POETRY CRITIQUE THREAD

This, I won’t share with anyone
Not a soul, not a single living breath will hear it
Because it hurts too much to think about,
To talk about and to feel
What I felt when you had said you loved me.

It was the first time you ever said it
And I had said it many more and meant it
I told you how I never once stopped thinking of you
And how I kept a heart shaped necklace you left
In my bedroom the first night I knew you.

We lost touch, most people do.
You found a guy who liked you too
I saw you at the fairgrounds with him
It hurt like hell, but you were happy then

Months later, after calling your disconnected phone 100 times
I finally figure out a way to contact you, through a mutual friend of mine
I was like a desperado, and you were my Aztec treasure
A friendship that should have never ended, a love without measure

And talk and talk we did, all through the night
Held the phone close and filled our ears with light
Sweet nothings that could only come from two lonely souls
Longing to be together again, a fire anew in the coals

I was looking forward to the day you would come back
We talked forever about that day, and how
In the cover of sheets, we would hold each other again
Discussing at what temperature our hearts would melt together
And leave puddles and stains in the linens

And it never happened. You never came.
I was so distraught, I cursed your name
I gave up on that town, I wouldn’t dare return
Never again, not without you there. Fuck it, let it burn.

So I joined the Navy, and I set my sights high
Told you all about it even though you would sigh
You told me, the day I graduated from that place
That you had a boyfriend, and that you would stay

In Hawaii, so far away, but still I kept
The idea of being together alive
And so I sweated and toiled, spoke daily with you
Until one fateful success, my dreams came true

(1/2)

(2/2)

My worked paid off and I was the top of my class
Picked submarine duty in the off chance
That it would send me to Hawaii to be with you
And thought of all the wonderful things we would do

It was there in my dorm that I told you about
How I kept your heart necklace you had lost around
The first time I traced a heart into your back
And whispered under the sound of the ocean “I love you”

But all things don’t last, and when we finally met again
Under volcano stars and sweaty palm trees
I finally told you, face to face
What you truly meant to me

It was love, it was pure, it was honest
The way our bodies melded in the forest
of desire in that state park honeymoon
the week went past, it was over too soon

But
I was betrayed
Your heart belonged to someone,
Someone who was not me
Somewhere across the sea

Each hour was a trial of fighting back the tears
Of a love that had been nurtured over ten long years
And in the cover of darkness I sped and flew away
To a cliff to see if today was my last day

I climbed over the railing but I couldn’t take the leap
My heart was pounding, but my body was weak
And so I did the only thing that would rid me of you
I took that heart shaped necklace and threw threw threw.

Poop in butt
Live in hut
Hunt shampoo
For clean the poo

Sinking just below my mountain.
Rising in the absence of light.
Watching over a shadowed fountain.
Caressed by the mistress night.
A silver kiss fills the sky.
You pretty sight don't say goodbye.

>>9439214
>Free verse.

>>9439396
Shit.
>Why?
Trite words and boring rhyme scheme. There's not much going on. Boring boring.

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>>9439214

The rhyming seems sloppy without a set meter, that's just my opinion though. I feel like you could crunch that down to about four stanzas in free verse.

>>9439396
Once again, rhythm could be better. It's quite pretty though.
Passing By The Roslyn

Leaving footprints in what's left
of the late April snow;
Sunlight creeps over the
façade of a red apartment building.

So many things I wish I could have said,
with both our hearts succumbing to the frost,
these fond and cherished memories will die,
and never fail to tell me what I've lost.

If I was dead,
and my bones adrift
like dropped oars
in the deep, turning earth;

or drowned,
and my skull
a listening shell
on the dark ocean bed;

if I was dead,
and my heart
soft mulch
for a red, red rose;

or burned,
and my body
a fistful of grit, thrown
in the face of the wind;

if I was dead,
and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,

I swear your love
would raise me
out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood,

like Lazarus;
hungry for this,
and this, and this,
your living kiss.

steep heavens climb
on your grin
they sunder the storm
of your chagrin grim
hungry eyes spiral
heavy sighs bind
im an april fool
but i can't seem to mind
bathing in the rain again

i swoon in her taught maw
crushing my riddled heart
blushing
squeezing the words out
still

blue sun
when you go deserting
carry that silk on your fangs
the refuse of our union

and in years ill be spilling over
onto a proud page that bleeds
before my love elopes
after the first hours recede
with my complacence

in moments of silence
crying the oil night
she burns averse

red nymphs streak
wanderlust quicksilver
to prey on pyreflies

those dreams of freedom
dancing in that autumn field

and so i am cresting
in winter skies of childhood

>>9439396
that last line kills me and not in a romantic way. less ABAB and more word play.

>>9441495
Its pretty ok. I feel like the individual stanzas are strong but the whole composition doesn't have alot of motion. It has no turn or kick and it's too long to be so linear. Mix it up a bit.

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There's a blackbird in my heart that wants to get out
But I'm forced to restrain it
I say, stay in there, I can't let them see you
There's a blackbird in my heart that wants to get out
But I live vicariously through fantasies so that I never need to let him out
There's a blackbird in my heart that wants to get out
But I must hide him
I say, stay down, do you want everyone to know?
Do you want to end all hope?
Do you want to be known as just another lunatic?
There's a blackbird in my heart that wants to get out
But I still have control and only let him out when there's no one around for him to hurt
I say, be patient, your time will come then I put him back
But he's growing in there
He feasts on whatever he finds so he can't die
And we sleep
Both of us knowing the future is not bright
And it's scary enough to make a man go insane
But I'm not insane
Are you?

>>9441397
I'm rarely a fan of hanging lines but I like the flow. Pleasantly engaging. Dry ending liens are always my bias, so that probably counter balanced the hanging third for me.

>>9441532
So, It's not particularly bad but far too repetitive. The reiterated first line is fine but your word choice really needs to be more diverse. the concepts are fluid enough but the structure disrupts them. I like the last three liens and the general conclusion but, In my opinion, heavy editing is in order.

>>9441549
Can you tell me exactly what repetitions you found disrupting?

>>9441556
You say "let him out" at least twice and for 80% of the peice you're really just saying the same thing three times over. I'm looking through it again and really, the shift toward the end is the only thing i particularly like about it. the two lines

"There's a blackbird in my heart that wants to get out
But I still have control and only let
him out when there's no one around for him to hurt"

are probably the best example of the breaking. The word "out" is used way too much in general and it's even in your reiterated line so that compounds the effect. Find different ways to convey your meaning without the entire thing seeming stagnant drawn out. At least, that's what i would do.

>>9441532
Bukowski, much?

>>9441588
Yes.

>>9441495

Good work. Imagery is good. Boring destination, considering the structure it takes to get me there.

>>9441405
I feel like the second line ruins the flow of the poem, it's too long, feels a bit awkward. It seems that you need to push the poem past the cliches a bit to make it more interesting.


Cracked wings and broken teeth
Falcons can't hear
What falconers don't speak

Round the drunkards go,
Buzzards not far behind;
Leaders lead, workers woe:
Blind leading the blind.
Insipid procession of mankind,
Thoughtless drones, burning coals;
Heartless hogwash, keep in mind:
The parasitic trolls.

Blending in with the common,
Indulging in their outlets;
Hilarity ensues,
Upon laugh-less matters;
A disguised catharsis,
On unspoken ends.

I'm a traveler of faraway fields,
O Maiden, where be my shore?
The gods all cry out in unity:
"Young one, thee look no more!"
So long since smelling a flower,
So long since sitting in shade;
If only we knew, in the past:
That life itself shall fade.
...
And so I travel on unknowingly,
Over the red, hot, burning sun;
And so I travel on for centuries,
To reach my planet- none!

I laid in my room
When a fly appeared
and I caught it
With my bare hands

It fell on down,
And buzz-ed around
As if it was
In a trance.

It buzzed round, and around
The wooden floor-ed sea
Its incessant buzzing,
Had got me to cussing,
I put it out of its misery.

'Twas sad as sad could be.

I thought of the albatross,
and the snake;
And the evil choices,
That men hath make.

It lay there dead,
And motionless on the floor,
There was nothing to be done
Anymore

Did I give him another chance?
Did I do a favor for him?
But who gave us that power,
are we their gods?
Just because of our frame?

>>9441532
Liked the last 2 lines, how the guy was acting protective of himself. Personally I find the whole "hiding demons in me thing a bit cliché, but this is definitely a great attempt man.

>>9441648
>>9441652
The antiquated language isn't helping these

>>9441495
not bad desu, kinda comfy

>>9439217
I liked the story, but the recitation isn't that good man. Also, AWALT

>>9439396
An adjective before Sky please, like scarlet sky or something.

>>9441672
I didn't do that on purpose man, that's just how they came to me. Thanks for the input anyway. Anything else?

i broke my wings so now i walk

as if the ground feels like the sky

>>9441716
I don't think theres much to the planet one, its pretty boring, not much going on. The fly one feels too contrived, the literary references take me away from the poem. I found the last line interesting though, about the frame.

>>9441735
I don't know about it being contrived, because I actually did kill a fly and write this on the same day. Thanks anyway man.

>>9441539

Thank you

>>9439214
shit
>>9439217
shit p.2
>>9439353
shit
>>9439396
shit
>>9441397
shit
>>9441405
shit
>>9441495
okay, last stanza is shit
>>9441517
shit
>>9441532
shit
>>9441638
trite
>>9441643
shit
>>9441648
go back to 16 century, thou art faggot
>>9441652
shit

>>9442979
This guy is efficient. He produces so much and improves the productions of others so effortlessly...

Thru thick hickoree's cambered leaves,
Tasuke sank into the lake;
His footsteps whispered to the trees,
For he had other trips to make.
His robes were drenched, he hardly knew,
His brow was wet like a glass,
He was brushed and swung with wind blue,
While the bugs held ground by frass.
How proud a sun.
I
Upon the shining-season morn,
Tasuke sought a beastly friend;
Through a God given maze of corn,
Brown earth shed its flaky skin.
A cottonhead snake hissed its curse,
With its scales wet under kef.
Tasuke smiled and sung himself:
“In-and-in we are the reef.”
The vines braided.

Rate the first part of my ballad

>>9439396
YAAAWN
Last line is really off.
I liked the second, though

>>9441517
stop using random
line
breaks because
it has no
affect

>>9441532
stolen Blue Bird. Too similar to even be called a pastiche
>>9441638
I like it.
>>9441648
like another anon said, I don't like the language used for the message beamed.

>>9442998
I'm this: >>9441517

Could you elaborate on why the line breaks don't sit well with you? I tend to use them to dictate the spoken pace. Its the main method by which I pace my peices so feedback on your perspective would be much appreciated.

>>9439209
this is something from ages ago. Haven't read much poetry before.. I'm sorry lit.

It's called calm before the storm.

The air is still
the light has almost faded

and thunder sounds like giants
stepping forward,
coming through the clouds.

>>9442979

what a cunt

>>9443015
too true

>>9443008
It's probably just a me thing. My students will often mimic the "conversational pace" style and I'll always say the same thing:
Does it slide off the tongue?

You cannot make your lines too rough in such poems. You seemed to do fine in the first two stanzas, but got "sharp" toward the end.

>>9442998
hmmm, it's interesting. I like how it follows a character that is explicitly shown to not be the narrator. The narrator claiming witness to his suicide. The imagery is pleasant and contrasts the somber theme. You say this is a part of a ballad?

>>9441636
>I feel like the second line ruins the flow of the poem, it's too long, feels a bit awkward.
It's literally the same exact length as all the other lines, learn how to read iambic pentameter you fucking psued

>>9443022
Yes, I can definitely understand the view. The third stanza is probably the weakest structurally. I sat with it for awhile but couldn't decide how to correct it. I'll look at it more.

Thank you.

>>9443031
I appreciate the comment.
It is, there are 10 stanzas to it currently. Will (hopefully) finish tonight

>>9441495
I feel like this has potential, but it needs some edits. Either commit to that "if I was dead" refrain a little bit more or get rid of it and start each stanza uniquely. I hate the way the word "kiss" looks, sounds, and functions in poetry almost without exception in modern poetry, so I would revise your last stanza. I appreciated the image of the skull on the seafloor, but something about the phrase "a listening shell" seemed off since shells are inanimate and there's no need to personify them here. The second to last stanza is a decent place to end this poem imo. I hope this helps.

>>9443013
I know I'm probably pretty alone on this but I actually like how staccato it is. Thank you for posting anon and don't be afraid to keep writing and sharing.

>>9443055
thanks anon

>>9443049
Well, when you think it's finished, I'd love to read it. I'll do my best to find a flaw for you. I'll also reread your current piece and try to dismantle it a bit more.

>>9443053
Also, this is one of my poems I've been working on

Dream Interpretation

Some dreams make sense intuitively;
their imagery is self-explanatory.
For example, it’s pretty easy to interpret
a mirror that is collecting cobwebs,
or a mirror that distorts your reflection,
or a mirror that you can walk through
and come out on the other side of.
Other dreams are harder to decipher,
like the one where I follow Davie Bowie
up winding, impossible staircases,
just to get a good look at him.

If only I could illuminate
my subconscious thoughts,
shine a light into those caverns
where all my fascinations
and fetishes crystalize
to become my compulsions.
I’ve fumbled in the dark down there,
shuffled my feet and hugged the walls,
but my only discovery was a stalactite
that resonates when I hear
the sound of my own voice.

>>9441726
The second line is a tad long, I'd shorten it a bit. Nice couplet, would be great in a poem.

>>9443066
Will do, thanks. Post your own work in the meantime, I have no plans

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Standard scribble

on 4chan shitpost

young adults write love poems about life they pretend to know

I’m old as coal

And sneer at their babby’s babble

Clueless as the computer I type on

I know it

that I know nothing

>>9443107
little too aloof anon

My wife said to me
Why dost thou write poetry?
Because I am a faggot verily

>>9441652
Ok, the last line is pretty damn good. But the second to last line usurpes its impact. In fact, the last stanza is too lengthy for its structure.

You need to hurry the climax. Find a way to convey the same meaning in fewer, more compact lines. For me, i'd look at lines three and four of the last stanza in particular.

Also, as others have said, avoid archaic language. It definitely detracts.

this isnt mine, but i found it in a youtube comment section.

When I hear this song it reminds me of my dog. Who I love more than some family members in my life. And shes getting so old. Shes got grey hair everywhere. i know that soon she will die. it will rip my insides in half.

>>9441405
It's nice but not new or all that lasting. The temporal change is probably the best element of the whole quatrain but one neat tangent doesn't make a good piece. Maybe add some length to give more context and contrast.

>>9443115
i like it

>>9443126
I... want to dislike this but I can't, it's too beautiful

>>9443107
who are you speaking to
The groundlings jeer
draw away the mirror
and you may direct the ear

>>9443137
i know! One wants to find a cliche, but its pretty much impossible! The slight hint that the person who posted it was not a native English speaker accounts for that, I think

>>9443126
I think the grace of this is it's humility. Honestly it could do with restructuring but it's nice enough i guess.

>>9443151
I like the full stop use desu. I'm >>9443013 though, so maybe its just me.

>>9443159
If the two lines, "And shes getting so old." "she's got grey hair everywhere." Were a single line I'd like it alot more. They have the same content and don't need two out of six lines.

>>9441532
IMO, what I got from this would be better expressed in prose.

my idea of happiness would come to me in the form of a woman
kind and gentle and
so pure that all the things
of the world
had enough of a heart
to not
harm her

and she would sing to me
from the home i was searching for
in a voice i knew but couldn't place
and all through the night
and long into tomorrow
my thoughts would be slow and calm and
i would sleep until morning
without waking up or turning

and she would sing to me
just sing to me
and i have been all my life searching
for words that would fit her voice

Out of the whole of the posts prior, not one has given to me any delight. I suspect the appeal of poetry to elude me, and would appreciate a suggestion that may work as an introduction towards appreciating the medium. I apologize for interrupting the critiques, but any suggestion would be great!

Jungle Candle

However respite I took
And in breadth the skyscraping
Sky, of ancient Sanskrit white
The appeal of light
Had me become candle,
Effectively the vision
Where nights of jungle
Orchestrate the night
Regarding shed snake skins
Lovers in shades of my candle
Darkest in colour.

>>9443207
my neck beard rippling in the breeze
just like her lovely locks
as i kneel before her
and pledge my fealty in love
the dark lord unable to cleave
the infinite power of our bond
with any amount of orcs

>>9443230
Well...the classics are always a good place to test the water. I'm beholden to Walt Whitman (free verse) but Shakespear's sonnets are probably as good a place as any. Really, just grab a book of poetry, probably not free verse but i suppose if you like prose you might like free verse. Contemporary is fine if you don't like archaic language.

Keep in mind that the poems in this thread are by people, myself included, who are amateurs. We haven't been writing for more than a few years, for the most part and we still have much to improve on.

>>9443239
you've got some funky syntax going on in the first two lines of your poems. also using night twice, so close to each other in lines 7&8. It feels like you are using ambiguous language to do the job of what ambiguous imagery should already accomplish, so I think this poem would be much better if its delivery were more straightforward.

>>9443174
how would you write it anon?

>And shes getting so old - she's got grey hair everywhere

or

>And shes getting so old; she's got grey hair everywhere

I think both of these take away from the simplicity of it and both are becoming pleb punctuation fast. A comma could work though? i'm not sure.

>>9443305
Yeah, probably just a comma. I don't think it takes away from the simplicity. It's five lines and very average word choice. It's the genuine presentation and the easily relatable circumstance. All the better to expediate and compartmentalize the already simple message for added potency.

>>9443332
I can see where you're coming from, and maybe it's just me, but I think with a comma it would sound a bit whiny? as is it's matter of fact, save the last sentence.

Huts of
adobe
on the
riverside.
Crop to
fill bellies,
at the
mercy of
the tide.

Stone by stone,
a hall is built.
Oxen drive
the fields and mills
churn the crop–
There’s enough time
to enjoy it.

Stone turns to brick
and soldiers to lords.
Sated stomachs
stretch to devour more.
Order is formed,
rank kept to survive.
The many live,
only the few thrive.

Peasants look up to
the towers that rule them.
Men in high places
don’t rest easy in bed:
Their blood may be blue,
but it too can flow red.

“Égalité,” it’s called,
but the city’s peaks remain,
only this time around,
it’s money they grow out of,
not by blood or God’s name.

Chimneys jut from steel boxes,
raining soot on the destitute.
Breathing in a poison mist,
chattel called “workers” toil within,
while atop other towers,
cats in suits watch their enterprise
make the view grow more jagged.

Spires stab the heavens as commoners
live lives kings of yore would covet,
but while the skyline rises higher,
it’s still
wages to
make a living
at the
mercy of
the market.

is somebody else writing in spanish?

>>9443347
I see your point but there is also the fact that if the two lines are merged, they are more consistent with the first two lines. Having the first 3 be relatively the same length contrasts the hard ending to a much greater degree. Three lines of constant then a sharp change followed by the fall out of the inevitable.

>>9443080
>like the one where I follow Davie Bowie
>up winding, impossible staircases,
Here, the second verse doesn't make the idea sound right.
in spanish we call that break encabalgamiento and it's not necessarily a bad thing, but here it makes the idea sound poorly redacted. the rest of your poem is not poorly redacted, so I suggest you to focus your further rewriting in that particular verse.

>>9443080
pls respond, even if it's just to tell me it's boring

>>9443207
So, I applaud your innocence and, for the life of me, I don't want to crush you, but this needs work.

First, it's extremely cliche and not only are you failing to incorporate anything novel in your presentation or content but your pacing is fucked. Look at your first stanza in particular, it needs to be restructured. Your line breaks too often do not accomplish anything but shred engagement, it's like speed bumps on a freeway. You set up such an expectation with the lengthy first line just to cleave it in fifths for no reason. It doesn't help that the line itself is the most cliched and obvious thing a romantic can write. I'm a romantic myself friend, this hurts me most of all.

On the positives, the last lines of the second and third stanzas are good. They are relatable but fresh and the very last line brings a sense of contemplation.

Sorry for the rant but i'm pretty tired and just trying to get my thoughts across. Good luck and please keep trying.

>>9443360
I agree, however I think that the merging them *might* do away with the piece's static nature, which let's it 'sing', for want of a better word. I agree, merging them would make the ending harder, but I think the pros of having the two separated (that is giving the piece it's static fell and giving more credibility to the author is not a native English speaker point) outweigh the cons of having them together. However both would make me equally pleased with the piece for different reasons.

The hours tick by, in a
Penultimate swirl,
The left hand of God
Giving rise to the darkened world
In which he sinks.
He asks if anyone else is in the house.
Surely, not. You’ve got to be joking.
His vacant eyes set within themselves
As he stares out into the crumbling space
Of this vast living room
In a small English burrough,
Fog and senseless noise.
“You shouldn’t take any more.”
“I heard something,” he replies,
And makes himself another line.

>>9443388
>encabalgamiento
I'm gonna take a stab and say that word in english would be enjambment? like a way leading into a line by ending on a fragmented thought in the line before? I did want that part to stand out a little, but not be awkward at the same time

>>9443419
whoops, a faut apostrophe. Sorry!

>>9443424
firstly: penultimate? That doesn't really fit, anon.

I like >the left hand of god.

Lovely poem!

>>9443391
Don't beg anon. We are all looking for feedback but at least have some dignity.

Fine, i'll give you something.
the piece, like many others in this thread, pull your statements too thin across the lines. Meaning that you don't say enough and take too long for what you are saying. This can be remedied with more impactful line breaks and a more shifting focus.

And, looking at it again, you could help it along greatly with adding a few more stanzas. There are numerous times when a new stanza is warranted but instead you let it run off, dangling from the prior lines.

In closing I think this approach to writing is more akin to free verse poetry and would probably be better suited to that structure. It think it has potential.

Look at the heedless beggar,
Waiting till tomorrow until he can be rich again,
Here he is, pleading to debtors, lost friends, driven by craving he lusts for the next one,
dreading what's infront of him, accumulating enough coins so he can live again,

Enough he said one day, a resolution that meant nothing,
Back again he knocks on doors, waiting for dealers to wake up,
And the abuse he would accept,
just to fulfill his senses,
waning already fleeting the high is already fading

>>9443426
i agree that would be a good thing to try in that particular position of your poem, but starting the verse with "up" made it look weird to me at the first reading.
however, once i got the idea it stopped sounding weird to me and the rhythm of the following verse fitted right. i have to say english is not my native language.

>>9443353
I like the spirit of this poem. I think some of the language could be ameliorated. It gets a bit cheesy and even predictable but perhaps that comes with the territory you're diving into.
>cats in suits
>Mercy of the market

Otherwise solid poem, well thought-out.

>>9443435
Thanks Anon, what would you suggest?

I was the instigator,
The grandfather.
The first, and foremost.

I started it all,
I started it first.
Point the finger at me,
Here's my receipt
Where do I sign?
Give me what is owed to me,
Give me what is rightfully mine.
Give me what I deserve.

>>9443487
I don't know. The word that would replace penultimate would dictate some of the feel of the piece, which I don't think I should choose. It's your poetry man, I don't want to write it.

>>9443500
Fair enough.

>>9443445
this was actually really helpful, thanks anon. I think I'm going to try and weed out some of the transitional language and maybe try a shorter measure? I don't know how comfortable I am with writing this in free verse, there are a lot of repeated elements near the beginning that might stick out in a bad way in free verse. I'll give a try though

This is some more from me (
>>9443013
)

Clouds are frozen waves.
Waves, lifted up above any others.
Waves in space, frozen, leaping
on eachother, racing to the land.

Don't like it as much though.

>>9443468
I see what you mean regarding the language (pretty sure I also made some grammatical errors trying to fit some verses to the meter). "Mercy of the market" seemed to be the only thing that provided the bookend I was going for.

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he gave her the touch
he gave her the limo
no one can mess with
richard the simmon

>>9443567
thanks for the image.

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i tried through the front
and i tried through the back
turns out i can't leave
while on this much crack

>>9443398
i pretty much agree w everything u said

the parts u liked were the only reasons i haven't scrapped this yet. thanks for the critique

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i fought for my country
when i was a child
now that i'm dead
i wish i'd declined

fuck off slimy worms
dont touch my left thigh

>>9443605
I don't understand why I should care about this

>>9443582
kinda funny. like something you'd find written on a desk in a college library

>>9443567
kinda dark, kinda funny.

i get the impression u wrote these off the top of your head

I want that dick
I want that dick
the dick of my brother
resting inside me

>>9443498
you convey the theme of duty and guilt fairly well. But there's little originality (the phrases used are laymen, common), and it's pretty vague.

I know what feeling you're trying to convey, but i don't know why. There's nothing evocative to what you've written.

>>9443464
you switch between present and past tense, kinda breaks the flow and voice of the poem.

the last line is enjoyable, nice. but it's grammatically and stylistically removed from the rest of the poem. And it's the only line that has any phonetical licks. The whole poem would flow much better if it was written in the free, untethered style of the last line.

>>9443605
you know what, its ok. Its lazy and does even its own concept no justice but you can't argue with undercutting absurdity.

>>9441397

whats a set meter?

there are things that will piece her skin
from mosquitos to scapels
to needles and back
to the pink
bubbling flesh
that was one all of ours
in those times when each morning
drew us up a blank slate

and our flesh
will be sterilized and bandaged
and our flesh
will be grouped and kissed
and our flesh
will return to nothing
as it was once nothing
and we will be nothing
nothing

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i tried to recall
why was i fired
but then i remember
i never was hired

had to save every penny
i found on the street
to get a ride home
and not on a dick

>>9439209
Timothy McVeigh
Ted Kaczcinsky
4th of July fireworks trigger a Marines' PTSD
Tender coconuts fall well along the cult heroes' highway
But a mango is the pussy of gods
Gods' pussy
God's mercy

Yet thy beauty is no earthly beauty,
From which celestial height did you descend?
Thy shining face makes the sun seem dark,
How high thou doth make my soul to ascend.

Thy eyes framed with lum’nous intelligence,
Thy breast o’er-swelling with bountiful love;
How godlike thy knowing, loving spirit,
The picture of divinity above.

Modestly movèd is thy living body,
By thy undying soul of precious cost;
Thy lips the prophecy of pleasures mild,
Thy hair’s the mem’ry of paradise lost.

O blessed Eve, my blessed broken rib,
My body repair, as thou once did in Eden’s crib.

Death took thee ‘fore thou life did know:
Thou gentlest of all human race.
O how thy joys were simple sweet,
Unsoiled by this polluted place.

O finest cup of liquid pure,
That never passed man’s lips unchaste;
By cherubs took past clouds and stars,
Whom only angels now may taste.

As Hand of God doth raise you up,
Thy virgin fragrance heaven fills.
Now thou art feasting with the saints,
We hungry sit ‘pon earthly hills.

So do we famished souls now cry;
Thy soul our tears do bid goodbye.

Body rent
Hell bent
Life spent
Heavan sent

A Preemptive Elegy
Go seat yourself with the twinkling stars
And compete the Pleiades your graces.
Fight with Mars for his mansion and take
Phoebus from the chariot he races.
Go to old Saturnus and ask him read
What shall you do ere all days are done
And with the bears play as a cub
And wait for every course to run.
To gentle Diana thank her love
Go tell her how you peopled greatly
And prayed each night for all those souls
With your penance humbly, stately.
May those fields where heroes roam
Be alighted by your simple star
And their light yours may be to shine
So of your courage it witness bar.

Don't go Grandma.
I am not ready to throw the flowers
I am not ready to forget your voice.
I am not ready to see you off to the mansions of heaven for you above.
Don't leave me. All is not done.
Remember, remember the truffles?
We were going to make them at Christmas
We had planned the flavours:
The caramel, the sweet fudge.
Do not go. Let night wait a while more.
I'm not ready to look at the stars searching for you.
Stay a while longer: do not die.

>>9443716
Absurdism is cheating and it feels so good to be dirty.

If you posted a poem, post a critique. Don't be selfish. Don't be lazy. Lets actually have a discourse here and not just dump our poetry and then complain that it isn't getting attention.

>>9443771
shit

>>9443771
Shit poem, 0/10

>>9443761

I don't understand poetry whenever I read it, it seems like it is all absurd or maybe the ones I like.

>>9443771
Worst poem yet

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i opened up 4chan
found my way onto lit
they asked me for poems
but i gave them this shit
haha hoho
haha harr harr harr
by my laugh you can tell
that ill be a star

>>9443791
That's fine. If you happened to post something and you liked it for some reason I'd say just try and figure out why you liked it. Then use that as a measure of other pieces you think could be better with those elements.

>>9443753
Second stanza is sorta heavy handed. Or is it a different poem? They don't seem related

>>9443825
They are the same how is it heavy handed?

>>9443815
e. i lik

>>9443844
You repeat yourself several times "dont go grandma" "dont die", and it doesn't seem to have a purpose beyond emotional effect. Does it have a purpose?

>>9443742
Try
>thou art now feasting with the saints
Rather than
>Now thou art feasting with the saints
It makes the stressing/unstressing consistent

Also, maybe you had intention in using stanzas, but sonnets are generally unbroken-- if you leave the spaces in, make sure they really serve a purpose.

>>9443875
Imagine you were watching your grandmother die would you not repeatedly wish for her to stay? Also just playing with refrains

look at all of these free poems

thanks guys, i really needed some

The Window

The ground shuffles in its usual ways
alongside the men whom I watch
underneath this window
and its shameful light

Towards the north they flow;
in view, my hands reach over
them. They walk quietly
with voices raised to the sun.

After a while it becomes dark.
I walk to my bed,
it feels like air under me;
and its shadows, they
wash over me, like a lover.

>>9443424
The image is a bit gaudy. I don't like. There are also a few cliches here, making the entire piece feel generic.

>>9444552
Should I give up? Can you give me some advice to improve upon?

>>9445048
Why would u give up? What the fuck does one person know?

Fewer generic words ("god" "darkened") would help. Be a little more vague, I guess. Make the reader work.

>>9443676
Somebody please critique this.

I critiqued three of y'all.

>>9443676
puerile nihilism

>>9445059
Damn nigga, thats why I'm asking you.
Thats a start.

>>9443676
Pierce*
You sound like M. Gira desu. I think it does a good job of being impersonal, Idk much about cliche but the line that stands out are:
>to the pink
>bubbling flesh
Otherwise its kind of obvious what you're talking about. Perhaps using more specific physical images could help you take this poem out of a world where your writing at us, then for us. what I think >>9445059 is trying to tell me is to let the reader come to his/her own conclusion.

>>9441648
>O Maiden

*Tips fedora*

>>9443674

Iambic, trochaic, etc.
If it's going to rhyme it should be to meter or else it reads quite awkward.

Dark evening.
Wet sidewalk.
Empty house.
Dead spouse.

is antibody else writing in Spanish?

As dusk falls, the silhouetted trees bathed in light
Become, in the warm gold sky, a mosaic of radiant light.

Sunset’s afterglow transfigures into a prism of everlasting fire,
And is slowly smothered by the darkening air. Failing light

Follows a solitary bird gliding downward across the sky.
It lands in its nest, disappearing into darkness. The light

Is dying, always - time’s expiring passage requires as much.
Now I let that same light transform also me, at twilight

Experiencing a feeling of delight in seeing the sun sink
Into cloud; the sublime moment when light becomes light-

ing. As nightfall ripples, deepens, distant opaque starlight
Glimmers. Tomorrow at dawn, a young bird will first take flight.

>>9445232
The last two lines work well together but the first two don't do them justice.

I sleep tonight
On a pillow filled
With my feathers
As I cradle
My rotting wings

A black bird rests inside my brain
And yours too as I'm sure you're aware
So what can we do
Me and you
To get those fuckers out of there?

>>9445586
I quite like this. 'as I cradle' feels like it should be expanded a little - just the rhythm doesn't seem to flow with the other lines.

Here's one of mine:

Autumnal leaves, crackling, flee trees
While native leaves cling, enduring in desperation –
Dear, my heart attempts both

>>9445586
It's an interesting image, maybe work it in to a larger poem.

>>9445489
Tons of cliches.

The line breaks falling in the middle of phrases don't really work, mostly because it seems like you only did it so that the word light would be at the end of each line. It seems like you're going for a rhyme at the end, but the preceding stanza with which it's maybe intended to rhyme actually ends with "lighting", ignoring the arbitrary line break.

Also try to be more precise with word choice in metaphors. It's not everlasting fire if it's smothered in the next line.

>>9444536
The imagery is pretty confused. I don't know the usual way in which the ground shuffles. It's a potentially interesting metaphor but you need to make clearer what you're actually describing. Along the same lines, I don't really know what it means to "walk quietly / with voices raised". If the contradiction is intentional, it needs to accomplish something.

The last line is very cliche.

Overall though it seems like a pretty interesting situation that you're trying to explore. Making the language less vague and the imagery more coherent would go a long way.

>>9443676
The first stanza is pretty interesting, but the "dust to dust" rehash in the second is pretty on the nose.

>>9443498
Pretty good, but it's a fairly simple concept that's being conveyed. Maybe explore the context in which it's being expressed? Is the narrator unironically inviting blame? For what?

Over there, from wonder to wear,
It's an overt proverb from under the care-
Of an upturned downward ride,
In a carrion carousal,
Of a better tomorrow.

At the end of your rope, at the end of a rainbow-
What will we do, what will we do,
What will we do with a dried-up Junky?
What will we do with a dried-up Junky?
What will we do with a passed out Junky,
Early in the morning.

to lie with you on rainy days
your head resting on my shoulder
convinces me in many ways
of things inside me that are older

>>9445877
The "inside me" breaks the flow, syllabically.

I think it's an evocative snippet of a silent scene. It uses its simplicity well, and theme is easy to perceive.

>>9445922
the theme*

The greatest murderer of all,
Time, who stalks me, following me
Relentlessly. No matter where
I run or where I hide, he stays

As Time pursues me, hunting me.
My mission is impossible;
To kill Time, my ultimate goal,
But never shall I achieve it

I fend him off, sometimes, but he
Never leaves, always shadowing
Me, until he takes from me what
It is that I can’t take from him

My futile attempts to kill Time,
Failing resoundingly, until
He comes for me. From me he shall
Take everything, then take me

The everlasting struggle, which
I have failed, another stone
Dropped into the river of Time,
Sinking slowly to the bottom.

>>9445935
Very cliche. The language seems forced, like its trying to sound deep. Also are they trying to kill time or is time trying to kill them? It doesn't flow logically.

Through these forest trees I run
Linearly inbetween the trunks
Admiring the swaying shading.
The way the light shines through
And around those tiny leaves
Always deeply perplexes me.
Especially whenever the sky is blue,
And a brightness only the sun could bring,
Has not brought me my tiptoeing sleuth.

Not much further up ahead
This quilt of trees comes to an end
At the foot of a handmade castle.
When close enough to see the stone
It's condition appears admirably
At far; up close, it tends being blocky.
Sound from around the corner I've known
To indicate my cover's been blown
Sparks a thought while behind this grass hill.

What if I stopped hiding here
And popped out with no fear
To tackle this walking defense?
Pinning his back against the grass,
Taking my hand to my waist,
And crushing his head with my mace?
Thus exposing the emerald-encrusted, brass-
dragon staff inside to safely fence?
Considering it done, I'm deleting my last save hence.

I dedicate to all the dead
A sonnet and triptych false.

1. A. Borealis
The wild knights arrive,
And with them, the sword's dance.
While ember and ash break,
Maiden's hand knits a pattern.

2. Prestissimo
The figurants are dead;
Pirouette, as if flight.
The knight's lyric-jump
The ballet has ended

3.Limbo
The bodies decorate a moving figure,
Young moon, an empty tomb.
The constellations will remember the shine
Of the ended step.

This is a rough translation, excuse awkward meter.

I watch you drift away,
Far away from my reach.
Why did you choose today?
Baby I'm still bewitched.

There's nothing more to do,
You sat there and said it.
I'll ask; what now? where to?
Don't say. Down to my pit.

You had that sweater on,
Bright mustard, big, and soft.
Sweet scenes are now long gone,
I heard you think: "enough".


pls no bully

What I say amounts little to what I never may say,
like polishing dunes as do fine Yggdrasil ash.
And like a lubber, I'll fool the sky-tomato mix with the grain
- both or either the grains, now's the world out of land.
(My sail is a color, and the soup is warm too.
And the color is orange wishing you were here too.)

What's the time when you're lost? Time is hot as sand
when its gear tires chewing a day's bark off the main.
(The ship is all hull. There's no sense in it.
This is all a bad dream, I should wake out of it.)
Anticlea can embrace the wind, and I
have no warmth at sea, nor scent of orange.

Will rate a few in my next post. Feel free to destroy this.

I am the tiny pirate, hear my fate:
To sail the sour sea I had no ship;
To sing the nights away I had no mate.
I lived and waited on the sandy lip,
That lick the waves and I could only dip
A foot, a toe, a dream to taste the main:
A dull sailor that whets only the rain.

I watched the ships abandoning the port
And me. Their hungry hull gurgling the song
Of tavern promises. I watched their sport,
A sail-less mast shiv'ring the wind along,
Unmoved. And waved away they went. So long!
Then came they back, replete in spices rare;
Their treasures belched perfumes of coasts more fair.

One day, I found a shovel all alone.
And since I was no pirate of the sea,
I plowed the shade on which the wind had sown
The smiles and tears of better men than me.
I dug and dug and nearly I felt free.
But in my holes I nothing had to hide;
I filled them thus anew: my earthly tide.

Sometimes I saw, beneath the gaping mud
Some hazels sweet and I did eat a few;
The rest I left and hoped that they would bud.
And then I saw the worms I'd cut in two
Living a while then dead and the half too.
I buried them beneath the gaping mud
And shed some tears over my earthly flood.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I now dig holes just like I did before.
I fill them up with chests of men away
To sail in sour seas and come no more.
I keep their treasures safe in beds of clay.
I fill them back again and then I lay
On top a cross if pirates want to search.
And Me? I am the pirate by the church.

>>9447982

sounds like cheesy teenage metal lyrics 2bqhwuf

>>9447949
It's very hard to judge a meterless poem. Form is half of the whole, even (maybe moreso) in free verse. But other than that, when writing surreal/symbolic poetry, I would avoid ever using vague phrases. For example, "a moving figure" is really odd here. Also, your images lack strength, I think, because they die too quickly. The moon is an empty tomb? That's cool, but then it's over. I'd suggest reading some Apollinaire or Mallarmé and check how they play with images. Oh and post the original, someone will probably know your first language here.

>>9447982
No offense, but it's not very good. You talk to a you, but then you say things that she should know already which weakens the while thing. Your phrasing is redundant too, like the second verse which is cliché and doesn't add anything.

>>9448094
It feels like there are too many images in there and yet it works like everything is haphazardly poured into the soup. But I really don't get why you add "there's no sense in it" after "the ship is all hull"; it ruins the strong image. Also, why the two mythological reference? The implicit comparison with Odysseus is there even without mention of Anticlea. And Yggdrasil doesn't seem to add anything. But all around, it's really good.

Ode for Spangled Youth:
Habitual burns
Taking all my turns
Tied romance to its name,
and when it sings
I hear it on the radio
above so many things.
Nothing else discerns
could ever understand
Thoughts of sea from an inner land
and set it free. It's no lie
Something true said stupidly
star spangled in the midnight sky.

Out of the rain:
Loughton's lined with Doctors doors.
Waiting rooms in long afternoons
and then awake all night.
Cloud sculpted by premature
summer light.
Born but still, it must go dark
Collected back before it fell
Rises now to fill a different form.
Evaporating all the same
Waiting faces, frozen
contemplating rain.

This thread is suffering from a serious lack of the "critique before you get critique" principle

>>9439209
What are some books that can educate me into becoming better reading & writing poetry and / or define good taste in the field?

>>9448363
Read more poetry. Start with the earliest, most heavily metered stuff you can find in your native language, then move on to Modernism. You can stop reading English poetry published after Pound or Auden's death, though.

>>9448382
Thanks, shall do!
Shan't be hard finding the earliest works being English.
Is there a book that could assist with understanding those meters? I'm familiar with Chaucer but often resort to online googling of to understand the older syntax.

>>9448426

Not the person you're replying to but a good idea is to get a copy of Norton's Anthology of Poetry. Will take you from the very beginning of English poetry to Auden or thereabouts (depends on edition). There are also good sections in the back on versification and syntax. They're concise and pretty straightforward. Will give you enough technical background, especially if you're a novice.

>>9448530
I'll see to it that I end up with a copy then!
Thanks, appreciate it.

>>9443287
Yeah I forgot a Colon on line 3

he had a fat dick
but who was the biggest?
his was thick
mine was long
powerful cock?
fast cock?
what what what
what is important?
when pounding away
away
away

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alguno aquí escribe en español?

>>9439209
i keep pushing
i keep pushing, pining for green mountains

it keeps beating
it keeps beating, oh mayakovsky

p-
l
i
nk,
p-
l
i
nk,
even my hat leaks

i keep digging
i keep digging, chasing for snowflakes

susurrate,
when the trail peaks?

Okay guys this is my first haiku be gentle.

Refrigerator
Double Refrigerator
Refrigerator

Please fucking read this

Washed Up

Here we find the protagonist
shipwrecked and regaining consciousness
on the beach, apparently unscathed:

He’s charging a beach front
pressed for permanence, dragging
his feet across the carpet in an empty room.
He stubs a toe on stubborn stones
as he laps upon the so called solid ground,
he only has a moment of idle ecstasy
to pass gas in a coughing froufrou froth,
then he’s gone, ebb to terror. Deciding
where to go all he knows is where he’s been, but not where he came from:

Sun baked and faded
like our old photos of summer vacations,
I try to find her but I’m blinded
by the chard red giant burning down.
Short of
breath
I torture myself
with every burning step taken
on this sedimentary death. No rest,
no shade, no trees. Even trees
know better than to build in sand.
I cool off standing
ankle deep in a river bed, this river gushing
from my head. Steady flowing slowly,
thickly, red. I see a queer vision of dad
floating away on a raft. Run in, rash.
Splish splash
my stitches tear, and widen the gash.
The waters rising to my waist, I look back.
The dune ridge
western face’s frown
says its time I leave this place. Shoulder height now,
soaking, suns down, breath is smoking,
going into shock. Water’s alkaline, swallowing it,
choking... Spit it out and try to turn around
but the alternating currents already pulling me out.
Tastes like frozen eons
of blood and semen
and tears, I’m probably just being dramatic.
Life or death now,
sink or swim, oh my poor shrunken head. Fuck it,
either way I end up dead.

“Don’t think like that”,
that’s what dad would have said.
Where the fuck is he by the way? Fuck him.
Got me treading water
like an idiot, he never taught me
how to swim.
Most men don’t swim until they know how to.
Maybe I’ll give him a call, shoot
the shit.
“Dad?” *cough-spit*
He shows up, “swell”, from out of nowhere,
hell...he’d just been there
the whole
time looming in the dark, looking down at
me with a beer in his hand. Fucking boomers.
He pulls out this torch right, a barbecue lighter.
He holds it out flame
first expecting me to grab it but
my look says “You can shove that right up your ass.”
I can tell he’s disappointed, and he drops it.
Engulfed in flames, he’s burning to death right,
get this; he says

“Kick off your shoes”.

“What the FUCK, Dad?”

A darker kind of love is what I give to this
A shadowed conversation on the edge of time
A final kind of crisis in the palm of my hands
A multiverse of conflict in my restless mind
You knew me as the one who spoke in passionate lies
The darker twin of someone that you used to know
The feelings like a cold imprinted on your blood now
The fire is directed at my soul until my eyes close again
Until I walk through the flames
See my eyes shut now
And my brain shut down
See my dark sunglasses they hit the ground
See my legs shut down
You know me

>>9443559
Not him but its a good poem, i think his criticisms were fair, cats in suits feels little juvenile considering the scope of what youre trying to communicate. Also the mercy of the market is an interesting book end, thought provoking.

>>9448278
Ah, I wrote the poem on a notice. The first couple lines came from a dream, but now that you say this I'm tempted to fix it a little. Here I go again:

What I say amounts little to what I never may say,
like pouring hot dunes from this kettle of sun.
And I'll sail on, fooling the sky-tomato mix with the grain
- both or either the grains, now's the world out of land.
(My sail is a color, and the soup is warm too.
And the color is orange wishing you were here too.)

What's the time when you're lost? Time is hot as sand
when its gear tires chewing a day's bark off the main.
(The ship is all hull, rocking counterclockwise.
This is all a bad dream but I fear no demise.)
Wind is a serif to what sets off the sky,
but naught will all stop it, still in orange I vie.

Off is the course whereto my whole will
become ocean, of course, and sailing still.

>>9449236
read it by the punctuation not the breaks you fucking noobs

Watering Hole

Most people affect me
as much as a pimple does.
They swell me up
a little at first, convincing
me that I’ve gained something
only to leave me with a pock mark
reminder of the time I lost
popping it. Letting it die naturally
is never as satisfying, is it?

By comparison, her affection,
and the subsequent lack of it,
felt like an improbable impact
event. A blinding cannibalistic fusion
slowly cooling in pieces,
her vacant eyes left like craters
on the dead moon, reflected as a distant memory
off the black tides it still held sway over.
A light in my eyes
I couldn’t avoid
no matter how many times I rolled over.
I should probably wash my sheets.

Some women were a pretty shell
you felt lucky to find on a beach.
Resting your head on their conch hearts
you could still only hear the distant echo
of blood
rushing through your own searching ears.

Her attention was the hushing sting
of the man o’ war, slicking away moments
by the syncopated rhythm of the heart. I knew
she didn’t love me
but rather loved me loving her,
and you could call that vain
but honesty goes a long way with me.
So I gave her all
anyone really has to give, time. If she would have let me,
I would have given her more of it.

Coursing time had refined her
to smooth prismatic lines shining,
she will tell me this
portrait of her is too ambiguous.
Channeling the whole of life in
singular
white light through her riming eyes
she projected a spectrum out the back
for the world to see. With a hydra for hair
I could see why she cried, but I still asked her why.

I noticed a shadow in the projected frame.
I stood holding her eyelids open
like the Venetian man, standing
between the order of her mind the chaos without.
Offering myself like a coin to Charon,
I’d suddenly been struck by a strange experience;
to smell your own saliva on a lover.
I thought if she wants to fuck me, how perfect
can she be? She read the relief on my face,
I cast myself into her, wishing well.

I swear she could smell the fear exuded
from my nervous pours, working up a sweat
feigning laughter while we splash about
in the aqua vitae. As I talked the talk,
she grabbed my hand with hers and
she showed me how to walk.

After that I wondered
if I was consuming her
or she consuming me,
and whether or not I should care.
I’ll wake up, and she’ll be gone.
The cursed liver regenerates, I’ll forget
all that I’d seen and felt,
and probably for the better. So I dropped the act
and got off my knees, I begged her to take me
all the way, to tell me how to be free.
Parting her brittle glass lips, stained with my blood
she whispered, “You couldn’t handle me.”
The world had made her hard and pellucid as ice
but she would have told me my tongue felt cold
on her bottleneck as we rushed to spill
our hearts.

>>9451513
cont.

An ambulance cries
outside the window
as she groans
with the baseboard heater,
we melt together
and the wooden keel tightens in
our pitching urgent sea. The bed
frame was giving its death rattle,
a man was dying
at incredible speed, knock on wood.

On dead calm open water
a tragic chorus
ever rises from the deep, sweet
breath boiling to my ears
in countless clear crystal spheres,
a siren song
composed
of notes blown round in glass bottles,
never to be read.
Didn’t think
I was quite drunk
enough to drop off,
but whether I fell or jumped, I was baptized
plumb blue in the sea
of formless shadows on my sleepless ceiling.
Holding my breath
I try to touch the bottom, diving
ever lower, down the hall of mirrors...
I would die
before I got to the bottom of it.

I woke
from the dream.
This one, where she kills me. That was all
the context I needed, a life is defined by a death.
Rubbing sleep out of my eyes
I’ll vaguely remember
the easy flick of her wrist
as she flipped me on my head.
By supply and demand
it`s me grinding out
my now so valuable golden sand.