/pt/ Poetry Thread

One of my favorites

But I shall not want my death so soon.
For even asylum takes of the world for being.
Even asylum goes mad with winter, summer, autumn, and spring.
And my children will change into men.

Behind the curtain does god lie
To cross the curtain must you die
Lifting the curtain brings do view
The stage where it rests was built by you

I like this one because the wording is a little weird in the first two lines. The poem could have easily said "god does lie" instead it says "does god lie"

Then the poem asks "must you die?", following the whole word flip thing, In a way that implies maybe lifting the curtain doesent require death, while it also might assert that you must indeed die to cross the curtain that is hiding god.

>>9050177
Edgar Allan Poe - The Sleeper

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

Oh, lady bright! can it be right—
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop—
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully—so fearfully—
Above the closed and fringéd lid
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold—
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
And wingéd pannels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls
Of her grand family funerals—

Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portals she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone—
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

>>9052387
>>9051099
You guys do know the title palys an important role in poems. Do your poems not have titles?

Suicides in Japan

Hung on the highest branch and he
Seems to be staring straight down.
How pitiful, how dour indeed,
Even in death he's still found
Bowing his head to invisible
Authorities. An abhorring scene.
Still one in a million sadly.
They hang like lanterns in these woods:

Each a previous member of the human race
Displaced by failures a dime a dozen-
A crime it being round here to fail
Led the mind unsound choose instead to bail.
Last rites writ on tree trunks as to testify
That this is not in vain, and not a cry
For help, beyond it he'd gone-
Fully prepared every corpse here was.

What drove the weak to rove and crumble?
And am I strong that I survive
Still? or who knows will I tumble
Down to their neck of the woods?
Where leaves are blood red and ropes
Abound more so than untouched trunks.
And will one day I write these
Poems not on paper but that same stuff?
Because as I stare up at him
I hear the tales the dead do sing
And it feels he's singing to me.

>>9050177
All poetry is mad bih

>>9052405
Fantastic meter. Scans really well

>>9052554
Are you that same cunt from NZ?