to leave
You do.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 16:47:58 2014 No.5173755 >>5147456 yes

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 17:09:02 2014 No.5173816

Going to edit this one, but here's the gist of it.

No faith in He, we bear our pride;
traversing fields less traveled by.
Alone at night, we close our eyes
with arms beneath unholy wives.
Our collared shirts besmirch our guise --
us gods of men with dotted 'i's.
No faith in He, we live our lives.
Father, what's it like to die?

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 17:13:07 2014 No.5173834 >>5173727 >flaneur stopped reading here

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 18:02:29 2014 No.5174014

In the winter
In the rain
It bounds across the moor

A hound as old as Charlemagne
Black Dog of Celtic lore

Eyes like hellfire
Coat of night
Death rides upon its roar

To man it's drawn by candlelight
It roams from door to door

Without lock turn
Within gates
It starts its bloody chore

The husbands' widows' orphans' fates
Are splashed across the floor

Back to darkness
Back to feast
Its mark a trail of gore

I'd tell you how to spurn the beast
But I don't wish to bore

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 18:44:12 2014 No.5174166 >>5173563 you clearly can't enjoy the Ungaretti vibe

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 19:51:17 2014 No.5174453 >>5152400 You posted this on /mu/ as well didn't you?

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 20:45:13 2014 No.5174658

>>5173816

edited a bit. Any thoughts?

No faith in He, we bear our pride;
traversing fields less travelled by.
Alone at night, we close our eyes
with arms beneath unholy wives.
Our collared shirts besmirch our guise --
us Gods of men with single lives.
No faith in He, we say goodbye,
but Father, what's it like to die?

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 20:47:27 2014 No.5174667 >>5174453 Yeah a few days ago.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 20:52:12 2014 No.5174684 >>5174658 traveled* sorry

>>	Philosophag !!ee75BmEgn1V Tue Jul 22 20:57:29 2014 No.5174696 >>5145191 The second line was garbage, but I can see why you had to go with it.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:09:15 2014 No.5174737 No held desires forcing my ember Lacking drawing feelings Urges abuse quiet space Relief surged with impatience

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:13:23 2014 No.5174750 >>5174658 I quite like this.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:20:34 2014 No.5174767 >>5174750 I'm honestly so glad you do. I've posted so much OC on /lit/ and have rarely gotten any positive feedback. So, again, thank you!

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:24:33 2014 No.5174783 >>5174767 I hate it

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:25:10 2014 No.5174785 >>5174783 hahahahaha I asked for that one

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:31:10 2014 No.5174806

i sat upon the porcelain shell separating man from animal.
as time continued to pass, as too did my poop.
it's rumpled lubricated flesh of chaotic fibres, advanced through my colon like a glacier, but very very fast.
the same energy derived from the sustenance from which it is now formed, was powering it's muscular eviction from my CORPOREAL form.
the faecal edifice began to take on phallic proportions, grinding arrhythmically against the male g spot with much haste, "WHEREFORE!!!" I howled loudly, my voice carrying to some rooftops nearby where entry-level jazz was playing.
It conquered me. I came, and saw in that moment, I was OP.

Anonymous Tue Jul 22 21:42:54 2014 No.5174851

I'm gonna hate myself for doing this....

Yelling,
Sonic bial injected
Into, with vial, the vain
So it can flow to the pump
And ejaculate through the trumpet
Out of tune it is, devoid of logic it is not
For it produces its own ridge
A hellenistic tribute
To volatile conformity

Improvement,
He saw, oh he definitely saw
Now he will work;
Flail through his perceived wrongs
And carve himself new camera
Out of the green and the pixelated,
With those painted nails
Who will play with the knobs
Like their boyfriends

Opinion,
More of the same,
She guesses
Panned and starved
Because of what?
The eyes that blew it
Too many turns to the
Wrong page
For me

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 23:44:46 2014 No.5175417 >>5152400 This is seriously good.

>>	Anonymous Tue Jul 22 23:50:31 2014 No.5175439 >>5152400 10/10

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:00:32 2014 No.5175477 >>5174667 Pls post more

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:02:09 2014 No.5175483

he speaks slowly, his words like mercury
trickling down my spine
behind the curtains of my mind
the dark red, the darker blue
his grip is steady like callisto

and he will be my moon

spica, antares
my name was loveless
i knew no one of your kind
and in the corners of my mind
my moon hangs still in a sliver
and jupiter
my love
she shivers

and uh i tried doing an ottave rime the other day.

Be the cinnamon bite to the dry down
I've ruined so much and I've trembled for less
So keep me around when I'm still facedown
In my nothing; my dirt; in my morning dress
Be the heart note I wear to my ghost town
The honeysuckle and the lingering mess
Be patient enough when my body aches
Forgive me again when the surface quakes

I'm sorry.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:03:56 2014 No.5175491 >>5145181 >>5145181 Each turning sow breeds the Packard police With eggshell prognosis and black label bleach In time we will fight in the lengthening pyres Of pre-packaged pussy, and switch-stitching miles

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:08:26 2014 No.5175509 >>5175477 I post in critique threads all the time, prose and poetry. I bet if you've been on /lit/ for a while you've read a bunch of my stuff.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:16:41 2014 No.5175532 It's strange to see when The very people Realize that they were there once but not again

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:16:56 2014 No.5175535 >>5175509 link us your tumblr/site

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:18:25 2014 No.5175542 >>5175535 I don't have one yet

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:21:21 2014 No.5175551 >>5175542 make 1

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 00:23:30 2014 No.5175562 >>5156566 I like it.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:02:30 2014 No.5175685

>>5152400
saved so I can read it again, beautiful job

I know this isn't anything 2deep4u but I though I'd share what I wrote tonight:

At the times when my mind is most quiet I remember the girl that lived in the glow of her red curtains
She would pull them closed and the room would shine red, like blood in the horror films that she always found comforting.
I tried to do the same for her for what felt like too long
and I walked out the afternoon she told me nothing could change the numbness she suffered.
Her door slammed behind me and I recalled all the times it had been the two of us leaving through it

I remembered back when there were still adventures to be had, we would race past the quarry to the river where we would shed our socks and shoes
and our feet would slap a forgotten rhythm against the stones as we leapt from one to the next, pulled forward by the spirit of the river.
Sooner or later one of us would slip and come up from the water soaked and laughing,
as far as we knew, the rocks and river were endless

I remembered the steps I wasn't sure I should climb the day I heard her mother scream and shatter a picture frame.
I saw my friend's silhouette curl into a ball behind the red curtains, I didn't climb the stairs

I remembered the time instead of racing we held a funeral for one of her stuffed animals in her backyard
and though we always meant to, we never went back to the river

Months passed, maybe years, since I last remembered her
too painful to recall; not because she had given up, but because I had.
I wished I had told her that we would be okay and that everything would work its way out in the end
Or rather that I was her friend and that we could wait till the numbness faded away.

I wish that I had tried.
"I still could" I thought as I threw a rock into the river that had once been our river
and I felt it push me across its shining surface, past the quarry, and to her door.
I knocked and she said hello so I let myself in and she looked up from her movie with a look that said 'you're back'
but as a question
that I answered by sitting at her side
as we picked up
where we left off
in the light of her red curtains

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:16:26 2014 No.5175733 File: 1.63 MB, 238x178, mirin.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5152400 God damn.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:16:46 2014 No.5175734 >>5175685 this gave me goosebumps for some reason. I like it. my post is >5174658 , care to critique?

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:17:57 2014 No.5175739 >>5175734 >>5174658 **

>>	Kameron !DTvdD1Ve4Q Wed Jul 23 01:21:51 2014 No.5175751 File: 62 KB, 676x458, we are all but snapchats.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5152400 I really liked this one so much that i'm gonna screencap it

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:25:08 2014 No.5175760 A fuck nigga That's that shit I don't like A snitch nigga That's that shit I don't like

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:34:14 2014 No.5175787 >>5175751 I'd like to see a poem published in the form of a 4chan screenshot. It's that much more modern.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:39:37 2014 No.5175798

>>5174658
>>5175734
God, I'm no good at critiquing poetry, I'm honestly more of a visual artist so I don't really know much about poetry theory or anything. I very much like it and what it says, my only suggestion is perhaps streamline the punctuation, it seems to weigh it down a bit I think. I think the length is perfect and I didn't notice that it rhymed on the first read, great job

And thank you, the poem is about a dream I had that felt like it lasted well over a year and when I woke up it felt like I had lost a portion of my life. So goosebumps is a good reaction i think.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:45:30 2014 No.5175813 >>5145343 highly recommend reading Howard Bloom's "How To Read and Why" it helps illuminate a lot of what makes good writing good

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:48:47 2014 No.5175820 >>5175751 Oh hey, if you want a better file name, it has a title. It's called Pandas in Boothbay, Part Two

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 01:58:25 2014 No.5175836 >>5175798 thank you! I'm truly glad you do. However, can you elaborate on the punctuation a bit more?

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 03:32:56 2014 No.5176036

The Devil was an Angel once, how far can one fall from grace
This influence, this "personification" of evil, leading humanity astray
Isn't it a comfort, that we have system of divine beliefs to blame?
Or maybe, the harsh truth would just add fuel to the flame
Is it really this unfaltering dedication to a entity that drives us?
Is is the same desire that convinces a man to blow up a school bus?

Are we all just pawns on the all ever repeating chessboard?
Reacting to the moves of the other, as if life is a broken tape record?
They say death takes you to a better place, some take this belief to death
little do they know, they hinge existence on a false prophets breath
People can be alive, but aren't really living, slashing
Hanlons razor around like it's a Stephen King thanksgiving
Whether or not this is or isn't a god, live life however you treasure
Inevitably, everyone dies. so hell, here's to being condemned forever.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 03:37:22 2014 No.5176042

A hiss of burning paper
The devil's own behest
I introduce this vapor to
My cold and empty chest

In the noiseless night aglow
This single star
A soft wind blows
From deep within and very far
Away the black cloud goes

Shafts of light break through
I sigh and think of you

I'm brought back to those summer days and to the love I knew

The warmth within my breast is as
The sunlight in your hair
This scent evokes us on the grass
And all those flames we shared

Windchimes echo with your laughter
For a moment, time stands still
I'm blind to what awaits me after
But then it's all downhill

When the flame flickers out
The taste that lingers on my tongue
Is as bitter as your kiss

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 08:24:44 2014 No.5176594

>>5152400
This is clumsy, obvious, and stilted. It barely rises to the level of rap music. it's also self-conscious, trite and pointless.
I'd like to think the author is going for a sort of wry self-aware parody, and maybe a bit of world-weary alienation, but the craft is so poor i may be reading that into it. I truly cannot see why it's being praised, other than it does seem to have a bit of narrative coherence, unlike a lot of the other stuff in the thread.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 08:25:46 2014 No.5176597 >>5168144 this one is adequate

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 10:31:51 2014 No.5176900

>>5175483
I think these are pretty hit-or-miss. I like "words like mercury" and the stellar theme is cleverly incorporated, but I kind of lost your intent in the second full stanza.

For the ottave rime, you seem more concerned with forcing perfume metaphors than you do with delivering a message, and as a result the poem is uselessly vague. Your first poem and
>>5176042
do a much better job weaving the imagery in.

>>5176036
Is English your second language? If so, this was a good effort. It's not a good poem, but at least you tried.

>>5176042
Good, but the ending is abrupt and inconclusive. I understand that smoking the cigarette mirrors the development of the poem, but you break the rhythm in the last stanza and it feels like you were cut off without finishing. And having written that, I can see that may have been your intent. Took me a couple readings to get the rhythm right, but I like it.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 10:53:58 2014 No.5176972

Dialogue

>"So, what is a ghost?"

a dead thing, risen;
a sleepless soul
unbodied, unshriven.
come out of some hole
some grave or some shrine
to vex those yet breathing
with voiceless interogations

>"why do they walk?"

(a shrug here, a murmur)
They seek something maybe,
they come to give comfort
to visit old haunts
They rise from our memories,
sit in our dreams,
but they're no longer living.
perhaps they forget.

>"forget what?"

The dream of life.
the striving, even in sleep,
to draw the next breath'
to find the next word.
and then lose them,
as all others are lost
exhaled into time and the past.
perhaps the path eludes them,
the trail unretraceable.
the end of their life
get's shuffled around.
and the rise and come seeking.

>"seeking after what?"

Perhaps to give comfort.
Perhaps to ask questions.
Perhaps to wrap old fingers
around a last kiss
held close in a palm.
and depart again.
Is it lonely, being dead?

>But there was no answer.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 11:05:51 2014 No.5177000

I like the snake on your tattoo
I like the Ivy and the ink blue
Yayo, yes you
You have to take me right now
From this dark trailer park life now

Put me onto your black motorcycle
Fifty baby doll dress for my 'I do"
It only takes two hours to Nevada
I wear your sparkle
You call me your mama
Let me put on a show for you daddy
Let me put on a show
Let me put on a show for you tiger

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 11:14:15 2014 No.5177035
File: 8 KB, 283x178, 567575.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

They say I'm too young to love you,
I don't know what I need,
They think I don't understand
The freedom land of the 70's
I think I'm too cool to know ya,
You say I'm like the ice I freeze
I'm churning out novels like Beat poetry
On amphetamines

Well my boyfriend's in a band,
He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed,
I've got feathers in my hair,
I get down to Beat poetry,
And my jazz collections rare
I can play most anything,
I'm a Brooklyn baby,
I'm a Brooklyn baby

I'm talking by my generation,
I'm talking bout that newer nation,
And if you don't like it
You can beat it, beat it baby
You never liked the way I said it,
If you don't get it, then forget it
Cause I don't have to fucking explain it

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 12:00:51 2014 No.5177181 >>5176972 Unusual style. Seems aimless, but I like the inversion of questioner/responder at the end. >>5177000 >>5177035 Lana del Rey, go to sleep. 0/10

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 12:02:39 2014 No.5177189

A Venn Diagram

A map would be nice
From my words to gods ears
If I said I could move anytime I feel?
Would it be frightening?
Reciprocate what can never be equal
Not a square
A fourth fold lets out
Eight and ten slip through the missing rib
With a reluctance
No hand me down names and violence
Juniors with raised defenses
Mitigate the misplaced kindness
Your vague advice
Free associating to curb the edge
All I really need
If you read me
Because I want you to
It's only here for you
I only like the things I make
That started in the middle with you
My right hand to the left foot
Letting a leap of a test
A fish in the ocean or nubile on the cross
Vesica piscis, I see you all the time
Overlapping the sixth
All my sad things
Most of the old things
To take it seriously
To get results use reason
The first fold to make a point
You think I don't realize?
Spitting out health food
Last of them the thirteenth and trailing second
Still jealous of your England
To make my thoughts bearable
Swept away like a small one
Placing your tone somewhere distinctly unromantic
Dissolved in your guts like wild rice
I know you are cruel to yourself
And I know you could be kind
It wouldn't kill me to let you have it all back
I am crude, paranoid, what a wonder
Some flag folding sycophant
Avoid making sense or credibility
To articulate a screaming feeling
Rambling words set to a pair of loops
This won't be the last of me
Stopping to sense the doom
It just happens, every so often

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 12:05:02 2014 No.5177195 i like micro forms roses blue on dirty knees our shameless era mark

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 15:25:05 2014 No.5177907

>>5176594
Bruh this is the post-Tao Lin era. Everything is, by default, a wry, self-conscious, hyper self-aware half-sincere pastiche. I do agree my poem is a little clumsy, though. I need to clean it up with better punctuation and capitalization and maybe adjust some of the enjambment. Thanks for an honest critique, since negative feedback is more useful than positive feedback.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 15:27:41 2014 No.5177916 >>5152400 >I'm doing it for free Am I the only one who caught the janitor joke?

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 15:56:37 2014 No.5178041

"Them gods are a slippery business
I'll tell you right now for a fact
they claim that you're made on their model
then condemn every natural act

Take Yahweh, or Allah, or Marx now
they'll tell you a thing plain as day
then when you think you are sure of your grounding
they'll jerk the whole muddle away

if you're lit'ral, they meant metaphoric
you interpret, they laid it out plain
It almost makes a body euphoric
how they point up their lessons with pain:

They promise you virgins and heaven
or the fair equal treatment of men
But they trip you with their dialectics
and they serve you a full score of sins

Then it's right on back into Gehenna,
or right back on back to the wheel,
another year in purgatory,
or pushing that rock up that hill.

they tell you its for your own good,now
they say it'll help you be strong
but it's always the pious that suffers,
it's always believer's that's wrong.

so steer clear of the ones that work wonders
the makers of heaven and earth
it's worth life and soul if you never get told
about them with immaculate birth.

stick right to your plow and your spinning,
and leave holy matters alone
with them losing is better than winning
and you're better a bench, than a throne."

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 16:52:02 2014 No.5178257

Bang
Posting and positing slang
In its proper place to lend meaning to my harangue
But the same game
Gets played out and over-played
By the type who pose and claim they’re in the sad boi gang.

Bang bang
You’re trying not to seem lame.
Avoid proper punctuation like that shit is the plague
Else you’ll sound tame.
And your meaning will be slain.
Because the truth is that you trend hop like the game is your name.

Bang
Coffin nailed and dropped in the grave.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 16:58:52 2014 No.5178285 BITCH I RUN LIKE GARETH BALE FUCK A BITCH AND DRINK CALE BITCH I JUMP LIKE D WADE BACK WHEN HIS KNEES WERE OKAY

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 17:42:20 2014 No.5178489 >>5178285 MC Ride pls go

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 17:46:10 2014 No.5178511 She frequents the cafes, she's a girl-about-town Some nights ago she let a brother down Now we go looking, round and around Oh what shall we do with this girl-about-town

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 18:14:17 2014 No.5178639

After day resigns with a night
Another layer of fog coats up the sky
Oh no more I need to fight
And no more I need to lie, 'couse
Good days have gone and faded
For solitude they got traded.
I'm feeling empty and unsure
If there's a cure.

Finally made decisions and burnt the bridges
Took my chances, looked for answers
Stirred through branches, I made some advances.
Wandered for a year or few
Till I found you there
Fully bloomed and finely tuned.

Anonymous Wed Jul 23 18:58:19 2014 No.5178785

|| Dyad (sfz) /-->/ Caesura no. 3 ||

Now the handle is sticking
Kid getting manhandled for scab picking
Bad choices, bad thinking.
Drinking.

Door is still stalling, still jammed
The mistakes are old but fresh on his hands
Missed one good and two bad.
God damn.

Brand new hinges rusted shut
Sometimes little things still sink in your gut.
Rushed too much and got caught in a rut
It is what it is but
we knew that

Lean on the frame for a rest
It’s not huge but the what-ifs made a mess.
This is no ploy, insult, or request
She simply said it best
no regratz

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 19:03:00 2014 No.5178801 a waka titled 'lazy idiot' when i play banjo i am reminded of how i need more practice it’s too much to ask of me i will never be gifted

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 19:56:36 2014 No.5178921 >>5178041 Wonderful, and well done on your other stuff. I find it inspiring.

>>	Anonymous Wed Jul 23 22:25:03 2014 No.5179421 Hopeless love Hopeless hate Leave the womb Find a mate Quick the womb Blank the slate Chalk the board Love and Hate

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 08:21:06 2014 No.5181317

"so it was that Vaimoinen
made the sacred Jalovina;
called it forth with mighty singing
from the buried heart of rivers
from the ice untroubled southland
in the horn of ilmarienen.
and across the skies he bore it
down into the land of pinetrees
where the faithful lemminkinen
quaffed thereof and gained his wisdom
for to rule all Kalevala
governed he that sacred country,
through the power of Jalovina"

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 10:22:42 2014 No.5181627

What comfort on so dire a night
when wending home with funeral light
to hear the wail of the pale banshee
"Oh lover, lost, return to me"?

Cold Iron is nailed above the door
I've said those prayers you'll say no more
still out across the fallow Lea:
"Oh lover, Lost. Return to me!"

She rides the high and chilling wind
as to the skies her cries ascend
On to the tempest-troubled sea,
"Oh lover lost, return to me!"

See from her seat the widow start
the cry she hears within her heart
speaks to a soul so late set free
""oh lover lost, return to me!"

Take up the monster's grim refrain
and rise , to follow in her train
and echo back that awful plea.
"Oh lover lost, return to me!"

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 11:14:02 2014 No.5181820 >>5146476 I love this.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 11:18:19 2014 No.5181843

You open your eyes
And get on your feet.
Toast in the toaster,
Brush on the teeth
And outside the sun shines harsh on your neck.
You’re counting the seconds
In your head
While they beckon
With skeletal hands
And talk about injustices you just can’t care about.
It’s all gelatin, man.
People are good.
People are bad.

>>	Sunhawk !!rEkSWzi2+mz Thu Jul 24 11:20:05 2014 No.5181847 File: 106 KB, 1191x842, girlsinhallwaypic.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] I've read Oscar Wao 22 times. This is the most I've read any book. Is this bad?

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 12:02:37 2014 No.5182017

All the streets are crammed with things
eager to be held
I know what hands are for
and I'd like to help myself
you ask me the time
but I sense something more
and I would like to give you
what I think you're asking for
you handsome devil
you handsome devil

Let me get my hands
on your mammary glands
and let me get your head
on the conjugal bed
I say, I say, I say

I crack the whip
and you skip
but you deserve it
you deserve it, deserve it, deserve it

A boy in the bush
is worth two in the hand
I think I can help you get through your exams
oh you handsome devil

Let me get my hands
on your mammary glands
and let me get your head
on the conjugal bed
I say, I say, I say

I crack the whip
and you skip
but you deserve it
you deserve it, deserve it, deserve it

And when we're in your scholarly room
who will swallow whom?
and when we're in your scholarly room
who will swallow whom?
you handsome devil

Let me get my hands
on your mammary glands
and let me get your head
on the conjugal bed
I say, I say, I say

There's more to life than books you know
but not much more
oh you handsome devil

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 12:19:45 2014 No.5182085

>>5179421
Eh. Is the only reason you're using "hate" because its easy to rhyme?

>>5181317
Are you Edgar Allen Poe? Four words in a thirteen line poem should not be made up. Otherwise, it's not bad.

>>5181627
Though this is good, you did not write it.

>>5181843
The last two lines are terrible. The rest of the poem is trivial.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 12:32:25 2014 No.5182147 >>5182085 >Are you Edgar Allen Poe? Four words in a thirteen line poem should not be made up. Otherwise, it's not bad. Vaimoinen, Jalovina, ilmarienen, lemminkinen, not made up. Characters in the Kalevala and a brand of alcoholic beverage

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 12:57:51 2014 No.5182229 >>5182147 Consider me corrected. My knowledge of Finnish literature is nonexistent. The names sounded like rather generic fantasy inventions, and I assumed you were working on about the same level of complexity as rhyming "Volcanic" with "Yaanek".

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:19:28 2014 No.5182272

(oh my god it's about a break-up)

Out into the new air
where the cooling towers used to watch us.
Surely its all yours: the river whispering
around my naked foot, flowers in splotched
bloom, the unceasing smell of mowed grass
and someone always about to surprise you
by jumping out of the rhododendrons.
Your name, when sounded aloud, was an open hand.

On that final night your forehead went chill
with ideas of snow. I could almost see
the elaborations in dream-light, thrown from
the mind lamp, against that horizon where
each thought you had finally gave itself up
and admitted that it, too, was a mirage.
That morning was white and you, upon
waking, walked noiselessly back into weather.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:23:52 2014 No.5182286 >>5182147 If you include obscure vocab like that, you should really include a note after the poem.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:26:40 2014 No.5182296 >>5182272 Bretty gud

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:29:20 2014 No.5182303 Perhaps she thought of me as she passed - perhaps she didn't - perhaps one cannot help but think of everything at once as one passes through these lonely streets in the dead of the night

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:45:05 2014 No.5182351

>>5182296
Thanks, man. Have another.

Sentimental Conversation

Stepping out to the shows back then was such a hoot!
All these chicks in fur, man, and skin like - am I thinking
marble,or alabaster? Anyway, I've not been back.
I woke up one morning and a wrecking ball had pushed
day-light clean through my walls. Seagulls chattering hooked
me into the day and all my stuff - like all of it - was gone.
Barely got my pants on before I realised 'Hey, this
isn't just chattering', it was more - how can I say -
a chorus? Or is that silly? And then I really looked:
three tennis-ball chested gulls, one in a surplice (the
virgin), two in mitres flawed a little off centre by the wind,
and behind them - in, like, almost rank and file - a bunch
of pigeons carrying tapers. They set the virgin on fire
right there, touching their flames to her thick plume, and she shrieks.
But right at the centre of the flame is the unexpected
jewel: suddenly I'm staring at the door I opened
onto an empty room, making again the decision
not to leave a note.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:46:18 2014 No.5182356

>>5182303
That's a sentence, not a poem. You're forcing elevation with the diction, "perhaps" instead of the contemporary "maybe," being emphasized three time repetition, use of "one" repeated, instead of "I." (To make it seem like some profound universal statement about...people walking down streets.) There's no need for the strange yoking of a possibility to "one cannot think of everything." You'd almost certainly be served by the "everything" being made specificity, which would illuminate how the character thinks of this female stranger, of strangers. Is the interest romantic, erotic, intellectual, pure curiosity, etc.
The rest is pure banality. "Lonely streets," in the "dead of night." The pathetic fallacy, of a street being lonely, is somewhat engaged by the context, but you'd almost certainly be better off with another bit of figurative language. You don't deal with deadness at all. That phrase does nothing.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:57:00 2014 No.5182386

>>5179421
The premises that this poem are based on, "hopeless love/hopeless hate," are too questionable for you to proceed. Hopeless love is a contradiction in most cases. Unless we're talking about starving parents in Africa, the lives probably aren't hopeless. It's cynicism as aesthetic, not as philosophy. Furthermore, yoking hate to mate is pretty questionable, especially given that mating has a strong connotation of sexual coupling without emotion, which nobody hates. It's out of lust, not hate. There's very little sex we have, as people, out of hate. The lines from "quick the womb" to "chalk the board" are interesting, as is the suppressed conceit, but it's not very clear what the conceit means. Is the "slate" of previous hopes being "blanked?" Is it producing a "blank slate?" And then after they "chalk the board" for the child's life? (Doesn't this work against things being "hopeless?")
Your last line is meaningless, the repetition being used as a pat way to make it seem completed.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 13:59:10 2014 No.5182392

For Mac

Your hair like that - a conspiracy.

The Latin name for the summer flowers around our door-frame is
'Toolittlandtoolatelyknown'. You were my special girl.

Whatever. I'm out.

At the station, the unpaginated record of our days
snuck free of the binding, travelled the sun-mottled
air, went high into the iron girders, set them laughing.

You'd have cried.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:10:56 2014 No.5182449 >>5182386 withering

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:12:35 2014 No.5182458 >>5182356 Damn, this is great criticism. Thank you

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:17:00 2014 No.5182482 A life of uneventful themes Will soon seduce itself with dreams

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:19:13 2014 No.5182495 One should be ashamed even to be seen by the moon and stars

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:22:44 2014 No.5182520

>>5182392
It's poems like these that make me think Modernism is really responsible for crippling poetry by shifting everything from being primarily in logical sequence to being in sequences of association and maybe causation (this is a sequence of causation, of events.) That's the problem with this. There's no real structure under its drama (a very well executed drama, by the way) just vague suggestions of there being something under it, a ruin of logical structure, of arguments, to be interpreted by archaeologists. There's nothing wrong with suggestion, but when a poem is all suggestion, and doesn't count up, it's bad.

You've captured a voice. I'd say male, somewhere in the twenties. The voice is casual, slangy (the only blemish is "unpaginated" - sub numberless for that and "sun mottled," - that might survive - which make the three line stanza seem like they're written by somebody else.) He's smart enough to make jokes about Latin names, to make similes, and to be disillusioned. He, ostensibly catches sight of his lover - the present tense of "your hair like that." I would make it a simile and not a metaphor. It also seems like its for its own sake. There's no conspiring in this poem. You have to stretch to make it sensible.
The "summer flowers around our door-frame" - they're at a house. They've decorated it with mementos. Of a "summer." There's the conventional figure of a season passing. The flowers of the season have been "lately known" but "Too little." So there's some hints of the love left, but not enough for him not to be "out," to go to the "station." There's a flaw here in that the decision to leave is a "whatever." It powerfully illuminates the character. (He's somebody not too tied to the past, stubborn about preserving... another reason I think he's young) but we don't get any sense of his principles, his reasons.

The next bit is a kind of strong idea figure for thinking about leaving while he leaves. (The station, iron girders, I'm betting a train.) He's remembering what was known in summer, the "sun-mottled" memories, "snuck free" of the "binding" of his decision. There's no argument here, either. What made the memories so good, what was the summer besides "special?" Setting them "laughing," into motion, into life re-lived.

The end is powerful. She'd "cry" because he's summing them up, because of how strong the memories are. Because he doesn't want to say he wants to "cry." But not why. No why's in this poem.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:35:27 2014 No.5182589

>>5182482

This isn't bad. I have a soft spot for epigrams. "uneventful themes" is a little jarring at first, but if you think about it, it sharpens. I might make the theme singular in order to reinforce the banality, the life being one-topic, rather than having lots of themes like a great piece of music, an intellectually complex book, etc. It kind of begs an enumeration of the "uneventful themes." The usage is also closer to the regular usage in that grammatical position. I'm not sure about "soon." Isn't it the mechanical reproduction of a theme over time that produces the desire to dream? Doesn't a theme imply a long period of elapsed time over which particular events can manifest a generality?

I really like the way the word "uneventful" works in this poem. It generates a lot of meaning.

Uneventful as in boring, uneventful as in a life that's more contemplation/mindless office work than action, this leading to solipsism, or leading to fancies, day-"dreams."

Think of a good title.

>>5182495
Why should I be ashamed?

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:42:46 2014 No.5182629

>>5182520
Solid critique; I think Latin name of the flowers pulls this up, however, by Dryden...

Farewell, too little, and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own:
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mold with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive;
The last set out the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place,
While his young friend performed and won the race.
O early ripe! to thy abundant store
What could advancing age have added more?
It might (what nature never gives the young)
Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,
When poets are by too much force betrayed.
Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,
Still showed a quickness; and maturing time
But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme.
Once more, hail and farewell; farewell, thou young,
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue;
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 14:51:36 2014 No.5182674

>>5182629
If your poem's logical spine is an allusion, then your poem, practically speaking, lacks a spine. It's just extending older, better work, into a new context. It's a gesture backward that means "read Dryden instead of me." (Or a wink to the people who have, that says, here's this little drama for people who've read Dryden.)

The fact that he's alluding to Dryden also works against the causal, slangy aspect of his voice. For Mac, Whatever, my special girl, snuck, you'd, at the station, etc. This doesn't really sound like somebody who's got his nose deep in Dryden.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:05:54 2014 No.5182757

>>5182674
Again, good points. But is the reference to Dryden necessarily what you say it is? I don't think its resonance is limited to being a meta-textual marker like you say it is. I hear it as a wink to the girl, not to the reader. It's one of those grad school jokes, sort of insufferable, but in-jokes like that, well, they stick around right? They kindle an intimacy. Even when the thing falls apart between them this stupid joke endures as a kinda neutral territory. That's how I'd defend its place in the 'voice' that you identify, too. That sounds like grad school and its banter to me.

Your line on logical structures and arguments I think is similarly insightful. But I wonder if it's just...too strong? Again, the grad school defence: something about its associative sequencing, and its abdication of the 'logical spine', seems in step with the hangoverish drifting of the guy who sticks in school because he doesn't know what else to do. And I'm kinda weary of people who have logical spines when talking about the end of a relationship, you know? Like is that a poem or a polemic.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:06:37 2014 No.5182763

Rough magic for man's spellings must suffice
on moonlit height, in secret, and alone
the throat, the blade, the blood of sacrifice
must conjure his stark prayer to silent stone
a woman's sorceries are subtler things
dumb suppers, petal-oracles and sighs
enchantments writ on promises and rings
epithalamion and lullabyes
For love alone it seems a futile end
discrepant supplications to beguile
and join that which seems best disposed to rend
and such diverse rogation reconcile
But cupids bolts contrive to hearts combine
contrary pleas, in single valentine.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:10:13 2014 No.5182783

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Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:14:46 2014 No.5182805

>>5182757
>a polemic

I don't mean your poem should be a stridently moral evaluation of his state of mind, after a logical laying out of his premises, the truth of his premises, and his conclusion, I mean that the poem should understand him, rather then reflect him. If the poem is merely a reflection of his state of mind, then it's nothing more than a "drifting," and "hung[over]" ramble. It offers the reader nothing more than their life offers them, a bunch of vague emotions. Even if it's in his voice, it's possible to use connotation, association, and the other devices of poetry to do this. It's a high standard, but since when have we been writing for low standards?

There's also no sense of the reference coming out of a relationship rather than being a poetic procedure of yours. You refer to the relationship in a very evocative and dramatic shorthand. If you want to include more of the relationships texture, then you should render it in a little more detail. There's nothing to indicate here that they've shared a background in schooling.

You're right about allusions not being mere meta-text, but I don't think they should be used as an integral part of the poem. That method produces a fragmentary, hermetic poetry that only really works for Eliot because of his poetic project and a lot of other shit I don't want to get into.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:15:50 2014 No.5182809

Doritos Flavor Fusion (look inside specially marked packages for codes you can redeem online at XBOX.com for a chance to win the new XBOX one console)

I should have been
the autumn leaves,
and you
the quiet autumn sky

You should have been,
and I,

You were
what was,
I was
the rest.

The rest-
The dawn!
The dark!
It makes no difference.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:25:16 2014 No.5182854 >>5182809 This was terrible. I'm sorry, but it was.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:28:39 2014 No.5182872

Not all are homeless,
crouched half-lit in darkness.
Dreaming the warmth of an august moon,
Suitcase pillows speak the miles traveled:
count each one with their wheeled gait
and with tattered obstinancy brace
broken backs against the distance to follow.
In the interminable hours
hung between morning and midnight
I feel their weight.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:30:47 2014 No.5182881

A drunken stupor orderly
Makes pennies placed under their tree
Hands shaking and words fumbling
His family supports him, the elderly
The wise and weak and octogenarian man
The croaks and groans of an aging soul
Sound out from rattled tired bones
He knows that soon his death will come
He smiles and drinks another one
And holds his grandson close in his arms.
So Gathered here on Christmas Eve there's no place that I'd rather be
Than in the comfort of his family

Written as a song rather than a straightforward poem. Although I guess it's the same. Sounds better alongside a guitar.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:30:51 2014 No.5182882 >>5182783 pls go conceptual poetic

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:37:40 2014 No.5182907

CAPTCHA MONEY RANDOM LETTERS
FUCK A BITCH AND GET THAT CHEDDAR
AUTOMATED SKYPEs IS SEXY
FUCK A BITCH WHO TRY TO TEXT ME

SIMULATED WEBCAM BITCHBOTS ON MY DICK
OMEGLE CLICKBAIT FROSTING ON MY PINKPINK LIPS
I GOT EVERY GOOD MOVIE EVERY EPUB ON MY HARDDRIVE
HUNDRA GRAND IN STOLEN ALBUMS BITCH CALL ME CARMINE
MOFUCKAS CALL ME STIRNER BITCHES ON MY EGO
HOES a FUCK ME OVAH THEY HOENN ME LIKE TREECKO
BITCH DAS POKEMON BITCH DAS A TYPO
LOOK AT MY hands IM THE FIVE-six MICHAEL
FUCK A LITTLE FAT GIRL CALL THAT BITCH HAMLET
PUSSY KINDA SALTY CALL THAT HAM SANDWICH
FUCK GNARLS BARKLEY BITCH IM GNARLS OAKLEY
PALMS SO PALE BITCH CALL ME BRANDON STOKLEY
I'm like BRANDON ROY WITHOUT THE ARTHRITIS
YOUNG AND IM CRAZY BITCH CALL ME TITUS
I'm like TAO LIN IN MOTOWN MIXED WITH XIAOLIN SHOWDOWN
DAMN IM SO TEXAS MEET ME AT THE HOEDOWN
SORRY IF IM YELLING BUT THE BEAT IS SO LOUD

Bitch CALL ME HOLDEN I GIVE YOUR GIRL THE TIME
HOES ON MY TRACTATUS I LOOK LIKE WITTGENSTEIN
IF IM WEARING GREEN GLASSES DOES A LEMON TURN TO A LIME
SUBJECTIVE PERSPECTIVE BITCH DIS IS MINE:

I FIGHT TYPOS WITH TAE BO
TYPOS AND TAE BO
TYPOS AND TAE BO

MIDDLE NAME D SO YOU KNOW I GOT A BIG DICK
FIRST NAME K SO I KINDA FUCK WITH KENDRICK
SPITTING WITH A LISP SO I LOVE MODEST MOUSE
IM UP IN YOUR GIRLS ROOM RIGHT WHEN YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE
RAP REAL LOUD SO THEY SAY I SOUND LIKE DEATH GRIPS
BUT GOVERNMENT PLATES IS THE ONLY ONE I MESS WITH
FUCK CONTENT FARMS MAN FUCK DEMAND MEDIA
SO UNDERGROUND I DONT HAVE A WIKIPEDIA

TYPOS AND LIBEL
this is loud

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 15:46:13 2014 No.5182951 >>5182907 I read this in MC Ride's voice.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 16:34:11 2014 No.5183234 >>5173544 Excellent

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 16:41:06 2014 No.5183281

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

I also
put quite a dent
in the cereal
supply

and the
leftover
pizza is not
leftover anymore

The snickers bar
that you hide
in your purse
is gone too

It was delicious
so melty and
peanutted

Look,
I ate all the food
okay?
and

I guess it goes
without saying
also smoked
all the weed.

Get drive thru
and bring me back
some fries
they are

so delicious
and potatoey
and
a Yoo Hoo

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 16:42:09 2014 No.5183289 >>5183281 L.S.D. so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. not getting into my brain and eating my dreams oh my god the BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:31:43 2014 No.5183522

>>5183281
>>5183289
There's a nice critique of each of these poems in each of your extensions of them. In This is Just to Say you extend the inconsiderateness of eating something somebody was planning to eat to highlight it. In The Wheelbarrow you highlight how weird the sentence, so much depends on [image] by making it an example of drugged thinking.

Other than that, the poems are bad. The first one keeps stacking on thing after thing, and it stops following the implicit poetics Williams' poems (peanutted, the line breaks) and keeps adding more and more aggressive requests where one would have done on top of the invasive eating of things out of her purse.
The second one doesn't really manage to match the original poem in its strangeness. You could have done that by repeating so much depends or working with similar odd, semi-nonsensical combinations of that kind of language with purely visual things. (Category errors you get with drugs.) It doesn't seem like you've ever actually done LSD, you're just parroting how lolzcrazy LSD is. You also mess Williams style up again by rhyming.

They both rely on a kind of vulgar shock tactic of introducing vulgar shock tactics, shoving contemporary life in extremely obnoxious (weed smoking, drivethrough, LSD,BEEEZ) ways. You could have easily done everything you did in a less showy, more nuanced way; It's an adolescent tipping of sacred anthology cows. It's a shame because you clearly grasp the problems in both poems. The first one might have been saved if you could get Williams' style right.

>>5182809
If you're going to do mock-heroic of somebody eating Doritos, you still have to be inventive. You're just yoking a title that breaks decorum to a poem that uses really exhausted cliches that elliptically refer to Doritos eating. This doesn't even bare any real relation to the experience of a guy playing x-box eating Doritos. There's more pertinent heroic conventions you could have used (Arthurian...war poetry...) and you have a very narrow tonal register on top of that.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:39:46 2014 No.5183561 >>5147336 it's ok I kind of like it keep writing

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:42:41 2014 No.5183570 >>5145191 Wow. Like. (Just getting into the thread, sorry if this is all slowpoked up)

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:46:08 2014 No.5183587 >>5156566 iktf

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:47:40 2014 No.5183594 >>5145219 They muse be a motherfucker, yo.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 17:53:20 2014 No.5183625 >>5147342 krl pitllton git outa here m8

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:01:51 2014 No.5183663

>>5145358
>Not through me

I dislike this line.

My dislike stood out more until I read the explanation. I still don't like it though.

Maybe: 'Never though me'?

Standard disclaimer: not poetically trained, just a casual reader. Don't sweat it, the problem may be on my end, but give it one more going over if you can.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:03:17 2014 No.5183671 >>5177189 Anyone want to be mean to my poem before this heap gets the bump limit?

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:06:01 2014 No.5183680 >>5183671 Wait one, just got started with the thread. Will check yours out next.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:08:02 2014 No.5183685 >>5145362 Giving me the impression of a jaded cashier. Like.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:10:03 2014 No.5183695 I once word-for-word translated a song by Egor Letov. It's not too long in general, but too long to post in one piece though, so here's the link: http://pastebin.com/XJjmsU14

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:10:39 2014 No.5183700 >>5173729 be mean to my shit. i love you

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:15:59 2014 No.5183719 File: 365 KB, 450x558, anim_dc2291a0-8112-7464-d5c4-176522d0cc51.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Rap game Muammar Gaddafi Adam Lanza brain In a 50 Cent body

Repost re-cycle Thu Jul 24 18:39:09 2014 No.5183820

>>5183671
>>5177189
Be sure you understand the standard disclaimer here before you even consider my advise:
>>5183663

And:
>be mean to my poem

I don't do special requests. :P

Oddly enough, my initial problem with you seem to be line breaks. May I suggest:

>A map would be nice
>From my words
>to gods ears
>If I said I could move anytime I feel
>
>Would it be frightening?
>
...
>The first fold to make a point.
>
>You think I don't realize?
>
>Spitting out health food
...

This is fooling with the emphasis, and may be totally at odds with your intention, but you see what I'm saying?

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:48:05 2014 No.5183857 >>5183820 yeah I understand its long winded and visually ugly for a poem. kind of a splash of words. I like how long it is though and was trying to make a fast but long poem, wanted it to be written thoughts connected to aspects of a ceremony.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:49:12 2014 No.5183863 >>5183857 >>5183820 thanks btw and yeah I see what you are saying.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:52:09 2014 No.5183876 [DELETED]

>>5177189
>>5183671

Also, why am I getting the impression of a slight, sixties beast, male math teacher standing at the black-board of a class of ghetto hopefuls?

It's a neat vision. I'll leave off my half assed analysands with that.

Keep at it; keep writing.

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 18:57:02 2014 No.5183900

(Deleted & resubmitted, can't seem to get though without beastly typos, beg pardon.)

>>5177189
>>5183671

Also, why am I getting the impression of a slight, sixties beat, male math teacher standing at the black-board of a class of ghetto hopefuls?

It's a neat vision. I'll leave off my half assed analysands with that.

Keep at it; keep writing.

>thanks btw and yeah I see what you are saying.

Good, consider it but don't fret about it - I'm out of my depth here and may be badly misguiding you.

>>	Dune and a melange cappochino,(...) Thu Jul 24 19:01:30 2014 No.5183928 >>5183900 >analysands analysis (Fuck it - the typos must flow!)

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:01:50 2014 No.5183931 Reddit users Ride upon my erect penis to guide thy to a shinning light ectasy so pure eyes ablaze with passion climax together, or alone im alone hand is my vixen my tears my lube im all alone masturbating in my room

Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:10:56 2014 No.5183982 [DELETED]

birthed again birthed today
growing older
you cant stay
sorry but that’s just the catch
a tighter wood beam waters splash
sorry but that’s just the catch
gone out hiking
gone out
to eat
a soaking sun, crinkles her feet
like a dream sayer
hot breath and bad
sleep tight and see you in the morning
spirals steady now the horizon brews let's
heft me higher no we cannot rest
sunrise and sunsets
old bone
wow son you gotta see this
it comes, hatch
sorry but that’s just the catch

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:13:23 2014 No.5183996 >>5173544 You are superb. Drop me a line at this email if you please, I have much to ask you

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:13:50 2014 No.5183999 >>5183900 lol I like that picture you painted, though sad to say there is no real intended image in mind besides the geometric shapes I was referencing.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:14:57 2014 No.5184002 >>5146449 >Medium in size and wise in medium: You magnificent bastard

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:32:51 2014 No.5184099 >>5147588 >I awake in the grey, a break in the tide, >the museum of my window, snow-dead. Maybe: ... snow-dried. Or maybe too rhyme-y - I like the wintery vision, but the second line just seems to go thunk with 'dead'.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:40:56 2014 No.5184134 >>5152400 Gavem chuckles, thanks.

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:47:32 2014 No.5184154 >>5146476 dope, nice one anon

>>	Anonymous Thu Jul 24 19:58:04 2014 No.5184198 >>5168144 >>5173544 these two are extremely good.

Anonymous Fri Jul 25 06:47:33 2014 No.5186385

It’s an odd thought, really, when you realize that the past has no meaning.
No moment how great, how exhilarating, how momentous or how terrifying; not a single one retains any meaning, any true remembrance
I think I came to this conclusion when I realized that there had not been a single memory in my mind that I had remembered true to its situation
I romanticized every memory, I eagerly nit-picked it until it became something of great pain or joy that was above all else a memory that never truly existed in the first place.
And upon that realization I fell into it more
More distant ideas, more pointless feelings of need and want… More moments of pure meaninglessness.
Only the present, that simple second or half a second even, retains any meaning.
Only that moment you fall on a choice or fail to make it and then that choice is gone, a mere memory of what it once was
It’s a sad thought, a freeing thought, and a very lonely thought.
But as those moments come and pass, your head filled with nonsense, happy times, and the eventual depression that follows, it is simply that
A thought.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 07:03:44 2014 No.5186422 The alarm, it rings. On his eyes, black rings. Out of bed, he springs. Fuck, late again.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 07:06:52 2014 No.5186429 >>5183931 to guide thee shining

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 07:12:09 2014 No.5186445 There once was a newbie on /lit/ Who couldn't write worth a shit He wrote up his lines With terrible rhymes And everyone ignored it

Anonymous Fri Jul 25 16:43:47 2014 No.5188818

reviving bump

There where nobody is listening, real poetry comes forth. When the mind is
alone with the heart, in perfect silence, the sound of their loving
whispers fills the soul. And every day the heart pleads to the mind:

Together always,
and never separated,
will you follow me,
when I hide away?
Or will you leave once again,
to avoid yourself?

The mind keeps quiet and hides its shame, while dawn approaches.

What does /lit/ think?

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 16:46:17 2014 No.5188827 >>5186445 i liked it, good job

Anonymous Fri Jul 25 16:48:18 2014 No.5188838

>>5177189

Race of the 21st Century Prototype Americans

Wandering very far over land and sea
Shooting out, dirty hands stretched
Shuffling leaves off the family tree
Half hearts dreaming of a place or scene
Julie court and a feeling never leaving
Cooked in your convenient company

Strapping with boots locked in your tracks
Milk glass features, soft face always looking east
First try at something I might fail
And I remember that success sweating with eyes
Searching for more of that draining softness
Its been a while since I've touched the grass with my palms
For years I couldn't chew the weeds without
Nature gagging in sight of my brick and mortar extremities
Scrapped products of an old war devoid of politics
Condensing little beads of poison on my drywall
I don't want to sleep any longer than needed
Only take an hour every five awake
Split my days in fours

Learn everything outside of love first
Train in the motions of these promises
I could be thinking about us way too often
Passing my thoughts by, cooling down in foggy air

You would think there is something else going on here
21st century American prototypes with turnkey lives
Losing all shape and tradition, trading it for
Minor flashes of inspiration and western minds
Crushing stone louses with a mallet
Beaten where bruises never show in parted hair
And then you end up wondering why?
I don't like my head being touched
It will stop when things are in their right place
When it comes, maybe it won't feel this bad

Anonymous Fri Jul 25 19:25:39 2014 No.5189538

>>5152948
Wow, bit longing and emotional, lettery (a written letter), but I like it. While you may be trying for some specific effect I find the punctuation to be your problem - also I twiddled with the line breaks, for effect:

>Say, my dearest friend
>You've been the only one
>What do you think of this end
>Am I as majestic as a swan
>I fly free now, can't you see?
>
>I've been a con.
>
>Should I be there beside of thee,
>I'd gladly wrap my arms around you
>Our warmth waving forth and through like the current of a sea
>I'll meet you beside the bayou.
>
>We shall never see each other after this!
>
>Remember that I always loved you for the way you
>embody altru-
>
>I don't know whether it's
>It's better left unsaid that while
>I'm gone and in a new form you'll be in a state of bliss!
>
>You're my sweetest companion in this trial
>No one shows themselves to be such a wondrous
>Piece of art you are my friend, you're far from vile.
(Something need to be done with the above paragraph, I don't like the sound. Ripping out the period may be the cause but it needs to go. Maybe:
>No one shows themselves to be
>such a wondrous piece of art you are
>my friend, you're far from vile.
)
>
>I hope your life is amorous
>I hope your journeys glorious.
(What moot needs to implement here is a red pen tool. Above, I dropped the 'are'. Below, you mean 'Our' right? If not, you lost me.)
>Our journey has been laborious,
>But I will always miss you because there's so
>much more to this!
>
>As I put my pen down, I want you to ponder with your
>chin o'er fist,
>Am I rancorous?
>
>I'll miss you.
>
>Sorry for being cantankerous
>I Hope you miss me too.

Standard disclaimer - I'm hacking at best, no professional advice here. At least you got some sincere feedback and something to ponder.

>>	Fear thee dyslexia city Fri Jul 25 19:34:32 2014 No.5189590 >>5154321 >like discredited creditors What I read, not what you wrote.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 19:41:30 2014 No.5189627 >>5154411 Great, now I'm the center of attention in my display of hilarity. Beautifully flippant, thank you.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 19:49:22 2014 No.5189674 >>5154914 /lit/ has no comment for this?! Holy hell, like. Very like. Thank you.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 20:06:17 2014 No.5189759 >>5156399 I'm not set on how to envision the narrator; but, I'm seeing a single, grizzled, classic Hells Angel droning down the road, pipes spitting flame ... Not the intended image you mean? Vividly fun for me though. Like.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 20:13:28 2014 No.5189789 Phew - I'm out of analysis-fu. This thread mon, this thread is the epic /lit/ needs, so far and few between these days.

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 20:33:38 2014 No.5189856 >>5186445 Best one ITT

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 21:42:13 2014 No.5190114 I am dead the bark whistles bites on my leg tired are souls eyes see no lies two corners stacked houses i retarded

>>	Anonymous Fri Jul 25 22:21:42 2014 No.5190228 >reading poems in this thread >my reaction when >http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOEuY5lWENg

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 01:53:31 2014 No.5191100
File: 590 KB, 1280x966, 1402779893399.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

The ascendancy
of the steel guitar;
these cicada husks,
dust beneath my shoes.
60-cycle hum
harmonizes in
mornings -and for what?
There are no leaves,
dim vast vale of bores.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 02:08:15 2014 No.5191142 A haiku Ha! Grandiloquence! The fool's tool to impress one; As is irony

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 02:24:37 2014 No.5191196

"Look down!" I yelled,
Only before I came to the cliff,
Ogling a herd of lemmings.
"Kill yourselves later! With katanas!"

Doubtably they heard me, because
Only a second after, a (gut drops)
Waterfall begins flowing over Styx,
Never to end this blistering drought.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 02:26:25 2014 No.5191203 >>5189674 well thank you

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 02:33:25 2014 No.5191221 >>5191100 almost good make it less clunky

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 02:48:01 2014 No.5191261 I like all these >>5168144 >>5183281 >>5178041 >>5171588 >>5168834 >>5152400 >>5149876 >>5145321 >>5145314

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 03:01:52 2014 No.5191288

>>5191196
Lemmings don't actually throw themselves off cliffs. That was a fiction perpetrated by an old and unscrupulous Disney nature "documentary".

Also, you have no sense of rhythm, meter, rhyme or wordplay. Also, you convey no emotion.

In short, it sucks.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 04:56:57 2014 No.5191543 No education look inside of these walls esoteric withdraws punishment for your elation this is the station

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 09:19:32 2014 No.5192098

Tell me what happens next
Do I become a man?
Is there a set rules to follow
But I don't have any plans
See I'm afraid
Not of the world
Of what i will do
I'm starting to doubt myself
I don't believe in a truth
I'm told to work like an animal with a smile on my face
Own a family and start a place
I have two options that only I can see
One is a long shot
The other terminates me
I've never been happy
I'm desensitised
Our conversations felt just like lies
Every joy I reach
Is up on the skies
Please tell me it'll all go well
Everyone knows but are too scared to tell

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 09:54:55 2014 No.5192176 Pro tip: Poetry based around darkness or being sad makes everyone think you're a fat goth girl. Write about experiences and specific relatable feelings, dudes. If you're sad, what kind of sad? Fo realz, yo.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 10:01:30 2014 No.5192196 File: 61 KB, 320x214, high-five.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5192176 hahahaah

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 10:16:37 2014 No.5192243 We should really do a best poetry of /lit /page or something. Some of this shit isn't shit...

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 15:43:56 2014 No.5193706 >>5192243 I've been saving some works up and I'm assuming some other anons have been doing the same so I was thinking about making a thread sometime this week.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 15:45:05 2014 No.5193712 >>5191288 D-did you look down?

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 15:48:50 2014 No.5193734

In time I will love her,
Have her kiss me,
When I won’t suspect.
Have her tease me,
In a lighthearted way,
While our clothes are still intact.

By the door she’ll wait,
A dropped suitcase where she stand,
A little smile on her lips,
A great wave in her hand.

Together we will go on inside,
Speak of passionate things,
Fill it with voices and sighs,
Let our faces slowly touch,
Let our faces slowly touch.

But it is just a thought,
One that still comes and goes,
Thought up every other week,
Only for me to know.

I saw a woman the other day, one that I could learn to want
We spoke for awhile, and I knew it couldn’t be enough…

And though this will destroy me,
I will not cry out,
I may shake about my room,
But I refuse to shout.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 15:49:54 2014 No.5193738

Because I am a rich man,
Because I am rich,
Society expects of me,
Society expects,
Evil things.

And so when I take,
And so when,
I threw my glass of Perrier,
I threw my glass,
Into your face,

It was not personal,
It was not,
But rather in short,
But rather,
Impersonal.

If someone else sat there,
If someone else,
I would have splashed them,
I would have,
Done an evil thing.

Now you get to be in a magazine.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:05:52 2014 No.5193812

THE OXTAIL SOUP IS OUT OF THIS WORLD
Oh and it was all the aliens
Sarcastic 'crat on republicans
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT ANY OF THIS IS
Porn before more aliens I guess
And I oughta clean the bathroom soon
FUCK PAPER WHERE THE RGB AT
house arrest is a hell of a thing

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:22:45 2014 No.5193879 Down, on a bank Mudded shoes And whirling dress of yellow Cautious light Touches her like arms of god And lightly cautious

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:26:16 2014 No.5193899 Run down to tesco Grab some food yo She said "hello" I went "hell no" Ran away hot and sweaty Oh no, I forgot my spaghetti

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:28:35 2014 No.5193907 Lens-Flare You said you felt exposed, Outside of the blankets Belly-down with one leg straight And and one angled less than 90, Toning your ass. It was the most naked I'd seen you yet, More naked than naked in a blanket.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:30:38 2014 No.5193917 >>5193899 adding 'yo' to the end of a line for rhyming purposes is the highest form of art

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:32:28 2014 No.5193927

I want to let you know that you are a movie star
I want to let you know that as we were lying in bed last Saturday counting out the night in cigarette butts that I fell in love with your soul
I want to let you know that you are a Nobel laureate
My heart breaks at your earliest convenience
I want to let you know that the way you laugh makes me feel like God is here
I want to let you know that you are the president of the United States
I want to let you know that I am all 12 disciples
But unlike Ted Hughes I don’t know if you didn’t want to be christlike
I want to let you know you are christlike
I want to let you know you are Mamie Van Doren and Jayne Mansfield
I want to let you know you are a bombshell
You are a bombshell like Marilyn Monroe and you can’t wait to blow up
And when you do the world will watch and say “oh I love her”
I want to let you know that we could weaponize your beauty
And if we did the world would pine for war
Trenches filled with smiling men would yell
“here comes the movie star”

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:34:00 2014 No.5193932 >>5193927 brilliant

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:35:28 2014 No.5193940 >>5193932 Man I've had a really shit week and I'm actually crying now. Thank you

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 16:46:31 2014 No.5193995 >>5193927 >>5193932 i also really liked it. you could definitely work on it some more, but as it is now it's already real nice.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 17:23:56 2014 No.5194115

Ded thred?

As I lay on this golden couch a wet
Stain seeps out from my eyes, discoloring
The bright thread to a darker color, yet
The couch minds not my vandal dampening

I asked the stoic chair for simple word;
"How many melancholy have you borne?
The souls, which torn, were henceforth here deferred,
How many of their stains have here been born?"

The air grew cold, and underneath the couch
Felt broken, old as aged and worn antique.
My stain had made the thread to something louche,
And under me a wizened voice did speak:

"I've carried many hundreds here before
And when you are gone I will carry hundreds more."

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 17:32:06 2014 No.5194146
File: 22 KB, 350x466, 10455842_750270958371079_154945809622699181_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

When I came to pick you up
in that tiny airport
It seems that you forgot your high beams on.
Then you called me and called me: it's not true.
even-tempered as a swan, we spent days looking
at each other, and each time you left me a soft shadow
inside , that couldn't stop asking me
"when she'll be with you again?".
No more bells, or doorbells that
explode with a touch, no more.
I imagined plenty of landscapes,
Apuan Alps with you coming over me
and becoming the only landscape for my eyes;
I thought about this while choking on
colored beverages that I drunk in order to be light.
Rivers with unreal 3d-rendered waters,
The sacred mountain of marble
singing songs that sounds like your name:
from Carrara to the Gethsemane.
You may wanted to kiss Stuart Murdoch,
Christian Andersen or Frank Lloyd Wright
instead of me, but you wouldn't know,
because you live among rocks that remind you
of faces, get mad for a dry leaf out of place,
and you wanted me with negligible mass and friction.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 17:38:27 2014 No.5194180 >>5194146 i would like this a lot more if it weren't a poem

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 19:59:26 2014 No.5194737 >>5193706 >>5192243 Good idea. A best poetry of /lit/ thread would be sweet. There's some good stuff in this thread for it. Wish I had saved some myself.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:03:13 2014 No.5194745

>>5194737
Just make it a thread. Even though there's an archive, 4chan is considered an ephemeral discussion board and not a mode of publication. If you compile it on pastebin, editors at magazines will reject poems and short stories as already published.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:07:15 2014 No.5194759

The stairs are covered with carpet so be careful not to bleed

There’s a tiger on my door step
I called animal control but
There’s a tiger on my door step
That’ll be one for the table
It’s
Lying there
Being a tiger
Which is rather scary because
There’s a tiger on my door step
I wish I had a gun
And a bullet
Maybe two
To put it down, to knock it out
To get it off my door step
And it all just goes to show
We’re correcting the mistakes
To answers that are false
To words that are spelled wrong
To questions, incomplete
To numbers that don’t add
And there’s a tiger on my door step
I hope it goes away

I don't usually write poetry, so it's probably rough. Any advice?

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:22:57 2014 No.5194804 The penguin walked with striding steps. An angry man trapped in a vest. His feet flapping, arms abreast, hops on the train back to his nest. R8 subscrible an commnet.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:24:22 2014 No.5194813 >>5194759 I actually really liked it up until you explained it all.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:25:31 2014 No.5194816 >>5194759 I liked it up to >and it all just goes to show

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:30:50 2014 No.5194835 >>5194813 >>5194816 Alright I absolutely fucking agree with both of you. I'll go see what I can do with it.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:34:20 2014 No.5194845

An explosion of white and red,
yellow and blue in all directions.
If only you could see what I say,
if only you could hear what I feel.

The green leaf that glistens under the moon,
shrivels up under the light of the sun.
Snow that lies delicately on pine leaves,
becomes no less pure for touching green.
But the sun turns snow to rain,
and pure becomes impure.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:35:30 2014 No.5194851 >>5194759 im a grill so id know it needs more enjambments

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:39:51 2014 No.5194871 >>5194845 Mawkish teenage dirge.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:40:47 2014 No.5194875 >>5194871 u wot m8? care to explain?

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:44:52 2014 No.5194888
File: 91 KB, 857x960, 1459146_1394728317433782_552038570_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Flags flew that day but none seemed to share a color or similarity

I saw a bucket on the ground
And though it never made a sound
I knew that so much could be done
So why not have some fun?

I picked it up and filled it full
And never found a moment dull
As universes spun around
I’m careful not to run

But power never met with man
And mutually made a friendship plan
As matter pours atop itself
How could I find it fun?

And now I see with evil glee
There was another eye in me
Who knew that so much could be done?
And now it’s time to run

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:46:52 2014 No.5194897

I want to not want
To not want that last slice of pizza
To not want money
To not want to fuck you one last time
To live a life without appetite
To place my emotions in the lost and found
To embrace the calm,
The silence.
To be the atmosphere
That gets lost in space.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:48:34 2014 No.5194905 >>5194875 I didn't like it, there is no flow, and most of it's about as deep as a puddle. It just seems self absorbed and boring. Sorry m8.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:49:27 2014 No.5194914 >>5194905 It is what it is, mang.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 20:49:28 2014 No.5194915 >>5194875 I agree with him, it's mawkish in a teenage way. I'm not sure that it's specific enough to amount to a dirge.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 21:27:38 2014 No.5195079 >>5194897 I can fully empathize with the feeling there and there are some great lines but I feel it needs a little more..something.

Anonymous Sat Jul 26 23:06:52 2014 No.5195414

My dog always barks at the old man with the walkman.
Every night just before sundown this guy just
stumbles along the golf course with his power-walk-jog-limp, and my dog barks.
I don't think he notices, because of the walkman and all
but it makes me wonder what's up with him.
You know how dogs can just sense when something's up with people--like
how their tails go under and their ears go back when
your half-drunk white trash neighbor flicks a cigarette butt on your lawn on the Fourth of July,
or how they'll start to growl when that new Latino family
is driving real slow down your street every other day to get a feel for people's daily schedules
and see whose house would be the easiest to hit--you know what I mean.

My girlfriend says it's torture keep a dog outside,
that all you do is feed it and pet it and watch it shit at dinnertime,
but I don't know. I've never been too fond of inside dogs.
If I'm gonna take care of a territorial little shit, I'd rather
it be territorial outside where it can't tear up my goddamn furniture.

Anyway, every night this old man walks down the concrete path
on the golf course, and my dog runs along the fenceline
and springs up and barks her psychotic fucking head off.
She could probably clear the fence and tear the poor old guy to tenderloins if she wanted to,
but she hasn't yet.

I sometimes wonder if he's some kind of supernatural being, like an
occult priest or devil's hand or something.
Or maybe there's this huge neon astral creature that only dogs can see
following the old guy around, trying to fuck with him before he dies,
and she's just trying to warn him,
but he can't hear her because of the walkman.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 23:13:07 2014 No.5195444 >>5193738 I like this. Interesting structure and clear message.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 23:17:52 2014 No.5195459 >>5192098 holy shit I can relate to this. >Is there a set rules to follow either "is there a set /of/ rules..." or "/are/ there set rules..." otherwise bretty gud. >Own a family and start a place stood out to me.

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 23:31:42 2014 No.5195539 I just killed the thread

>>	Anonymous Sat Jul 26 23:37:59 2014 No.5195570 >>5195539 It was a good thread;it lived well.

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 00:04:02 2014 No.5195652 >>5182272 Beautiful, saved.

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 00:25:15 2014 No.5195732 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnfSoaJxe3Y thread pls

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 02:08:15 2014 No.5196072

When a girl gets a vibrator,
it's seen as a bit of
naughty fun.

BUT
when a guy orders a 240 Volt FuckMaster Pro 5000 blowup latex doll
with
6 speed pulsating pussy,
elasticized anus with non-drip semen collection tray,
together with optional
built in realistic orgasm scream surround sound system,

he's called a
pervert

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 03:03:27 2014 No.5196247 File: 10 KB, 276x356, 120725-brown-hmed-5p.380.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5196072 bretty gud

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 04:04:51 2014 No.5196424

why did i stop telling stories?
Because i so vividly remember my mastery at age four
when forests would emanate from my arms
and entire galaxies would shoot out of my eyes; slowly,
the forests were cut down
and wildfires took the rest
all while my eyes became dull
and jaded
was it because of the mirror?
the one that i bought for myself in middle school.
the one with a crack as big as my questions
the one which I stared endlessly into,
until it became a part of me.
they say it’s ok to look at myself
but now i don’t do much else
i increasingly find myself wishing
to look at others.
and tell them the stories i once knew.

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 05:38:02 2014 No.5196647 >>5196424 gay

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 05:48:27 2014 No.5196664 >>5196647 well i tried

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 07:22:13 2014 No.5196877

Raptorial heads, in frenzied wail,
Inaudible, and inanimate.
Their stillness, a remedy,
Of thick, armorial, tincture.

Wings of sable, spread and burdened,
Under stripes of argent, and gules.
On each pinion, of this apex,
Lay more, fabulous creatures.

Stolid, on its boxwood roost,
Regalia clutched, by a hunter's malice.
Divine restraints, the royal bedlam,
For numerous entities, corralled as one.

A martyr on the breast, worn as a badge.
Wreathed with lavish chain of or, an altruist.
The victim, paraded, another ornament,
Echoed the tragedy, of this collective outfit.

Behind the adlers guise, a blazing chimera,
Its mercurial bonds, proving insufficient.
Of split mind, its own common enemy,
Appeared only cracks, pierced by shafts.

Embers swirled, behind these faults,
Kindling, as the erratic fissures spread.
Shackles of purpure shattering, unleashing-
Conflagration, the facade of majesty, belied.

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 08:11:47 2014 No.5197067

Years of walking hand in hand,
making memories grand and small,
our footprints fade in the sand,
our pictures fall from the wall.
from lover you turned to friend.
my heart no longer hears your call.

Still your hand clings on mine,
And I don't know what to do.
Am I the only one who's of this mind?
Or do you secretly feel it too?

>>	Anonymous Sun Jul 27 09:12:15 2014 No.5197249 File: 31 KB, 744x476, vlc 2014-07-27 15-43-32-36.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] tfw ded thred

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 11:38:56 2014 No.5197771

In the old orchard
we wandered beneath the branches,
heavy with dew, and age,
and we, young in years and spirit
saw the future ripening,
in fragrant blossom
and mellow fruit,
in warm light and grass as green
as our thought.
now in the early winter
the leaves cannot hide
the shadows of the clouds
and the wayward moon
like the face of old death
so small we can hide it
behind a thumbnail
if we can only
raise our hand.

Anonymous Sun Jul 27 14:14:37 2014 No.5198315

my dog is blind from both eyes
and how I wish that she had died young
because there was no way i could have warned her
that the older she got
the more the haze would set in
all-consuming
until she forgot
reality’s doing.
she would begin to accept the haze
as just another part of life.
and ultimately,
fight for it,
pray for it,
fall in love with it.

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/lit/ - Literature