I like it when it has a good rhythm. Doesn't do anything for me otherwise.

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i cant read books anymore because i am an alcoholic. even10 second youtube short videos give me the ick

>>221443467
When it's good, it's great
When it's not, it's gay af

>>221443579
>>221443606
quite tame. this game should be your claim.

>>221443467
what's good about poetry?
it's like a breeze of thoughts.
it buries prose in a cemetery
And at the door of your heart knocks

>>221444547
breezes break the heavy stone,
silence makes the spirit known.
prose creates the narrow cage,
poets burn the final page.

>>221443467
most poetry is shit there are only a few good poets, prefer novels me

Making It In Poetry, by Bob Hicok

The young teller
at the credit union
asked why so many
small checks
from universities?
Because I write
poems I said. Why
haven’t I heard
of you? Because
I write poems
I said.

>>221444749
The touch of a finger's enough
To break the stone,
Let's wind effortlessly fly.
It begs for freedom.
Books are to read, not to burn.
And think, what else you can try.

>>221445070
softness merely masks the blade,
light emerges from the shade.
unbound winds provide no path,
mercy fuels the final wrath.
ink remains the spirit's blood,
stone withstands the rising flood.

>>221445289
Sword won't break through a thousand threads.
They are as soft as the hardness of the blade.
And light be it, it is not a threat.
You refuse to obey the will of the wind
Don't knee to your fears, you better fight
Let the future be unknown, don't mind.
Release your thoughts from warmth. Your heart is might.
And the true spirit is what you are going to find.

Love again: wanking at ten past three
(Surely he’s taken her home by now?),
The bedroom hot as a bakery,
The drink gone dead, without showing how
To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
And the usual pain, like dysentery.

Someone else feeling her breasts and cunt,
Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare,
And me supposed to be ignorant,
Or find it funny, or not to care,
Even ... but why put it into words?
Isolate rather this element

That spreads through other lives like a tree
And sways them on in a sort of sense
And say why it never worked for me.
Something to do with violence
A long way back, and wrong rewards,
And arrogant eternity.

i like wilfred owen

Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care;
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft,—
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

>>221445602
woven webs provide the cage,
burning ink preserves the page.
binding chains create the king,
empty winds have naught to bring.

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>>221443579
TSMT

>>221443606
Anglos were already woke in 1788...

shame on a nigga who try to run game on a nigga

Here's a simple Haiku:

>Anon yearns
>The warm embrace of
>BBC