Poetry Critique Thread

>There are dreams they left here
>Scattered among my fathers things
>and my mother's dust

>>8687177

soot-tainted glass —
buried before the logs
burning, yet translucent
in midnight surpass — the
campfire warmth embraces
and audibly applauds

as the fingers I insert
into the flames and
the burning manifestations
straight from my brain
clothe the shelter
the memories,
the porous eyes
externally insane

but dim as the glass
weeping limited the rain
the midnight wind carries the fire,
touching and tame
as I whisper Ebonics in
back-faced refrain...
"here's to valued an emptysome pain"

>>8687193
Learn to versificate. I wish I could read this to give you more advice, but it's just atrocious.

>>8687182
I'm going to pretend it's not greentext and just say I like it, honestly.

I like apples but I can't eat them.
I died today, as I was born dying
and as I will probably perish: dying.

>>8687259
10/10, great economy

>>8687278
Why can't I love as you, who can't teach me? Thank you, my new friend.

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Am I publishable?

>>8687182
That's a good piece, had to really discuss it, as it is fairly straightforward, but damn. One of the best things I've seen put here.

>>8687193
hooo doggies the rhyme in this hurts me.

"Uranus"

People who live there
would be wise to avoid the
obvious name joke.

>>8687329
>>8687254
You guys are dangerously validating to my useless ego.

>>8687329
more messy and cluttered than you intend. Best line is probably, "oh how it suffocates." The rest doesn't feel nearly as human

>>8687413
>doesn't feel as human
could you elaborate? I do want it to feel messy and cluttered

toward the back and come to the
edge
then it
wasn't so
she is getting
so far ahead I cannot catch her.

If I I will be
the fish
"The fat son of a bitch."
he fell off the
church. He looks down

up the path
I am not anything.

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>>8687182
Good stuff, very to the point. I see the relation between your parents very clearly
>>8687193
Not bad
>>8687329
You have an interesting style do you have anything else?

Here's me

>The essence of her being actualized by the action, its effect traversed a mile of mind
>coming into being with the best of yourself; the art of the moment, as if you were painting time with your movements and mannerisms.

B harsh

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>>8687452
>do you have anything else
a good bit, here's one that was written in the same week as the previous. It's also a tad rough
pt 1 of 2

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>>8687466

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She's going to
Jail
Black mail the
Black male
It's all true what (he) said
Rimbaud was right
No one cares about your shitty diary entries
Poetry is stupid and
Surpassed by the
Novel
And internet
Memes
This is Biblical, Biblical
Biblical

>>8687182
Genuinely excellent
>>8687259
Very good, but the last line seems a little clunky Not sure if there's anything to be done about that though without completely rewriting it.
>>8687452
Hard to read: too unstructured, should be a four or five line poem. But I like the concept and the word choice.

R8 mine gais?

As I come around madness
I am greeted by the dull fire:
whose puddle diverts the ink
through the cloaked wild things,
growing; and to it I am drawn:
As a moth to a flame,
so a man to Inspiration.

Not sure about the choice of the words "come around," but I need to convoy going around something, but decisively, not meandering.

>>8687329
Messy, inorganic, draft again and be more concise and less pedantic.

>>8687466
>>8687467
This is much better though. There's one consistent idea here.

Unkindled Ash,
Unfit to even be cinder
Roam the world kindled time and time again,
Seek the Lords of Old, Deliver them to their Thrones

The first flame fades softly, the deep comes from below
Pray to the saint who dreamt of these horrors
Devourer of Gods, Lord of Cinder, prophecy he shall show
Faithful to Aldritch, The Pontiff, and McDonnell, misery ye shall sow

Lain down his arms and forsook his shield, Duty-bound to kindle the flame
Hollow of mind, King of the Profaned Capital, he reigns
The fire does fade, the profaned flame burns true
In time, it shall fade too

Legion of Hollows, Sworn to wolfs blood
A fight against themselves, for the abyss is in each man
Futile, or perhaps, it is life in of itself, to resist the inevitable
Farrons Keep, the Unkindled will meet

Lordships last reward, to be delivered to their throne
Two princes of old, one young, one bold
Lothrics holy light shines brightly in the dark,
Souls of the Twin Princes burn against the moon

Soul of Cinder, Lords of the Past
Gwyn marches, blade in hand, these Lords of Old will fade
Legacies of Ash consume the past
Endless Sunlight Spears, Gwyns last tirade

Unkindled Ash, Unfit even to be Cinder
Rise from your grave, deliverer of Kindle
Heir to the fire of Lords linked-past
Postpone the end of flame, A Colossus dies in Vain

Horrors lie certain
under heavens soft snow
untouched by sunlight
not a place you should go
but we ventured down
for the good of their kind
us vessel of spirits
to see what we'd find
it was cold and damp

>>8687259
you won't die today,
you won't perish nor skedaddle
you're a faggot waiting at bay
tell me, how you like dem apple?

>>8687447
boy, did you get a wedgie?
cause you sound very edgy
i knew you could never catch her
you're as ugly as grandma Thatcher

The walls whimpered through the night, bereft of silence.
Coldness of steel, the scent of rust.
And her breath smells of alcohol.


r8 pls

>>8687400
High-school tier "humor"

>>8687432
Fallacy of imitative form

>>8688273
I like the idea and the imagery, although the rhymes seem somewhat forced. I think the poem, with its message and imagery, would work out pretty good if your focus had been more so on the meter, flow, and rhythm rather than rhyme.

>>8687466
>Sheen'd
Dropped
Its 2016, do you srsly think ppl still need your shitty eliding apostrophes to pronounce properly?

Sorry, maybe I should say
>Dropp'd

>>8688566
>>8688273
While I'm no poet (probably less of one than you), I might phrase it, for example, as follows:

Horrors lie certain
Under the soft snow of heaven,
Devoid all sunlight,
And with luck human presence.
Yet down there we went
For the good of their kind,
Us vessels of spirit
To uncover the truth -

It was cold and damp. . .

>>8688579
This is much more pleasant to read

I read these two today at our "Live Poet Society" meeting. No one gave feedback other than applause or "I really liked it". Maybe they're actually really good; I want some legitimate advice moving forward.

The Bottle:
The embers of the procession thrashed
Against the floodgates in a blizzard
Of brown, speckled feathers --
But the cage was glass and
The cork was thick.

Rain pelted the false walls,
Taunting the cistern that
Yearned to pour its doves --
To expel the coos of mourning,
To nurse the tattered shred of warmth.

The case was revealing
And within was clear.
To release one was
To claim the other,
And both doors were heavy.

The sparks grew silent as
The murder pushed forward
And the trembling hands struggled --
But the cage was glass and
The cork was thick.


Sunrise:
Between silhouetted sycamores
Roves a hermit, held
By rumor and hope of an
Unrivaled
Treasure.

The revealing beams
Share slowly, shadowing
Staggering breaths that
Starve for what is
Unseen by Solitude.

A lantern is lit,
Seeking its fortune
With fumbling flame,
Fervently fleeing from
The Bringer of Dawn.

Searching by light
Of dull, dim ego
Gold remains rusty;
All but forgotten
In its eastward ascent.

Its nice to see a critique thread that isn't just filled with trolls and people deriding every and any poster. There's actual critique going on here, and that really nice to see. Of course most of us aren't great writers (and probably none of us are world class), but in all honesty /lit/ users do seem to be more educated and intelligent than the majority of the general public. Most of us here are in fact fairly young and inexperienced, but in time I'm sure some of the user here really will become decent writers. People act so cynical on here all the time - as though anything and anyone on lit is just pseudo-intellectual trash. In fact though, I'm sure there's real talent here, and statistically speaking, more so than amongst the general population. I'm sure that one or two (or more) people that have used, or will use /lit/ over the years, will become notable writers of the 21st century.

>>8687705
Anyone? I've never actually shown this poem to anyone, and I'm pretty new to poetry, so it'd be nice to get some criticism.

>>8688569
I'm sorry

>>8688254
Pls someone

>>8687705
I would replace the semicolon with a period and then start a new line with "and to it I am drawn:" I think perhaps you should be more selective in your usage of the definite article. Selectively dropping a "the" or two would improve the flow of the poem.

>>8687705
Enjoyable but I would avoid cliches like "moth to a flame."
Rate mine in return>>8688532

>>8688717
>>8688254
Sure, gave it a read. I haven't played III or II, but I did play the first one, so I sorta get the setting, but not well enough to really comment on the content. What I really liked was how the last half of the poem seemed to pick up the pace with every line, that was very engaging, but I feel like the last line sorta fell flat. Try rework that to be more of powerful. With a poem that long, you can't have a flat ending like that and hope that people will enjoy reading it, unlike in
>>8688273
Where the flat ending comes after a short enough poem that I can appreciate the message without feeling like I've wasted my time.

>>8688701
Even with all of the shitposting, /lit/ is an oasis of decent original poetry in the mire that is other internet platforms. I was encouraged to make a Tumblr to find people to workshop with, and trust me, it's utter shit.

A lot of the cynicism and memes on /lit/ are here to keep the "pseuds" out. It took me a while to get it, but I think that helps. The more I've lurked and been in discussions here the easier it is to find good content and conversations.

As to your final sentence, I honestly hope a lot of people here will be notable writers in time. I'm personally a STEM guy (going to double major in philosophy though), so I might not go too far, but writing is still a great hobby. I draw a lot of parallels between poetry programming oddly enough, which makes it feel like every poem is a puzzle I have to solve. I'm probably going to submit a manuscript for the Walt Whitman award next year though, so who knows?

>>8688532
The last line doesn't seem to fit the flow. maybe something more terse like 'her alcohol breath.'?

How do other anons feel about the re-articulation of >>8688273 in post >>8688579 ? These are two different posters; I'm anon-79, replying to anon-73. Like I said, I'm not very literary and don't consider myself a poet, nor do I really spend any time writing poetry. I have written one here and there over the years, but I wouldn't go so far as to call reading or writing literature or poetry a hobby of mine.

However, I'm a little curious as to whether anyone thinks I have any potential - not to be a great poet or anything like that. I'm more of a STEM-fag (and I do appear to have a fairly promising future in that area), but I think it would be cool to publish a poem or two in a modest literary journal. It would certainly boost my confidence and make me feel like something of a petit-renaissance man, as it were.

I ask because my English teachers and professors in high school and college have complemented my work (but not of course suggested that I'm a brilliant literary mind or anything like that), and my sister is a published writer and my father an English professor, both of whom have complemented my writing. Of course, family members are likely to be biased, which is why I'm asking the inter-webs. Not that I want to be the next Rimbaud or Holderlin, or even some lesser trendy hipster poet, but it would be cool to know that at least a few people have read my lines in some obscure publication.

>>8688726
>>8688729
Thanks guys, how's this?

As I come around madness
I am greeted by dull fire:
whose puddle diverts ink
through the cloaked wild things,
growing.
And to it
I am drawn:
As darkness from flame
so a man to Inspiration.

Tried to take both of your advice on board, definitely think it's an improvement so thanks a lot. Debating splitting up "And to it / I am drawn" though, but I think it might flow better this way. What do you think of the alternative to the moth cliche?

>>8688729
To repay the favour, I'd recommend changing the last line. You've already mentioned scent, so I don't think it's necessary to do so again in such a short poem, and it seems too long-winded, or relaxed, even, for how anxious the rest of the poem is.

>>8688693
I really like the language here, but the story and message are somewhat nebulous, or at least hard for me to follow. Admittedly, I always have difficulty interpreting poetry, and some poets even seem to be consciously nebulous, so that might not be a very significant criticism.

>>8688786
I do like the wording of the rewrite more, but I feel the original flows much better, and also delivers the last line with more force. I think the issue is that you did away with the rhyme scheme, which the last line purposefully broke in the original, making it a bit more of a shock. In free verse, it's a lot harder to emphasise a turnaround in theme. I'd be interested to see how you'd rewrite your rewrite to include a rhyme scheme.

I watched as your Adriatic hair
crashed upon the rocks
of a dark wine sea.

From out of the fog
the siren came
searching for your lighthouse
to bring you home.

Though the sea is now too rough
and my boat is filling with tears.

>>8688833
This is pretty good in an imitative sense, so to speak. As an attempt to, for example, capture the spirit of certain works of 19th century romanticism it does a pretty good job. In other words, it seems to show a decent awareness and appreciation of a very particular form or type of poetry, but it lacks uniqueness. Basically, it seems somewhat formulaic and unoriginal. Thus, it ends up being well executed, but not very creative or insightful. I.e. I can't say its a very elegant or original contribution to the usage of descriptive language, nor does it convey a profound or interesting message. A story about a "pixie princess" is perhaps cute and pretty, as it were, but it doesn't speak to me on a deeper level. It seems impersonal and generic, despite exhibiting decent, albeit unoriginal, poetic form.

>>8688693
The second one is actually really good, but as that other anon said the message of both is rather nebulous. Too nebulous for me in the first one; there I can't quite properly figure out what's going on, but the second one I do like a lot. Your style is too metaphorical for me to be able to comment on much though, other than saying that I liked them.

>>8688873
Excellent. I think you're a significantly better poet than I, because I can't find a fault here.

>>8688875
Fair enough, and I appreciate the feedback. One review is better than none.

>>8688822
The title is "Streetlamp," by the way. Forgot to put that in there.

The tide has swayed, the turn is imminent
As the blade pierces my skull, my face runs bloody.
Release me from my leglorn prison or I shall die.
I will not submit.

We fled into the new glass jungles
and sought shelter
under canopies of streetlights.

Bathed in neon
and scent of cheap pizza
lining up for moments
of overpriced novelty shots
well timed trips to the washroom
and balance a tightrope act between
the white lines
and
the watchful bouncer.

These moments of loss
dissolving into pulsation
rhythm and neo-blues
will be blurred by dawn soft light.

>>8688898
Thank you anon :) after getting a rejection letter yesterday from a poetry contest, this has made me feel slightly better

There was a time when I used to see the ghost of Hitler walking down the hall into the bathroom. He never turn to look at me, he just walked. Then I got really depresed about my writings, and I stoped seeing Hitler. A couple a days after I stoped writing alltogether and shortafter I saw Joyce's ghost walking down the hall, he stoped and looked at me, opened he's mouth, as if he were about to say something, but didn't spoke a word and went off to the bathroom. I tought that it was a clear sign that I was going mad, so I went back to writing to not think about Joyce. I never saw him or Hitler again. Perhaps he wanted to say that all communication is imposible but you have to try itanyways, I'm not sure. I just hope I never get to see Joyce again

The Crown of the Doomed

Sleepless nights yet again,
the only thing I've got is pain. Bloodshot eyes, filled with tears, ice cold heart, mind full of fears.

Everything inside is long dead, terrifying thoughts controlling my head.
Voices screaming, shouting loud again,
pulling me down, holding me with a chain.

Pressured to grow up fast,
a horrifying spell was cast.
I will never be set free
or be able away to flee.

The chains holding me down,
on my head's the death crown. Never to be without the pain, never to have something to gain.

>>8687329
Half-assed attempt to be like Cummings

>>8689683
because of the use of indention? sincerely asking.
>>8687751
that's kind of vague, I would greatly appreciate specifics, because, frankly, I was worried >>8687754 was too messy not that the "vines" one.

isnt there remotely in the spirit of midgets of subcontinents scaffolding the swedes and sweaters who wants to go on the consequence? heremetic man or letters mundane facets of the conniving synergy like sumodemons along the minute subcontinent blistering lodge even as the nasal lady who wants the plum but defeated côte. they probably just cheer and clap and don't even laugh on the cross! psycho in the corridor, these tribal trolls amongst the worst of the living the omni-immigrants hormonal convent and create crime for special-attention people who wish to bum only commuter musk to get attention on anal levels. let’s stay to the pathological,in pairs they have to respect, defend the honor, the priest in the piss red throw of crimson island life- farce & son, readers of draconian revenge play deliriously drone climax, collages and kinky drone modes have yet recovered from infant scream trauma who long to find the reason there aren’t even any ladies out on stoner rock. the hughs there are like all the shirtless men (views keyhole execution) on man and godless beak on silk block of face-lick strangers are laughing! their spirits are light! timid garcon a a a reptile... not killing softly a hard death, cosmetic monolith, its nice that their hearts were full of song but they cant really sing. it frightens me. it feels like an eel-scented gap in that mans headphone bill. time has no emotion no appetite no insignia the problem is that we'd like to start fire we pissed on sawdust and drank the provincial broth. the beach war otherlands the feel spectre did not doubt that our mood laughing at the intensity of the feeding ghouls the attack of tired sunsets so arresting the performance tents with unlit yurts wired with much to say "you were chaos arpeggiating."

a high castle secret

an illusion born of boredom and blindness

the hallucinations have agenda and they cling to it like a frightened mite. the storm is sheltered in this black fang voice but if ever there was an occasion for it, for slanted articulation during firm aisles of surf music holiday BURN hypnotics that make me proud of my people. the electric laceration applause that makes me proud of my people. yin tu baum sorry for the firebird that makes us question all clean as clinically extreme narcs as the ball playing the wrong kind of static. not the gonzo sleep-aid ss gier. she had the wrong kind of babies- lucky for her, none of them were born. he had a checkout approved handles not in flame. the bongo man is flaming- he's not barbin anyone tonight. did you go without saying goodbye?

>>8690041
what the fuck

>>8688532
I think ending it with "alcohol on her breath" would be better

>>8688936
This is pretty le edgy
"As the blade pierces my skull" and "i will not submit" are drenched in cliche

>>8688873
I'd say the potential is there but avoid blatant Homerian references like that

I dreamt.
And so I found the World Tree.
I have been what was, and what will be.
I have been every stone,
Every branch,
I have known every name upon the wind.

I have lived forever in a moment,
For every moment I have dreamt,
And in each moment again I did dream.

This I have dreamt, and so too now do I dream,
For I am being what was, and what will be,
I am being every stone and every branch,
And I am knowing every name upon the wind.

>>8690124
If I'm being honest? this isn't good

do you have others to share

also >>8690041
what is this

>>8690148
It makes sense that it isn't good, seeing as I just wrote it and didn't polish it any.

I don't have any more poetry, because I lack inspiration, this piece was an actual dream I had, so that was my only inspiration fodder.

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>>8688873
This is beautiful. You've used the "obscurist" style marvelously here. Poetry packed with metaphors and words of visceral emotion always move me. There's an incredible amount of depth, and you've left so much room for interpretation that if published, I believe would provoke serious discussion. Keep at it Anon.

Then,

there,
here and now and fall is all of a sudden rain.
Air to new air and poesy is dead.
A bridge careens in a flood of May,
when many a Mayhap blossoms to kite
small prayers over a river.

Run, water will pray never stop.
Wet yet swift, does the lining of a rinse cloud
drop. A day caught in turbine flux.
It is love o' clock and the world has to go.
Sun set in low brevississimo,
as birdeyes wailed into a color dead east.
Water and water will drown but an isle, lopped from earth's memory bottom to head.
We go on elsewhere. The raft still rotting and us,
uncertain on a flush piercing of red ingots of noise.
The gulf bent quarreling with a mad wind in a bedlam beguiling dead to the dead.
Water and water black and black overlap
up, up and forever wash.
Verse me a world and we will reverse
to some other thing, life is rinse and rehearse.

You'll rot easy on both sides as a metaphor: no martyr dies to name similars in things.
A word is high heresy, innuendo to joke, is a box of love is a box full of blood.
Kill it. Then lower meter into the yard, vowels mewl in small agony:
A bird in single paradise until man sang its threnody.
Wren wran werther,
across the appalachian sea.
Is death is the word what's worth in itself.

(O' Icon, what the hell do i mean?
Quem cavalo, quem cavalga?)
Snowmen, snowmen everywhere.
But not where we live. Sad, isn't it?

While megalomachina has a brief lemonade evening
sulking in an orange lagoon of sun, while the hour
is simmering, when time i---------
They will know most particulars and come slowly to hate them.
Polite, quick to quip and dapper.
Tea dip crumbling crisps and natter.

Meantime, leave me to whom a poet has created in me
and made us sad and cry and alone, let the
waterworks gush, chiseled me out of stone.
(Never so much have i seen a river,
never an ocean, cashmere nor basmalah.)

>>8690168
hey, this is very good
are you a musician per chance

>>8690169
No, but I live for music.

>>8690173
wonderful work my friend
i'm a musician, most of what i write are lyrics. i just asked because what you wrote feels so musical. i wouldnt consider anything i do poetry thooooo.... the shit i posted is just vomit i coughed up one morning in paris

>>8690176
forgot to mention what i posted was the "did you go without saying goodbye" one
>>8690041

>>8690180
Ah, it would be much better if you cut your poem into sizable verses. But let me give it a read, hold on.

Economy. I have one word, economy. You see the poem I posted, the one you like? I spent two weeks on it. It was four to five times its size and browsed over four different languages in little segments. Were pretension a poem, my early draft would be the quintessential example. Unfortunately (and what misfortune!) I had it on a pastebin that expired too early to recover. Let us be honest, pretension is lovely. Where else do we find people venting besides within their words and gestures? You have a lot to say, friend.

A cursory read of your rap (this is how I read it, and I apologize if this is offending, or that I should have read it in some other signature) tells me you have much to export to the reader. And yet, you make the mistake of expelling me from that joy. I'll be honest, I am a dense person and sometimes when I'm drunk I'll drop a "loquitur" here and a "jongleur" there, sprinkle some "aqua regia" and viola, I am eloquenticious. And I think making mistakes is a wonderful thing, because truths get boring after rote and repetition. You should be grateful for your mistakes, Anon, because you have many. I won't go about telling you which they are for two reasons:

1) When God created my clay, he did not borrow from Cicero's.
2) It is wrong to voluntarily interfere in an artist's act of becoming.

You will learn, and you will learn fantastically. I sure didn't know much about poetry, leave alone music (and God, what I'd give to be able to play in something like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdGDHGk_49w&feature=youtu.be - and it melts my heart that I can't.). You fare better than most of us, even if you do find yourself at the top of Mount Nadir. Chin up, lad. Rework in this hymnalong life your singalong and fiddle on.

>>8690081
The subject isn't actually that edgy if you knew the context.

Coup de Grâce

a eulogy for the nights we didn’t have to speak.

a warm blanketed embrace was our aubade to the settled serein and the rising sun who illuminated the steam of our breath as we said farewell; you, so fair, made me well.

these nights I long for loneliness to constrict me & choke me to sleep but my bedfellow looms over me;

a tumultuous love that deafened you and weaved it’s way into my long, greasy hair that won’t ever terrorize your bed sheets again.

if I cut it off perhaps you’ll be free of me.

my God gives me signs and your universe gives you signs. We read them & burn them down.

>>8687259
great one

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At the fall of the senses the external will flourish,

The crown of knowledge is not upon us but last is the external world jury to indict this.

If there's value It's in the nothing that might absolve us!

If experience is restrained by us, what be our restraints?

To what container do we thank for coddling, and freeing the fear that we fear of the nothing that is spirit?

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>>8692656
(Let not the unknown bestow us with the burdens we mustn't carry.)

The seat is open for you.

Seasons, for us, change with us.

Have the colours died and we with?

You've been to class, use your rational, do you take the seat or pictures of it?

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>>8692679
(I'd die to do this twice and in my second life be a romantic again)

// The violet's of life

I can touch of you,

On the degrees of all my love

flows to you!

Delicate you and I both be,

Does this sacrifice

suffice with you?,

O I've mourned and

Lov'd with everything

Upon you.

To this night i'm too drunk

(this night) to write to you,

Yet I can't stop!

The lyrics come to me

as greatly as I can love of you!

An honest man sits
Alone beneath a tree,
And the whole world dares to listen.
A man whose words
Are bittersweet,
But the world does not dismiss him.
In fact, he feels,
With every sin
The world begins to miss him.

An honest man, here, once sat,
And told the world so much.
When on this tree he hung his hat,
The grass forgot his touch.

>>8692712
I like it, pacing is nice, imagery is nice. I like the feeling that an honest man is one of sin, implying that one cannot be without sin and there's no fault of man in that, the world will still listen.

The ending is fairly abrupt though, I feel you could jump right into another verse after this and it could follow nicely. Much better then my poetry.

These are the horrors
left out in films
the unraveling of silk
into heaps of woe.

A once great king
of 20 acre land
now lives in a 5x10 room
watering plastic plants.

>>8687177

I felt warmth from her cheek,
The feel of her hand,
The silk of her gown,
As we danced round and round.

What song was playing?
The melody I forgot,
To her, my attention was bound,
As we danced round and round.

My feet were unskilled,
Hers were a grace,
And never did she frown,
As we danced round and round.

My heart raced faster,
I know what came next,
The music was slowing down,
Yet we danced round and round.

The song came to an end,
My heart nearly stopped,
Her lips, mine found,
Our hearts danced round and round.

Walking, walking, walking,
Through the city, so grey.
Walking, walking, walking,
Nobody's Looking my way.

Walking, walking, walking,
Through the town at night.
Walking, walking, walking,
Hoping nobody wants a fight.

Walking, walking, walking,
Through the woods, so brown.
Walking, stopping, praying,
Nobody's around.

Walking, walking, walking,
So peacefully in the rain.
Walking, splashing, living,
No heat, no worry, no pain.

>>8688948
Not sure about this one, It's imagery feels weak or maybe it's that I feel it's not a moment that needs to be poetic? A night out on a date? Are you dodging bouncers and doing coke? How are these moments of loss, what is lost? The memory is what's lost to the soft light of dawn? Too many questions I honestly would care if answered because for me the imagery isn't there.

>>8692736
Don't like at all. Makes no sense. The unraveling of silk into heaps of woe? What is that, why would silk be turned to heaps of woe just from unraveling?

A once great kind of 20 acre land? A great king would have a kingdom, not 20 small acres of land, and why the watering plastic plants? That line is just stupid, it's too abrupt and obvious.

The poem has no emotion, or atleast none shown that makes any relatable sense or imagery.

>>8692761
Kinda fun and easy to follow and read. Doesn't have much of an underlying story or moral (that's fine with me). It seems like a happy poem and the colours used definitely don't follow that feeling, I think if anything this has a crisis of direction. I also think the last, "no heat, no worry, no pain" is a bit overdone, and the no heat part doesn't make sense to me.
Nothing special on it's own to me, would make a nice little song to sign while walking though. Keep at it.

>>8692748
Imagery is there, I like settings like this but there is too much cliche. The repeating of round and round I think is a fairly weak way to keep the whole poem moving. There are a few others that kill the vibe, I'd say like : Frown, unskilled, my heart nearly stopped. There are some others. I like it but only at a first glance, at depth it is shallow and the voice chosen to speak it is weak. Would like to see this done properly.

>>8690168
>>8689652
>>8688873
>>8688693
>>8688532
Gonna take a break, I'll review these when I get back.

>>8688873
saved

>>8687329
>>8687466
>>8687467
ayy, kinetic poetry guy, glad to read from you again

memories fade, and neither alcohol nor formaldehyde can preserve them.

a freezer of selfishness holds my heart in an empty bottle of gin. I bought it for you & drank it all that same night.

I mixed it with mango soda that’s been bittered with deceit.

-a couch in your livingroom
-an empty bottle of gin
Both green and empty, but used to be full.

Pieces of myself remain in each and can’t be preserved and will fade away at whatever speed you choose.

empty promises have roots but will never grow branches and leaves.

Complacency lost


Darkness, crafter of shadow
Dance behind me
I long for you no more
Disappear in the night

If lost, would you return?
At dawn
You cast behind me
At dusk
Lost to the night

I ask, shadow
Do you walk and strut?
Fret your hour upon stage?
That perhaps,
Is why I hear you no more.

As always, embarrassing.

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>>8693682
lol

I wrote this a few months ago. Not sure if I've posted it on /lit/.

On what year or what month?
Or day, or hour, or minute?
There can't be any run
--Oh, your days were quite fun
From omens of death, innit true?

Your life was such a waste
But no need for a haste
Judgement is at the gate
--Not bothered about it, wasn't you?
Still God tries to make up with you.

The dusk comes nears the verge
Dawn is in front of your face.
Doth the thief has the urge?
No man knows, all is a grace.

>>8692761
I like this one.

>>8687177
I am to death as a child is to Christmas,
agitated, anticipating,
awaiting the arrival,
only to wake the next day,
disappointment lingering,
pee pee tingling,
I must see what I wreck,
praise almighty kek

He, Stanley, stood standing.
Stanley's standing stood outstandly.
And he, Andy, fancied Stanley.
So Andy stood with Stanley standing.
Thus, Stanley's Andy's and Andy's Stanley's fannies
Fanned away with manly canty.

Also,

Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.
With a tongue crimson as hot cold blood.
A holy hell fire hydrant's slippery thick mud. Outspoken in chastity yet embarking on roads of cleavers.
Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.

>>8693818
I am to black as a child is to Christmas,
agitated, anticipating,
awaiting the arrival,
only to wake in the shed,
wife's BLACKED,
pee pee tingling,
I must see nubian wreck,
praise almighty kek(old)

>>8687182
Whoops. Forgot to comment. I agree with other posters that it's quite good. Puts a lot of meaning in few lines. But can someone explain why it's exceedingly awesome?

This is mine.

>>8693840

You do
A loopedy loop
And pull

And now?
Your shoes are looking cool
Comment? Rate?

For long
tomorrow,

rise anew
old comforts

Spare no sound
turn gently

Idle mantras
now let go

>>8693924
captcha-core/10 desu baka

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First time ever writing poetry so give me honest, even harsh, advice. It's a little hippy-ish.

Protected by the sanctuary of the Earth,
A Grove where unison meets.
I am greeted by a cool breeze,
And the peace of nature.
But this place will always lie within me
For I am part of the earth
As the soil on the ground
And the Birds in the sky
When I look inwards I find that
I am the creation, and I am the creator
When I look to the stars it is as if
The universe is looking at itself.

>>8687177
On the branch
the songbird
really lays on the schmaltz.
An April afternoon.

In bed
writing the poem
to conceal the vulgarity
I turn onto the phone
and miss your text.

It goes so fast and you
miss it when it counts.

Quiet little families in short houses,
With large backyards and white picket fences
Stood side-by-side other short houses with equal amenities.
Sitting on streets, that crisscross, like Sunday crosswords;
Neighborhoods protect tight-knit communities
From undesirables

But those don’t exist in our town,
No not ours.
Men who drink their coffee and
Read their paper and
Kiss their wife and
Leave their home to go to their work.

women who raise the kids and
cook the food and
clean the home; and
love the Husband.

Tiny blue-eyed children who go to that school and
Play at that park and
Laugh at that joke and
Study that math and
Love that family.

Every little person,
In little old Crittleton,
Played Their Part, as they should,
and
Every Boy and every girl
Married each other, and
Life was good.

But that was not in our town;
No not ours.

Loud, broken-down families in shabby shacks
With shattered glass windows and tattered tarred rooftops:
Timidly hidden from all men and Women fearful from anger and nothing at all.
Littered with refuse the sidewalks they crack,
The drunkards are sheltered by nightfall.

men who crouch on knees and
snicker on wrinkled aluminum and
crawl on fractured bones and
sleep on beds of bullets.
Women who work all weekends and
Feed all mouths and
Fight all ghouls and
Toss and Turn all night,
Loathe their beds of bullets.

AND WHEN ALL THE SANGUINARY TRACTS ROT

children are children no longer than cattle,
children are animals that growl and that battle,
children are scholars forsaken by knowledge,
children are boogeymen, shrouded under beds of bullets.
And this was in our town:
You pray not yours

. . . . . . . . . . . .

day-up, and day-drop,
you ponder our death.
agog for the answer how
the middle of your city, the middle of mine,
is equally evil, and also, benign.

So travel to Crittleton for all of it’s green.
And stay out of Crittleton for all of it’s mean.

Though alleys shake and light posts tumble and fracture,
We don’t all see the darkness.

>>8687177
Sonnet I

To love a leaking faucet is to love an open door.
The silent drip-drip of the nozzle
As it puddles on the floor.
The noisy creaking of the hinges screams for my attention.
Though dark may make a child wince
I shut it with conviction.
The tools a’come and out they hop to find a dripping pipe.
With many bolts, a bucket, mop:
A bond is turned too tight.

A day has passed, and now my towels have no use.
The light is lit throughout the night
And sleep has ‘come obtuse.
No longer do I feel a need to scowl at the hunger.
The faucet water tastes a’fowl
And food’s for those who slumber.
To love a leaking faucet is to love an open door.
Without the drip-drip of the nozzle
I’m a puddle on the floor.

Nights whimpered in silent fear of what might become of them.
War slithered in, with sinister intent, speaking in eager whispers
In the ears of looming shadows that wept dry tears for sunlight.

Murmurs of discontent sprinted throughout: your home; your clique; your self.
Inching further for anger, blindness swept beneath your skull and latched into you;
Your sins are not your own.
Luring you further with malicious speak shrouded by a veiled innocence:
Hysteria lit the path with shadowed light from an envious lantern.

Cheered on by coats of tainted wool, and assailed by coats of tainted challis
You become conflicted.
What now?

Leering from platted comfortability, shadows hiss at you to further on;
Indeed, you do. In fact, with many hesitations, and many trepidations,
But indeed, you do.

March

Splintered bones sizzle under a foreign star,
Trickles of sweat blister, embroider, and furrow your brow.
Misguiding you moreso than pockets with a pretense avowed.
Schoolgirls hand-in-hand, capped-‘n-gowned.
Outspoken words nested in fear choke on bravado…

Bravo, Bravo!
The term is done!

Wormwood parties in your pit,
Your feather withers at the sun,
Enthralled in fear and shadow’s shit,
Your blindness turns to deaf’d the young.

Here's what I have, please critique:

The day after you stole my heart I tried to call the police.
The phone rang, but I couldn’t get through.
I went to the station to describe them the thief.
But the doors were tightly glued.

I ran down the street in a frenzy,
Screaming and pleading for help.
But the roads were broken and empty,
And the wind had muffled my yelp.

My eyes burned with a need
And my skin started to peel.
The hole in my chest began to bleed
And the sky seemed surreal.
Afraid, I clawed at the dirt and filled the hole with worms.
Afraid, I glared at the sun and burned the edges of my eyes.
Afraid, I prayed my heart returns.
Afraid, I struck the air with cries.
And as I lie there, sobbing in the mud like a dog, the air replied with the sound of your voice.
And my eyes no longer burned, for in the place of the sun, there was your face.
And as the tears gently struggled to roll down my cheek, your heart wrung the worms from my chest.

I stood, and the sky fell atop my head.
Stiches and staples mended my bloodied wound.
A glowing coat of skin started at my fingertips and began to spread,
And I saw the world around me, and very nearly swooned.
My voice returned with a thunderous bellow,
And I began to stroll down a clean-cut sidewalk.
With every step I took, I whistled hello,
And in another moment, I’d passed another block.

I swung open the doors to the station with ease,
Looked around, and chuckled too.
My mouth spread devilish wide, suddenly pleased:
The day after you stole my heart, I could only see you.

The only poem out of plenty that I'm remotely proud of.

An Ode to the People I Hate Most

Oh look at you now, just laying here on the ground.
You're all over the place, yet nowhere to be found.
It might take a while for them to make sense of the body.
I going to be honest with you: your execution was a little shoddy.
Are you happy with yourself?

I've seen your kind before.
You're always knocking at my door.
I didn't open it for a reason, man.
But you just had to come up with a "better plan."
Are you happy with yourself?

I see hundreds, no thousands each day,
And your type is my least favorite in every way.
So naïve; borderline stupid.
At least you're not one of those upset with Cupid.
Are you happy with yourself?

You had so much potential, and you threw it all down the drain.
If you thought your life was in pieces you should take a look at your brain!
Now you have no options, or any reason to feel happy,
Instead of when you were alive and just chose to feel sappy.
Are you happy with yourself?

Many people had it worse, and still gave it a shot.
You had it good, yet decided to not.
You were on a roll, but once you stopped you couldn't again start.
You instead whined and complained about your "empty heart."
Are you happy with yourself?

You shouldn't be. Just look at what you've left:
A father in shambles, thinking this a theft.
I didn't stale your life; you gave it away.
Is that why you killed yourself? To throw it all away?
How could you be happy with yourself?

>>8694062
I'm not usually keen on love related stuff in general, but this was well written. Good stuff, man.

>>8694043
I like your use of words and the theme but the meters aren't there.

>>8694062
Eh, too descriptive for my taste.

>>8694204
Learn to meter and enrich your vocabulary.

>>8687177
Let a pussy try to fool me
I get that loaded toolie
And point it at the ghoul G,
Watchu think im a moolie?
Your girl stay tryna screw me
I make the gushy get to shooting
And unload clips in her booty

She stay straight gutted
I aint pull out when i nutted
Fucked around and gunned you down
She at my crib getting blunted

Mafioso
My gang loco
Show up to the shootout
Just to mob on Popo

I only move dope though
Never lit it once
Cuz the when the deuce out
And the troops out
I send shots at the cunts

I aint one for hostility
But you fuckboys be killing me
You expected the buy
But charged double for a mili g


I nab the shit and have you put down
Guess the street got new whores
Out my face lil clown
Criss cross cuts like two swords

>>8694258
Marvelous urban poetry.

>>8687177
Watch out, lil ho
My partners still smoke on parole
They say that I'm crazy
I used to talk to a stove
I tell it to lock, shit I tell it a lot
Go to the dealership, fishtail off the lot
You know I'm comin' straight out the block
You know I'm comin' straight out the top
Shawty said she want 5 million
'Cause I told her to leave and call her a thot
Shit, you can like it or not, damn
I'm comin' straight out the pot, yam
Still got some ACT in my stock, man
Nigga I ain't gotta lie
Nigga I ain't gotta try
You wavin' that thing in the sky
We wavin' that thing at your body
We wavin' that thing at your eye
Look at the watch on my wrist
Got 'em all watchin' my wrist
Told that lil bitch I'll pass
Nigga watch the assist (swish)
I run the trap like the marathon
You niggas softer than silicone
You know what it's like when the feelin' gone
I know what it's like when the ceilin' gone
I had a sit down with Farrakhan
Turn the White House to the Terror Dome
I used to serve at the Chevron
I used to serve with my necklace on, bitch

>>8694258
vocaroo this now

>>8694330
idk man i got a shitty voice

>>8693840


Critique plz?

Vejo-os conversando
E fico aqui, a desejando
Sozinho, no meu canto

>>8694453
nada em vao

>>8694443
first

gay, faggot shit in fact

second

you try way too hard man, just act like youre freestyle rapping

>>8694258
>>8694330

http://vocaroo.com/i/s1uYl9JlHXh1

>>8694497
10/10 based anon would buy mixtape not even kidding

this sounds like slint if they wrote rap

>>8694497
what in the honest fuck is this?

>>8694497
back to your cuckshed white boi

>>8694497
holy... i want more

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I might actually have just reworded the same couplet 8 times.

>>8688552
>versificate

big hand on the number
now
number dialed for fun
encounter arrangement
knuckles on wood
remove shackles
moist
plowing equipment
conception :^)

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Not finished with it yet, and pretty new to poetry writing (I prefer prose) so any commentary helps.

>The Ballad of Leavings

Two ships just now are passing
Beneath the lozenge moon
Sailors across water casting
Bawdies, belches, cracks and bashings
The captains set their teeth to gnashing
A piper lays a tune

At station trains are leaving
Beneath the templar clock
The passengers are teeming
Either glad or wistful seeming
Cadence beating, soft bereaving
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock

Just now a man is leading
A woman by the hand
In glances they are pleading
And the hours go receding
Silent sparking they are bleeding
For one last sarabande

The sailors now are waving
Shouting out how-do-you-dos
Bandy tales of ancient bravings
Rhapsodizing on their cravings
Laughing at their misbehavings
Clanging cups of white chartreuse

The gears they now are spinning
The cars they leave their moorings
The passengers are grinning
Decked with gifts and tinsel trimmings
Leavings called out blithely swimming
Sounding singing roarings

“Group B may begin boarding”
They look at one another
Now's commenced the final warning
Now the lines have started forming
And they gaze with pained imploring
But words they cannot utter

The ships have ceased their laughing
Passed from their rendezvous
The stars were far and gasping
And to port-side each was tacking
The sailors began asking
How had it ended so soon?

The trains were hoarse from crying
Had left the vibrant halls
And now with the wind vying
Through the evening now are flying
And on the platform lies dying
A woman in a shawl

Now he's gone beyond the gate
And he ponders things undsaid
What he wished to demonstrate
His many failures explicate
What her laughter radiates
But he'd said nothing instead

On towards a vague unfurling
The carracks in the night
Through a marbled stellar swirling
In its wake the water curling
Cloudbanks dappled with white sterling
Nothing beyond the light

>>8688693

It's decent. I can't scry the main idea of the poem. It's unclear how the bird is related to the hermit. It feels like two different poems to me. I liked the repeated line "but the cage was glass and the cork wAs thick".

The line silhouetted sycamores is a little syllable heavy. Maybe use shadowed here and silhouetted later? Some of the stanzas end weakly (unrivaled treasure, and unseen by solitude - ugh, it's not the 18th century many). The word sunrise is unnecessary because it's clear what you're talking about. I would replace bringer of dawn with the sun as well. Obliqueness can be good, but it doesn't work here for me.

>>8692812
well?

>>8688873

This is solid, but I don't like it all that much. The references are too safe for me.

>>8695246
I should note there's one final cycle of the three different stories, so two more stanzas are left. I just haven't finished with them yet. The last stanza is a question and answer dialogue, and I was pondering ending it in free verse or another rhyme scheme to mark it off from the rest, but we'll see.

>>8692736

I love this. It's like King Lear in two stanzas. Reminds me a little of how provocative Steven Crane's little poems were.

>>8695248
It is two different poems dipshit. Read the post.

>>8695383

O le Mao. My bad. Meow.

In nature's inner sanctum, two fires are aflame.
One fire consumeth, and one fire consumeth not:
The flames of desire, keep shut the doors of paradise;
But the flames of energy, enlighten Sinai's foliage.

>>8695246
Why the cancer rhyme

Judge my lyrics :)

boy feasting your sugar
old man juggling coffeine
wise woman drinking your wine
who's less confined?


il have a cigar while you judge my addictions
you think its bad, misplaced your attention
look down into that puddle
what you see is the cracked up illusion
while the reflection shows ridicilous addictions
you are better than an average burnout


young blood mashing buttons
tv shows washing brains
how can you judge yourself
when you give away your judgement

throw up on him
scream loud and sing
taste shit but digest
common poison brew
morning filled with agony

il admire your hypocrisy
while lucy and i are falling in the sky
we are falling in the sky
through the haze we see all the tyrrany

>>8693840

Any other critiques?

You and I are special

Alone each day I'll find a thought of you
And kindle it involuntarily,
Awakening the dancing of your virtue
And the limping of my futility.
In better times, a better man than me
Wrote better poetry. His better choice
Was finding, without bullying, his voice:
For silence is static vulgarity.
Remember that your daily inward glance
Interrogates your immaterial mind,
Remember that your human arrogance
Is sharèd by the rest of humankind.
Though pregnant time for fresher themes has sought
This stillborn rhyme is just a rehashed thought.

>>8695458
Like this a lot except for the word "consumeth."

>>8695966

One fire consumeth, and one consumeth not:

One fire consumeth, and one fire consumes not:

One fire consumeth, and one fire does/doth not:

>>8687177
Fallen leaves are everywhere on the ground,
Rain falling as if there's no tomorrow,
Only the naked tree knows my sorrow.
World is a storm, peace can never be found.

Her hair, a vision of past in my head,
Reminiscent of her beauty unmatched,
To dream is to hope, a hope too far-fetched.
My tears are nails, my heart is full of dread.

Autumn has always been my one true love,
And my love is forever in autumn,
Unable to hide its face so solemn,
Taking shelter in a hidden alcove.

Just like fire, love first heals, then it consumes.
The flame burns bright for a while and dies out,
Then only ash is left, no fear, no doubt.
No escape, the cycle always resumes.

>>8695966
I think its fine actually as is

>>8693970
Think better to write better. Read a tad more, wish upon the right stones and do not obsess over writing well. Poets are not intellectuals, they are just better room for words.
Do not chase it, let it come, but for "it" to be good, you have to become better yourself.
Anyway, you seem decent at heart, cheers, friend.

>>8687177
This one is for you my friend.
My only friend, oblivious to that fact.
On the outside, I may appear
As someone who has a lot of friends,
But in truth, they only pretend
To care for me.

We may not even be that close
And I am sure I am low
On your list of acquaintances,
But trust me, you are high on mine.
You alone.

You have always been there for me,
Your simple gestures are the
Only genuine acts of affection
I have ever experienced.
So simple, so basic yet honest.

I really am sad that we are not closer.
I blame myself for that.
I do not deserve you.
I thank you for everything.
I wish I could repay you.

Our conversations are mostly short,
Often almost one-sided.
Yet you don't decieve me,
You never pretend we are something
We are not - friends.
And for that I thank you.
For that I love you.

I wish I could tell you
What you mean to me,
But I can't.
I am probably nothing to you.
Still, I thank you and love you.
My only friend, oblivious to that fact.

>>8696026
is this supposed to be poetry? garbage.

>>8696081
You're supposed to critique, not give your shit opinion.

I've never understood how anyone can dismiss someone's written feelings as "garbage".

>>8696026
It feels like you don't go outside of talking about your one sided friendship here
Like provide some metaphors or descriptions or something
For me, good poetry is always characterized by the fact that my head is kind of spinning and struggling to keep up with all the pictures the poem is creating
Yours doesn't really go beyond just text on a screen

>>8695986
Not bad, but I have no idea what this is about Feels like you are just toying with random ideas

The cannibal appeared a copper sheen
Their leather skin hats shaking shrewd and livid
Trespassing he shouts and shouts ibid
Dwarfed by the figure across the stream

Fog curled fractals rising from his flesh
Wearing a shellac of antigenic resin
O shit it's my cousin

Oh God,
Sudden opening up of the Earth
and the cold wind tearing out like soulless fountains to engulf me. Sick men running to liquor stores in the 8 am turning heads, choosing not to see!, what is it with the beauty of the world?

>>8692905
tanks

>>8687467
>flowering eyes. Naked as the came
Did you mean "naked as they came" or was that intentional?

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Wrote this on my way home a couple of seconds ago.

The night
Favorite of the furtive, the wicked, the bandits
The cradle of iniquity, dissimilar to what is sacrum
Creating infamy in the midst of the saint
In this vile tomb, where the coward blade meets it's target

>>8696657
Short but I feel like you could develop this a lot more. If your intention was to create something simple, it worked and it certainly brings its point across. Otherwise, I feel it's decent.

>>8696576
Dammit I thought I finally did that piece of typos too. They is correct. Sorry about that.

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>>8687177
Orange Nylon rope
Stolen from a farmer's gate.
a fair end, I hope.

I would rather drown.
and blame the wind in the strait,
or the weight of the sound.


Wrote this just now pham. It reads amateur as fuck to me and I don't know why. Give me some help lads

>>8696657
I feel the denouement is too much for two lines. Like you have this promise and build up at the very start and a kind of logical progression that follows, but the last bit just sort of seems a little wooly and flat.

>>8687466
>>8687467
kewl

A simple one I wrote in class after he directed his stunning eyes into mine

I spend a lot of time thinking about the one I love
Feeling lost while seeing above
When will my heart stop feeling sore?
I've seen brighter sides before
Salty distress lay under my nose
Maybe in another life we're meant to be close

>>8687177
The doors opened to an empty cabin.
Floor 86; the longest ride possible.
The two wings sealed me in.
The first jolt is always frightening, in a way.
Still, I hope the rising doesn't cease.
To touch Orion's Belt and Ursa Major,
Every man's dream.
Floor 23; a passenger joins me.
A face full of energy and jitters.
She leaves at Floor 33.
Why didn't I speak up?
Floor 50; an elderly, ghostly man
With dark skin and dark eyes
And a dark something inside.
He only wants to be at floor 56.
Smelling of smoke and liquor and spite,
Exit.
Floor 67; that woman from before.
Shes much older now and much more lovely.
She stops her hand
Just after aiming for Floor 86
And she smiled upon me.
The jolt couldn't compare.
Floor by floor, passing stairs
With wanderers moving through corridors.
This was life and happiness.
The boarding passengers
Never distracted me from her eyes
But then
She looked down and shamefully
Rang for Floor 85.
How could my heart sink while rising?
Expectations.
Expectations to be there with her,
With her until the end.
The ground stopped abruptly.
She exited without a word
Into black
And into flames
And the doors shut tight.
The empty room jolted
When I couldn't notice to relish it.
The long awaited ding.
Floor 86; blinding light and arms and wings again and organ pianos and faces and white skin and that belt and eyes full of hope and Ursa Major and my dreams
And no old man and no girl of my dreams and no doors and no cabin and this doesn't feel like home at all.

>>8692761
Awesome, simple and satisfactory

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2MB, 2448x3264px

>>8696525
This might just be how I write poems, but please, for the fucking love of god or whatever you focus your nervous energies into, write fiction if you want to tell me a story. If you can't write abstractly or in any other way but by riding narrative...please, please, please write fiction.


UPDATED POEM

I woke up a couple days
And it was a little harder
To be what is called in love with you
Sometimes in the dream I just had
You, for a second or in the mirror
Are the kindness of the favorite lover
I remember

Bahia


Things here seemed ancient.
It looked the same when
restless men sailed
to this place.

They cut and tore
down all of the palm trees.
The Queen needed
her share, too.

And now I’m here
for conquests of my own
because I have no
Queen.

I saw a man throwing
stones at a dog while my
driver rattled by a town
that was falling apart..

That same town,
hazy with palm oil and
cachaça, seemed like
it was ancient too.

O’ Insufferable Universe;
who transcends our doctrines of right and wrong You who are all yet none.
You who mediate the balance of being.
I ask of you, Lady Universe, where in the enigma lies good solace?
What trail must we traverse?
What toils must we endure?
In what far corner lies our holy o’ holy custodian?
The soul truly is a lonely hunter.

>>8697521
Fucking re. Read you piece out loud, and maybe you'll recognize the clichés more and understand how self-important it comes off.

If I ever fall
You will not find me
Lying on the street
Or decaying in the gutter
No, I
Will fall into a hole
That has no bottom
From which no sound can escape
And you will not find me

>>8697517
Good in construction bad in content

>>8697581
Could I get an elaboration on that? It's an old poem I wrote for a class. It's about the first day I arrived in Brazil for a 2 month romp in south America.

>>8697482
Staggered
steps
of brittle stone,
I dragged my feet across.

Anxious with a cautious step forward
In hopes of reaching the top.
On the top, she lay,
With pale skin being pressed
By sunlight rays of stress.

I protested, "Anyone else would deserve less,"
And leaving her would me leave no rest.

She awoke to see me
Who saw her at her best, or worst?
White hair cover her face while she hid from my curse

Then looked up and through eyelids shut tight.
I thought I'd save her from the light's evil grip.
This peak was never meant for the wounded or for incline.


But then,
Just then,
Against mine, I felt her lips.

>>8697521
Get out Whitman

I got a new jacket today
The sleeves are long and white
Thick and warm against my skin


It wasn’t long before my arms got torn up
I fell off my bike
On my way home from school


I fell off my bike
Why are they locking me away
I fell off my bike


That’s why there are long red cuts on my arm
Please don’t take away my razors
I need them to shave


I’m sorry you don’t like my arm
I’ll wear long sleeve from now on
I got a new jacket, see,


The long white sleeves will cover the cuts
And keep me warm


I’m sorry about my arm
I just fell off my bike

>>8697600
Fuck off with your sappy try-hard bullshit.

Shit like this is why people think poetry is boring

Hungarian Paprika

a white SUV
and my legs can
barely fit in front of the
passenger seat.

she does not want me in here
but like she has said before

she can't say no to me.

no matter how many times
I tell her we may date in the
future,
even though she knows we won't.
I think she knows.

all that I care about
right now is
cumin.
garam masala.

I ask when her birthday is
and all she says is
"why"
that's kind of where we're at.

she won't come in with me due to the deep, red, flagrant, shameful
suction marks I've left on her neck.

she's upset I won't buy
her grape gummies.
all I will buy her is dark
chocolate. I won't buy dairy.

"I'll be quick," I say as I
open the door.

"take your time," she replies.
"it doesnt matter."

poor girl
nothing matters.

>>8697647
You must have had died black hair at some point

>>8697577
Nobody cares that you're depressed or self-destructive

>>8697656
Nah, just bipolar.

>>8697652
implying poetry is exciting at all
>we begin again
The negative mind thinks
That today and tomorrow
Will be the two hardest days
Of their entire life
While the positive mind thinks
That only yesterday was.

>>8697666
THE BEASt

>>8697577

I love this kind of shit.
Honestly I read this and just want to know how did she hurt you so deeply?

>>8697683
At a distance, I can say,
She was nothing but rays of purple
With blue and still, she stayed.
May toxicity have a heart?
Let's find where areas aren't gray.

Approaching what was seen.
Senses becoming less keen.
Entering the dream grotto
Until made to leave.
Unenjoyable, to say the least.

The dense aroma surrounds you.
Poisonous fumes of honeysuckle dew
Flowers from your azure dress
Into a foggy new home.
What a willingness to topple so few.

Exploding snakes and scorpions and eels
Have shown me how you make deals.
Corruption of purity
Concealed in an unreal body,
Conceptualized into a genial form.

I'll dawn that cloud
And become the fawn as well.
Going wrong isn't all that bad,
Considering what's going on.
Be my miasma or be nothing at all.

The tears are gone
No more scratching
Healthy immune system
No more rapping


Perfect wife
Shiny car
Fuck up those windows
And hit the bar


She left you now
What the fuck is wrong
Just take some ambien
And sing “goodbye to you” song


She was never really here
She knows it, you know it
Go pop those pills and let me show it
Show the long long story of a fucked up kid


He said he’d leave and then he did
Ate lunch alone
With his made-up phone
This poem does not to condone


A life like his
It’s not okay
Read your bible, sit and wait
It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay


Don’t sit alone
Don’t skip your classes
Don’t let the bullies break your glasses
And don’t get drunk just cause your parents dont listen


Go to sunday school, sit and listen
You’ll learn how to be a person
Was it really that hard?
He said


It was that hard
He can’t do it
And it’s not okay
He’ll never be okay

In death, you face life with a child and a wife
Who sleep-walks through your dreams into walls.
You're a soldier of mercy, you're cold and you curse,
"He who cannot be trusted must fall."
Loneliness, tenderness, high society, notoriety.
You fight for the throne and you travel alone
Unknown as you slowly sink
And there's no time to think.

Nero saw only victories
We sit beyond reach of infinity
The ocean-view positively reeks of
perfection
death
immoral acts of extreme love
our sighing forefathers cannot prepare
these dead words for your mouth
these shattering
burning
black
words that our gods died for
worlds that never should have been
as the eyes close in on us
as I hold your salt-stained fingers
the shrieking can not overwhelm me
the isolation cannot destroy me
the light cannot consume my hopeless veins
Our memories of Rome burn
As we drift towards the sea

>>8697683
The first reply isn't me?

What do you mean "this kind of shit"?

I didn't write this because of a girl. I just felt sort of alienated and blue, like usual.

>>8697805
I just presumed it was heart break. And I will continue to presume.

>>8697577
Powerfully emotive. The length and pacing work extremely well with your theme.

Chain-link words surround
Your face of
Dead pixels
Neon hair
Plastic skin

I know you aren't real
But I think you were
You were a blur
All colours and heat
All sights and sounds
I can still feel your nails
As they dig into my wrists

a year later
your skeleton was at my door
and the smoke that escaped you
burnt my eyes

“We have to leave”
You whispered in my ear
Your grey mouth struggling around the words
As finally
At last
You burned away

>>8697726
The problem with this poem, as i see it, is that you're expressing these emotions on a surface level. A lot of what is conveyed are actions, a dry summary of events, and nothing of inward, personal, or intimate description.

Maybe something that adds to this problem is your use of second person. It's almost a poem to yourself the way you've written it. You understand the emotions behind your lines, but to another person it reads dull and vague.

There are a few good lines in there, so you have that going for you.

>>8687193
Rhythm is a problem, as well as your second stanza sounding, with no splendour, like an anime cliche

>>8687259
Is this the same guy that wrote the first poem. Also quite good

>>8687329
I don't think all your stylistic choices are operating on the same level; in harmony. It's at least interesting to read but I think you need to distill your efforts into something sharper

>>8697804
A lot of your description is supposed to metaphorical, but you didn't set up anything tangible for the reader to grasp, so it comes across as vague. You're playing with ideas and emotions you never really let the reader in on.

The last two lines are good. I like the rhythm and flow. But the rest of it doesn't flow very well. It's spontaneous, which could work if you revised it to be more lyrical like the last two.

>>8697787
There's little interplay between lines. Your flow is clunky, your pauses inconsistent, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it is for yours.

>>8697858
Hey, thanks for taking the time to reply. I don't usually post my writing. This poem was a patchwork from a couple others I was working on, so this is a rough polishing of that idea. I'll see what sticks in making it less vague.

>>8697834
>It's almost a poem to yourself the way you've written it. You understand the emotions behind your lines, but to another person it reads dull and vague.

You're totally right. It basically was a poem to myself. Good to know that that doesn't necessarily make the poem work for other people (although I'm not totally sure how else to write it).

>There are a few good lines in there, so you have that going for you.

Could you point out which ones you like?

>>8687177
I apologize for posting the same poem again, but I would really love to receive some more feedback because I am new to this and I want to know what I have to fix. Thanks in advance!

Fallen leaves are everywhere on the ground,
Rain falling as if there's no tomorrow,
Only the naked tree knows my sorrow.
World is a storm, peace can never be found.

Her hair, a vision of past in my head,
Reminiscent of her beauty unmatched,
To dream is to hope, a hope too far-fetched.
My tears are nails, my heart is full of dread.

Autumn has always been my one true love,
And my love is forever in autumn,
Unable to hide its face so solemn,
Taking shelter in a hidden alcove.

Just like fire, love first heals, then it consumes.
The flame burns bright for a while and dies out,
Then only ash is left, no fear, no doubt.
No escape, the cycle always resumes.

>>8697955
>>8697955
why so strict on the 10 syllables per line if youre not following a rhythm? Furthermore, the dead stops at the end of each line are yawn-worthy. Learn to avoid set phrases or common idioms. Don't repeat information unnecessarily. Don't break the rules of grammar to fit your structure--break the structure instead. Do not depend on pre-established connotations and metaphors (heart, rain, ash, etc) Instead, use each image for your own unique purpose.

And most of all - stop using abstractions so much. Words like hope, sorrow, peace, etc etc - none of these mean anything if they're not attached to an actual event, a person, a situation. To talk about big ideas, you have to think small and detailed.

Advice: trash this poem. Write 20 more poems and trash those too. Read Pound's 'A Few Don'ts and Olson's Projective Verse. Maybe some of Poe's essays too. Then maybe youll be ready to write a good poem.

>>8698039
Thank you, finally someone with helpful advice!

>>8697666
fuck off satan you dick.

On a non-meme note, I wish I could contribute better to these threads but I'm not knowledgeable to say anything beyond that I like it or not. I wish I could share a critique for a critique but if I wanted educated opinions I'd have nothing to offer in return

>>8695961
read my shitty poem pls

>>8698373
It's nice. I like Sonnets.

>In better times, a better man than me
>Wrote better poetry. His better choice
I think this could be changed a bit. "A better man than me" is good, "In better times" is ok but seems a bit contrived (like, why are they better, or relevant? are you trying to invoke a nostalgic feeling?) it just seems a bit pointless.

"wrote better poetry" is fine but I'd use a different word than poetry because for some reason it just strikes me strangely and doesn't sound nice.

"His better choice", replace "better with something else, I get that you're trying to keep the motif or whatever, but two iterations is fine. Everything else is superfluous. "Choice" is also a bit suspect but it's necessary for the rhyme so unless there's something else that rhymes and fits.

Maybe something like
>There was a time, a better man than me
>wrote better verse, born of the choice
>to find, not to coerce, his voice

That's just a quick thought and you could do better if you thought about it for a second. It might fuck up the meter a bit but yyou can play around with it.

There's a few useless words that I think you could change because it comes across like you were just trying to fill out the meter. "Immaterial" should be changed in my opinion, and "human arrogance" too. I think "human arrogance sounds awkward and ties it too closely to the next line when there should be some contrast.

You should try and focus on the personal aspect of that arrogance and afterwards compare it to the general "humanness" of it rather than call it human outright, so something like

>"remember your selfish arrogance"
or
>"remember your unique arrogance"
obviously take the time to make it not shit because my examples were shit but you get what I'm trying to say.

These are all amateur opinions so take them with a grain of salt.

>>8697109
This is mine btw if you have any thoughts

It is not a place for the lucid,
the shadowed den a dreamer's mask,
punctured only by candied lights
and false promises of an ever after
that only a child would fall for.

(A corrupted Wonderland made
not of curious oddities,
but odds and evens,
noughts on crosses.)

Paying with both home and car
to live within a house of cards.
Under a spell, a mad descent
broken simply, by soul and wallet
utterly spent.

Kind of a stupidly inconsistent piece written before bed, hopefully the subject is clear.

>>8687182
Nice

>>8695961
>sharèd
No
Apart from that it was good, find another way to put a syllable in after "shared", and I like the absurdity in it.


Here's mine:

The streets here look angry.
Cutting open parks and estates like
They're desperate to be heard.
I promise I can hear you, you keep me awake.
I've cut myself up
On their corners
More times than I can count
And the paving slabs
Where I've waited are cracked
Like so many broken eggs shells.

But the streets back home are soft, and quiet.
They don't cut, they trace themselves between
The fields and hills that roll on with them.
They spill, not slice, like wine between stone.
And though you've shown me cracked slabs but I like to think
They're cracked, not because they want
To trip people up,
But as reminders we've made our mark.

For tilled fields can be turned over like new fallen leaves,
Cracked pavements can only ever crack further.

>>8698585
try to refrain from starting your lines with simple gay words like 'the' 'i' 'ive' 'like' 'to' 'for' 'and' and 'but'

The infinite soul of green paint
Upon the yellow cheeks of an oily sun:
Yes, the slings and arrows of outrageous
Misfortune sling my years back and forth;
The memories of old rage, old fury, sounds
Or rhythms coming, going, and back and forth
Jetting the entire hopes of my being and my
Highest secret aspirations — if only — yes,
And I, holding my hand toward you, Harriet
Dearest, I paint thy naked beauty as God
Hast designed, you are: a game of chess.
And alone I sit thinking, sensing the scented
Oil colours, emerging from the dark wooden floor and walls,
I sit thinking about how things could have been,
And I sit listening to the snow, delicately falling,
Falling faintly, faintly falling, upon their last descent
As the deepest memories I hold of you alive,
And now dead.

______________

I do not ask you to critique my work, I'm raising the quality bar in this thread since you're all awful. Thank you and good luck in the future.

Yesterday I wore my new sneakers.
They are the color of butter to replace
The white ones I wore a hole in.

There was a boy wearing the same sneakers,
But his were authentically dirty. I scraped
My toe against the curb and was ashamed.

Today I had an appointment to eat lunch
With Emily. I dug out my old white sneakers.
She wasn't there, and I thought
About my new butter sneakers.

>>8692783
You're joking, right?

>>8698710
I'm intrigued. That's all I can really say about this one. I like it.

>>8697834
>>8697877
>Could you point out which ones you like?

pls

>>8698709
Indeed you are. I wish I could write decent poetry in English so we could compete, but it's not my first language.

By the way, remove that bloody Shakespeare quotation. It's awful and feels completely out of place. Your poem is too intimate for external interventions, specially such clichèd ones.

>>8698714
He's probably not. That's just what modernism does to people. No beginner would dare writing such stuff 150 years ago.

I fear the sound of/ silence because I am left/ alone with my thoughts

>>8698691
>gay words
Do you take yourself seriously?

À festa das irmãs da humilhação
Lutei pra ir, porém estive ausente
- Nem fora apropriado estar presente
O filho matinal da solidão.

Enquanto passo os olhos pela mão
Vejo nela surgir, bem de repente,
Uma imagem das formas da serpente
Misturando-se ao caos escuridão.

Eram duas irmãs, eram dois sonhos,
E foi uma bigorna que o quebrou:
Como faca cravada pelo peito.

Agora os meus joelhos, já tristonhos,
Relaxam do distúrbio que acabou
Pensando em retomar - mas não tem jeito.

I dreamed of your body wrapped around hers and I was there, watching you consume her
My body sank as you grew around her
We were still working in unison; every move you made pushed me further down
I couldn't scream but I called inside of me for something to take me anywhere but here

Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.
With a tongue crimson as hot cold blood.
A holy hell fire hydrant's slippery thick mud. Outspoken in chastity yet embarked on roads of cleavers.
Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.

>>8687177
I woke up this morning. I woke up this morning.

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>>8687177
I've tried and I've tried/
But no-one is critiquing/
my shit-tier poems/

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901KB, 500x500px

>>8698970
'Cause they're shit

Tell me /lit/, which among the 225 posts here are the best poems?

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53KB, 577x1024px

>>8698988
mine

cycles of circles spinning blindly
growing taller unaware of its size
the sun turning but remaining still
above the sky hot and cold
there lurks more beyond the mind
further you will find
our minds are blind

>>8698988
Actually many of the posts in this thread are not poems at all, rather critiques, commentary and the occasional funpost. The real number of poems in this thread is much lower than 225.

>>8699130
Then tell me which ones you liked in particular.

>>8699149
Yeah I'd like to see some "best of" lists of this thread.

>>8699210
>>8699210
My Favorites:
>>8694039
>>8694043
>>8688873
>>8688948
>>8694056
>>8697655
>>8698585

>>8699541
I made the cut. Wow.

>>8690041
Guys.... That's Kevin Barnes. from the band of montreal. He read that poem at a show I went to see like 2 years ago. It actually totally makes sense that he'd be on here

It's weird, most of what he writes is honestly better than that. He's written some stuff that's just totally stream of consciousness, that must be one of them

File: IMG_4577.jpg (51KB, 405x720px)

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>>8699541
>>8699736

mfw i don't make the cut

Someone make another list to l give me another chance

>>8688693
>the the the the the the the the the the
this is a problem

>>8694039
>>8694056

Critique?? These are both me

>>8694204
>you you you

Obligatory poem in spanish because why not.

Sentir

De un pensamiento en diurna soledad

Se atiborra en multitud cubriendo la húmeda mirada

En la tempestad que corroe el tiempo

Y el haz angosto de luz de sol estatua

Se esconde de no ser el intruso innato

A una figura de vacías intenciones

De sus días en eones

Constante tumulto furtivo de mil navajas

De fuego taciturno

Penetran las paredes altas de espejos sucios

Murallas babilónicas de cual salen en fila

Una tras otra, sin orden de muerte

Palabras inútiles que nacen de dentro en decepción

Y escapan moribundas a un lugar en transparente ruido

Pasando a oídos de interés desolado

Y a almas de idioma equívoco

Así se llega a la deriva de uno que se pierde en multitud invisible

A minutos efímeros de un ave en descenso desgraciado

¿Qué se espera, entonces, de un rumor hastío,

Un futuro difuso, un final blanco, un espacio de falso reposo,

Un sufrimiento infinito o fugaz, unos demonios de piel y palabra?

De esto no se sabe y no se puede conocer

Solo permanece el longevo esperar

Y el deseo reacio a cultivar.

>>8699981
Why?

>>8688786
I feel that 79 takes to much away from 73. In that its simplicity combined with how compact the poem is helps drive home the final emotion. I find the use of "Devoid" to disrupts the fluidity of the overall message. The same could be said about the "And with luck human presence". This isn't to say I disliked 79 I just think that 79 is a different poem that if they had simply made their own version entirely and said here is how I would have made 73, then that would be their style in its own if that makes sense.

in short I pretty much agree with 863 response.

I've a conspiracy to breathe
A late March breeze on the nape of her neck.
A rose by alba, sweetly scented, hardy;
Not Céleste, nor summer's Fantin-Latour, no:
A pale Nevada, but pinker, a great blushing maiden,
With a dewy carpel between parted-calyx,
Dripping and heavy, a gardener's kiss planted there,
Blooming now in early April, her farewell-to-winter;
And curved shoots moan excitement until
Summer comes.

>>8688898
I think you're a significantly better poet than I, because I can't find a fault here.

I would like to say this sent a shiver down my spine. Also that I'll 100% be referencing this as a quote in my life from now on.

here's an attempt at free rhyme

With eyes as bright as owls (although the night could blind you)
and hair that’s not quite wire (although it surely coils),
I feel you stick your vowels (although you shrill your I’s)
And know you in entire (although that’s impossible).


Again your serpent hair (as though I’m prone to chew)
Writhes into my mouth (although I spit it out),
We made a horrid pair (although I did love you).
We made a horrid pair (although I did love you).

Autism speaks,
And I try to listen.
The thought of fucking a retard
Makes my naked cock glisten.

Like a sea
Of crystalline waves
pounding on a sandy shore,
another tombstone is added, shipped to the morgue!

Like sprinkles
on a delicate cake—
baked to perfection!
The ground is peppered with graves
Death nears its satisfaction

I can practically taste the salt
ground onto a delicious steak,
and likewise I can see
another row in the graves to make!

I could talk all day—oh every single hour
about how many drops of water hit the tub in a shower
but never could I utter, not one faint syllable
about the bodies under the ground
whose minds swim in null

I can write a thousand books
on the spices from a store,
though the thought of a sepulchre
chills me to the core!

I can never restrain myself
on the subject of tending roses—
yet the rain washing up shallow graves
what disgust for me it poses!

Oh the joys that we all see,
from the mountains lined with trees
they all start, their genesis
resounds from another
corpses ferment, they tend the ground
and a new legion of plants grow,
sturdy and leaves sound
but these people—they must go!

I can never tear my eyes
not one blessed, giving moment
from the death I see
the horror
the disembowelment

I can only hope these people see
the crimson tablets set for thee,
but then again, I assure myself—
they'll never really be free!

also, fuck you 4chan for not letting me italicIZE MY SHIT

My first ever crack at a written piece. Anything i should know/keep in mind?

Today is just like any other day. As I push past a shopfront on my skateboard, I can’t help but catch my own reflection in the large reflective window. I always notice my eyes. They say that they’re the window to the soul. However mine seem as empty as a street filled with mannequins that have nothing to say to you. The thought of how little I recognise myself catalyses a familiar anguish. Somberly, I slide a cigarette in-between my lips and continue rolling down the street. Today is just like any other day.

>>8700772
holy... i want more.....

>>8700524
you ever say a word so many times it stops sounding like a word? that's your problem. some poems pull off repetition pretty well but in most of those cases I can feel a semblance of structure. there's no structure or even much thought behind your repetition of the word "the" and it's really grating, both aurally and because abuse of the definite article invokes so much work that you haven't done in defining these objects, or else places an undue importance on them. imo you are being way too dramatic about drinking, likening each physical aspect of this bottle to images that don't add up. the images ultimately fall flat because they don't work together. identifying each one as "the" only worsens the audiovisual cacophony.

let your "i love you"s be short and few

This thread is shit. It is the utmost shit.

they call me al dente
i'll put a fufcking dente ij your skull
i'll fucking feed ya balls to the dogs
like ya higs
get offa me yoa tusday cog
fuck off with ya shit rhymes
if imma spnedin time here, cummup wit da times
nigger

>>8701591
Funnily enough that particular poem has nothing to do with drinking, which tells me that it's achieved its initial purpose, so thank you.

>>8701591
>>8701971
But, opinions on the second one?

>>8692712
Oh shit, I wanted to save this but forgot.
I like it a lot.

>>8689652
Can someone give me feedback, please. I would really like to improve.

>>8702426
Too edgy.
At least try to hide those feelings behind metaphors or something idk

A mirror;
framed in shape,
scarred in form,
by black division
caught blank light.
Sense, sound, sight,
these not by reason lawed,
nor privileged right,
yet fate adorned.

See more freedom?
See it more?

Limited infinity;
have such things
you ever saw?

Through this prism
labour toils, who
back to Earth
Through nature coils.

Memory, you say, is
an ethical imperative.
The aesthetics of the
oral tradition: class-
room; bar-room; bed-
room. I remember
your face at the stand:
"Frēa ælmihtig" alight-
ing with Anglo-Saxon
delight. Aural ejaculate.
You, I remember: giant
god-poet with shoulders
too slender to stand on,
but fit for grasping and
shaping and making
for the milk of human kind-

For fucks sake.

Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.
With a tongue crimson as hot cold blood.
A holy hell fire hydrant's slippery thick mud. Outspoken in chastity yet embarking on roads of cleavers.
Her smile was a blaspheme creamer.

Also,

He, Stanley, stood standing. Stanley's standing stood outstandly. And he, Andy , fancied Stanley. So Andy stood with Stanley standing. Thus, Stanley's Andy's and Andy's Stanley's fannies fanned away with manly canty.

>>8703605
noice

In the stifled laugh
Lingering,
Hanging above the coffin
Lay the burnt wick -- maybe
Of dreams worth dreaming:

A jar invisibly open;
A door ajar, beckoning,
To the unknown passerby.
A voice awry, dully
-- Ashamedly, I’m sure --
Rose, and yet
No one listened to it;

I thought of little things,
Tangled shoelaces or lips,
Dry socks or eyes. The voice then
Crescendoed into a maddening
Mesh of noises and awkward
Pauses; so I left.

On my way home I bought
Food, if memory serves, and
A deep blue cobalt glass
Vase for our living room.

File: download (3).jpg (4KB, 319x158px)

4KB, 319x158px

>>8697109
critique me or I'll shoot, ye shitehawks

>>8697109
I like it. I don't know what to say.

>>8703624
It's pretty good.
You have a semi ballad going with lines of 3-4-3 feet. But the missing last line (4) of each stanza make it feel weird and abrupt to me. I don't know if adding another line would help because it might sound too ballad-y for what you are going for though.

>>8703624
you sound irish

>>8703624
So that's how you get responses in those threads, huh. Good to know.

>>8703682
We don't want to be shot

>>8703624
>>8703682
>>8703685
I kindly request a critique on my humble poem here >>8703620
if it pleases you gentlemen.

posted this somewhere here before. I've revised it a bit. Here goes.


I cannot explain that sweet music.
It was just playing out my window—
And It sounded real.
And it sounded far away.
And those angel voices
Were buried
By crickets and frogs
And other night hogs
And I know they were real.
God left my window open
For me to hear his angels sing
And his crickets scream
And his perfect guitars play.
I wanted to touch
And dance—
Tonight is a dancing song;
God made tonight that way.
Then the music stopped,
And I thought:
'I never see frogs,
I just now realize,
But every night I hear them.'
They're not far away.
There are real frogs out there.
And I wonder
'Why did God make them so fucking loud?
And why the music so far away?
And where did it come from?
And did they dance?
(You know it would be a sin not to dance)
And was it real?
And will it play again?
And can I dance out there too?'

Those crickets and frogs
Are real.
And when that music played
I think it broke my heart.
And the frogs laughed.

>>8703846
Not quite up my alley, so I won't give detailed feedback, but I can tell you that this is out of place; there's just no need to swear here, really.

>'Why did God make them so fucking loud?

>>8703471
I really like this. What's it about?

This is meant as a rap, hence the colloquial nature of the thing.

And then some random fuckin dude said

'Let there be something. Anything.'

Fervent current servants of the divinest kiss the serpent
Martyrs twist the carcass in their coffins when they learn it
Words fall from a heathen's mouth and though he don't deserve it
Creator tells him word of all the secrets of his purpose
Prostrating supplicating to his brilliance is no service
Look back on your own tracks and see they're static that's the verdict
The catalyst ain't coming
Doing what you feel's not so impressive when it's nothing
Failure's not a factor cause you haven't even tried yet
The boomers weren't bluffing
Rueing what you feel's not so constructive as a young'n
Brilliance not convincing when you haven't been inspired yet
Mindset
Don't commit to commitment
Why set
Rules when you live by omission
Try get
An objective, a mission
Your sidequest
An inertia bound fiction fixed on cultivating fear
Fear success is all that separates reviled and revered
Madness close to genius
Pinky's brain checks Mickey's ears
Rodents like him eat his crumbs, eat, sleep, shit, breed, and live in fear
Big cheese scheming is just dreaming you need deeds or noone cares

>>8703620
I honestly really really enjoyed this one. There's something really eerie and sensual about it... the second stanza was my favorite.
The only thing is the last stanza didn't really match the rest... not sure if that was on purpose or not.

>>8703915
Second verse


Sally spends her weekends slaying tiddlywinks with Skittles
Sunday brand saliva's red
Monday teeth brittle
Tuesday feet are dragging lead
Wednesday mouth gristle
Thursday hurts normality is thirsting for the reigns
Friday fucking finally let's candy flip again
Weekend the freaks bend
Contorted fuckmass where her feet end
Over the shoulders
She knows the shareholders
Get bucks but ain't bucking
She knows all the wifies
Get fucked but ain't fucking
Straight edge is trite shit
Get cucked but ain't cucking
Come get this tight slit
To her it means nothing
Spit Sunday's crimson spit onto the cock throbbing beneath her
Sally sucks the straw that's gently bobbing in the ether

>>8703915
I see what you're saying about that line, I'm honestly still conflicted about it. I tried it without 'fucking' but then the question kinda lost its urgency, which was what I was really trying to express. Idk I'll keep at it.

>>8703917
First of all, thanks! And yeah, I wanted to make the end very blunt, kinda... Zen, I guess? Like a form of serene emptiness, to induce readers to go and read it again with maybe a slightly different perspective.

Wrote this for wizchan, named for a meme from japan where if you hit 30 and are still a virgin you become a wizard. Succubi are women.

Wizard's Oath


Would you wonder at my dare
would you have a care
that, I, a wizard, desire succubi?
that, I, alone on my own(I, wish'd)
would take your company alone?

That, I, would say:
"Succubi, suck my supply of sacred mana!"
"Drain me dry before, I, cramp and cry!"

That, I, against those Succubi, would dare?

No. I have one care.
My magics await me in my tower,
My tower missing it's power is no shame,
For on this evening hour do, I,
Wish I had an endless name.

I, Wizard, deny thee Succubi.
I, Wizard, will not cramp and cry.
Alone on my own(I, wish'd), I, cry.

My magics await me in my tower,
At the height of this new power,
You will not drain me dry, Succubi!

>>8703990
Ah, I got you. I appreciate it more now.

Of Dogs and Death

My dog is dying
Yesterday she was immortal
Today she became real
And it's only because I can see the pain
In her breathing
And it's only because I can see her ribs
Emerging through her fur.

And I know what a tumor is
And she does not
And I know what death is
And she does not
And I know that every pain has a source
And she only knows pain

She still barks
And has a brightness in her eyes
And it's cruel
Because that's hope
And I'd be fine if there was no hope
But there is
And I guess it's fair
Because
Neither she nor I
Know anything of death.

>>8697834
>>8697726
Here are a few that caught my eye

>Healthy immune system

>Don’t sit alone
>Don’t skip your classes

>You’ll learn how to be a person
Liked this one probably the most.

>It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay

I honestly think this might read better it you just made it a full repetition.

>It'll be okay, It'll be okay

>although I'm not totally sure how else to write it

Experiment, and don't be afraid to admit what you write is bad. Every good writer sucked for a longer time than they'd like to admit.
Try writing it as a narrative, first or second person. Relate and describe certain moments. They din;t have to be in order. The reader won't know the difference.

I think what you're writing now is kind of too far in the write direction. You're not trying to imitate Browning or Lancelot Andrewes.

>>8703652
>>8703656
Thanks lads.

The abruptness is semi-deliberate. I wanted the change from the first to the second stanza to be a bit jarring, and I tried to add a line after the second but I couldn't get it to work. It ended up feeling cluttered.

>>8703679
I am yeah. From Galway

>>8703682
Sorry, I know it's bad form but the thread's coming to an end and I haven't a notion what to think about this one.

>>8703818
I love the meter of the first stanza. Don't know why it strikes me relative to the others. I think it's great over all to be honest. If there was some criticism I could give I'd say the third stanza feels not as neat as the others but I wouldn't know how to better it. I like the sound of it and the imagery. Reminds me of a funeral or a removal but not in an overly miserable way, more the mix of pathos and confusion surrounding the thing.

>>8703990
Shibui. You pulled it off I think.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shibui

Or at least that's what I got from it. I was kind of going for the same in my first stanza here
>>8697109
but I think you did it better.

>>8704038
The second and third lines almost turned me off, you may want to revise them to make them less melodramatic. They don't flow too well either.

Your rhythm kind of stagnates between the middle of the first and the end of the second stanzas. You use the same basic structure for the majority of the poem, and it's not organized very well. This particular scheme works very well with what your trying to convey, but the first and third stanzas could use a little more diversity. Your excessive use of "and" doesn't serve much purpose beyond adding length and a syllable. There are many places where it could be cut out, particularly the second stanza. I'm only saying this because it seems tacky to me, but that may just be because I see it overused a lot.

The third stanza is obviously you best. It's very evocative. Overall, you've done a good job of using your devices to convey what you intended. But I'd let it sit for a few weeks before coming back and revising it.

>>8704276
Thanks for the feedback. I see now how I could definitely benefit from dropping a few 'and's. I meant to kinda overuse them in the second stanza though. But I agree the first stanza definitely needs work. I'll let it sit.