/pg/ - poetry general

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>>9722668
do you guys ever talk about published/respected poets or is it only your own poems?

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>>9722668
You're a hack and a copycat.

Holding a grain of Millet in her beak
The mother rushes to her children
Ten in number, dependent on her
With larger mouths than bodies

Holding the nourishing grain
The mother is in despair
For while there is food
There are ten young ones to feed

Splitting the grain, she feeds them
What could she do? Ten birds to feed

Splitting the atom, you have learnt to kill
Learn to split the grain, like the bird

For there are ten young ones to feed.

>>9722680
Who do you want to talk about?

>>9722668
>experimental
How exactly is this experimental? People were writing poetry like this in the 1910s. Nothing is original, there is only mastery.

>>9722849
Interesting poem.

Wrote poetry for about 2 years sharing my shit on Instagram. Self-Published 3 poetry books amounting to about 400 pages of what I considered "worth publishing" on Amazon. Sold about 10 for each one.

Bought myself a typewriter at start of June. Started writing poetry on the spot for strangers in New Orleans. Can make an easy hundred on weekends. Already have a grand saved up for college next year. Only work maybe 8 hours a week if that.

It's somewhat depressing that oftentimes the poetry is sold for the novelty of it all rather than the poetry of it. I love when I write something and it touches someone immensely or to have someone just be excited by what I'm doing.

I think that unless you write Hallmark j.ironword Rupi type trash, your odds of amassing a following are slim In poetry. Especially one to make a living off of.

Anyways here's some dumb poem I wrote a few nights ago.


Strawberry
---------------
blitzkrieg forbidden within strawberry fields:
land of fruiting hearts salted in green sesame seeds
holier than assembly-line tank-treads///
generals lambast kingpin for “mockery of stratagem”
but highest power of hierarchy scoffs at the
coffins next meal--- soldiers disarm landmines:
forbidden to chew a morsel of red with firing squad
of one's own battalion as punishment.
a pineapple lobbed into granular brown must be
leaped upon (carcass halting shrapnel)
servicemen weep in silence of pitch as they protect
the 4 inch forest.
men gundown own thinned dogs like rabid mutts
when they succumb to sugarsuckle temptation.
stomachs purr for a lick)(men cry only saltwater)
postcards come from home: girlfriends & wives have put
their children up for adoption)(their bodies up for sale
in the land of red-light)
a telegraph reaches frontlines of red-land
the war is over and they have won.
they have won.
they have won...
-j.w.

>>9723876
keep up the hustle my good man

>>9723876
I wrote one book, self-published 50 copies and sold them all at an event I organised, including to my state's modern art gallery.
I just entered some poems into competitions and plan on trying to get a poetry scholarship at my university after the next semester.

You have to game the system to make it work. But it can work.