Poetry Thread

I'm thinking to start, I'll give a theme. For this, I'm going with:

>Aestheticism

It's a great theme to start with because it's nature very much pertains to poetry as well as modern society.

I'm going to post my most favorite bad poem. This comes to the world courtesy of French poet Claude Vigee, and is deliciously terrible (and ridiculously fun to read out loud).

April

I am born of turbid blood:
My nature is double.

Kittens of the birch trees
rain through my green night.

On trunks sundered
by the frosted moon,

my solar pollen laughs:
stars, wind, and sand.

Mother-water fills my valleys:
O uterine blackness.

But the foamy thickets,
green gold on my summits.

Doves and genistas,
ride my whirlwind!

Altazor, Cantor Séptimo by Vicente Huidobro.

It makes more sense in the context of the other poems in the book. So much Aesthetic that it abandons language.

Al aia aia
ia ia ia aia ui
Tralalí
Lali lalá
Aruaru
urulario
Lalilá
Rimbibolam lam lam
Uiaya zollonario
lalilá
Monlutrella monluztrella
lalolú
Montresol y mandotrina
Ai ai
Montesur en lasurido
Montesol
Lusponsedo solinario
Aururaro ulisamento lalilá
Ylarca murllonía
Hormajauma marijauda
Mitradente
Mitrapausa
Mitralonga
Matrisola
matriola
Olamina olasica lalilá
Isonauta
Olandera uruaro
Ia ia campanuso compasedo
Tralalá
Aí ai mareciente y eternauta
Redontella tallerendo lucenario
Ia ia
Laribamba
Larimbambamplanerella
Laribambamositerella
Leiramombaririlanla
lirilam
Ai i a
Temporía
Ai ai aia
Ululayu
lulayu
layu yu
Ululayu
ulayu
ayu yu
Lunatando
Sensorida e infimento
Ululayo ululamento
Plegasuena
Cantasorio ululaciente
Oraneva yu yu yo
Tempovío
Infilero e infinauta zurrosía
Jaurinario ururayú
Montañendo oraranía
Arorasía ululacente
Semperiva
ivarisa tarirá
Campanudio lalalí
Auriciento auronida
Lalalí
Io ia
iiio
Ai a i a a i i i i o ia

O innocent Glaucus of the Argo!
The bosky turf revved immortality,
And though His scalened self senectuous,
Time has altered not the water of His.
To fade and to pass through modern tiding,
And not of the blue waves he takes hiding . . .
Woe is Glaucus of the sea--forced to see
Waves harsher than his cruel maiden Scylla
Better to bathe in Lethes of the sea
Than to live until Earth shall cease to be.

>>9134029
this is good I like it

>>9134029
This really is fun to read out loud and really does make absolutely no sense. It makes me wonder how much "better" it is in original French.

>>9134267
Wow, yeah that's something. Is he going for phonetics as his aesthetic here, or is it the structure of the "words"? Or is it both? Either way, really pretentious stuff here mate.

>>9134275
Obviously not aesthetic, but still a great piece. Is this an excerpt from something? Like the Iliad or The Divine Comedy?

>>9134500
there's some sense there
>I am born of turbid blood:
>My nature is double.
Seems pretty sensible to me. His blood (essence) is turbid, meaning he's got an unstable personality or something like that, hence the double nature.

>Kittens...
no idea

>On trunks...
Not really sure about that one either, moonlit forest or something like that

>my solar pollen laughs:
>stars, wind, and sand
solar pollen could be stars, given the granular nature of both objects. there's some connections to be made there.

>the rest of the poem
still no idea

has 10/10 rhythm though, I enjoyed it.

>>9134026
Here's mine for own theme. It didn't turn out the best, but I hope it'll get some other posts going.

Today was a mild day for so late in February.
Spring sang early by a windy tributary,
and played away the cold decay of December.
There was a green leaf applause for all to remember:

All the red-breasted robins chirping wildly,
in hopes of calling a new love blindly.
And all of the dogs who's lonely, friendly barking
echo into the falling curtain of night.

And in my house seat I preside
by the window open fully wide
as the distant rushing wind
and bellowing train blend
into a calming sort of static.

Watching the street corner with vague intent,
hoping to witness nothing at present,
a cool air gently plays with my hair
and the brightness of my marijuana cigarette.

It's bitter aroma filling my mind
a brief moment just before
another breeze slips inside,
bringing with it a
refreshing smell of petrichor.

>>9134543
Yeah, I mean there are some connections to be made. And who knows, maybe in some crazy way it does all make sense together. But as it stands, it is all aesthetic. Which isn't a bad thing, but works out better if your already famous

Can I post my single pleb OC poem here? Is this the place for shit-tier poetry or just people who actually know what they're doing?

>>9134500
It is the seventh and last poem/chapter in Huidobro's "Altazor." The whole of it is essentially a successive deconstruction of poetic canons, with ever more abstract imagery and figures.

This is his deconstruction of language and additionally his creation of some sort of language only understood to by him. He believed the poet to be "like a little god." Small ego, that man.

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

-Dylan Thomas

>>9133978
When neigh the day,
Neither the night,
All in each moment lost,
In our lives.

>>9134591
feels lacking in substance
the intention for meaning is there but isnt articulated well enough in the 2nd and 3rd lines
almost there though

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Who here annotates? Well, if you're cool enough to defecate on a poem, then consider the following:
print out a poem (or leave it in a book), heavily annotate it, sign your name on a corner, scan it and send it to [email protected]
and try not to annotate your own poem. That's fucking lame and we all know you just want to appear deeper. You can't fool anyone. If possible, no long poems, but if you got to, then you got to.
I'm really curious to see where this goes.

>>9134500
Thanks man. I thought it was aesthetic but I guess not

It's my own. Just wanted to see if anyone liked it because that's how most of mine is

>>9133978
a drop of deer urine trickles down my throat
dont ask me how I got here
*freeze frame, camera zooms in onto my face*
you may be wondering how I got here
and by the intrigued look upon your face it would
appear as if you have misheard me
what I meant to say was that
a crock of my dears youre in trick held down at the boat
I will meet you guys there
we are planning a barbeque with the Stefans, down at the water front after the kids get back from kayaking
Hey, Jeremy, did you see Debrahs blouse?
yeah, I think I saw her nipple
dude, thats my wife bro
my bad dude
you should keep your fucking whore of a wife on yours balls and chain that bitch to a tree and leave her out her so that the vultures can peck out her lungs
haha, yeah yeah, she has some imagination, that one, she does, her daughter takes after her too,
does she now? Loves to goad the chode does she? loves to grimice at the penis is that right?
ha relax, im just fucking with you man
wait, is this your wifes boyfriends daughter, or her girlfriends husbands?
oh, oh, shut up, here they come
Hey Caroline, dont you just look Darling! today,
thanks Pietre, I really like your cuffed shorts, and your sunglasses look real cool, like some sexy alien bug
pst, what the fuck man, your girls a total fucking weirdo
shut the fuck up you faggit, shes an artist
Isabelle, come here darling and sit on daddies lap, show uncle Goerg the bouncy game
No... issy... hes joking, dont do that, who wants smores?
I want smore of your wifes fat ass
dude, shut up, she can hear you
oh, its fine, I dont mind, with all of your shortcomings, I will take all the compliments I can get
then it started to rain

>>9134500
>Obviously not aesthetic
What do you think 'aesthetic' means?

A while ago, thought I'd start writing poems from the perspective of Saturn, to Saturn, to myself - as a sort of therapy. I don't know if they amount to any literary merit, but the therapy seems to be working, which is all I wanted. I have two parts, working on a third in the moment.

1: http://pastebin.com/ZSuKFriL

2: http://pastebin.com/Ug65wNwB

God sent us to California,

“This is God’s Country, Son.”

And we sent back spiteful YouTube comments,
And bent over backwards for Brand Name coffins,
And went from Summer of Love to nuclear wasteland.

“Throw Don John (born June 14, 1946) out of office!”

Everyone touching and baby cupids blushing, the fountain of youth overflowing, gushing.
Where do you think you are? Heaven?
You’d be mistaken. I’m glad to inform you we brought Heaven down here.
And we live here forever.

>>9134988
Liked it up until barbeque with the Stefans, just turned boring and uninspired. Those first few lines had an interesting style going though. Here's one of mine


Spent the change I had on candy and coca cola.
Need money for the night bus now, need to get home to my bed.
I hate begging, but sometimes there’s just no other choice.
Fuck I need to smoke; I can’t stand this itch in my lungs.
I need a cigarette. I don’t plan on quitting in my lifetime. I’ll quit after I’m dead.
That guy I just asked had a whole fucking pack, I saw it in his pocket.
He didn’t give me even one. He walked away from me as fast as he could.
I’m going to stab his eyes out with a screwdriver, piece of shit.
I want to put his big mouth over the sidewalk, take my foot and: BOOM. Fucking right asshole!
I haven’t had dope in four days, I’m very ill. I want it so badly.
It’s cold, I don’t have any fat to keep me warm.
Finally got my cigarette! This man gave me two.
The boy next to me says he smelled like rotting flesh.
I can’t smell anymore, I say, my nose is broken.
Now he’s talking to me like he knows better than I do, stupid shit.
It’s been ten years I’ve been like this.
My IQ is 144. I’m very good with numbers. Even got my economics degree.
I’m a smart guy. I’ve tried everything—doesnt work.
I think differently than people like him. My brain is different.
Can’t fix myself. I’ve tried. Can’t.
I’ll be someone else after I die.

>>9135361
Interesting concept, well played but really devolves at the end with the line "It's been ten years I've been like this" and onward. Comes across as very fedora-tipping Euphoric Brain-man

>>9134550
>>9134550

>Refreshing smell of petrichor

Please find a more cliched image. Other than that I enjoyed it.

I don’t begrudge the young their dreams of something more exciting,
My envy just parades around conversations as malice.

I’ve never attempted to assassinate the princesses making diplomatic stops to my porch
on Halloween evenings.

I’ve never once set a little boy on fire just to watch his red plastic hat melt about his head, even though it would more thoroughly obscure his identity.

I don’t hold people to their costumes, no matter how problematic or unlikely. I understand the purpose of a costume, revel in a mask’s invisibility.

Still, there are some things that shouldn’t be attempted by amateurs.
I wouldn’t give up two dull nickels to see a middle school’s Macbeth,

Nor would I pretend to believe the truth if it wasn’t dressed properly.

>>9134563
Post whatever you want man, this thread is all about poetry, shitty or not. The more the better!

>>9134571
I want to have that sort of dedication for a very large epic I'm working on. But I still don't know if I could do that for. It's either brilliant or a little too lost to thought imo.

>>9134583
This is wonderful. Simple, yet complex. Evocative, and gripping. It feel so natural to read.

>>9134591
There's just so little. I get the gist, but there's not much to play with.

>>9134620
I don't, but hopefully someone who does may stumble across this and help you out.

>>9135266
It's not aesthetic because aestheticism has no meaning behind it, it simply is art for arts sake- no message, no lesson, no insight. Just appreciative work. >>9135266

>>9135310
Will check these out shortly. Sounds interesting though, I can't certainly relate to writing for therapeutic reasons.

>>9134988
This turns from an interesting frame to rambling really quickly. About when the other guy said he lost interest.

>>9135361
This is pretty interesting. Like I'm in the head of a meth or crack addict. And it had pretty good structure for freestyle.
>>9135422 I do agree with this anon though.

>>9136799
I'm glad you liked it. Even if that image is cliche. I knew it was, but I was writing that based on what I was doing and what was happening because it was really comfy at the moment and there was actually the smell of petrichor. Which is so comfy to me I couldn't help but throw it in.

>>9136582
Thanks for the bump. Between work and sleep it took me a while to get back to here. I'll be giving out a word next. And hopefully people will keep posting poetry!

Any french accepted ?

>>9136882
I mean, someone posted this: >>9134267
I personally don't speak French, but poetry is poetry regardless of language. Share it!

Désormais peut être sais je,
Des milliers de vie et ses visages,
Autant de morceaux et d'étoiles,
Au plus profond, l'encre et la toile.

Une force se consumant dans l'éther,
Me faisant traverser encore les mers.
Le rivage lointain disparaissant,
mourant dans l'iris, dans la mémoire naissant.

Un centre si profond et ses parois,
Verticales et assourdissantes, peintes.
De cent motifs éteints, milles teintes,
Les lettres sculptées de ces titans d'autrefois.

Carrousel d’antan, les paysages défilent,
Comme un livre se gorgeant, enfilant chaque secondes.
Les perles d'une colossale mosaïque, et d'un monde.
Tourne, tourne enfant de passé et de Nihil.

Folie rotatoire et le plancher pourtant immobile,
La démence d'un monde qui jamais ne s'arrête.
Ouroboros te cache tu dans l’asile devenu île.
Les douces journées d'étés à jamais se répètent.

Voyageur, si tu as encore l'amour d'une existence , fuît au plus loin, et ne soit pas son papillon.

>>9136956
So what is this piece about?

>>9137019
Teen stuff, loss of temporal reference mainly.

>>9133978
>waste your childhood and teenagehood
>finally start reading books
>start reading poetry
>I'm Italian, so I pick I Canti by Leopardi and Il Canzoniere by Petrarca
>read and study them

>tfw I won't ever entertain the idea of become a poet, not even for a second

I've fully experienced a kind of mastery that I won't ever attain, unless I 100% devote my life to it.
How are you guys overcoming this struggle? There is no way I'll ever muster the courage to attempt to publish anything, since I know that until the day I die I will be just an amateur.

Shifting my feet I stand in line,
Milk, eggs, bread, apples,
Always the same.
Glorious peaks of exotic edibles
Rising out of carts around me,
Belong to someone else.
Cashier beep-beeps paltry purchases,
Did I find what I needed?
Always answer yes.
Sweet-faced son tugging on my arm,
Quarters for the gum machine?
Always never enough.

>>9137051
You can't really be a poet. And what I mean is that it's better to be a writer who can write poetry than a poet. Unless you go to school, are well known in the literary community, and write truly sublime modern poetry.

>>9134029
lovely end

>>9137131
You're talking about money and success, not art.

>>9137244
Yes, but it's difficult to be content with your work if it isn't appreciated.

>>9137377
Yet I have the strong impression that to truly achieve something in Art, especially in poetry, you have to ignore this mindset.
I mean, I'm sure that deep down you know that >every compromise should be avoided as much as possible
>the entire capitalist system subjects you to models and lifestyles that are not propedeutic for any sort of art
>that achieving true mastery of the craft requires a monumental effort that can take an entire lifetime

Given these consideration I'd say that every true artist should simply disregard what is expected from him by society (in our society: to make money) and see his artistic path as inherently lonely and individual.

tl;dr: please don"t talk about the publishing business in a poetry general

>>9136956
You're using as many "poetic words" as possible, but that's not enough to make a good poem.

Also watch your spelling, write sentences with verbs, pronouns and an actual meaning (seriously...), and avoid zany stuff like:

>books threading the beads of a mosaic
>the deafening walls of such a deep center (YES, YOU WROTE THIS)
>the sculpted letters of these titans of yesteryear

>>9137051
At least you're lucid (even if despondency from picking too great a master is treacherous).

Don't waste your time if you feel you don't have the gift. Find another activity, and be a good reader instead of a mediocre writer.

>>9137993
>even if despondency from picking too great a master is treacherous

Well, I think it is fairly justified since I've given Leopardi and Petrarca as an example. Their virtuosity is simply apparent if you know Italian, to a point where these poems could be about nothing and it would still be a worthwhile aesthetical experience.

>Don't waste your time if you feel you don't have the gift.
I was thinking about doing poetry on the side, but I'm way too selfconscious to release any sort of half-hassed poetry.
It's not that I think that they're too great for me to reach them, it's that by reading them it becomes evident that I have not thought about the medium enough to truly think that what I'm doing is deliberate.

The impression I have about artistic expression in general, is that to be truly great at what you do you have first to exhaust every possible conventional possibility (wich usually stems from erudition and personal contemplation on the knowledge you possess), and only then trascend what poetry has been until now.

Without doing this I can't help myself but think that what I'm doing is unexamined and almost random, and to be fair I value the most the art that is infinitely deliberate in its essence, completely unbound by any external factor (and when the external factors are there, they're completely dominated).
my2c

>>9137414
Most people just don't look at it that way. I'm not one of them, but that's just a general fact. You are right though, and I'm not saying you're wrong.

>>9138024
Thank you. This made want to re-think what it was I was trying to do. I'll try to write an essays on my thoughts on poetry. H*ck, maybe I'll even upload it here at some later date. :)

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>>9137081
L4 and L7 fail at the attempted language elevation, i would consider revising them to either match better with the rest or jiggle them around until the attempt is successful.

Otherwise this is a nice little piece.


am i gonna make it /lit/?

I would love to share my poems but I have two considerations that prevent me from doing so.
>If I post my poetry here, How can I be sure that no one will steal it and pass if of as their own ?
> What if they love my poetry and get obsessed and reveal my identity or something. Virgin nerd creeps can be dangerous.

>>9138073
I think visual deviant poetry is simply attention whoring. You are better than that anon.

Alright after doing a theme last, I was thinking I'll do a word this time. The word to use will be

>conduit

>>9137081
I love this. Very relatable and quickly brings you down to perspective.

>>9137961
Do you actually know French or did you use a translator?

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>>9138083
1.) its p easy to prove you wrote something if you found out

2.) this place isn't like /b/ in that regard unless you're a pretty girl talking about modernists on youtube

so /lit/ am i gonna make it?

>>9138088
eh, I write plenty of more traditional works, but the more out-there stuff is harder to get feedback for.

Is there a market for sonnets? I only write sonnets.

>>9138101
a niche one, but you have to be god-tier

Series of Pound Studies of “In a Station of the Metro”

As moss grows on the marble;
eyes on a sleeping lover

This glass city shines through;
unclouded shroud of Turin

Chi-Ro carved in stone eyes;
holy city seen

>>9138114
>god-tier
oh boy lmao

>>9138073
I agree with >>9138088 when it comes to your example. It's just too much and it becomes lost to your own little code of jargon and structure.
I will say I do believe in some instances of visual cues in poetry. I wrote this (terrible) poem when I was first getting back to writing and I used a little of the visual structure technique. And I believe it worked, but the poem is very dense and is very rigid. It's http://pastebin.com/tE3cAyEC here if you want to look to see what you should be trying with visual cues, and not that crystalline, lexical codex.

>>9138133
am i supposed to be formal with my adjectives?
you need to be good, because people shit out sonnets all the time

>>9138147
no, the impact i wanted it to had was "oh boy, god tier sonnets? too bad, guess i'll be an engineer."

>>9138155
don't give up, because there is no market, but expect it to pay for your food either.

have you tried other forms (just curious)

>>9138162
well, i have tbqh, but the sonnet, the sonnet is for me the ideal form, the perfect form. i like to try to have concise poems, not too drawn out.. and the sonnet is a well known form, so experimenting with sonnets is always fun.

think about it like this: free verse is free, there is no form, there is no meter, rhyme etc.
a sonnet needs to have all this for it to be a sonnet - so playing with rhyme/rhythm/meter is noticable. you could also write longer pieces using only sonnets (the crown of sonnets? was it called) or write a sonnet in a mirror (quatrian-tercine-verse-tercine-quatrian) etc..
see what I mean? The sonnet is the perfect form...

>>9138135
>http://pastebin.com/tE3cAyEC

It's pretty good anon. I like it. The visual clues seem appropriate.

>>9133978
Here we go. I'll post one of my own, and critique someone else's. If people like it I'll post more

>>9136827
the spoken rhythm is off, felt like you used "i" too much, some of the imagery was good but was executed poorly, you come off as pretentious in the end, can't believe you used 'problematic' in your poem

Well here's mine:
Hands are the Eyelids of the Soul

They shake withered
before their time
reaching out into familiar darkness
spilling milk in the
urine soaked air
we breathe around it
from rusty white lawn chairs.

>>9138175
I think the Villanelle is the ultimate form, and a well-written one proves the mastery of the poet.

A knock on the door,
And a "How are you?"
To the neighbor of next-door.
Reply "How do you do?"
And shaken to the core,
"Good, how about you?"

Shaking like the East
He looks me in the eye,
Foggy, glassy mist,
And a glass eye.

I freeze and shake,
"Oh, so you're a Jew?
"Here's an oven, for you,
"To bake."

>>9138180
Well, thanks. I did put a bit of thought behind it, so I don't think it's bad as a whole. My taste for poetry has completely changed since I wrote that, so now I am not so much a fan of it as I used to be. That's what I meant by terrible.

>>9138073
The first one is great, I really like it. That's about it though, the rest are(seem) a little try hard.

>>9138093
I agree with >>9138351, though there's certainly much more that can be done with the "concrete" formula.

Also, bump.

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My dadaist masterpiece

Once I saw a devil
and he told me
gue gue gue
I didn't know it was a camuflated fish
yo yo
lelelelelele
boba boba boba
cried Jesus
but not biblical Jesus, he already forgot his safety password while bdsm hard
io io io
polish police
fishes everywhere
and I can't use emoticon because it will
change
from dadaism
to cubism

>>9138093
I saw this in anotger thread. I dont like that you didn't consider the advice ppl already gave you. This looks like the exact same poem, which means you're just looking for validation. It smells lazy.

>>9138993
I did consider the advice. You don't have to take every piece of advice your given and follow it. Otherwise I would've killed myself like 6 time s already.

I post here because I get shit not in spite of the shit I get.
And no, I didn't remove the commas, because someone told me to write more like Pound (who would've bitched about the blank verse).

Here's the lyrics to one of my favorite songs at the moment. It really helps to hear the song, but the lyrics are still solid.

"Mandala" (Indigo) - The Dear Hunter

I lost my place in the world;
it left me behind.
Now my soul is unbound
and my mind is free to roam
around and around

Thoughts drip down to words on a page scrawled in a foreign tongue.
Circles tending toward the center lead you back to none.
You can cry, you can beg, you can plead, you can pray...

You may doubt it, apathetic,
but you never had control.
You saw what you wanted,
but the rest was terrible.
Pull back the curtain
and reveal the guilty, so
the veil can be lifted.
The well will overflow.

You've been here before.
You've seen it all
but your conscience won't recall.
And your eyes are barely wide enough
to recognize what your heart keeps giving up.

And someday it might win
if your mind's giving in.
Just try to lose yourself;
or do your best till then.

WHAT IS IT?
Those who have it doesn´t want it,
Those who want it doesn’t have it,
Those who had it regrets it,
Those who never had it, craves for it.

What is it you ask?
It´s called love my friend.

>>9134550
>It's bitter aroma filli
>It's
Just delete the entire last stanza imo. Otherwise this is a good poem, nice work anon.

>>9133978

Here I will give it shot;

What was it that Neticze did,
I don't know but he was red-pilled

What was it that Kant said,
Jet fuel can never melt iron and lead

What did old Schopenhauer mean ?
Women are stupid and men are creeps

And What is your philosophy ?
I just want some anime pussy

Ancient Holy War!
Autumnal jihadis cascade through the wind
Sacrificed in uncountable numbers
Needlessly
To Stem the unstoppable forces of encroaching winter

Paint the skies and ground with your martyrs
Great Vernal Obelisks!
Religious leaders of the death cult of the seasons
With such fervent followers
Observe them as they battle your greatest foe
Prostrate themselves at your ancient feet
And their corpses rot that you might, after death
Yet live again!

And they too, on that day, will be reborn and live again
In Glory!

>>9139891
I actually completely agree with you. It doesn't need the last stanza at all. Glad you liked it though!

>>9139995
Gonna bump with another one of my poems.
And who will go a-riding with Fergus now
Through the ancient, towering glade
When the once young, russet brow is wizened
and the maid has gained a hardened gaze

For his brazen cart has lost its gleam
The team of horses no longer prances
The path, once new and well-tended
is weathered and overgrown with brambles

How long will he be found among the trees
the trickling streams and blooming heather?

>>9140160
I like this. It's well written, has pretty imagery, and flows fairly well. But who is it asking for in the beginning, if not the maid mentioned later? Unless Fergus is a reference I'm missing.

I wrote this to be what the title sums it to be. Relating vague images of the sun to something the sun gives our lives that mean everything to us, done through a series of evolution. Each stanza gets progressively more esoteric in meaning, and this will probably come off as pretentious.

Evocations of The Suns:

Rose petals bright red
The afterglow of day
Swells of salty air
Quiet applauding waves

Plump and juicy orange
Slice crush mushing gushing
Spritz of aromatic zest
Mouth flooding foretaste

Glowing molten heart
Dark veins of dirt
Great mountain of bone
Green skin, blue mind, bright gold sun

How do you all start writing poetry? What place does it come from?
How do you translate your observations into text?

I just wrote this poem on inspiration while browsing through this thread. Might touch it up later, it doesn't feel quite complete yet. Might just discard it.
I honestly don't if I'm actually any good at writing poetry, but I like it, it feels natural, and you guys give honest criticism. So just a fair warning.

My Itchy Brain

My brain is itchy
Itchy like a foot
In a bed of maggots
A pearly white bed
All seething and alive
Like the corners of your eyes
And the corners of your smile
Make me shiver
Like the smell of cadaver musk
I'll meet you if, I must, but
I'm much more palatable
With whisky in my liver

If I could
I'd like to cut off my head
And survive
Maybe that would
Scratch this bitch

>>9137961
>books threading the beads of a mosaics
It sound so awful in english tho, but there's litteraly no problems with this metaphor.
A mosaic is not only a piece made of colored glass or rock.

>The defeaning walls of such a deep center
The wall are not immobiles, "carrousel","Folie rotatoire".

>the sculpted letters of these titans of yesteryear
So ?
It's kinda symbolist tho, I guess

I'm pretty new to this whole poetry thing, but here's an attempt.

Body

Standing on the precipice, clutching at his side.
Cloudy water runs down the leg.
Smelling of formaldehyde,

he leaps into the air
while birds cackle with delight.
To contemplate such a sight,
to write it down, or rather type.

I'm not the one to try.

They find him in a pile
pointing to god, kicking a bush
elbow in dirt, pelvis as crown

they pick at the arms; the shell doesn't break
they claw at the neck; it gives and it takes

and birds don't like meat that comes from the ground.

Two dear friends
sat together while drinking wine.
They laughed over stories of whoring while at war.
As they sat around the brothel fire,
the two men also talked
about lovers they had lost.

And how many lost
lovers did the two dear friends
recall while they talked?
Drinking sweet wine
and sitting around a warm fire
made the two men miss time spent at war.

They cried about victories won during war
and laughed about battles they’d lost.
From afar, Pliny the Younger watched as fire
shook the sky that hung over these two friends.
Enough ash fell to spoil all of the world’s wine.
In the brothel, the two men still talked.

In the crowded streets, no one talked.
They just watched the mountain wage it’s war.
The city would make no more wine
and the forum would become lost.
All of this happened while two friends
talked next to a warm, brothel fire.

Nobles and slaves were blinded by fire.
The sky went black while the old soldiers talked
about how in the next life they’d still be friends.
Such a brotherhood only comes from drinking and war.
How much time had they lost
to brothels serving sweet wine?

Two friends became one with their wine
and everyone else became one with the fire.
A great many lives were lost
in the smoke and heat but the friends still talked.
These two men became brothers through war
and would drink together as friends.

The old soldiers, two dear friends, still sit together with their wine.
The stories about war mingled with Vulcan’s envoi of fire.
In the brothel, two old soldiers talked into the ages until they were lost.

Can someone tell me if this is complete pseudism or just mediocre? Don't need it to be great right now, just need it to pass muster:

Tears
That fall in the desert
Blur the glass
Of the lens
Of the eyes
That trace the stars

When a seeker dies
Looking for bones
Who will mourn her in her turn?

Bonus points if you know the documentary it's referring to.

>>9140261
For me I start with a theme or emotion or image that I know can either be communicated vividly or is on its own a provocative idea/image. So with my opening poem for the thread, >>9134550,
it was in fact a very beautiful, warm, and comfortable day where I like (Midwestern U.S.), and I know that comfortable days like this are something everyone can relate to and image well. So for here, my poem started out just as the last stanza since that's what I was doing and feeling when I started the piece.
Once you've got the image and idea you're trying to communicate, you turn then to word selection and voice. How is this thought being voiced? What rhyme schemes, word choice, syllables, metaphors and similes best portray this thought without distracting the image from itself? So for my poem I knew I wanted to work up to this homely feeling by starting the piece off as busy and full of life. I realized that life filled image I wanted was also symbolic of spring coming, so I knew I had a good start going.
Pay close attention to the stressed and unstressed syllables in each word as they flow into the next. Even if a thought is pretty or evocative, if it's written with sloppy wording (or too colorful of wording) the reader gets distracted from your scene to focus on your words. That's a bad thing overall. Looking at poem, look at the first three lines:
>Today was a mild day for so late in February.
>Spring sang early by a windy tributary,
>and played away the cold decay of December.
Notice how the I repeat the hard (a) in the first line, then focus on the hard (e) sound from the words ending in y and the end words of the first two lines. This way when I tradition to the next two words to rhyme, I can use the hard (a) like I did in the first line to hold the flow from before. And then I end the two lines with soft rhymes to balance the flow.

So if you're not writing for others and/or money, when you try and write a poem, don't get lost inside your own profundity of whatever idea your trying to convey. Say what is needed and not what is wanted. Because half the time what you want to say in a poem isn't what you need. And that only try and write a poem with an idea vivid in your mind. Start writing as soon as you think of it. Get the idea out first and then work with the afterimage without hurting the original idea.

>>9141282
>Tears
>That fall in the desert
Ham fistted imagery. I generally liked it though, want a little more expansion on the second stanza about the seeker

>>9140773
Too long, too much fluff. The words wine and talk and fire were used to often, their effect was lost, could have been half as long and there was still no conclusion if you know what i mean, no greater meaning or understanding by the end of the poem

>>9140745
Not bad, I like it. Seems like "to write it down, or rather type" was only put in for the sake of rhyming, consider revising.

>>9140319
I liked the cut off my head and survive bit. Maybe the poem could start with that and save the maggot and cadaver imagery until the end, so it acts like a punchline of sorts.

>>9140177
Your description of the poem was the most pretentious part about it all. Any and all art should speak for itself. The poem reads like you're describing beautiful scenes without exactly doing the scenes justice. It's alright just needs revision.

Here is one of mine>>9138186 , constructive criticism always welcome. Here is another

Country Sunset

Maybe I’ll miss the
solitary soundtrack
scratching away
the silver ink of dusk
beaten dog baritone
fuck you falsettos
rise to a domestic crisis
crescendo.
With the cow choir
diesel beasts rattle my road
and our fine china
finds the floor

>>9140319
It's got some vivid imagery there, albeit mostly unpleasant imagery. And the thought is mostly complete and able to be followed. You have a rhyme scheme, but it's a little weak. It's very sparse when ending lines and is used a bit within the lines (which is not a bad thing, but with so little wording here, it doesn't really end up working for it). Especially the word maggots. It feels so out of place even though it fits the image because there's nothing around it to compliment that harsh 'aggot' sound, so it sticks itself out in a bad way.
If you're still mostly practicing, really try focusing on relatable and experiential imagery. Not that a bed of maggots isn't imaginable, but it's not reliable, so it's not as evocative as something you've actually felt:

My brain is happy
Happy like an idiot
On a bed while bouncing
A pearly white bed, all springy and alive
Like the hop in your step
And the pop in your kiss
Makes me jiggle, like your breasts while making love
And I'll meet you if, I must, but
I'm much more palatable
Once you've made me dinner

If I could I'd lop off my leg
And survive
maybe it would prove that you keep me alive

>>9141355
Tears are actually literal tears, but I'll revise it. Thanks for the tip

I like Country Sunset, although I wish you could find a way to reorder "domestic crisis crescendo" to match the ABA alliteration pattern of some other lines.

>>9141355
I agree, I hate giving a statement about what I'm about to post. But I've shared the piece a few times before and people weren't realizing that the first images are liken to the sun. But it's a poem of evocations, so it's purpose is actually to be missing a lot of little detail and only keeping the "evocative" images there. For instance the first stanza should all come together as a proposal of love between two people at the beach during sunset. It's dense- I'm not trying to be pretentious. Sorry if it comes off that way. Thanks for the input.

>>9141407
>the first stanza should all come together as a proposal of love between two people at the beach during sunset
I would not have gotten that just by reading it. It just seems to set the scene of roses by the beach at dusk, I didn't exactly feel any humanity in it. Same goes for the rest of the poem. Beautiful scenes but all lacking humanity

>>9141355
>>9140773

It's a sestina(sp?). It's supposed to utilize certain patterns of repetition.

>>9141454
I guess when I picture a beach I don't think of roses being there naturally. So there was supposed to an inference there. But I can totally see why it would be missed.

>>9140164
Fergus is a historic and mythic king from Ireland. This poem is a direct response to a poem by Yeats.

Take 2:

Salt makes imperfections
Blurs the glass
Of the lens
Of the eyes
That trace the stars

A daughter
Seeks bones among the dust
She learns more each hour
And every dawn
Hurts with the remembrance
Of things she never knew (Not sure this line belongs)
But who will mourn her when her children are dead?

all imagery blatantly stolen from Nostalgia for the Light

>>9140773
Since I did not need to be told what you were doing here, you can take your (You) with some pride that it is successful at its aspiration.

I bet though that you also sense a repetition within the repetition; places where the form restricts the advance of its idea. Bumping up against its bars. For example, by the time we get to St 4, the re-assertion of two friends talked next to a warm brothel fire adds nothing new.

If you are happy, then I'm happy.

I want to add that one of the tactics that this form encourages (in English) is rotation of grammatical part of speech for the key words. So "fire" which you use as a noun every time, might also function as a verb, as in "fire the iron" which a smithy might do, or "fire the clerk" to lose a job, "fire the gun" to hurl a projectile.

Lost also has the potential of "misplaced."

Good work, in any event. A smoothly handled catastrophe.

>>9141482
Well that makes more sense now that I realize this (I have no formal schooling in poetry or older styles of prose, just read and write more contemporary things)

But I will stick by my original comments in the sense that it lacked a certain kind of zest and impact. Sometimes when you repeated a few of the same ideas it was not all that exciting or relatable even.

But certainly a competent poem, not "bad" at all

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Sonic's first game is fast,
His physics, unsurpassed.
His early games, really great;
Are all too soon, out of date.
When "D" subsides to "3."
So fanboys can't concede,
So Sega lost their way,
Nothing fast can stay.

Dream about
circulating dawns all tangled up in blue
and the glistening grey
of the arriving and departing trains.

Sit in your tree
and spit on strangers' heads.

Blinding light flashes my eyes as
jagged mountains cut into my sight.
Have these great peaks been
delivered to my vision by divine intervention?
I don't care, I've already changed the channel.

>>9143548
>Bumping with shorts

Drumsticks matched with matchsticks
drum erupting snares of embers.
Alternating and pulsating
orbs of rhythmic fires
conjure bursting storms of sparks
becoming twisters dancing spirals.

>>9139912

Hey 4chan let’s discuss the great philosophers

/Pol/, Can you tell me what Nietzsche did,
/Pol/: I don't know but he was red-pilled

/b/ What was it that Kant said,
/b/: Jet fuel can never melt iron and lead

/Lit/ What did old Schopenhauer mean?
/Lit/: Women are stupid and life’s a bad dream

/r9k/ And what is your philosophy?
/r9k/: I just need me some anime pussy

The guillotine above protruding neck
Piercing spear finds quivering tender flesh
Deep-voiced chanting
Ornate carvings and gold leaf
Scent of rain from heavy hanging clouds and on building wind and from ruddy faces
fresh cut wood

single droplets fall sporadically
drip pause drip drip pause drip long pause
silent questioning slowly building
is this the calm before the storm or the eye of it
what is the drip what is the pause and is the anticipation worse than the experience
the ground softens and begins to open
a long, belaboured walk

how could he leave
how could they
and i smell the distant rain on the wind
the hooded hangman waiting at the gallows

Just wrote this, I think there's some alright imagery but i'm not sure how to rearrange the last two stanzas so it ends more neatly.
Westward bound were the riders of yore
Numbering three abreast and three behind.

Across the heartland they journeyed
Running from that which they could not see

Mounts scarring the earth with their hooves
Headed for the peaks that swallowed the sun

Unchecked with the burdens of youth,
The horsemen scattered into the mountains

3 rode north, hemmed in by winter's embrace
3 rode south, entrapped in some unmarked pass
Ice frosted their final breaths
Thirst settled inside their chests

3 crossed into the west, chasing the blood-red hope
Any ideas?

>>9144738
Goddamnit the formatting fucked up

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Just wrote this, I think there's some alright imagery but i'm not sure how to rearrange the last two stanzas so it ends more neatly.
Westward bound were the riders of yore
Numbering three abreast and three behind.

Across the heartland they journeyed
Running from that which they could not see

Mounts scarring the earth with their hooves
Headed for the peaks that swallowed the sun

Unchecked with the burdens of youth,
The horsemen scattered into the mountains

3 rode north, hemmed in by winter's embrace
3 rode south, entrapped in some unmarked pass
Ice frosted their final breaths
Thirst settled inside their chests

3 crossed into the west, chasing the blood-red hope
Any ideas?

>>9144738
>>9144743
Fuck me it wont work, sorry for shitting up the thread :(

>>9141355
>>9141385
Thank you for your responses. I didn't feel quite well enough to respond last night, so I thought about what you both said all day and considered it in rewriting the piece. It actually helped quite a bit, so here is the second draft, for your pleasure.

My Itchy Brain Ver. 2
If I could
I'd like to cut off my head
And survive
My soul alive
My eyes wide and rolling
Our gazes shortly holding
Searching to see
If you still love me
Or not

Because my brain is itchy
Itchy like a foot which sleeps
In a bed of maggots
A pearly white beast
Which seems compelled to feast
By natures magnets
Betrayed by my signs
All seething and alive
Like the corners of your eyes
The corners of your smile
Leave me sick and shivering
My chaotic mind quivering
As at the smell of cadaver musk
I can hardly contain my lust
With you beside me
I hope you know
You live inside me
Like the maggots on my brain

/fin/

I reversed the order of the two stanzas, which actually seems to work quite well, almost as a build to the second. I also worked on the rhyming, tried making it more coherent and adding/changing lines to make the piece more cohesive on the whole. I didn't really change the content of the poem as its sort of central to my vision of the meaning, but I tried to pull it together to hopefully make the imagery more relatable and palatable. (I have actually seen literal beds of maggots, so for me its vivid enough)
I hope I succeeded at actually improving something. Thank you again.

>>9141385
>>9144844
Also, one more thing.
I actually really like your version of my piece. The problem is (and the appeal, funny enough) is that its sort of an antithesis to mine.
In a way its cool, because its kind of like an answer to the relationship, or maybe more stable view of a relationship, than in mine. Its actually kind of impressive.
Sorry for the double reply.

>>9141896

Okay, actually a lot of good criticisms here. Lots to work with. Thanks.

>>9134583
Fuck, lad, this is a good one.

You
Who are you?
You filthy animal
You filthy thinking beautiful endless animal
You filthy poetry
You filthy desiring desirable irrelevant animal
You filthy filthy you
You magnificent individual you
You filthy suffering cog in the engines of Gaia
I love you you filthy you
I, as Mooncity, love you
As I love every other possible thing
As I love all that could ever exist
As I love ideas, As I love names
More than I could love myself
More than I could be bothered to love
More than my body could understand and
More than I could chemically love by the tight knots
Of my poor poor decaying body

I understand it now, I know what we want
We want, like masses of beggars
We want approval
(Notice me, senpai!)
We want approval of old
Cranky, dead old gods
Who nothing more have to say concerning us, concerning
Our yandere sensibilities

It's called Mooncity and it's 20 pages long.

https://issuu.com/kelvinmatheus9/docs/mooncity

>>9145657
I was in a workshop once where the sestina was offered as an extra credit challenge. Ten people tried it, but only my partner and I were devious enough to look up a list of the six most-defined words in the OED. The words with the greatest grammatical versatility. "Set" for example, has 439 different senses, and can function as a noun, a verb, and an adjective. The top six easiest words around which to build a sestina turn out to be:


set
plane
run
go
take
stand

Which is appropo of nothing in particular, and my sestina turned out more juvenalia than art. But it's a tactic I always remembered.

Also, there was this freak bolt of lightning recently in the New Yorker of all places. I doubt she will repeat:

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/11/29/sestina-poem-ciara-shuttleworth

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Can anyone recommend good books on writing poetry?

>>9145822
I appreciate the insights friend.

>>9146050
Western Wind by Nims is superb

>>9146084
thanks, looks good

but damn it's expensive

>>9146050
specific tips on writing poetry are dangerous when they become too general.
>Understand meter (that doesn't mean you have to write in meter, although you should be able to)
>be self-conscious enough to recognize cliches
>read lots of poetry
>write lots of shitty stuff and get it out of the way before trying to shop something up**

** the final one is just based on my experience

here's some oc:


At the Transit Station, After a Meeting

We walked, high, through a city
overrun by shopping centers
and police.

When night came, we sat
in a parking lot and gazed
at the handful of visible stars.
I had a bus to catch soon.
We smoked and talked
about the war
and how in the past great men became
great men because they could believe
they descended from gods and demi-gods.
We laughed awhile about something
I’ve forgotten, then parted ways.

Saying goodbye to this
this friend
is always a bit sad.
Not just because I love him
and fear he’ll go home
to loneliness and anxiety,
but more because he’s one
of the few persons with whom I’ve built
a language of such clarity
that we propel each other easily into wild plans
when we talk.

Afterwards I’m left
with a bruised softness in my solitude
I had forgotten I had in me.
But it passes too,
and what stays is the small
comfort of thinking
that he’s out there now
in a different part of the night
waging his time away,
incurable cigarette burning
between lips.

By the time I arrive at the station
I’m mostly myself again. I sit
on an empty bench
in that white fluorescent
purgatory.
A minute later,
a fat, drunk man sits at my bench
and asks for the time.
Then lingers there, mumbling about his life.
I find another bench
and he doesn’t follow.

On the train platform behind
the bus terminal,
two teenage girls
sit cross-legged on the floor:
blond and tan,
in jean shorts and light blouses.
I can’t tell what they’re saying.
Their sporadic laughter
like pigeons dispersing
fills the lit place.

Out there the night is full of sirens.
Somewhere in Oceanside a suicide
is underway
and there are humans walking the beach,
listening to the uncomplaining waves
pound the shore.

A year later, I’m in another
mild December in California,
waiting for the next giant machine
to take me to the place where I will sleep.
And all this asphalt world,
and earth enough to dream out the late days
of our passing.

>>9146253
this

especially the "read lots of poetry part"

as far as getting the "shitty stuff" out of the way, I agree that this is true, but you shouldn't approach it thinking "i'm gonna write a bunch of shitty stuff now". just write as well as you can, try different themes and forms, and just know that 99% of what you write for the first couple years will not be publishable. It'll be training basically. I hears someone say something like you have to get 10,000 words of shitty stuff out before you begin to get into the good stuff.

This piece is mine, I don't know if it's good or not because I write for fun (never properly learnt how to write proper poetry in English).

The Poet erased graphite,
For his rhymes were pitiful;
For his cry went unheard;
For his muse was no more.

The poet couldn't move the world,
For he was ashamed;
For he was repressing;
For his words fall on deaf ears.

The poet didn't dream,
For dreams and hopes are for fools;
For colours and words are for those who see;
For serenades and lamentations are for those who feel.

The poet isn't what he once was.
For a poet could paint their verses,
For a poet could declare what is beautiful and what is not,
For a poet could be loquacious.

This poet falls silent.
This poet desist from trying.
This man is no longer a poet.
For a poet never abandon their poetry.

>>9133978
need help with this
Distances in the making
far memories not lost but hiding
what one describes as self, the other
analyzes in a waking, almost naked
always crying, always hating

Gates closed to outsiders
generals pointing fingers on which
snowflakes land, slowly melting.
the cry of brainwashed tears
barely standing, on the pavement
soaked with urine of the years
and sweat of the disillusioned

Jesters jump and holler,
their bells bring fear,
the young ones falter,
they cross the hallway, patrolled
with monitors filthy at the mouth
holstered spears, phalanx shields
point blank blasts flash near
blooming shrapnel burns the air
scorching war pamphlets
Sulfur burning teal
blinding soot stained eyes

Slowly the barrier is built
like an oily jade wave
when it reaches apex
crashing with loud cries

>>9146050
A prosody guide sheet:

http://www4.ncsu.edu/unity/users/m/morillo/public/prosody1.htm

Take a look at some of the essays:

http://poets.org/poetsorg/teaching-poetry

especially:

http://poets.org/poetsorg/text/unlearning-write

To skip the Norton and $100 price tag, go here:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org

Bios and work of everybody who mattered. To see where the state of the art ended before the current epoch, this is the bio to study:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/mark-strand

Marianne Moore's prose reviews of poets in the Dial have also achieved required reading status. Here is what she had to say in 1961, when she was old enough to know as much as she would:

https://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4637/marianne-moore-the-art-of-poetry-no-4-marianne-moore

I think the most important thing about right now is that the old rules have all been broken. The challenge now is to find ways to continue to bend and break them which produce something people still want to read.

Here's a shit sonnet I wrote. Tetrameter because I've been reading a lot of Marvell lately.

Diogenes

From street flowers my hands unbind
Dew that would melt my home of clay.
An honest man I seek to find
And light my lamp amidst the day.

These streets of stone the rain has hewn
Astride me walks my canine friend.
A poor man plays a cheerful tune,
And still I search without an end.

Self-slaughtered shades cannot torment
For none alive their death begot.
Like me they walk without intent
But I their honesty have naught.

A Sisyphean task, assured.
But what to do? It’s all absurd.

>>9146818
This doesn't have the right balance between edginess and technique.

>>9146959
How can I improve?

>>9146977
read more poetry, write more poetry, learn better technique, write about interesting things.

>>9147000
Thanks for the tips. Any suggestions on what to read?

>>9146943
>The challenge now is to find ways to continue to bend and break them which produce something people still want to read.
you'll know me when i've come

>>9147011
John Donne, Ben Jonson, Andrew Marvell, Milton, William Blake. You should probably also read some contemporary poetry, but I know jack shit about that.

>>9147061
Thanks, I'll look into that.

>>9147011
T.S. Eliot (every english poet after him must acknowledge him as they do Shakespeare)

ee cummings (whether or not you like him doesn't matter, really)

also: Blake, Browning, Milton, Whitman, Coleridge, Crane, HD (i think), and Plath (this one really isn;t an option either, regardless of /pol/shitters hatred of her themes and womanhood)

>>9147091
Thanks, man. I appreciate it.

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>>9147099
no problem, there are lots you should read besides these.

who is your favorite poet?

pic-related is me guys any advise?

>>9147142
I'm actually just arriving in the world of poetry. I've always found it beautiful and fascinating, but I've always been told it was a 'waste of time' and a too girly of a thing for me to pursue.

Who's your favourite poet?

>>9147163
HD or Eliot. I'm a big fan of modernist works in general (partially because of how much I love Ovid's Metamorphoses)
Find a good translation of Metamorphoses and 80-90% of allusions will be understood btw.
I like the Mandelbaum, but a lot of people prefer for 'true to the word' translations.

I don't want you to look at me while
I'm shedding skin.
I can't afford for you to see what's in.
I'd rather shoot myself than have you watch me.
I feel you'd steal my skin to try and wear me.

I was betrayed, one more day of my short life.
You were carried away. You had no shame.
To suffocate my being.
I was me, but you weren't you.
You were sticking to me like a scab...
so I peeled you away, and bled for days.
Then stepped out of myself.

I'm shedding skin, changing within, I'm falling in.
Through swollen eyes, I dreamed you died, caught inside.
I'm shedding skin, spreading thin, severed stem.
I created the end, I'm killing a friend. I'm shedding my skin.

I don't think you belong in here,
I feel I'm sick.
Don't ask because you know damn well where I've been.
I've kept a simple woman through the thick and thin.
But I've found the guts to sever from my Siamese twin.

I throw you away. Everyday. A dead part of life.
Strangling back. Seething black.
In between my longing for torture.
Blood on my face that came from your face.
The mix of kissing and bleeding.
I put you away. I shut you away.
I pissed you away. I threw you away.

I'm shedding skin, changing within, I'm falling in.
Through swollen eyes, I dreamed you died, caught inside.
I'm shedding skin, spreading thin, severed stem.
I created the end, I'm killing a friend. I'm shedding my skin.

You're fucking, and sucking.
You're friendless. It's endless.
Your flower has soured.
It's endless. You're friendless.
It's harder. And stronger.
But no one's been inside you longer.
Or harder. Or deeper.
To get you off, you need the fear.

It's never love. Bloody touch.
Broken wrist. Needle rust.
Choking throat. Swallowed teeth.
Head fuck. No peace.
I'm shedding my skin to peel you off of me.
You've got to love me.

Ornament. Shrunken head.
Playtoy. Snake strike.
Poisonous. Syphilis.
Drenched me. Soaked me.
I'm shedding my skin to drain you out of me.
You've got to hate me.

>>9147091
Also Williams is a must. Stevens, too, if you want something abstract.

>>9147213
oh, definitely. Williams is great for a beginner too. Pink Locust if my favorite of his.

>>9147198
i like this, reminds me of Jeff Mangum's songwriting

Fillous rain ploring
gently yonder.
Wherefore cryest thou
so, poison mine?
Malevolently
they ascend now.
Seest thou not, we are
newer, better.
Caliginous skies;
waning mirrors.
Shy not away, dove
I won’t hurt you
Lethal rufescence;
shimmering froth.
Absent verdure in
puling limbo.
I’m sorry; forgive me,
dear, please, come back.

Temptation comes in many shapes,
And many forms between -
A light delight, or small escapes
From life's mundane routine.
Temptation's often sweet, but still
Your choices take their toll -
And life is meant to teach you will,
And strength and self-control.
Temptation's hard to check - to wit:
Temptation's tough to fight.
But as you're not a piece of shit,
You'll try to choose what's right.

It appeared overhead,
The invisible force expanding.

Applying for a job and hoping you don’t get it.
“If you’re hungry it’s ok to eat out,
Even if you know you shouldn’t."
Familiar faces get up close to you,
And move passed you.
Dragged around unconscious by a daily routine,
with scraped knees,
found moaning in a parking lot.

The concrete pulls apart from your cheek,
like laying on a glass table,
and being carried into grace.

It doesn’t matter what it is,
outgrowing atmosphere

I would appreciate some feedback for something kinda poetry related

>>9148924
>>9148924
>>9148924

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/lit/ is writing a poem

>>9148944
Thread?

The ring of keys, each unlocking
Unheard voices plastic clatter.
Tertiary feathers blocking
The phantom casts summoned patter.

Some keys enter, some keys escape,
Shifting control and backing space.
Some keys untouched, above the plate,
Unfunction alms given away.

The door most sought awaits our keys,
Where vile webbed charms call for us.
We become retiarii,
Forking each other thrust by thrust.

>>9148647
Very nice

Where do you see yourself five years from now,
He reads off a clipboard somewhere,
Straightening his polo shirt.

I take second too long to answer
And lie for both our sake
The words flow out
Of a life reduced
Sitting in a cheap folding chair.

I look to five years and forever
And see us still sitting there,
Rejoicing one million idle pen clicks,
By clearing our throats in unison
Through yellowed teeth.
Gaunt fingers scratching
Tattered semi-casual wear
With brittle nails extending nowhere.

The fluorescent hums like flies in waiting
As false oaths join in handshake
We look forward to meeting again
And part vowing to never do so.

>>9144844
Not the other 2 people, still i'd like to throw in my 2 cents.
I would scrap the last 4 lines and then switch up the 4 lines before that:
Leave me sick and shivering
As for the smell of cadaver musk
My chaotic mind quiverin
I can hardly contain my lust

The last 4 just felt like that you needed a conclusion, or the way back for it to work.
Leave it deranged, that is where it shines at.

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>>9149207
>>The last 4 just felt like that you needed a conclusion, or the way back for it to work.
I see what you mean, that's probably correct.
I might change it, but I don't know... I like my poems to have a clear ending, to feel open and shut. But maybe it being less so would be a good thing here...
>Leave it deranged, that is where it shines at.
Shitty pic related

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>>9133978
There is something missing
Something misplaced
Or never was

I am searching for what
It could be
This thing I am missing

Ah yes
The feeling of being
I yearn for that

The fault is of my own doing
Numbing myself
With pleasure and no pain

But there is pain
The pain of having no pain
I yearn for that

I am trapped in an open cage
Escape is only a step away
Yet a million miles away

An alternate world
An alternate age
I yearn for that.


tell me if its shit, im new to writing poetry.

Its 3 a.m.

I’m searching for an outlet,

In this cruel gauntlet,

That is in my head,

And all I want to be is brain dead,

The ringing in my head serves only to irritate,

The flatline of a dying heart is what it imitates,

Now all my past regrets and failures loom,

As I lay in my sleepy tomb

And its only 3 a.m.

>>9149707
I'll put it like this:
It's your poem, anything you want you can put in or out.
The only thing i can see, is that you have a feeling for getting good images and rhymes.
The part you lack at is the trasitioning. Just make it more simple, it will develop with time.

I can't keep this habit any longer
And yet I'm still afraid to let it show
What started as community, has grown weaker
I only wish I had the strength to let it go
I tell myself that I can hold out forever
I said there is no reason for my fear
My SSL was secure when we're together
On my Wi-Fi connection
You made everyone so near

And even as I browse
I'm keeping you in sight
You're a notification window
On a cold, dark winter's night
And I'm getting boreder than I ever thought I might

Cause no-one uses IRC any more
I've forgotten what I started idling for
And if I have to crawl upon the floor
Come crashing through your door
Baby, no-one uses IRC any more

Here
Before this screen
Hard-wired Neat Clean.
Everything is crystal clear.
Housed by a tower
Plugged in for power
Transmitting inputs through a machine.

Display
Quartz-cut imagery
Raw and processed reality
Reckless finesse flung by the thumb
Mistakes, retakes
Three lives, you've died
Respawn, redrawn, reliving missed time.

Missed phone call
A voice never heard
Mumbo-jumbo jargon
Whispered in the ears of the dead.
Informing whomever it may concern
News regarding the fall of their creator
Whose crash and nosedive has resulted in
A plummet and the meeting of their maker.

Echoing, quieting, stilling,
Settling softly into dead circuitry,
The last remaining updates lay filling
The unwanted and unchecked space that was free.

>>9133978
haha my peanus weanus of course
haha
haha
why my peanus weanus?
of course
haha

I think I ripped down the fucking sick mind of the mountains

and you were offered French hormones and attempt to borrow a bomb in the inner core

people struggling with frogs

attempt to borrow a bomb in the inner core and give them a better ear for empathy

an entire country of anonymously collective grey killers and assassins playing by theories

you were offered French hormones

fluent autism jokes prove the rule.

I fucked your girlfriend last night.
While you snored and drooled, I fucked your love.
She called me Daddy.
And I called her baby when I smacked her ass.
I called her sugar when I ate her alive till daylight.
And I slept with her all over me,
from forehead to ribcage I dripped her ass.
Sometimes I thought you might be spying,
living out some brash fantasy, but no.
You were knocked out.
But we were all knocked out you know.
In a way

I serve too many masters.

We didn't know you'd break the bottle
that the magic came in to use those jagged shards
to cut our wrists and neck.
And you'd do it too, you're that kind of dude.
But you wouldn't know what you were doing
because I didn't,
your girlfriend could have been a burn victim,
an amputee, a dead body.
But god damn I wanted to fuck.

I'm losing what's left of my fucking mind,
I serve too many fucking masters.

I told you. I told you motherfucker

Honestly this never happened, but truthfully it did
A heroin dream with weak eye lids
A nightmare guided by civil camber
The life I wasted on frivolous glamour

Embrace the things you cannot change
Or test your luck and live in vain
Accept grace and be redeemed
Or drink the sea and come unseamed

Which is nobler in the mind
Ugly love or hate refined
Empty metaphor does not
Make a game of idle thought

>>9150689
Thanks for the input, I really appreciate it.
>The only thing i can see, is that you have a feeling for getting good images and rhymes.
I get that most often. People say I have good ideas and solid portrayal, but am often somewhat lacking in execution, especially, as you said, in transitions.
Although I've been writing poetry for while, I'm trying to improve. So I appreciate all the input I get on /lit/.
Thanks again.

Rate my HS lit. teacher's taste. She gave me an A for this shit and paraded it around. There's more teenage pseudo-poetry if you want more, I just found my old notebooks. I'll have to translate them tho.
Between tipped bottles
A red spotted white dress,
Behind closed windows thick wavering smoke,
Blinding light,
She lies quietly
Together, all alone,
Slowfalling men on the silent street,
Dishevelled.

>>>/qa/catalog

As the dead imbibed the day's light
in delicate goblets,
we did test our souls for
the taint of Destiny's lost doom.
I was fortunate to find just
angst and melancholy.
Your pattern was laced
with intrinsic, fractal chaos.
Glory and honor are purged by
the serene purity
of Beauty's objective
quest to locate nostalgia.
She has failed so she is hollow.
This trial is too harsh.
Now, all rekindle like
lone poets in a masquerade.

Please read this poem and tell me what you think.

Covered snug
beneath the years
under the fear
amber strings lay humming

when you are still
and I am here
we can listen to the world
whistle love

the nights come and we think black
but moons sail curious
and we are always there

the raging neon
and the shouting air
they shrink
at the stars alive
that walk through it


I've been writing poetry off and on for 3 or 4 years now and that was by no means my favorite. I pulled a random recent from my folder. I've never sought feedback for my work and lately I'm not sure how to improve. I try to experiment with different meters and perspectives. If you want some diversity I can post a few more...

>>9154213
i enjoyed this, anon.

if you are willing to accept criticism: allude to the author's experience specifically. "life wasted" is a big area.

>>9154498
I feel like it needs better pacing. Your lines after: "Behind closed windows thick wavering smoke," seem too disjointed. The hook with the subject change before the last line is nice but it's diluted by the sprawling of the lines preceding it. I would work on your construction leading to the end but I like the concepts.

>>9154213
Personally, I'm a fan of non-rigid rhyme schemes but that's not to say I don't appreciate them. This piece has a very rigid rhyme scheme except for the first two liens of the second stanza. You default to slant rhyme there and it is the only break from strict AA BB CC etc. I feel like if you are going to embrace rigidity you cannot compromise simply for the sake of ease.

>>9152253
Nice energy. I like the first line simply because of how strongly it gripes attention. As far as criticism goes, there is a bit too much repetition. You used "ass" and "fucking" way too close in different lines and it dilutes the strength over time. Find ways of communicating each line uniquely or at least spacing out the repititon.

>>9154524

It's between notes about Avant Garde - Dadaism, so I'm not sure if I did that on purpose. This specific notebook mostly has poems which conform to my perceptions about a certain style or movement.
To be fair I think it was utter trash with absolutely no value as poetry, so it's a surprise that someone other than my old teacher would like it, even if just the concepts. I was sure I lacked the talent to write poetry.

Is there a reason for me to pick up poetry again and do it on the side, or should I stick to prose?

Here it is in original language in case there are hunfags around:

Felborult üvegek között
Piros foltos fehér blúz,
Csukott ablak mögött hullámzó sűrű füst,
Vakító fény,
Halkan fekszik,
Egymás mellett, egyedül,
Csöndes utcán lassan eső,
Hanyag emberek.

>>9154565
If you are interested in poetry again and you believe you can enjoy the process, then I say why not try?

I have tried to write prose but I always end up losing interest trying to keep the ideas consistent. Maybe i'm just impatient, haha. Ironically, my favorite piece of mine, to this day, is a short prose piece and I still haven't been able to top it.

>>9154360
No prob buddy, keep it up

>>9138092
>Do you actually know French or did you use a translator?

I am French.

>>9154498
What's their original language? You should post the originals also. Some people here can probably read the language.

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Am I hopeless, /lit/?

"Shed my skin
Chase your cold
My holy heat
We're bright with fever
Dripping baptism
Now we approach the darkened crucifix
Fill our wings with air
But frail feathers falter
Our lips can't reach his wrists"

>>9154510

Beginner here. I like the imagery in your work. Nice and vivid, in my mind. For whatever that's worth.

>>9154213

This is really pleasing to say aloud. Did you have that in mind when writing it? I ask as someone just breaking into poetry in general.

>>9138083
Don't worry not a single person here has written a poem that merits being published.

>>9133978

There once was a cunt who was bitter.
Who posted her new age liberal bullshit on twitter.
I want to put my cock in her mouth to silence her preaching.
But she insists on teaching of government leeching.
'WE WILL NOT BE DIVIDED' she cries to the sky above.
I want to divide her legs and fuck her gently like a pink-beaked dove.
So here I sit with cock in hand and vodka in other.
Jerking off while lit to pictures on facebook of her milf mother.
Then there came a rumbling from the south.
I just shit myself.
I'm drunk.

>>9156112

ha ha poop

>>9156119

thank you i worked hard on this piece of literature as you can see im a youth of the times providing only the best insightful and deep poems to my audiencese

>>9156129

But for real though post pics of milf mom

>>9154213
>civil camber
What did you mean by this

>>9148171
This is cool. Who is the artist?

She kicked softly as the vet
Held her down, and stuck
The syringe into her leg.
Maybe she shuddered
When the needle struck
And some vile fluid
Coursed through her veins.

I watched her eyes dim,
Dazed and weary,
As if asking,
What did I do wrong?
Only for a moment,
Her chest stopped
Rising and falling,
Her pooling blood cooled
In the corner of the metal table.

>>9133978
Poetry is for tastelets

Soneto XXXIV

Perdido entre água pura e ouro falso
Nosso espírito almeja a completude.
Mas não existe força nem virtude,
Onde impera a noção do cadafalso:

Correndo velozmente em seu encalço
A fábrica dos dias o ilude
Com silêncios de árias de alaúde,
E, quando chega, sorve-o em seu mar salso.

Aí, no grito agudo do momento,
Quando vê que as suas pedras são de vidro,
O espírito já treme e quer morrer.

Então encontra, no arrependimento,
Um fio de luz que o embala em seu sentido...
Mas o grito não quer desfalecer!

here's one of my poems that I just wrote today let me know what you think

my obsession over you has grown
to a insurmountable amount of guilt
that I can't deal with
it makes me want to die
just give me some heroin
so I can od and forget about you
it'll probably make you smile
since you hate me so much you want me dead
yet all I want is to make you smile
for you to notice me
to love me
to become someone you can depend on
to be a friend
that'll make you happy
yet all my feelings for you are based on a fantasy built on baseless infatuation
I don't know a thing about you
only the imaginary you that's a voice in my head
Fuck I'm just a pathetic low life stalker
kill me please so we can both be happy
then my final words will be
please be happy
since all I caused you was pain and suffering

>>9158304
XXXIV? You have like three hundreds of sonnets or something? Or it's just a random number?

>>9158661
Oh, damnit. That's 34, not 304. Damnit. I always get this numbers wrongly.

Dog, dog in my manger, drag at my heathen
Heart where the swearing smoke of Love
Goes up as I give everything to the blaze.
Drag at my fires, dog, drag at my altars
Where Aztec I over my tabernacle raise
The Absalom assassination I my murder.

Dog, drag off the gifts of too much I load
My life as wishing tree too heavy with:
And, dog, guide you my stray down quiet road
Where peace is--be my engine of myth
That, dog, so drags me down my time
Sooner I shall rest from my overload.

Dog, is my shake when I come from water,
The cataract of my days, as red as danger?
O my joy has jaws that seize in fangs
The gift and hand of love always I sought for.
They come to me with kingdoms for my paucity--
Dog, why is my tooth red with their charity?

Mourn, dog, mourn over me where I lie
Not dead but spinning on the pinpoint hazard,
The fiftieth angel. Bay, bay in the blizzard
That brings a tear to my snowman's eye
And buries us all in what we most treasured.
Dog, why do we die so often before we die?

Dog, good dog, trick do and make me take
Calmly the consciousness of the crime
Born in the blood simply because we are here.
Your father burns for his father's sake,
So will a son burn in a further time
Under the bush of joy you planted here.

Dog, dog, your bone I am, who tears my life
Tatterdemalion from me. From you I have no peace,
No life at all unless you break my bone,
No bed unless I sleep upon my grief
That without you we are too much alone,
No peace until no peace is a happy home:
O dog my god, how can I cease to praise!

I'm writing a sonnet for a first-year English course because I don't feel like doing an essay (I have others to do.)

The entire course is clearly designed to focus on poetry and satire, so I'm writing a satirical sonnet, using body imagery since I came up with a line when I was drunk and insisted on using it as the first, and the rest came from that.

What should I avoid?

>>9158917
Doing what you're doing, probably.

>>9158943
Why's that? I cannot force something better, and dislike being too sentimental.

I've also never written a sonnet, and am 29 and too self aware of how awful this is bound to be.

At least, I can appeal to my professor's preferences.

I try to write spontaneous free verse; here is one of them. It usually ends up transcendental hippie shit . The very last line I will probably alter later.

Float my body down the Little River
Away from the world in waters
Gold with sun

Let my boat be my body
as my body served in life
Paint my sides anew with summer grasses
My skin the same as sycamores
Alone as I have been.

I will be carried in currents
in the waters gold with sun
Until I find I know no difference
between the self and stream
the surface and sky

And like colored oils
The earth's oils will bend and blur
The same as I have been.

I am leaving yet I am present
Apart and part of all I have known
All I have forgotten and tried to forget
Unwashed and always clean

I shall be
away down the the Little River
Not too far away now.

In a grey mountain land, searching for God,
I happened on a cave, toothy and cold.
Shouting, anguished, within. I turned to my guide,
facing somber dissent. Heedless, I entered.
Where the small den halted, bleak light fell through the rock,
on a thin brackish pool, in which a figure lay.
That tormented wraith writhed, bones in black water,
endless life lamenting— one it could not take.
An ending I offered, a fool's pity.
It shrank from me in fear— by this I left.

Returning to the guide, I bid us continue the search.
Met with my ignorance, their gaze sought the ground in dismay.

I wonder if you've noticed this pretense people adopt when they write what they call "poetry"

The word already gives an unidentifiable distaste
We can appreciate poetry from the ages past, but
Does anyone really think they overcome the artificial feeling that lurks under every word they write in what they conceive of as a "poem"?

"I am a poet."

You might as well claim you're an intolerable idiot. Nobody feels genuinely anymore. Nobody has anything to really say. It is all the appearance of it now. Write about your Walmart parking lots. Write about that superhero film you saw. In a poem. Write a poem about it. Write a poem about a facebook post from your ex girlfriend. Write a poem about how much your parents suck. Write a fucking poem about nothing.

Write a poem about the existential angst at living in a world where everything has been reduced to a simulacrum of life, how we have all become spectators, glued to screens. Write a poem about a walk you had in those yet unspoiled quadrants so graciously bequeathed to us by the government called "parks". Write about the fucking bird that tweeted on the tree branch.

And then go home and watch the Walking Dead on Netflix.

Don't ever write poetry, any of you, you fucking slags, you make me sick.

~a poem