Poetry General?

Upon Julia's Clothes - Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free,
O how that glittering taketh me!

-----

Satori seekers make me sick!
Those that find it are deluded.
The old gimlet on Vulture Mountain—laughable.
Over my shoulder flies the broken ladle.

—Kakua, 12 c.

>>9288226

very nice poem. gonna read it a few more times before i try to say anything too in depth about it, but who is "the man at the top of the gangplank"? gangplanks have tops? tickets? I don't get this image at all.

Kubla Khan

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

-Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

----

Just posting some that I find good. Will start discussion when back from errands!

>>9288245
I think it's more about the idea that in today's society we are expected to pay to have negatives done to us. We pay to have polluted water, etc.

This specifically I think refers to walking the plank of the pirates, and how ridiculous it would be if you had to pay at a tollbooth before walking off into your death, but it's essentially what we do today with hospital bills and elderly care, not to mention the funeral.

Could also be that we give up our ticket of life to the man who guards the plank, but we still have time to wait for that. Though, once we have given it there's no turning back.

Here's one of mine:

The Times

I’m enjoying the pointlessness
of it all. Building
internet empires to enmesh

our temporary presence
on a temporary world.
Streams coalesce in essential

problems, like manufacturing
yokes to hold our animals
like we hold ourselves.

As others say, are held.
I guess it’s true, you don’t see
too many black Buddhists, do you?

It’s a knotted string,
flinging itself by its tie
on the past. Hold this

jewel, it’s all the pleasure
of not caring about anything
at all, all the while

still caring deeply about it all.
Mountains rise and enthrall,
thrust our lungs into brittle

air, ask us the values
of our monuments, if the past
is even ours to call.

>>9288267

not going to comment on the writing because your sentences are pretty much all bad. no imagery or poetic language. if you can't take every single sentence out of your poem and look at it naked and out of context with pride then leave it out. your form is probably unintentionally strange. you need to learn about what enjambed lines across stanzas sound like to a reader because this thing is a stilted mess.

>>9288267

also I would generally advise against starting a poem with I, I'm, or She. unless its good.

>>9288283
Thanks for the opinion.

Do you have any poetry or criticism that you'd like to share?

>>9288237
I think Herrick does a wonderful job with lines two and three in "Upon Julia's Clothes." The rhyme feels smooth and rich, I think this is thanks to the character the rhyming words, which are imperfect but still meld without a second look, and the word "liquefaction." The movement of the language, the smooth, wet feel, does a lot for the word which might otherwise come off as too scientific for such a sentimental poem. It's nice, it weaves two positions that would normally be opposed to each other into a coherent whole. The word "vibration" does this too, which helps the first and second half of the poem mirror each other.

>>9288260
>t. ameritard

>>9288692
Care to explain or just angry?