ITT: We critique our poetry. the foul, maddening buzz weighing

I may be new to poetry but this seems mighty juvenile

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>>8314210
the single word -ing lines are not as effective as you think they are
>Oh the benevolent promise of boyhood
this is a weird line, i don't think you need benevolent. lots of cool lines here though

>>8314210
r8 my blank verse

>>8314223

Eh, it might be. I'm also new to poetry. I wrote a piece yesterday in a similar modern-esque style and it was well received so I thought I'd try again today.

>>8314229

You're right on both counts. This does seem to have a clunky pacing after giving it another read over. Thanks.

I enjoyed your poem. Which is saying a lot considering it's written in a style that I'm not particularly fond of. The second segment was far more enjoyable for me, and had much more of the portrait quality that the title refers to. I don't know what you meant by the word 'moses', though. I also got caught up on the word Slinky. I was thrown off. Maybe something like 'coil' would be more palatable to a general audience.

Beautifully, beautifully he rose. His hunched back and crooked teeth could not hide the ten thousand years of noble ancestry that flashed beneath those blue eyes, that shone in fine silver hair, that flapped in the wind, revealing his kingly scalp. The leathered skin opened its mouth, and in a voice that echoed all across the plain like rolling thunder, said

"Come down off your cross, you homo son of a bitch."

A breeze blew through the tattered carpenter's jeans, through the holey hoodie, extending this regal dress to the north east, and his rhetorical opponent crumbled before him. Mightily, mightily he walked away, victorious in all his endeavours.

Gently, gently he presses it. He pushes just enough. A soft boy sighs, then laughs, finally invoking God's name. A smirk is exchanged between the two.

But no love is here. No, the soft boy is incapable of love, beautiful as he is, kind, sweet and gentle as he is, he is passionless. Little excites him outside of his flowcharts. The human element is lost on him. The only thing he appreciates is power. Tonight, he gives power freely out of pity. But it will be gone in the morning. All across this western plain, where worshipers echo sentiments of ancestors, who rest upon the bones of the slain, a truth rings out above all else:

No matter how gently, gently he pushes, his soul is lost forever.

bobs and
nobs and
cobs and
sobs and
robs and
fobs and
lobs and
all I ever know
is to romp;
thank you
everyone
and have
a
good night

>>8314252
Your poem needs refining
But don't think it's a raw diamond, it's subpar and personally bad.
Keep working your craft

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poem I just jotted down

robe went down to her knees
it was silk I think
she was half spanish half native
she said
it made for interesting family reunions

should’ve seen her face when she
found out I spoke spanish
when she found out my great grandparents were immigrants
from mexico
where in mexico she asked

I don’t know
near san miguel I think

her last boyfriend used to tell her
she deserved everything bad
used to grab her by the face
and yell
this is why your dad hit you
this is why your mom left you
she left him eventually
keyed up his car
burned his sweaters

I met her when I was 16 but
now I’m a little older
she’s wearing a silk robe
it goes down to her knees
she graduated when she was 16
her sister is married
she used to draw but now she takes photos

one of them she took at a rodeo
a mulatto cowboy is riding a horse
towing a calf by a rope
behind him
the calf flails in the dirt and
clouds of brown pillow behind it

she’s an insomniac
so I stay up with her some nights
and we talk
she says she’s not sure if love is real
or
if it’s too real
she asks me if I know what she means
I think I do
but I’m also not sure

it’s 2 in the morning
her robe is silk and
down to her knees
she’s telling me the story of llorona
flashlight under her chin for dramatics
like we were little kids
or something

but we are
I think

I tend to drink a lot
and she doesn’t mind
as long as I don’t do anything stupid
and for the most part I don’t
sometimes I get passionate about silly things
but that’s about it

her therapist bought her gifts for her birthday
a sandra cisneros book
a tom waits record
a blanket with poinsettias on it
funny because she hates poinsettias
maybe it’s a joke
between the two of them

robe is down to her knees
and silk
sometimes she cries and I hold her
but if she doesn’t want me to I don’t
she reads next to me
i play with her hair
and fall asleep

sometimes I wake up
and she’s still reading
or watching the wall
or something
I put my arm over her
and kiss her skin
and I go back to sleep
smiling

>>8314264

Salute, bredrin.

>r8 my first poem

the grief of the early riser
is bound to his company ,
who wars with the lonely phantoms of his dreams
who braves the hallows of his fears
which, by your mark
fades into the dusk
like a cloud imposed upon a gaze of stars.
Like the rainy blades of green
and the dewy mists of morning,
how they cloud my sight.
As is the fogginess of dawn.

on a morning so gracious
to bring our connection to mind.
Nudging at my shoulder, pointing to you
adorned
and on display.
Painted with a brush so new and fine.
And the wind carries the scent:
what a warm alarm it is to wake to
and be reminded
that I'm embraced and accompanied
day in and day out

for all its humours,
reacquaintance
has found us furnished at the heart,
burning behind the eyes.
On fire with the same force
that lights the sunrise.
Soothing
like the smell after rainfall
before the heat of the day
has a chance to meet my cheek

how warm it is to see
the thawing of the damp,
smoothening the coarseness
of the early hours
as they burn
torrid
with the same fever
that struck the embers
once glowing
shyly
by our toes

>>8314252
You are a humongous fuck face

>Oh this? Oh I just threw it together

Take your low grade lazy attention seeking shite elsewhere. Never write again until you have something important to tell the world.

>>8314309

Lmao

well heck

>>8314267
>Poem I just jotted down

>>8314297
>First poem

If you're going to excuse your shitty poems before we've even started reading the maybe you should keep them to yourselves.

>>8314318
wh o
the e fuck
cares

u are so dumb like DAWG
so dumb
lmao

>>8314318

Welp, I thought I'd try checking out this board for a change but fuck that, I'm outta here. Peace faggot.

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O fuck thee
Suave naturals the same
I have a great day and I will be in
I have a great day and I am a bit more
The following says thank God I am

The first place and other
Day trip to see you
There then you will have to
Or is it possible

Mourning dove into the annex
I am a bit more
Time for a while and then you will have
Then we can do done some
Then turn it on the other day

We fish the same thing as a result of the time
The only thing I can get the same as the one that is
Not nor the sender immediately by return
Not boy and half four to complete yet by form

- keyboard auto predicting shit

>>8314403
>keyboard auto predicting shit
Is that the name of your poem or was it really your keyboard? Because I like this.

>>8314318
Fuck you

--just jotted down

>>8314327
so butthurt kek

>>8314326
I care, and im not the guy youre responding to. and those people are annoying

>>8314327
dont feel too wounded we are all on the same boat here

>>8314267
1) punctuate
2) stop writing song lyrics
3) think about what you really want to say cause this livejournal stuff doesn't cut it

>>8314210
what the fuck is going on with this rhythm. It's like I'm reading a stroke

I'm the dom, you're all subs,
I'm an oak, you're all shrubs.
So checkity check these dubs.
Just check them, nubs.

>>8314714
/lit/ doesn't think prosody matters

>>8314716
I know this is a joke, but seriously this is the best use of meter in the whole thread so far.

Like seriously, why do people randomly line break and punctuate their poetry in unusual ways? Can't you see how it ruins any modicum of flow your piece had?

>>8314721
using the word "modicum" so cheaply should be disallowed

also
>best use of meter itt so far
>only use of meter itt so far
>also worst use of meter itt so far

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Not in my head right now.
FUCK you.
Sorry. Laugh track.
Dehydrating. Hyperventilating.

I'm sick.

My mind is rotten.
Stomach is not.
Shouting in the night,
makes me slightly perturbed.

Sometimes I wish I had a gun.
Sorry I can't do this, let's try again tomorrow?
The bottles smash lightly.
Where is that dam wind?

This stupid country.

depression feels like being a balloon that's been inflated for so long that almost all the air has seeped out, it's shriveled and doesn't float.

depression feels like someone molested your inner child on their birthday

depression feels like watching your dog hobble towards you after he got hit by a car

depression is a scorched earth policy for your chemical reward system

depression is putting a tight burlap sack over your head so the sun doesn't get in your eyes

depression is like when you're playing videogames with someone and you're getting your ass kicked so much that you also, start killing yourself for fun, jokingly in the game so you feel less pathetic

depression is like being a deaf man at a music concert


idk

OP I've already said what I think. Definitely pay attention to flow.

>>8316047
Doesn't really create the mood of it (I find that to be the most effective mode of communication). Lots of clickes too. Not much of a poem either, just a bunch of sentences.

>>8315208
>makes me slightly perturbed
weird line to put in there

>>8314267
>poem I just jotted down

Not worth putting here if that's true; besides, you won't learn as much as if you posted something refined.

>>8314229
I don't think the formatting adds anything to it. The rhyme in lines 2/3 is jarring.


>>8316081
is me

>>8316344
>clickes
cliches

sonnet in progress

To Frances

They dredged you out from underneath; your breath
Had run away from us. As such, you were
As pale as water; cold and fragile, but
Still trembling. Signs of life still to be lived.

They thought they’d save you; such tears and prayer,
But words can only do so much to dry
Your broken parts. We tried so hard; you were
But one small girl, wrung out.
We tried so hard.

Do you remember? When our mothers held
Firmly in our hands the weight of our youth;
Reminding us to look before we sank.

After all this time, I have not forgot.

(10)
(10)

>>8316047
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWStaRmuXzY&index=7&list=PLsUficC8YQYHwYbkek1Gc1B_x88lLQRtK

This is for you

I realize how knotty and overblown it is, but I'm trying to get at something here that I think is hard to understand. By the way, I am taking for my model here Yeats's 'The Sorrow of Love,' which I think to be a vastly underrated lyric.

The Sorrow of Literature

'...Think.'
--The Waste Land, §II.

Think of the brawling song in which achieves
The milky violence of a poet’s sigh.
In thought we make a harmony through sieves…
And yet the image of ‘milky violence’—Why?

Because the mournful myth of cadence dips
Beyond the living, loving world that leers
In laboring souls and every page that rips;
Is murdered; and becomes domain of fears.

It dips, and now the clamorous Muse achieves
The fully empty heart that cannot sigh.
The sighing leaves are brought fro’ the world in sieves,
Whose sighs compose a simple utterance: Why?

Purple sky
Darker days
Lonely thoughts
Lonesome ways
The wind writes a song
The grass begins to sway
To and fro
A dance of the blades

>>8317105

Did you REALLY feel you needed to post that? Then again I guess it's somehow better than most of the other garbage in this thread. But there is literally nothing original here.

>>8317113
Maybe youll like this one more ?

Smiling

I'll smile until you turn around
Ill Hold a frown until you see me down
No need to worry
I'm doing fine
Or so I'll say
Tounge in cheek
I'm truly doing ok
And so youll look away
As the bottle kisses the sky
That sweet bitter taste
Another drop another sip
Trust me I'm doing fine I truly am
As the cans begin to stack
What's there left to even say
When there's nothing I can mutter
Behind a raspy breath behind a stutter
Keeping the bugs away with the odor
I'm perfectly preserved
Emotions and all
Memories cemented in my mind
Not even the bugs will touch me
Not even the flys will eat me
Or what little left I haven't killed
Another kiss
Another smile
Another frown this lonely day
As I roam the streets
Hidden behind a stutter and a stench
I'll draw you near.
Pair you with death and drink you whole
I'll drink it all

>>8317113
My friend i was merely posting a bit i wrote in hopes maybe i'd receive constructive criticism. I do it solely out of vanity

>>8316047
depression feels like a balloon without a ceiling

depression looks like a child without a childhood

depression feels like a memory I can't touch

redemption is the earth
redemption is the sun
redemption is acceptance of my mortality
embracing
redemption is
feeling
the vibrations

I danced along your streets
At nights,
Staring into your eyes.
You saw my dance and looked away;
You saw me jive down your alleys,
Shuffle thru your tunnels
And moonwalk through your trains.

Why did you not look away
If you could not bear the sight?

>>8316047
Terrible, this is terrible. I can't even think of a way it could be improved.

Coming up beyond belief
On this coronary thief
More than just a leitmotif
More chaotic, no relief
I'll describe the way I feel
Weeping wounds that never heal
Can the savior be for real
Or are you just my seventh seal?
No hesitation, no delay
You come on just like special K
Just like I swallowed half my stash
I never ever want to crash
No hesitation, no delay
You come on just like special K
Now you're back with dope demand
I'm on sinking sand
Gravity
No escaping gravity
Gravity
No escaping... not for free
I fall down... hit the ground
Make a heavy sound
Every time you seem to come around

>>8317828
I read this with rap flow tbqhwy pham

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catch your breath
light a cigarette
count to ten
breathe
the jingling rain
the minaret sounds
its bells again
breathe
across the square
a burning bush
the smoke-filled sky
heaves
with metal birds
and screaming

I'm not sure whether I'm in a position to critique someone's poetry or not. You judge. Thank you.

just smile all the time
and fill your heart with slime.
swallow pride for the sake
of stoicism you refuse to brake.

just laugh at every joke
and fill your heart with smoke.
drag your blanket blindly
and answer every call kindly.

keep justifying your highs
by sharpening them with lies
and shine your teeth till meaningless
that's how you fight loneliness

A forum of idiots, asking one another
to rate their idiocy—

beneath contempt, to be sure, but...
maybe they'll like mine?

>>8318139
xd

>>8317828
Pretty good except you could describe the actions better. Fot example "Make a heavy sound" sounds too dull.

>>8314714
I also can't find the beauty in such styles of poetry, no matter how I try.

the sun sets
and with it my defenses

the night makes me vulnerable
to you

the stars are out
I look up

I can replace each of their names
with a memory of you

and when I piece them together
you become a constellation

>>8321039
and when I piece them together
you become a constipation

>>8318092
you drown your sorrow

This is based off a conversation I had with a friend:

I said I was a raindrop,
My friend had disagreed.
A snowflake is all you’ll ever really be.
Though you are not special
And though you are not interesting
The thoughts that you do wrestle,
Will come to sink your vessel.

I wanted just an answer,
To why I am this way.
Must I be so solemn and must I seem so gay.
The person who I am
Is all I’ll ever be
Writing with my hand,
Baked like a cut of lamb.

I know I am a snowflake,
Like everyone on earth.
Whether you're down or happy and filled with mirth.
Not everyone is kind
And not everyone is evil
But what I am to find,
It’s best to keep this out of mind.

>>8317828
you ever notice how you put a bit of salt on your pork and it tastes way better? then you put a shitload of salt on it and it tastes like you're drinking salt

>>8318139
ha_gay.webm

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>>8321106

Sweaty hair slipping hands
Rope running red running
Hold on baby, Daddy's coming

>>8314210
While I stand in line waiting my turn,
Down the well beaten trail so many have walked before,
I look ahead of me and see those who came before.
They are the men and women of hardship,
Had meals with their neighbors,
Praise respect and manors above all else.
They witnessed great social change though the years,
Fought great wars which shaped our world today,
Meet each other face to face with a sturdy hand shake.
They were beaten by their parents,
Walked to school uphill both ways,
They have yet come accustomed to the ease of life they created.
The last real people.
They approach the end of the line fast,
Leaving everything behind to us,
Passing turmoil and burden unto us.
Though I fear the future,
I know my only option is to keep on walking,
For stopping in line would make many weep.
Scared of what is to come I look that those with me.
The fruit of great acceptance,
We are the children of “equality” and “understanding”,
Yet it will take even more time,
For you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.
We were raised by our TV’s,
Told we could be what we want and who we want.
Some of us will lead,
Some will work to the bone,
Some will be remembered forever,
Some will be trampled in the race trying to gain any lead,
Some will just be content with a simple and comfy life with friends and family.
We are social justice warriors bickering irrelevance,
We work for a brighter future which seems to never come.
We populate the internet,
Always seeing everything yet blind to the world around us.
We are next in line,
Next to take hold,
Next up to the chopping block.
Saddened by this I look to see those behind us.
I see a sea of faces,
Too many for our great mother.
These are the children of media,
Some of them already have technology 100x more powerful than what their grandparents held.
It is up to them to resolve generations of struggle,
Put to rest wars,
Wars of colors,
Wars of gender,
Wars of religion,
Wars of pointless bloodshed and misplaced hate.
No longer are they taught the pen but instead the computer,
No longer struggle and challenge but instead great ease and comfort.
They will come next after us if there is even anything left.
They will inherit responsibilities that even we are not ready for.
With this final thought I wake back up for another year has come,
It’s my turn to step further along the line,
Closer to the end of the line.

First thing I've written in awhile shit ya nay?

>>8315208
I think this is pretty good. Not sure if the "dam wind" is intentional or a typo. The last line also is kind of confusing -- the vibe I got from the rest of the poem was more about the loss of sanity and general mental well-being.

>>8322278
haha fagger

>>8322278
lacks melodic momentum. So it lacks something pretty.

Lacks differentiation to be readable

But maybe this is not supposed to be pretty.

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rate me connoisseurs

picture a ball, ever so small
the growth begins, and does not stop
the fathom of the event is nigh unreachable
whether fate brings us to the end is a question of time
a wandering glimmer - the crystal of hope
stained through time, faded from time
the sweet promise of purpose is what sustains
fortunes abstained, through sacrifice we gleam
a window into the fathomless with which we might deem
an event so monumentous, it cannot be weighted
the scribe of existence, let him be the judge
the stupendous moment reached, the glimmer unfolded
the whiteness blinding, the nothingness enveloping
fade to white

>>8317009
One thing: sieves doesn't actually rhyme with achieves. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/sieve?s=t
I've had the same problem, rhymed avarice with thrice once and couldn't figure out how to change it.

I also wasn't quite sure what was meant by "cadence," either in terms of voice/rhythm or music, and the first stanza's last line could reworked as less redundant/clumsy sounding. "Milky violence" is also somewhat ambiguous, I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Aside from that, I really like this poem. It has a lot of great lines and images, and I definitely get what you mean about the theme being sort of complex, but I think you did a pretty good job conveying it.

wow this board is sodisgusting

you pretentious fucks

>>8322260
Oh that was meant to say 'rope rubbing'

>>8322331
A lot of words saying nothing
Seems to attempt an evocation of grandeur and drama without sounding or describing anything particularly interesting ('the scribe of existence', 'the stupendous moment')

An Etude of Scriabin

It was in the early morning
That I learned of the great sadness
Papa had passed before sunrise that day
He had yet to hear me play as he did in the past
An etude of Scriabin
This was the first time I cried.

"What shall I play?" he cried,
From the piano each morning.
It was the first time I heard Scriabin
A simple prelude filled with sadness
Papa told me he loved it as a child, smiling at the past
Such were the events of Christmas day.

But he cannot hear me today
So at the recital mum cried.
"Papa would have loved it, it's too bad he passed."
I remember feeling sick this morning
And only a moment of sadness.
Perhaps that was the prelude of Scriabin.

I hadn't played much by Scriabin
But I read through some of his etudes today.
So that I may understand his sadness,
I imagined him when he cried,
It was four in the morning,
As he did in the past.

But that feeling passed
And I put away Scriabin
As I did every morning
And got dressed for the day.
Last night I too cried
Thinking of him, overrun with sadness.

Sleep puts away sadness
And conjures times-passed
It forgets I once cried
For papa and Scriabin.
It brings from history a new day,
A new morning.

My art decried for loving Scriabin
Overcome with sadness, what dad said in the past
Had not struck me until to-day, this morning.

Childhoodrats tickling me pink
from my yesteryear's brink.
Relient K, the tower of babble,
spell 'fucking' in a game of scrabble.
Two pence, three hens, hence:
my complete social over-reliance.
Thematically Frankensteinian,
the tree treaty buckles this time again
under its own paperweight
under Pete's pearly gates
and his fermented rice wine
to the tip of the tongue: touched, sublime,
sublingual, subprime
loans/salon.
I can't count my own lawns,
loan or count my discount pawns,
brush the rushed, brisk dusk till dawn
like Mike what you leaning on?
A preachy Cheech and Chong sing-a-long song
called 'The Resonant Resident Gong and Bong
Song.'

Human terminal velocity
is the same as escape:
zero:
Nepotic like
Nero:
vomit like
Heathrow:
villain like
hero.

>>8322331
Although I agree with the first commenter to some extent, I don't think it's without merit––you're at least talking about the right thing. Perhaps find a less direct way to address it by tying these emotions to a concrete image!

>>8322399
Whew, that's quite beautiful honestly. I love the simple language, centering around a concept, playing with time. Gorgeous piece.

>>8322438
I like the end a lot more, rest just seems a little unnecessary IMO. I mean... count my own lawns? sublingual? This works more as hip-hop than pure poetry.

>>8322439
Thank you! It's the first time I've tried writing a Sestina and I found it a lot of fun. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

>>8322439
>>8322444

Okay, now to share something of my own:

The night's rain
Slipping from the tree's fingers;
The river rippling around
The baptism of a gay church singer.

Grass sways; wind quivers.
Glory, hallelujah, lord on high, deliver
This one to the sliver of heaven you save
For the gay church singers.

>>8322453
Of course; happy to comment. You did something enjoyable that I have a hard time doing: you examined a concrete event over a period of time.

>>8322458
If you ever want to talk about poetry feel free to message me. (I can't give away my detail here because they contain my name and I like the anonymity but I would love to discuss it). And I enjoyed your poem quite a bit!

>>8322331
Stop trying! Read it out loud, do you like it?

>>8322467
I'll be here often to talk poetry. No idea how to message people. Sorry.

>>8322476

One more poem before I sleep:

The hair on my head is red,
The rug on the floor is blue;
The blood on the wall is still quite fresh
And I am missing you.

The car is in the garage,
The turkey's in the fridge;
Your arms and legs on either side,
Cold fingers I still kiss.

The kids are in the back yard,
Playing hide and seek;
Your folded clothes are turning hard
With the dried blood's reek.

The children will be hungry soon,
As late as it now is;
A quarter or a half past noon,
How long that sweet last kiss

Cranberry mist meets my lips
your cheeks meet mine by the hips
of rose. I chose your pedals to ride
to see what makes you swiss cheese on the hide:
mountain peaks perilously mountably so and
veni, vidi, visibly on them I came surmountibly plus
lush valleys gush Gloria's glorious gallons of goo down to the estuary
all while my peener like a kid in a confectionary.
I eat cereal for breakfast
and then do redneck shit
squirting blue blood on my night shift
while the through the settled sentiment I sift, sift, drift—
parlor games are dying
and children are crying
and men are prying
and others are lying
while other keep trying
and women keep buying
mutually relying
people still denying
people still denying
the importance of damn near all the things
I don't care if you care for the things I bring.

>>8317009

My mouth definitely curdled at the first 'milky violence'.

It's too self-aware, though I know you're going for this. Pull back a little.

>>8317963

Stupid wooden whale game.

>>8322278
>Manors

>>8322399
I quite like this but feel it has more to give.. description of the music, perhaps

>>8322458
Doesn't move me

>>8323148

Close eyes an drift off. Undulate -
feel the network of waves, the links as limbs.
Ripple and receive the reflection.
Affirmation, information.
Move to be present, excite all eigenstates;
jubilate! Stasis is
not.
Move. You can't help it.
Resonate.
Delight in movement, simplicity of existence,
tendency to being.
The coordinates of nebulous secrets
are encoded in oscillation:
a tsunami through the vacuum.
Is, no reason.
Is.

Reap what you sow
Sow what you reap
The mighty fall
and the dead will seek

>>8314403
best poem in the whole thread ngl

this some legit avant garde shit

>>8322331
>nigh
dropped
not even kidding

>>8322399
how are you gonna throw in day/today, cried/decried, past/passed, yet in a poem about death you're not gonna at least try morning/mourning? too cliche? you too good for that?

>>8314261
Goat

>>8314267
It's not good but it was comfy

>>8314714
read it like g insberg

The twenty thick wood shafts that have been in me
Have made me what I am: a sturdy faggot.

>>8314403
>mourning dove into the annex
I love this

Connection
Connection to host failed
Data not received
Message lost
Call dropped
Sent.
Delivered.
Read.
Online.
is typing…

>>8314318
Why act like a bitch tho?

>>8316047
depression is like getting the shits on your wedding day

depression is like a sobbing circus clown

depression is just another word for nothing left to lose

>>8324246
I thought about it but didn't feel it felt. I wanted to retain the image of morning and what it might signify.

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Counting vertebra
Flying shoulder blades
Snuck out of the skin of corporeal neon

Swept by fumes
From a musky rib
Nails dug into ether, unhinged, unpainful

I am blotched art
On your dreamy palette
In this blue even your vermillion is gone

Paint me tonight
With one color
The others left the door ajar

>>8324392
sent :^)

Here goes nothing

the mockingbirds grieve
'cause they can't make her cry
And they'll soon start to believe
That the lady has died

Oh what it all goes to show
It ain't my job to say
For who am I to know
Why she's actin' this way

Oh once again turn away
If you're sure that it's done
Tell your prophets to pray
Tell your bandits to run

Take your eyelids of stone
They won't do you no harm
And take your cross made of bones
Take your your fly-paper arms

And when everything's placed
In your coffin of gold
Throw a scarf 'round your face
'cause the subway gets cold

Pack up your sunflower smile
And your bandana blues
Take your worthless denials
They're all you've got left to lose

Take your tinkerbell lies
And your weary desires
Take the tears in your eyes
Take your cup full of fire

Ah give your lover a call
If your legs start to fail
And he'll come break your fall
With a bed full of nails

No need to glance back again
There ain't nothin' to see
Just this drunken old man
And this woman and me

And you've made it quite plain
That we're just wastin' time
And you say it seems strange
That I'm staying behind

But don't you worry 'bout me
I can make it alone
'cause I got no place to be
And I ain't far from home

I am susceptible to you;
Darker clouds have passed
And much higher waves stood weathered
But here, in my self, I find you.
In your eyes, like the cold of the morning,
I find you.
No lover am I.
Let men with lips purer than mine
Taste the rose water.
Let them taste what feels made for them,
And let them find they were made for it, too.
No lover am I
But the man at sea
Hoisting a punctured net.

Please be Gentile

>>8326074
This is not a good poem

>>8322505
Really interesting poem, well written. Some menial critiques:

Second stanza's rhyme scheme doesn't fit in, the first is kind of the same with "red" and "fresh". Also, 'is' doesn't rhyme with 'kiss' quite perfectly, which is sort of dissatisfying as it's the concluding rhyme. The rhythm could also be touched up in some places (like "with the dried blood's reek," which could also be rephrased--it makes it sound as if it's the reek or smell that makes them hard). Other than that, nice piece.

>>8326101
Ha, I'm astounded someone actually replied to that. It was a bit of a joke poem (I wrote it right then) and I'm not really a fan of it but I thank you for the notes. I rarely write with a cogent rhyme scheme so it's good to get feedback on it.

Here's another:

What I mean to say (this is the title)

What I mean to say today's
to daze the waking moonlit haze:
it feels like coming rain will raze,
erase this unlit taste we've raised.

Brazen sunlight seeks embrace
of nighttime's pockmarked chalky face,
to face the lines of circled lace,
to tear the web of midnight's grace.

Secrets hidden in dark space
will come to light like flies to taste
the burning meat and brewing haste
of humans chasing dark away

What I mean to say today's
that we're all running in some way.

>>8324323
gay. gayyyy

>>8317828
this is a song

poem i wrote about a large stringy bark tree blowing in the wind, i think it will only ever have any meaning to me but i'll share none the less.

the shawls of an old man dance around his naked body while he shakes his baby rattles to the birds delight

>>8314261

i like this extremely for some reason

i really like that the -obs slide to the left, that can't have been an accident

i rly like this poem

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"Mustard"

There's a steep sedge,
from ground to the sky.
Two and two and two were on their way,
in their hands, bucket of mustard.
Before I could tell them anything,
I'm dying,
covered in mustard.

Poem !

Pale in December: my eyes crawled like
maggots through your flesh and feathers

I can't taste my words, but I can see your breath. Watch it dissipate as my gaze meets your chest and I digress.

I like your sweater. If you took it off I might like you better.

The sounds come out in such an awful mess.

Poem @

My mood takes a dive while the moon hangs above the below.

My beloved lays in bed as an ugly summer breeze breaths against the panes of her dusty window.

I'm awake with open eyes, a beating hear, a flickering soul, drowning in my thoughts like an untended toddler in a pool.

She's asleep, in a dream. She's a peace, in a world free from me. If I don't exist for her then I won't exist by spring.

I'm a faggot.

>>8326473
>>8326082
>>8322438
I liked these. Wish I could say more, but I can't.

>>8314403
I did this for a final project in a media poetics class once, where I mashed my iPhone keyboard suggested words and then made a presentation on the relationship between machine/person and how that effects poetics.
I was a freshman.
But I really like this.

>>8318092
can someone critique this, please?
i find it hard to improve when i got no directions.
thanks

>>8327500
read your last stanza aloud and then readjust the meter pls

>>8327500
read your last stanza aloud and then adjust the meter

I fuck a trap in the ass
It was very nice
Thank you everyone goodnight

>>8327531
Way better than what these pretentious fedora tippers write

>>8327577
>Way better than what these <buzzword> <stale meme> write
Restrict your Internet use and improve your life.

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>>8327998
I kissed my lady by a moonshine,
cherry blossom flowers fell to her knees.
I unsheathed my sword,
through the stomach I rest my blade.

WEW FUCKING BRILLIANT EVERYBODY LOOK AIN'T THAT SOMETHING

I can't stand the shit you write.
I wrote it under a minute while thinking about what sort of a fedora tipping jerk-off would write about

lrn2poetry faggot

>>8328063
>I can't stand the shit you write.
I haven't posted an example of my writing in this thread, nor am I defending subpar poems. That's irrelevant, though.
I was criticizing your ironic lack of creativity in slagging off other people's lack of creativity.
>fedora tipping jerk-off
>lrn2poetry faggot
^Thanks for driving my point home. You seem like someone who wandered onto this board from /b/ and thinks he has something to prove.

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>>8328088
Very intellectual sir! Very good point indeed! I tip my hat, not fedora, to you!

>>8316047
do not post in another critique thread for atleast 6 months

One, two, three, four, five
I take a sip from my coffee
What time is it?
Seven-thirty
I look at my hand
Stepping off the bus
There may still be time
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
Wish the receptionist a good morning
Sit down, relieved
I look at my other hand
The computer starts up – time to get to work
I yawn and long for lunch
Some more coffee might help
I count
Get some water from the cooler
Finally done with the report
Let's take a break
I look at my hand
Shit, gotta run
If I don't get those golf shoes, who knows what will happen?
My grandmother wants to go to Brazil
One, two, three, four, five, six
Really?
I look at my other hand
This makes no sense
Now, I am in control
I fly so high and so fast
A woman
We make love
I wake up
Fuck, it's lunchtime

>>8328591
Make it longer because OCD is not a short-lived experience. More repetition. Más loco, amigo.

For me, the past, my unlived times
have beauty, or something, I can't describe
even knowing our horror was then too present
I like the ideas the years represent.

An autist is dying, he's killing himself:
Our hand a cause, perhaps, maybe
His corpse, his mom, these both slowly wither
And still I sit, my stomach just wretched

a SLAM poem entitled "WHITE MALE aaaaaaaaaaaaa"

gay nigger faggot fuck your political correct language sorry for my white trash habits (?) i did not grow up very lavish it's tragic the world is a game of inches and my dick is flaccid, life pulling me down like gravity so i gotta use this mental alchemy and restore my sanity and stop my stagnancy because it's a travesty palpably of happily living passively ; i am full of this apathy for my self imposed chasity i might never seen the anatomy of a female named Natalie to liberate my sexuality or experience the 'irrationalities" of the female personality who do not fit into my views of morality and nationality but instead embraces the liberality milky way galaxy and believes in universality,total depravity and destruction of the nuclear family, lowering the infant morality and the disestablishment of the legality of military academies and understandably we have different congeniality maybe we should stop lacanian fantsies because it restuls in agony and subsists of fallacies but at least we have the same tastes of musicality maybe we both needs to understand our inner humanity and get feel the vivacity of childhood triviality and ignore our realities and dine casually voracity in good hospitality affably with amity and ignore the circumstanality of our own vanity and unilaterally accept we are one family who should live happily and in solidarity but i guess my rhyming is blasphemy and i should focus on my own audacity and not dis-concern practicality and accept duality of life and release my ideas have no tangency and feel more callously and stop questioning real life like bohemian rhapsody.

Far off, the sunset's clouds crowd.
Fair, frigid, the Milky Way is still:
I face my jaden platter.
What's good in life,
As the night, ends too soon:
Where will I find tomorrow's luminous moon?

my first villanelle. I doubt I'll ever do this again.

The Night Watch
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Eternal cold envelops broken ships.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

My gun is hanging heavy, carelessly,
Unlike the belt that binds disjointed hips.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.

Assigned to elevator one of three.
I pass the time caressing pistol grip.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

A loud, destructive pounding pesters me.
Absorbed by foam with bright accented tips.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.

Aware that every second moves slowly.
Awake, but fading; eyes about to slip.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

Atlantic sun develops eagerly.
Disarm, debrief, surrender every clip.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

>Mountain Pass
A shroud of darkness covers Yamato,
But these mountains come alive at night.
We rendezvous at the convenient store;
Our tires scream and engines roar.

We’re a midnight pack of pedal pushers,
Howling under the astral sphere.
Forcing glowing needles into crimson
And blowing ghosts on ancient streets.

I’ll never forget those summer nights,
The rumble of exhausts and neon lights.
Those mountain passes capped in mist,
A sight none of us could ever resist.

>>8318092
>just smile all the time
open to accusations that you plagiarized it from a Wilco song

>>8314403
Objective best itt

>>8328860
I think it's good enough, but I don't like that you specifically referred to Yamato and I don't like the aura your world choice evokes. Specifically things like tires scream, engines roar, pedal pushers, rumble of exhaust. I suppose it is very evocative, however, just not imagery I personally would want evoked. Again, let me reiterate, it's perfectly decent.

>>8328852
Same thing really. I think the structure is good, but perhaps it's too plain in it's descriptions. Nothing I have to think about for awhile to get. Of course, there isn't inherently anything wrong with that.

>>8328831
I like this, but the only thing I can put into words is I like that it begins with the sunset and ends with the moon.

I don't know much about poetry, so don't put much, if any, weight into my critique. I am only hoping that analyzing the poetry of others will help me to better analyze my own.

>>8314210
I seen your girl post her BM
I see your girl post her BMW
So I hit her in her DM
All eyes, yeah I see ’em
Yeah, that's your man? I'd hate to be him (whoop)
It goes down in the DM (it go down)
It go down in the DM (it go down, it go...down)
It goes down in the DM (it go down)
It go down in the DM (it go down, it go... down)

>>8329401
You didn't write this.

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>>8329345
thanks dude. Mountain Pass was something I literally wrote in 20 minutes just free versing my way through it. I've revised it about 4 times and I like where it's at, but I'm not in love with it. I chose to specifically say "Yamato" to give the reader an instant geographical idea of where the poem is at, but I know it comes off plain. As for "the night watch," it was hard for me to right that iambic pentameter structure. I would love to invoke more thought and feeling, but I became frustrated with that structure because so many words I would use wouldn't fit my meter. Thanks for the feedback.

>>8328831
Sunset's clouding crowds
The milky way inert
My jade platter stares
as night ends too soon
Where is the next moon?

Title: Toem

Red belly you are holy to me

Carved by holy shamans who are possessed with spirits

Wings spread and beak protruding

The paint from the ground staining your eyes

We look up and you are manifest

A cloud passes over you but you are holy

Imbued with the wild beasts

Pounding on beaten drums we sing your song

You can't rot you are holy to me

It's everything I cannot know
what has me suffering of late
But what I do not know
Is far from here, and very far from fate
I am alone and in a doorway
City sounds keep me awake
And it's in dreams where I will meet me
Young again and without hate
For my waking life is aching
And this life is hard to take
There's every thing I cannot know
and every night I lie awake
In the bed my mother built me
In a body built to break

~

I know it's not very good. Woke up in the middle of the night and wrote it. I like rhyming too much.

>>8329509
>shiieet knowa. luckily knowa rhymes with knowa or this poetry shit be hard

>>8328978
I'd call it inspiration

let's try this again without the typos

birthday-
today I washed my hair
and only lost a few
of all the time I ever spent
the best was spent with you

today I wore a t shirt
the same as yesterday
the t shirts I once wore before:
I wish that they could stay

today I brushed my teeth
but other days I didn't
just because it is not yet
doesn't mean it isn't

today I ventured down the steps
exact descent plateauing
"the path clears out ahead" I think
but never really knowing

today I drank a glass of water
the taste was slightly sweet
to taste the taste one craves the most one must simply eat

today I swatted at a fly
that buzzed in my right ear
some sounds which crowd my cochlea
have filled me up with fear

today I turned the tv on
the volume was too high
in Summer's past on hills of grass
my mouth was always dry

today I made a plate of eggs
like Gordon Ramsay taught me
a night spent laughing on the couch;
in the morning there was coffee

today I walked outside the door
and got some morning air
some doors have closed which yet may open
but I cannot say where

today I wrote some words on paper
but they'll never see print
when looking back on years that pass
I cannot help but squint

>>8318092
I don't believe this is genuine.

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>>8314210
Lunchbreak:
Trapped between deafening failure and mere mediocrity
He wrote an insufficient poem

>>8329589
Can you be more specific?

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I have five fingers,
the middle one's for you

There used to be a guy who only really posted about poetry and would sometimes mass critique these threads, he always posted flowers. Does he still come here? Anyone remember who I'm talking about?

>>8329823
Faggy McFaggerson? I heard he hanged himself.

the drunk was always accompanied by the sorrow.
but it was this beer, this one that sent me to your house.
i waited for your red hair to rear its ugly head.
i sat drooping, i sat caught in this mess.
your friend appeared in a white truck.
your voice changing to satisfy him.
i held my own, tried to leave.
you grabbed my hand knowing that i couldn't return.
now i'm waiting, wondering for your return.

now i sit by open stairwells
crying with disconnect,
never knowing when.
where are the photographs that show my distant future.
this life. like a dry heat keeps me stunted, keeps me down.
if only the pleasures could show the way,
again i wait for the forgetful pain.
your blood leaves an open vain.
I grasp at straws where none are found.
your empty love leaves me at a lost,
like a soldier without his cross.

>>8314403
I don't have the best way
the only one that is not a bad thing
I'm not going anywhere
the first half of the day
the fact is
I'm not a part of the day

after all this talk about it
and you can be used for this
I'm so excited
not sure what I was
but it was the best of the best

keep your eyes on the phone
it would be known
when people say they don't know
I love it and it will be better
dark skin girls are so cute
I'm not sure how much you love me
I'm not sure if you want me
I just want to see you

autofilled

A world charred before ebbing bleaker;
Remnant of it's former glory.
A mystery unfit to have a seeker
For soot and dust can tell no story.

>>8331281
too cynical

I woke up early
this afternoon
sprinklers going off
and remembered the job interview I missed
not wanting to get up to piss
or wet my dried lips with water
so I sip my nightstand's flat beer
and bowl of Cheerio's
I try to go back to sleep
but my bladder nags me again
and so I go piss
and wet my lips
with fluoridated liquid
because I just wish
a meteor or something
would come and end (my)
existence because I'm too
lazy.

>>8314229

stanzas 3-4 are much better than 1-2

The lonely queen sits there playing dice
You're all ok, but they should say the price
And nothing in the world can touch you anymore
You only see those pretty pictures of the shore

Well, I think baby shouldn't be so harsh
The only thing that matters in the world is cash
If I'll buy you, you'll live life happily
Why hesitate? I only want to make you free

The hardest choice weighs heavily on you
You wanna money and you wanna freedom too
But at the end our needs they always win
You're so unsure, but you are giving in

>>8314210
>>8314256
>>8314261
>>8314267
>>8314297
>>8315208
>>8316047
>>8317105
>>8317135
>>8317803
>>8317963
>>8318092
>>8318139
>>8322260
>>8322278
>>8322331
>>8322399
>>8322438
>>8322505
>>8322547
>>8323159
>>8323484
>>8324392

these are garbage

>>8325782
>>8326074
>>8326082
>>8326473
>>8327203
>>8328063
>>8328591
>>8328714
>>8328769
>>8328831
>>8328852
>>8328860
>>8329401
>>8329475
>>8329497
>>8329509
>>8329582
>>8329607
>>8329669
>>8329845
>>8329860
>>8330717
>>8331281
>>8331396
>>8331697
these are even worse garbage

CAPITAL IDEA MY GOOD LAD,
CAPITAL INDEED—

What is our relation to language:
letters, words, phrases, all arranged
order specific in a to us allowing them under
—stand

alone

in the heaving hoeing ebony tower known as
M
A
N
D
I
N
GO.

Typeface: a typical countenance:
an allusion to post-structuralism:
POST NO BILLS, or other signage
like stencil saying, "NOT ART"
which can be seen so prevalently in Cambridge
(US of A not UK).
Digested derangedly like shrimps on the Barbie.
Mangled mellifluously like the cellar door.
Written wryly like War is Peace.
Written timely like War and Peace.
Left lapidary like Rest in Peace.
Trademarked terrifically like "...not in pieces."
If you think this is undercooked
then ask Sylvia Plath, because
It's Toasted™

NLP ≠ P = NP
NLP = Neo-linguistic Persons

(of which I am eon.)

>>8331790
>>8331801

And I thought I felt worthless.

>>8331811

Dude, why?

Death of the Noun

I-ing began sitting at the chairing
at the tabling when dinnering
began beginning.
The peopling sitting in front of me-ing
started speaking of worlding affairings.
The situationing surround Benghazing,
electioning, candidating, waring, dying.
How can thingings be so long and terrible?
I-ing cannot for the time being know.
So I-ing will not try. I-ing will wait to die.

>>8331825
because I thought it was a CAPITAL IDEA MY GOOD LAD, CAPITAL IDEA.

anyway, like, why does, like, anyone do anything at all, like, y'know?

Butt in all seriousness: because I wanted to express myself. You didn't like the end bit at least? Methought that had some merry merit.

>>8331811
very Ezra Pound-esque.

just kidding, you suck balls

>>8331822
if you wrote one of those poems, you are worthless

>>8333882
So, just like everyone else. Nice!

What is toast?
What is the meaning of life?
Is toast not just burnt bread?
Is life not just burnt death?

Codeine, caffeine, acetaminophen
flat soda cans for mouthwash
in the tuna can they hide him—
did you know the CIA and Al-Qaeda made God?
It’s true the old woman says
the psyche ward window
the so-called sterility of curtains.

Do you know what fear is, doctor?
We never said, not even once
For him, not him
do not mothball my father

antipsychotics, backing his car on the lawn
staggering in with a tomahawk in his hand

2 days ago:
60 milligrams, twice a day / as needed
60 tablets, zero refills
may cause drowsiness
do not mix with alcohol
tombstones in a cylinder.

Shrimp and garlic salt for dinner
at least 4 inches of it, the baking sheet a winter’s sidewalk
inedible, hard as rock and cold.
Watched him drop bread on his plate three times
had to laugh. Guilty.

Today:
three little bones in an orange bottle
we stopped watching and now there’s no bones
he’s jelly when he walks.
Snoring springtime when he shook off snow
and told me to get some white ice cream
came back and he’d armadilloed himself on the couch,
snoring, holding the Indian axe to his chest.

Debated calling
he pissed himself and passed out
told me, son, don’t take a man’s man card away
don’t tell him how to live his life
don’t ever hide my tomahawk again

>>8334057
how are you liking infinite jest?

>>8335249
I've never read it, honest.

>>8333882
>implying everything is not inherently worthless
worth is a spook.

My love is Carmen, I simulate
A rosy cheek at winter m-
night?
Was I a child once?

VHS on dawn of hues o-
yellow?

“I love you!”
My line was m-
was written on a clay bowl?

My love is Carmen, I simulate
I breath while stepping backwards
I cannot say I love you

I sing while dreaming of my work
Barrels, Jars, the scent of h-
Chestnut trees?

My love is Carmen, she feels nothing
I break a fragment but then to feel
The glass is made of soft dirt

I know the smell of dirt, I think
When roots have overgrown the Earth
And Mandrake tangle drinks the Sea
The copper vines will crawl to Sky

Only the tip ever knows
Whose king is the head
Your ass keeps pretty in salt.
The ghost is practical
And still under learns.

The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died to cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

In summer when I passed the place,
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was signing in it sweet and swift.

No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And this was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.

From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.

A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.

Scatological amphibians
Pale men feeling so grim
Bears brought to life with minds so dim
And negroids who once were kings
O tempora o mores

>>8337592
I've deliberately ignored all the free verse in this thread in order to devote my attentions to the one or two poems that I can comprehend well enough to criticize.

I hope you do not give up on the idea of meter or of rhyme, and that you continue to practice putting words together in neat and tidy rows of counted syllables with matching ends.

That said, I was very embarrassed by your poem. I don't understand most of your metaphors; there is nothing easy or natural about them. You have a bad habit of saying "the place" without having told me what place, or "in it" without having specified an "it". It took me two readings to figure out what you meant by "gilt to gold that wouldn't show" and now I'm left wondering what the point of it is. Yes, the visual effect of snow on snow will perhaps not "show" and yet it seems a waste of two lines to say so.

Your poem feels overall very trifling and uninspired and I hope you shall find a way to make poetry out of real and startling apprehensions (such as we all have and all of us wish we could get into our poems)

Sobriety

When I take too many caffeine pills, I feel like crying.
It is terrifying how good something so small can make me feel.

>>8337592
Pretty good

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>>8314210
If I was to tell you,
that all I want is fame
you'd call me mad
you'd call me sad
but you just lost the game.

Tonite all is well... What a
terrible future. I am twenty-three,
year of the iron birthday,
gate of darkness. I am ill,
I have become physically and
spiritually impotent in my madness this month.
I suddenly realized that my head
is severed from my body;
I realized it a few nights ago
by myself,
lying sleepless on the couch.

>>8337623

keep going with this, it could be interesting. lines like 'what a terrible future' and 'i suddenly realized that my head is severed from my body' were melodramatic and weren't working for me but lines like 'I am twenty-three, year of the iron birthday' and 'I am ill' were interesting and you should keep going with those threads.

I've learnt this from all the platitudes
I happened to overhear -
No one who speaks well of solitude
Has ever had to live there

>>8337622
And what, sir, if I said
That no-one plays "The Game"?
It's over and dead
And put to bed;
We all thought it was lame.

>>8337640
I've heard the cant of many men,
And all their sayings have shown it:
That solitude's a merry thing
To men who've never known it.

Dark blue that thickest oil paint and froth
That does not stain my fingers but marks my mind
And engulfs all peninsular wanderings of leg to sea
How at last the rising sun did make you glow,
That I, that I, Isaiah spoke of!
'Twas me the ancient lore did prophecy!

New Rome, of MP5s and gaveling, sin spitting beast now calleth Me to bended knee!
What head is called to silver plate before Me?
I read the Scripture in the Sunday Times

I see Fire in the Seventh Seal but cannot speak
Of burning to My Four and Twenty children

Jerusalem under sand of time
Waco gleams amid darkest brine

The birds, they're going south again,
And with them go the happy men.
They'll come back when the snow's a-gone,
And laugh to hear how we got on.

Heavy head full of noise
whispers gathering at the door
«old man hope no more»,
said the low rusting voice.

Growling madly comes the wolf
fear follows and bestows
upon his eyes sights of foes
his thoughts shadows engulf.

If moths had eyes
would they be happier?
How do they know
they're not dead?
Cavemen hunting for food
but not before
they style the hair
on their head
What would last longer
in dinosaur times?
A blind man
didn't stand a chance.
Not with all them rocks about.
I'd rather be
a blind moth.

Bumpo post more shitty pretentious poetry

>>8314210
Sigmund O valient Sigmund
send me your wit
for I live in a world of dope as shit nigga

aw yah

>>8314252
Stanza four is one of the best things I've ever written.

Hola, /lit/, I'm a music student that's beginning to pick up bits of composition, but poetry is a bit of a stumbling block for me. I've never had a good sense of it; I (usually) understand the content, but can't perform scansion to save my life.

Are there any resources that might help me learn? Google fu has yielded nothing thus far.

>>8329509
get off /pol, faggot

I live within this basket-weaving dream;
a life of spinning looms, to thread the seam
of present, past, and future, joined in threes,
midway between these twin eternities;
to suture here this flowing present-tense,
into some sort of semblance, making sense
of all of this, of life thus far I’ve seen—
and what are we, but moments in between?

The time it takes a flower to unfold,
we find ourselves already growing old;
as life were but a flutter flouting death,
the breadth of time in pause between a breath;
as life were but the flicker of a flame,
a light extinguished quickly as it came;
the candle-light of life, the time it takes;
the waver of a wave before it breaks.
Between our fingers sift what time is left,
when suddenly in death our life is reft.

>>8339786
get the stephen fry book "the ode less travelled" it's really fucken accessible and goes over everything yew need to know even though the tone is annoying and smug

>>8339786
give me an example of a poem you're having trouble scanning and I'll see if I can help

I loved so much to never to love again
But it makes no difference
So many things resulted in nothing.

And I feel like a machine
An ordinary blue machinery
Without repair
I just wanted to miss to never miss again.

THANKSGIVING

Every thanksgiving,
My family gets smaller.
Gone to college.
Gone traveling.
Gone to Florida.
Gone to see the Lord.

Funerals are how
I visit the Lord. God is drawn to eulogies.
He’s a cliche,
like a great aunt in black veil
weeping into a floral
handkerchief.

Today, at this funeral,
a thin layer of ice
freezes the ground.
My black dress shoes
crunch ridged footprints into the
top layer of snow.

Every funeral is always cold. I shiver in my dress
shirt and peacoat;
Hands in pockets, I hunch forward,
watching my breath hit the winter wind – an evaporated sadness,
like God.

Thanksgiving. The gravy boat
on the counter
lets off hot, thin steam. While pouring it thick
on my potatoes,
a shadow dances in the dark corner of the dining room.

The days after a funeral are
filled with a confused, hopeful mysticism. Every moving shadow,
every unexplained noise
is a visitation.

I jerk my to head the corner of the room. Nothing.
Glancing back at the table,
I look at his empty seat, reminded

that I shared his name.
I have the same smile; slim, stretching,
no exposed teeth.

I drink like he drank when he was
my age,
days, nights at a time,
stumbling home from dark pubs,
watching, with blurred vision,
my whisky breath hit the winter wind,
and evaporate, almost as fast as God.

After the turkey and the pie and the coffee,
I go down to the basement, alone.
A broken ceiling lamp sputters light.
I hear footsteps tapping upstairs.

I pour myself a stiff
rum and coke.

>>8337649
Seems pretty good, but I'd shorten the third line, it seems long and upsets the flow at least imo.
>>8339855
You should write lyrics desu
>>8341328
This is pretty well written, but I feel as thought "god" is way to repetitive.
-------

Scream down the minarets of my newly locked ears
Exeunt to the shelf and remain
Not upon the tile wreathed in gold
Hush and close your voice
Its time is no longer
Weep into glass bottles and return to the sand
Rebirth from water is a tired symbol
Simply keep yours buried deep
Your style has never been so pompous
As to demand a return.

Arbitrary sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting rays on the carpet.
Arbitrarily standing there with your keys in your hand after your plans get canceled.
Where the tree arbitrarily decides to grow.
The way sunglasses lie on the table after you've returned from your trip - not in their place and not in use - just lying there arbitrarily.
The word that rhymes or aliterates in your poem arbitrarily.
Nothing happens here for a reason or to betray an emotion.
None of this arose by design.
No concept orchestrated this - not even the concept of arbitrariness.
It doesn't relate to anyone or anything.
It didn't get written on a page by an author - you just leafed to it by mistake.
It means nothing.

Man, poetry is like posting in FYAD, you either get it or you GET OUT

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untitled

>>8314210
Sleep eluded me
Or rather, I eluded sleep
Sitting up with a bottle of bourbon
And a revolver trained on the door

I heard the clock strike once
And then a second time
And then a third
And then everything was silent

Whether by sin I committed
Or by proscribed knowledge I gained
The agents of lunacy tracked me
To drink from my moonstruck skull

I heard a knock on the door
And then a second time
And then a third
And then everything was silent

The light from under the door vanished
As a shadow crept towards me
Like a mass of skittering black insects
Crawling along the floor

I heard them call my name
And then a second time
And then a third
And then everything was silent

I resolved I wouldn't let them take me
Fearing that even more than hell
So I loaded a single round into my revolver
And pressed it against my head

I heard the revolver click
And then a second time
And then a third

>>8314210
thred

>>8314210
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking
for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking
in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating
across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw
Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs
illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the
scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing
obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their
money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through
the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo
with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise
Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and
cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in
the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,
illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns,
wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of
teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon
and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind

>>8342656

nice 1 anon

This isn't poetry, but I'm too drunk to find another thread

I have no future, and am loathe to admit a past. I am but an eternal present with a repertoire of mistakes attributable to me.
I have become alcoholism. I allow myself to be consumed by it. When I’m sober, I hate the person I was. I can’t stand to look over my past correspondences. But somehow, like is easier when you’re able to forget.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to forget everything. Why was my father so mean to me? To his credit, I think he really tried. They both did. But they failed.
I was adopted. Both of my younger siblings turned out fine. I’d like to blame everything on genetics. My birth mother called me on my birthday, but I didn’t answer. She didn’t leave a message. My father once said something ominous about her. He didn’t trust her intentions. I can’t help but wonder if she has the same personality disorder that I do.

It's just random scribblings. I should probably tell this to a therapist rather than /lit/.

>>8342656
ginsberg get out

>>8341447
thanks for attaching a shitty poem to your critique so i know not to take your 'advice' seriously

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I did my best to translate it from Finnish. The original one is obviously better, but I have to say I'm quite pleased with the result, as it came very close to the original poem and even rhymes. I got the inspiration for this poem when I was laying in bed at night and heard a strange beep in my ear. For some reason it provoked a thought of a hive minded mushroom people trying to contact me. And no, I don't eat psychedelic mushrooms or take any other kind of drugs.


The Contact

I remember vividly that night
when after day's work this wight
laid down, and just before I slept,
to my Lord a quick prayer I said
However, soon again I was awake
The wall of sleep crumbled, began to brake
I received a exo-galactic contact in a foreign tongue
It was a species with a hive mind that had rung

Karlyaäch was their strange, peculiar name
Brain pulsar transmitter through what the contact had came
Their bodies are many, but one is their mind
Philosophy and meditation are their language most enshrined
We spoke of beauty and practiced metaphysics
Delved in all the the deep secrets, we created suberb lyrics
Taking turns we both educated one another
A man and a mushroom - such miracle I will never again discover

We discussed all the way 'till daybreak
until the night treacherously us forsake
The great cosmic lamp crept to shine upon the sky
Karlyaäch had to cut the connection and say good-bye
I remember vividly that night
when after day's work this wight
got to break bread of wisdom with a faraway friend
I found an unorthodox truth nothing can bend

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>>8331862
pls no

>>8333782
it was fairly amusing, I'll give you that.

>>8337623
I like what you have there, keep going

>>8341596
you made the word "arbitrary" lose all meaning. I think you could relate arbitrariness in a less straightforward manner, but then again that's just my own arbitrary point of view. Only arbitrary as much as the universe is, and then within the system my view is hardly arbitrary at all..

>>8341693
This is pretty well done

>>8342656
good

>>8343296
The flow is all off

---

http://pastebin.com/GZK7MNVk

>>8343399
jesus that was terrible. you have no right to critique others

>>8343675
I don't understand.. I got no negativity when I started writing, but now.. wtf happened? I don't get it. Can you give me something more constructive?

>>8343675
also at least I go to some kind of effort to comment on others' work, unlike most people here

My dog is soft a-sleeping,
A-sleeping on the floor,
While I'm so quiet a-weeping,
Weeping for Eleanor!

She left me late last even,
Last even in thick o' night,
None knew that she was leaving,
Leaving her poor old wight!

Now I am soft a-crying,
That I shall love no more,
But my mutt's so blissful lying,
Lying on the cold hard floor!

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What’s good cracka? This some real shit
Nigga playin’ rough, nigga gonna’ get hit.
Smash your fuckin’ skull with a brick
If you bein a goddamn prick.

(NIGGGAAAAA)

Nigga! That’s no fuckin name for me
Nigga cops gonna see
How they bleed
When I hit em
And break their bones, victim
That’s what them niggas be
Them nigga cops gonna see

All American racist, KKK
It’s rough being black, kinda like you’re gay
I hate fags and I hate whites too
But I love it when I drop em two
Times then grab my bitch
Go home, wait, better get this snitch

And if cops have the audacity
To beat on my black family
Then those fags gon spray
From the shots out my AK

Faggot white kid
Wearing tight clothes
Skateboard skid
And so do his bones

Get his white girl to suck my dick
‘Fore the heroin she tryin to kick
Kills her and I’m jumpin
Home for T.V. huntin
Watch some Seinfeld
And take all the drugs that the cops smelled

I got this sick ass jacket
Ain’t talkin to me
Your mother’s head is in a basket
No eyes, doesn’t see

>>8343992
THIS SHIT IS SO LIT SENPAI

>>8343767

Competant technically in terms of meter and rhyme, but all the archaic diction is annoying.

"A-sleeping?" "a-weeping?" Ugh. . .

>>8344080
thanks desu

>>8314267

Not poetry. Did not finish. Did not catch my attention.

>>8321039

First decent poem I've read in this thread. Working through the whole thing right now in the hopes someone will critique mine, but I know you fucks won't bother.

I like how you have the once-remove of replacing the names of stars with memories, rather than the stars themselves.

>>8321166

I can't get into this, sorry. The central metaphor is already hackneyed, meme or not.

As I light the marijuana,
I hear shouting across the street.
Women's voices shrill and full of heat.
Their patois patter:
machine gun bullets
in the afternoon's swelter.

The same phrases,
over and over
"You are a xenophobe."

I am a xenophobe.
The coincidence nightshade
in the mouth of a toddler.

My neighbors undo
the neighborly.

I sit alone, tired,
feeling like the smoke
disappearing into the air.

>>8344266
>As I light the marijuana

I stopped reading.

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I wrote this sonnet this week. I will first post an English translation, and then the original in Portuguese.

Some faces of love

Love: pollen that the rose of the heart creates;
The wheat of friendship forged in carnal bread;
Virus that inflames the soul in honey; the milk of joy;
A tempest in which the thunders have teeth of satin;

A sun that solves icebergs and warms the chest; a narcotic harp;
Human carbon harmonized in diamond;
Drunkenness of ambrosia and cirrhotic corrosion;
Flesh and blood hosting a god as an inhabitant;

Emptiness in the me, in the us infinity; ocean
That submerges in ocean; fruit and thorn;
The coma of reason; desire made tyrant;

The heavens when in the human clay they make their nest;
The oxygen of spirit; the road of roads;
Tender whispers under sheets on the cold nights.

Algumas faces do amor

Amor: pólen que a rosa do coração cria;
O trigo da amizade em pão carnal forjado;
Vírus que inflama a alma em mel; leite da alegria;
Tormenta em que os trovões tem dente acetinado;

Sol que icebergs solve e aquece o peito; harpa narcótica;
Carbono humano harmonizado em diamante;
Embriaguez de ambrosia e corrosão cirrótica;
Carne e sangue hospedando um deus como habitante;

Vazio no eu, no nós infinito; oceano
Em oceano mergulhado; fruto e espinho;
O coma da razão; o desejar tirano;

O céu quando no barro humano faz seu ninho;
O oxigênio do espírito; via das vias;
Ternos sussurros sob lençóis em noites frias.

What are some fun poetic things to try out?

Tried to write a haiku
But I fucked up and made a poem
Every extra syllable means there's more problems

That's 6 9 and 12 syllables, and I had fun trying to make something within those boundaries. Basically what I'm asking is what are interesting boundaries conductive to creativity?

>>8344923

Can I have a look at this, please?

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THE ALPHA

I plaque of blank
A unique tank of dark
No words
No sound
No where to see
The gifted mind He, God apires to be
Who knows Himself, and knows all
But He doesn't make it seem

Granted he gave the atoms he made
And it's spark began to peek
And little sounds closely shroud
But no other can hear them sing
Brought the magnitude, as more the matter grew
He watched them drown to sink

And his spark of light began to ignite
And dust blew out the rings
A star was made as bright and beige
With life poured in stream
He watched and knew
As the clouds withdrew
A comet was born engraved

>>8344482

That's nice. Your loss.

>>8343992
Oof. White kids are so embarrassing.

>>8314210
What might be happening at the line
>-- exultant/of the most high
onward. I wondered if it could be paradise,a stark contrast to the agony in the first and middle halfs, but the final part scrubs that idea to its smallest part, i'm still unsure. Your poem begins abruptly with that strong focus of pestilence. Something must have started you to have written so violently at the start, it's heavy enough to carry that suggestion throughout the rest of the poem.

>flashing her crystalline charms
flirting with the want
straining on your bones,
nestled in the marrow...

the short structure reminds me of a war chant.
I'm a bit lost on the final half

>-- exultant...and devoured

seeking everlasting fortunes of stature, why is the plotter looking back to his youth but still tending the barren soil in the hope of harvest?

>sour temptations...and devoured
what devours throned temptation and why would temptation seat itself on the throne anyway? This might sound impressive for a dark souls piece but in this example I find it confusing.
It's a hard piece and I wonder about its subtexts

>>8343399
Y-you too

Wrote this haiku in Dominican Republic:

Big red sunburnt ass
Reminding me of apples
Tasty and juicy

>>8344965
Using anagrams as you would rhyme.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/89000

>>8342660
>>8342687
>>8343399
Approximately 2/3 of the posters in this thread don't actually read poetry

Not quite sure if this even counts as poetry but let's give it a whirl

Circles of light dancing in a small, dark pool
rain-drenching the station's walkway
lone attendant pulling his cap down
hunching shoulders in a vain attempt
to keep his center warm and dry
no concern for lack of sight
no concern for prospective passengers

flash of lightning illuminating midnight sky
silent counting begins

One
young woman hopping the railing,
dark cloak previously concealing
her lithe figure in the damp grass
fluttering behind her

Two
a single lunge from the attendant now
left boot disbanding the bright circles
right arm crossed her breast

Three
roar of the thunder muffling the thud
of the man’s skull on train’s outer shell
figure crumpling at the precise impact
of the girls’s right elbow

checking her watch, she gives the signal
before repositioning the comatose man
several similarly cloaked figures
emerging from the shadows
hastily shuffling aboard the railcar

kneeling above him, she gives one last glance
at the empty platform
removing her cloak to conceal the man

motion seems familiar
darkness of damp gives way
bright, pastel sheets of her home
attendant’s cap and short, brown hair
becoming a mix of blonde and crimson, sticky fluid
unfamiliar face now the visage of he who gripped her heart
before it was callously ripping it from her breast

stirring of the mechanical beast on its tracks
calls the girl back to reality
turning and making for the train
already in motion and picking up speed
finally matching it
skipping through the sliding door

>>8344266

This is good. I like the consonance of the ell sounds (full, bullets, shrill, swelter), and the assonance of the eee sounds (heat, street, machine). The way you mix up assonance and consonance is elegant.

The metaphor of nightshade in a toddler's mouth is arresting and quite apt.

The circular structure is perhaps a little too familiar, but it's one I'm partial to.

>>8346374
>https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/89000

Thanks for posting this. It's good and innovative, however, starting a line with "sedater" (or using it all, rather than more sedate, or calmer) just strikes me as horribly ugly. If I read about the moon in one more poem, I swear, I'm going to. . .

>>8346381
I can forgive them for not reading Ginsberg

>>8346438
what's wrong with the moon man? Is it because it's white and it has craters or is it because when people try and write about the moon they aren't writing anything new about the moon? Is it just because their view of the moon is cliched contrived and overdone? If you think that I think I agree with you :^)

>>8346381
I do, just not ginsberg yet.

>>8343296
>I don't eat psychedelic mushrooms or take any other kind of drugs
That's exactly what a person who eats psychedelic mushroom and/or takes drugs would say. The poem is okay, though it's hard to say as it's only a translation.

>>8343296
I enjoyed reading it. Good job on the translation

>>8344923

Can you guys give me some suggestions of how to improve of this, or state what the strong and weak points of the poem are?