Owen's praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flower of Roderic's stem,
Gwyneth's shield and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin ploughs the watery way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands
The Dragon-son of Mona stands;
In glittering arms and glory dressed,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty Rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce and Ruin wild,
Agony that pants for breath,
Despair and honourable Death.

Wrapped in bandage, she fills
the gold bathtub with cold
syrup bottles and pills.
She, forty-three year old
mummy, sheds wrappings with skill
and swims slowly in gold.

>>23247370
It seems like you're sacrificing flow for terseness. Also the repetition of gold in such a short span without any real device to link it is awkward.

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>>23247317

>>23247417
Ty for the feedback friend! I agree with both criticisms but couldn't really pinpoint the problem with the poem until you laid it out.

IT ENDS TODAY

The fly flew about his cheek,
remarking there the acne scars,
the three days unshaven chin,
an uneven surface affording foothold for claws.
Still, for a moment, the fly studied the caves of the nostrils leading into
the crooked peak of the nose.
He threw his arm across his face,
batting off the creature.
The fly rose, swirled,
returned to walk across the hair-laden cleft of the chin,
and sighted the harmonica held in the human’s hand,
and leaped silently into the ear.
He batted once more,
to no avail,
the fly remained.
He felt the thing moving,
and tried a more direct approach.
His finger felt no resistance, for
the fly leaped out,
buzzed about for a bit,
then leaped right back in.
This went on for a while.

anybody got recs for essays about poetry?

I imagine one could have called my journey poetic
After all: there is also tragic poetry
Oh no; I hadn’t only had unhappiness in my life
But rather things have always tended towards the good
I like watching television with the sound off, it always defaults to golf
The people looking like little mute dolls
standing in the lush forever-spanning fields of the Teletubbies television show.

Not only do people torture one another
They torture one another with a complete absence of originality
Bulls make money, bears make money, little piggies get slaughtered
These are things people say just because they rhyme
This is the drive thru of the marketplace of ideas
The suicide barriers of mass-manufacture
I am calamity

I resemble arson
But do not commit it
For one cannot smoke weed in prison

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Shilling my poetry site again: https://iliazo.wordpress.com/

>>23247317
whittle away now
you're stone tears,
an age has passed.
what could be felt;
gone, a glimpse
of better days.
mortality speaks
an immortal demand
"I am but a man"

>>23247487
'hair-laden cleft' is okay

would be better as prose though

>>23247916
sanctimoniousness is lethal to writing

>>23247317
For I am overflowing

with words like pain

dust, dreams and rain

In me the night

In me the dusk

In me infinite dawns

In me the moon

In me the sun

In me the world

whirls inside in words

like clouds like burning

like fire like yearning

In me the sea

the wind the earth

the beginning the end

the here and after

In me the unnameable

words like childhood dreams

words like blood tears

words like silence

Raindrops are falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling

So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done
Sleeping on the job
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling

But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won't defeat me, it won't be long
Till happiness steps up to greet me

Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me

>>23247317
A haiku on appliances:
Refrigerator
Wall-Mounted Radiator
Microwave Oven

I’m just sighing and drinking
Waiting for the battle to start
So that I can charge in
And forget the worries of my heart

A bugle breaks the silent night
My soul stirs with anticipation
The commander says it’s time to fight
I mount my steed with pure elation

My raven horse cuts through the air
I draw my faithful friend
The saber shines a bitter glare
As we rush towards our end

I do not fear the biting steel
Nor the roaring musket fire
What I fear is having to feel
The flames of my desire

The enemy is unrelenting
My heart dances in my chest
As I am joyfully accepting
That soon I’ll find eternal rest

Yet at the height of bloody battle
What a bitter trick is played on me
The enemy has begun to scramble
All about they’ve turned to flee

A fatal bullet I did not find
And their spears could not lay me to rest
So I’ll have to bear for a longer time
This burning pain beneath my breast

I hang my head upon my hand
And I can’t help but sadly thinking
Of how when I met you I hadn’t planned
To be here sighing and drinking

>>23247317
When the clock strikes twelve,
I will be over the mountains,
I will be under the blanket,
Of wet sky pushing low.

When the clock strikes twelve
I will peer from looming fountains,
On the way, this escapade,
Is getting where to go.

When the clock strikes twelve
I will squeeze the dew from leaves,
And the tears, for you who grieves,
Surrounded by beauty and life.

When the clock strikes twelve
I will be among the party,
Bearing blades in one long,
Unending, uncompromising line.

When the clock strikes twelve
I will realize a minute after,
It’s great knocking bell
Quieted as quick as it came.

Bedeviled egg is brewing something somewhere
Inside its shell the newer view is lighted
Ancestral spirit's always true and fighting
O Gamers! Time to meme that subtle oblique rightness

Again the druid and the maddened priest
Will tell you stories of the Nietzsche's horse
How he got bitten, looming through the doors
And shouting loud: 'Neigh horse alas.. Forevermore!'

In Sils Maria hills
That wheelchair shedding spits
Rejecting pills
He must have known
The horse amidst the twigs
That Big Horse Dick
To fuck towards the Real

Confess, confess! You hear
The neighing of the Horse
Beyond the reeds..........

Anonymous, listen to me
The human world, it's a mess
Eromanga Sea
Is better than anything they got up there

The hentai is always cheaper
On some other country's site
You dream of their girls you creeper
But going there's too much shite
Just look at the world around you
Right here on the ocean floor
Cries of 'yamete' surround you
What more is you looking for?

Eromanga Sea
Eromanga Sea
Squid-like crustaceans
Forced masturbatin'
Schoolgirls with glee
Up on the shore they stalk all night
Stressing to make sure drinks are spiked
While we're here makin'
Tentacle rape in
Eromanga Sea

Down here all the squid is happy
They bang divers with elan
The squid on the land ain't happy
Filmed for Web-Ems on four chan
But squid on Web-Ems is lucky
Put in a sanctuary
At least they not dredged and raped by
hooks to make calimari

Not in Eromanga Sea
Eromanga Sea
Nobody film us
Dissect us and kill us
For Discovery
We get revenge on angling men and skanks
With tentacle forced strangling wanks
No arrest warrants
Down in the currents
Eromanga Sea!
Eromanga Sea!

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>>23247317
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air ....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

O referential humor;
you gaudy prince. How
can I name thee when
your name itself names
so many others? I think
of ancient names of lore;
Simpsons; Seinfeld;
The House of Atreus: from
the Greek to the good
ol U.S. of A., how we
honor you in recitation,
O irreplaceable one.

>>23249873
One of the best

>>23249873
lol well done

>>23249873
He probably made one of the greater contributions to the culture and human element of aviation

How does one make stream of consciousness not cringe af?

>>23252893
It requires both a consciousness that's not full of cringe and an existing base of poetic ability.
Think of the difference between an off-the-cuff sketch by a skilled artist and some random doodle. The sketch will still reflect the artist's practice and fundamentals, the doodle will only have merit situationally, accidentally, or by some natural talent.

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>>23247317
never saw her again after that night

A PEAK INTO YOU

Moonwater beams down on the trailer,
outside of which we are sitting,
drinking beer.

Beer is the third most consumed beverage in the world,
after water and tea.

Laughter at an inappropriate joke,
laughter while shaking one’s head,
laughter at one’s own misfortune.
These are the things we do.

Here I’m trying to capture the energy with which we are speaking:
we are good friends meeting for the first time in years
and they live in a trailer
and I do not.

We are conversing with
an intellectual intensity long forgotten
since leaving high school.

I’m getting to the important part,
you’re just going to have to trust me.

The three of them have sad and reasonable faces
and speak not loudly—we’re sitting in a circle of chairs
and I can see them all clearly, despite the late night dark.

My eyes are used to the dark.

There are lamps along the road going through the
park, lighting two others, leaving me and another
dark.

There’s a lot of hand motions
going on. That’s mostly what’s
been catching my eye.

Occasionally we swat at
things,
around here all kinds of things
come and go.

I’ve not quoted any of what’s been said,
and I’m not going to—however I will say that
my compatriots are
speaking heavily accented English,
and I keep misunderstanding them.

Some bass-driven music is
playing and we all sort of
bob our heads in response.

There’s some of that energy still there,
despite our being so much older,
despite our newfound interest
turned routine familiarity
turned spiteful intimacy with
alcohol.

I’m gesturing with
the hand holding my beer, spilling a little
on my chair.

What I’m trying to do is
develop a kind of
descriptive style; one which
is self-referential, “meta”, and
most importantly
reveals important aspects of existence through description, self-reference, etc.
That last one depends on a few things,
namely that the material is
sufficiently interesting,
“revealing”, or whatever kind of
subjective adjective of quality
you may prefer.

I had taken the bus here,
and didn’t think about getting back. No buses this late so
to the Uber app I go, and order a driver to the trailer park.

The car that comes is a
Mercedes 4x4 and it requires a big step to get into
and smells of deeply pungent nothing;
there’s no air freshener hanging from the mirror or on the dash.

At home I take my night pills and drink lots of water and lie in bed
listening to music, trying to fall asleep, for quite some time.

There’s no real guarantee that
the material this poem is concerned with
is going to be sufficiently interesting to merit the lengths
the poet is going to to elucidate the thinking behind the poem
and to that I respond: That’s OK.
It’s OK to not be remarkably taken with every work of art you interface with.
It’s OK to sponge up dull information, for all information is important in some way.
In some way, somehow, this poem was worth it.
This experience was worth it.

TO change the world to bring it forth
TO right one's compass t'words due north
TO hold one's Judas Sphincter shut
TO cling my nails upon the rut

Spray Windex on the windows to your soul
Oh, it might burn a bit like pimple popping though
Have I mentioned that the binturong is dope
They smell like popcorn and wink and talk in code

One of those was true, if you know, you know
Been a busy bee, did a loop, lit a fuse, I blow
I quit the quidditch team to join a cypher with dementors
And to draw magic circles with the bible in the center

A maniacal inventor, ever chasing that zeta-beam
Unable to immerse myself ever at Seyda Neen
Everybody wants to hear the joke raps, say the meme
Everybody wants to hear the gun clap claim a teen

We’re in a black hole laughing
We’re at the last act slow dancing
We’re the last hope, crawled out the world egg
But a tadpole caught at the world’s edge

I color code my clothes for every kind of weather
Heavy rain is black leather and the rest is black-whatever
I have this kooky fantasy that we could act together
Dude imagine, gee willikers, I need a bag of cheddar

And I need a hat big enough to fit all my phobias in
My copious sins, my belt feels like a Möbius strip
I kinda wish I could just grow me a fin
And go diving in the deep where the foliage spring

In this weird world homies are thin
Crowley is king and beards don’t grow over your chins
Go ahead, laugh it up, spit it out when you can muster
Something—something very wise, get up out there little buster!

We’re in a black hole laughing
We’re at the last act slow dancing
We’re the last hope, crawled out the world egg
But a tadpole caught at the world’s edge

Watch your step or you might step into some death
Watch your step or you might step into some hurt and pain
Watch your step or you might step into a nest
Watch your step or you might step into some burning flames

Watch your step or you might step into some bramble and trip
Have a weapon and some metal on your ankle and skip
Careful when the pebble under mattresses big
Either way the reaper went ahead and latch keyed the kid

Drink more water - or you might die
Rinse your armor - or you might die
Demon parlours beckon, claws reaching out
Even farther, reddened gauze peaking out

Flowers blooming from the wounds on our planet
From the womb to the moon, it’s maroon on the palette
I’m a fool, I’m fraud, I’m the fruit of a god
Like eat me, I mean it, I’m juicy and soft

And I’m seasoned with falsehoods soothing to tongues
Can you speak through the tall bush, using your lungs?
Can you talk through the pain in your chest?
Better watch where you step or I’ll cave in the nest

I’m just concerned for ya health
I’m just concerned you might burn up and melt
In a furnace a blurred black
Bird working her herb craft

Chirp. I think I worried that my eyes were deceiving me
Since I seemed to hurry to the lilac and greenery
Oh gee, I don’t wanna see more red leaves
Scribbling a meaning onto reborn dead trees

I need more pet peeves, I need more foresight
I need more lead please, gimme four fortnights
Arriba arriba, I need a key to an EVA
But keep your jet skis and keep your sport bikes

I’m in this forest trying to sing this chorus
And trying to keep an eye on the whims of Horus
On this aeon of odd and ascended auras
It’s so tempting for us, so tempting for us

Watch your step or you might step into some death
Watch your step or you might step into some hurt and pain
Watch your step or you might step into a nest
Watch your step or you might step into some burning flames

Watch your step or you might step into some bramble and trip
Have a weapon and some metal on your ankle and skip
Careful when the pebble under mattresses big
Either way the reaper went ahead and latch keyed the kid

Eat more frequent - or you might die
Keep on breathing, please - or you might die
Before you come up with something snarky to say
I’ll have you know I won’t be dealing with your carcass today

So we’re going for walk, walk with me, walk with me
While a big one is crowing out a squawk
And I’m glad that you stop me at the lights when you do
And even though I didn’t need to be reminded, it’s you

I wanna take the bandages off
From the scandalous scabs to the gangrenous moss
Understand all the flaws and remain as myself
Immolation of failings endangers my health

And I crave for your well being
Pray to a hell being, tape up a shell seam, may do an LP
Innately, unfavorably accident prone
I can act as your throne or collapse on my own

I've started reading Byron for the first time in my life and I finally feel like I "understand" poetry. I've certainly enjoyed (and even written) some, of course, but it always took a lot of energy out of me. With his poetry, though, it's so effortless and the images and feelings he tries to convey just flow so beautifully off the page that I'm enraptured the entire time.
Are the other Romantics like this or was he one of a kind?

>>23253934
Excellent perspective. Will keep this in mind.

Btw do you have any favorite stream of consciousness poetry?

>>23247317
Great gravity gives great grace
Sunshine loght delights the human race
Sunset starts unsetting stops that bind the human heart
Ever every effervescance eases out my art

Weigh the weights that work the world
The way unweights the dancer’s whirl
Golden solar seeds are sown within my sleep
Light is long and bright that roots within the deep

>>23256196
It won’t let me delete to fix the typo, killing myself now

vse sdohli / kto ne uhodil
tot i ne vspomnit
gde bil krokodil
vrashalsja vtornik
i mezhdu nami prolegaet nochj
v privetlivij aprelj vpletaja son

despite the dust and hidden angst
I must confess
it's raining
the days are short
the mind is slow
to witness life is fading
those moments of protracted still
astrology is griding gears of fate
I vomit words they show 'it's kill'
O God! Open thy lustrous gate..

>>23255421
No, it's all cringe

蜂の巣も掘り出されたり冬を待つ

wasp nests dug out from
the forest underground—
winter's approaching

>>23248843
I like it

The thread is not permitted to die overnight

Saturday / clank of metal tubes
The almost forgotten promise
Read against the text
Tearing out pages is necessary
Fight on persevere melting
Angles and the past mutating
Into an impossible form

In that flight I am no more
Than the cosmic wind
Greedily hastily listening
To whatever mantic noise
Can communicate the next hint

Saturday's liquid lead
And the black mirror
Parked nearby
It allows the distance between said
And the depths.

>>23247916
>I resemble arson
>But do not commit it
>For one cannot smoke weed in prison

>>23254817
>Spray Windex on the windows to your soul

Rubbish

>>23254565
Big chunks of this feel like arbitrarily chopped-up prose, though on the whole it's decently easy-reading.
I think it might benefit from tweaking the Meta dial down a bit and the Elucidation one up just a hair.

Bump

Yeah I buried a time capsule
Back when I was a child at school, ain’t that cool
Can I get a “me too?” Hands up, whodunit?
We’re from the future, still don’t hold moon summits

The past me is disappointed
Future me would get blocked, muted dissed and then avoided
The boy dead, boxed, buried and burned to cinders
To combat obnoxious ever-returning winters

I went back, a while back, checking a thing
To see if the capsule was in tact, buried within
The school yard, pardon my fool heart
Dug in the mud for the something begotten that grew hard

I was soon greeted by the shovel
Knocking at the doorway of the tiny tunnel
I pulled the little box out of the earth
Twisted open the lock, then I shouted the words

I don’t remember what was inside
But now it’s full of earthworms
I can’t recall what I put in here
Now it’s full of earthworms

I don’t mind it being earthworms
I kinda like the earthworms
I was hoping for... closure
It got claimed by the earthworms

I let the box with the meddling worms fall
And wish I could birdcall, they’ll inherit the earth
When they’re big they won’t settle for dirt balls
I kid, my judgement just doesn’t return calls

So I fib and I flounder and muck around
Murk by the pound and a mountain of mud abound
What a sound, I was touched by writhing
Put the box down kindly, left my lunch where I found em

There was a bird that lived in the sky
Then it stopped flying, now it’s full of earthworms, itty bitty burglars
Life is like a box of worms
You never know what’s inside till you watch it squirm

And so the grown ups decide what you watch and learn
So you know what a crime is and rob to earn
Bada bing, bada boom, got a ring, what a goon
Not a thing it don’t think to consume on a whim

Not limb not a hair, not a thing to declare
What a king, what a king what invincible thing
Bet, any larva would marvel at them
Mannimarco himself would be gargling phlegm

I’m starting to think I discarded a gem
I’ll remember the time that we parted again

You guys suck. Can't anyone post anything good?

>>23247317
As I walk along the wisteria groves,
I smell the smells and taste the air
And I can tell today is a good day,
Because today they're wisteria groves.

Last week it was a haunted forest,
Though it did have pumpkins and
Comically thick cobwebs so it
Wasn't scary or depressing.

Sometimes the trees are leeched of color
And my head is hung so that I wouldn't
Be able to see any colors anyway,
But today they're wisteria.

Tomorrow, I'll come again
To see how my within
Reflects on the without.
Today, how did they look to you?

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>>23260839
Published in a random magazine in the 1930s.

>>23260864
This is sappy doggerel. Fuck off.

>>23260868
post something better

>>23260839
No one ever responds when I post my (good) poetry.

>>23260839
Pick the least garbage original piece in the thread and tell us why it's bad

Sweet Norah Winebisquit bedewed with sleep
Swept down through sooted flues of chimney-sweep.
And where? she cried. can be this sceptered rod
That men call Recktall Brown, and I call god.
Straight through a frosted glass-partitioned door
They led her, and she doubted no more.
(The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she)
Might no more question wherewithal of he:
Dreadful he sat, bastioned in golden oak,
The humanizing of some dirty joke
The gods tell one another ere they stand
To attend to last obscenity, called man.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on wet black bough

>>23261391
>poem written by a paid Nazi propagandist is less racist the the average /lit/ poem
bleak

On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies.
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.

midsummer reverie
sound of splashing waves
in my mint soda

I like all of these.

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>>23260864

If you study a leaf
You'll swiftly perceive
That it holds no dread
Of falling to bed

>>23247365
you jacked this from Thomas Gray

>>23264387
>Post poetry, your own or otherwise

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>>23264411
then uh... credit the author in your post retard

>>23249873
what a self aggrandising cunt aint he

>>23249818
write about what you know

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>>23247317
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land,
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto— "In God is our trust; "
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

>>23264437
Anyone who can't immediately distinguish the poems written by actual poets from /lit/ scribbles is too retarded to be here in the first place.

CURSE OF RA OLD KINGDOM BIRTHDAY OYSTER SHELL FLINT TO CUT KHAFRE ENTHRONED MILLIONS ENSLAVED BLACK PYRAMID CAPSTONE FOR GOD BE THEY MIGHTY SEE THEM ENGRAVED IN YOUR COFFIN YOUR EVERY OTHER OBJECT MERRIMENT SEX TOY USED WITH HASTE WE ALL PRAY TO THE EFFULGENT TWINK DEATH

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>>23264517
getting high off the smell of your own shit i see

BLACK PULSE OF THE MAGGOTS ONESIE WITH SLIPKNOT LOGO

Something about hearing intoned half-crazy lyrics proportional to what if not some cold grasping deathless dying thing to bring me to your knees and bury some disease to wait and wait forever until I make you see how you have done to me numerous things all of which I will list one being the virus of life despite being alone affects one as does a bullet in that an end to all is in sight and it is this which changes everything and finds me where have I been all this time lost in sliding fatal decline and two that steady beat can supplement the heart’s thump on high volume and moving one’s head appropriately while she watches you wry smile on face and etcetera while I’m here record scratch and twisting tightly all that approaches distance and three someone is out there tapping their caps lock key to the song they are listening to and four I’d throw this computer out the window if it weren’t for you the pieces are only as good as the whole but I’ve been waiting for this to unfold holding his ear to shoulder hearing echoing reverberations sea song peeling the label off the lighter and licking the glue eating the plastic swallowing whole all of the paper and finally five I severed myself from my old life cut off the only thing that was bright what if I never saw you again I’d die right next to you in the end the phenomenon where you get shivers after blowing your nose enclosed is a data stick containing just about every star position imaginable eight thousand lightyears away is a planet identical to our own except for one thing: no one needs for things unbegotten; the implications of this are incredible.

Bump

>>23264440
>Uninformed commentary from a non-pilot
Many such cases. Sad!

>>23266332
youre telling me all pilots have a god complex? the more you know

>>23267074
Obviously. We can fly.

>>23267222
The plane flies

>>23267234
The god of wind blesses the wings with support as long as they're moving fast. He likes fast flat things and wants to keep them close.

>>23267234
Generally, not without the pilot

>>23267550
can racecar drivers do 200mph, or does the car

>>23267548
he likes other things

The North Wind rose: I saw him press
With lusty force against your dress,
Moulding your body's inward grace
And streaming off from your set face;
So now no longer flesh and blood
But poised in marble flight you stood.
O wingless Victory, loved of men,
Who could withstand your beauty then?

>>23267765
Someone who isn't a racecar driver will almost certainly die very quickly if they try to go 200 in the car. Same with flying planes and helicopters.

Johnny was a racecar driver
Bobby was a racewar crier
One raced the other braced
For the inevitable ethnic conflict

>>23267784
Helicopter, maybe, flying a plane is actually easy

It's not poetry that's gay,
but poets say some faggy shit.
We don't have time to feel your pain,
nor the capacity.

>>23264387
>>23264437
>>23264590
I post poems by poets that aren't super popular all the time and the retards here don't notice
i have posted countless thomas gray poems and people think they're mine all the time
if i started a thread about thomas gray it would get no responses but at least posting them here gets people to read them

>>23268364
woah you're a hero!

>>23268364
Creation has never begun,
Only has been
And who seeks this?
Rulers by might and force,
Philosophers by discourse,
Or ones who never tried?
I travel not thru might,
Im humbled by intellect,
I travel not thru spite,
But knowing I'll be wrong.

What a wonder it is,
The spring of being wrong,
The past stills shadows
Another sin til then,
And light yet rules
Against a darkened realm,

And who I am,
What I am are
Carved up in divorce;
I'll never say
I didn't have a choice.

>>23268090
For it, because we have
Better things to do
Than to insert ourselves
Into your shoes

>>23268364
so your solution to getting ppl to read the classics, you make them think you wrote them? i can promise you those authors would would say their work was better off in obscurity forever than having some shlubby cunt pass it off as his own. i know i certainly would.

>>23255276
Take Keats & Blake for a spin.

>Elegy
>An elegy doesn’t have rules like some of the other forms of poetry but it does have a set subject: death – eek! They are usually written about a loved one who has passed away, but can also be written about a group of people, too. Although they can sound sad, elegies often end on a hopeful note, hooray!
t. penguin books
what are some /lit/ approved elegies? and why does it say there are no rules?

>>23249327
>>23249818

>twice, why only twice
>in the course of this thread I
>shidded farted

TALK ABOUT the poetry

>>23247487
Genuinely amusing but too proselike, could use an edit run to incorporate just a little more poetic sensibility.
>>23247999
I'm trying to figure out how "you're" could have a double meaning here and not just be an error, but I fear that one of us is retarded.
>>23248874
Kicking off that second stanza with "so" is jarring, introduces a weird disjunction. Other than that, and some minor stumbles in flow, I like it.
>>23249292
This kicks ass.
>>23249327
So does this.
>>23250991
The enjambment seems aimless but if I ignore the line breaks I like it.
>>23254510
What exactly is the point of the formatting? Other than that gripe, I appreciate the effectiveness of how this creates a scene.

>>23268773
Are you not aware that >>23248874 is just someone writing out the lyrics to a well-known song from the 60s?

https://genius.com/Bj-thomas-raindrops-keep-fallin-on-my-head-lyrics

>>23268786
I knew it was at least referencing the song and I definitely thought that I pasted a few lines into search to check if it was original, but apparently I did not. The raindrops line is the only one I've ever remembered from that, in any case.

The Ivy Crown
by William Carlos Williams

The whole process is a lie,
unless,
crowned by excess,
It break forcefully,
one way or another,
from its confinement—
or find a deeper well.
Antony and Cleopatra
were right;
they have shown
the way. I love you
or I do not live
at all.

Daffodil time
is past. This is
summer, summer!
the heart says,
and not even the full of it.
No doubts
are permitted—
though they will come
and may
before our time
overwhelm us.
We are only mortal
but being mortal
can defy our fate.
We may
by an outside chance
even win! We do not
look to see
jonquils and violets
come again
but there are,
still,
the roses!

Romance has no part in it.
The business of love is
cruelty which,
by our wills,
we transform
to live together.
It has its seasons,
for and against,
whatever the heart
fumbles in the dark
to assert
toward the end of May.
Just as the nature of briars
is to tear flesh,
I have proceeded
through them.
Keep
the briars out,
they say.
You cannot live
and keep free of
briars.

Children pick flowers.
Let them.
Though having them
in hand
they have no further use for them
but leave them crumpled
at the curb's edge.

At our age the imagination
across the sorry facts
lifts us
to make roses
stand before thorns.
Sure
love is cruel
and selfish
and totally obtuse—
at least, blinded by the light,
young love is.
But we are older,
I to love
and you to be loved,
we have,
no matter how,
by our wills survived
to keep
the jeweled prize
always
at our finger tips.
We will it so
and so it is
past all accident.

We got ourselves here a good world to die in
a deep fried sky
a chemical war of attrition and radiant horses
Torn apart the men that unbroke them
Men with metal in their heads that pick up radio
Tele-murmurs broke bare by the sand
as love fills the air in April
Something sinister and totally Alive
supplied by some chemical guise
denatured by its own odd power
unwritten by the strive of shovels
and axes dethrew from trees

A stair of staring chestnut whirls
As singular as God has heaved and hurled them
Down through the clouds ears blasted out cold
balms of battery and thick batter yellow
applied by dumb bomb squatters
men of many faces and no names
with dead phone numbers filling up their conscience
watching with what’s left of their headless eyes
And the scraped mess of dreams under a Milky Sky
All mashed and collected and burnt and shabby
They eat and they watch:

the breast of combed beaches
Pushed through the blotter of a Camel’s eye
and wretched through the womb of a worm
This is your book’s ending
And that was the tear which won the cry
The mental final skim and firm scope
That final terminal crest of a tomb closed
A tube of bruises tossed in by the rest
All pitched in various specie and ligature
Dead blood of bad news clotted and hushed
Anointed and gold trimmed

Vicarious memories in ferverous debate
Amongst the militias in your mind
Children mending each peep with a snore
Those anecdotes and mysteries not allowed
Devoured by the drain of pretend-dreams
And soaked sleep
As all is settled through the finer points
A monte card game of regret and knotted sky
Matted hair and hanged men in disguise
Yes, that special monte game
Played by the wise when the crater goes soggy
And the bogs of night only gurgle when tamed

>>23268814
foolong zoomers. its that easy

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The minute I head my first love story
I started looking for you
Not knowing how blind that was
Loves don't finally meed somewhere
They are in eachother all along

>>23247317
My Love for thee is like the sea:
Ever Constant, Ever Present.
It knows no border,
Or restraint.
And so, when you had Driven
Me away,
The sea was Riven,
Into Two.
Oh Lord
What Hold
You had over my soul,
That as you went,
You tore a hole,
That left me
Spent
And Broken,
Upon the Winter open.
And as I fret
Over regret,
I see the Grace,
Upon Your face,
As it fades away
Whilst I say:
“Pray,
Come back…”

>>23268773
What is enjambment?

>>23269707
The state of /lit/.

>>23247487
doesn't feel like a poem, and more like prose- very nice nonetheless

>>23248843
>like clouds like burning
>like fire like yearning
idk, i am not a poet, but would it flow better if you remove the second 'like'. As in: "like clouds burning", and "like fire yearning"? very nice overall.

>>23248949
love this poem

>>23249873
flows throughout- amazing

>>23254664
individual lines seem unconnected...

>>23269786
Just make a single post with commentary responding to multiple poems, don't spam the thread with these repetitive low effort comments

>>23269804
oh ok- will do in the future

>>23268638
I am
>>23268700
I really don't think Gray would care. and i never stated i wrote them in the first place
And i have made threads about countless authors and poets who aren't the typical meme twitter-eceleb/mccarthy/genre fiction fantasy fag author shit that /lit/cels love posting about and they've gotten 0 replies
if i can enlighten these plebs with poetry i'm doing the world a service

>>23270089
No one is saying you can't share the work of other poets in these threads; all we're saying is that you need to credit the original author. When you post a poem with no attribution, people are naturally going to assume that it's your original composition, given that the primary purpose of these threads is for anons to share critiques of one another's work. You clearly are well aware of that, so stop playing dumb. I myself read a lot of poetry, so I nearly always recognise when people share poetry here that isn't their own, but that isn't the case for everyone. There are anons who are just getting into poetry for the first time who don't yet have that degree of knowledge or awareness, and you're not enlightening them in any way by being deceptive and misleading. You can share poems by others that you want to discuss without pretending that you wrote them. You sound like an actual fucking retard.

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any native spanish speaker here who'd care to give me some feedback? also, does anyone know of spanish-language equivalents of this forum?
this is my first time writing this kind of stuff in the language, so please forgive how bad it is

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>>23270379
another one here

Alright so I dont know where to ask this question, so here I ask

Im reading David Copperfield and it is taking effort, yet Im determined to make it through though I would like advice, should I keep going or go back even farther to Shakespeare(I have not read any of his works) or go read many 20th century works to increase knowledge and try again?


on point I have read Les Mis, Monte Cristo, odyssey , Iliad , 1984 , animal farm and few more

>>23270445
yes, you should read shakespeare. look at the /lit/ charts for guidance on where to start.

>>23270445
read whatever you most want to read. in the words of W.S.:

Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en.

>>23270152
I really don't care. I despise 99% of people on this board. If you aren't discussing twitter e celebs or the same two shitty authors over and over then your thread will get zero replies. I knew who thomas gray was when i was like 15 years old. if you're browsing /lit/ and don't know one of the most famous poets of the english language then you deserved to get tricked by my posts

>>23270470
>>23270454

I shall observe this advice with care thank you.

>>23270481
It's obviously a 2-300 year old poem by some faggot anglos jerk off about because muh boats and shit. 2/10 too much boat stuff.

>>23268901
This is nice, never read anything of his except the red wheelbarrow

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>>23270481
>losing argument
>duuuh i dont care i hate u all

i accept tour concession

Bump

i already posted it to her but i'm interested in hearing the thoughts of anons.

cringe arthouse romance (sub route)

there is a girl that i like
one i've known for a while.
my self control goes on strike
when she looks back with that smile

burried below for many a year
these feelings bloom once more.
now twinged with hope which causes fear
will my affections become a chore?

you cannot force a heart to love.
it's not a test to ace - a game to beat,
nor an opponent to defeat. i'll rise above
my dogged nature - and at her word, i will retreat.

but if she deigns to keep me around
i'll happily serve as her loyal hound.

>>23273208
What’s with the submission shit? She probably doesn’t respect you now.

>>23247365
This is a very well written poem. You could actually get published with work like this.

Recently been delving into poetry and I'm quite proud with some of the ones I've written so far, but they tend to be the sillier, simple ones. The poems I write when trying to convey something of more importance than a humourous ancedote tend to fall flat, feel very sparse and the stanzas seem to be completely independent of each other rather than pieces of a complete product.
What tips do you guys have when editing poetry?

>>23247317
is there a genuine danger of poetry getting stolen by someone on here?

>>23273281
hand it over! your poetry or your life!

>>23273258
He stole it from Thomas Gray.

File: calm.gif (1.95 MB, 600x800)

1.95 MB GIF

>>23273235
comfy poem

>>23273281
The bigger risk is if you submit a piece to a contest or magazine or something and they do a cursory search for plagiarism and see results from 4chan pop up.
Even if they aren't the type to wig out about this site (but most in the modern lit field are), some places are very strict about the work not being previously "published" elsewhere. Post any work you care about as an image.

>>23273258
i live in a small, deprived(?) town in the uk. i moved here when i was 11. only notable thing about it is (if you google it) is thomas gray stayed here once and said some nice things about it.

i know now that he's actually a very well known poet but still feels like worlds colliding when i see his name on lit

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>>23273229
>>23273208
I'll tell you of a woman that I like,
And one I've hopeless loved for quite a while,
Who makes my heart like hidden vipers strike
To steal away her warm and youthful smile.

Though burried underground until this year,
My rotten heart now beating blooms once more,
And in her eyes I see what brings her fear--
Myself, who quickly 'tends this evil chore.

I cannot force her tender heart to love,
Yet I can break her soul and body beat
While she with horror screams for God above!
My wicked nature knows of no retreat...

And neither she-- with collar tight around--
Could hope for more than be my lovely hound.

---

Fixed. Sorry, but I could not preserve the internal rhymes in the third quatrain. She will love this and will not consider you a simp or some beta cuck after reading it. She will surely be unable to resist you.

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>>23247317
Gifts of Rain analysis.

>>23273885
people who take this approach to poetry would do better in fields like engineering or mathematics.

>>23273914
I don't necessarily disagree, but honestly this is the only form of the poem I could find online that wasn't split into multiple pages.

Bump

>>23273229
for context we were really close online friends in highschool who bonded over being degenerate perverts (we're both switches which is fucking nice). I had a small crush but was too much of a pussy to make a move - for the better because she was a mess at the time. we both grew up, moved overseas for uni, started working, etc. we remained good friends but in less frequent contact. she visited recently and we ended up getting together (shit was SO cash). if it were to become serious we'd have to do long distance for at least a year but that doesn't bother me too much. I've never really been able to see a long term future with any of my exes/hookups but with her I think I would finally be satisfied. I don't know if we'll make it but with feels like this I'll be damned if I don't try.

>>23273495
ah I enjoyed your edit - at some point i'll write a dom route version but it feels even more cringe to write.

back on topic, here is another poem I wrote after my first serious relationship ended.

single-use shampoo

sitting on my shower shelf,
you've been with me for a while.
hidden behind my regulars,
i'll see you and crack a smile :^)

we're more than a summer fling
even one that lingers, hard to toss.
summer comes by once again
even still, there's a sense of loss.

"it comes and goes in waves", they say -
i know eventually it will cease to come.
but i'm tired of drifting at sea, you see -
slowly turning to scum.

it was a doe-eyed boy that 'borrowed' you
all those months ago.
i'd like to think you've seen me change -
age, mature, and grow.

as i grow, i must be pruned.
you saw my unfettered vines.
how they grew and grew in every which way,
into an overbearing shrine.

that innocence i had when you met me first,
that recklessness alas - is gone.
lost forever is that first-time lover - somewhere
between growing up, and moving on.

>>23274961
>at some point i'll write a dom route version but it feels even more cringe to write
Overt dom/sub anything is nearly always weapons grade cringe

>>23274961
The edit was supposed to make fun of this guy >>23273229 in a lighthearted way. It's more like a psycho serial killer route kek
Maybe some subs like that as a roleplay idk

ANT DODGER

A suicide applicant
Who braces himself out
On a high ledge at noon
While busy peeking down

Noticed an ant crawling
Dottily on the ledge
Right
There near his left toe

Below crowds all pushed
Oblivious babbling
Omniscient like in the movies
Out whooshy doors

But his gaze halt ant
Ant the true ant
He dimly remembers
Not like them

So now
He hesitates
A million stories up
Shifts weight trying

Make his mind up
Distantly deciding
Whether to step
Before he jumps

On it
Or not

>>23269786
thanks for replying, there is a connecting theme that was obvious to me (I wrote this) the diminishing nobility of each, starting from a youthful ambition to change the world, then to just right one's own self, then to not shit yourself in pathetic old age, then to cling your nails against a grave-ditch

Any feedback on >>23247418 would be greatly appreciated

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Sorry to repost this, I'm new to 4chan.

Silence, besombre!
Silence, silence anew, I cry!
For ‘pon these lips doth a god's hymn soon croon.
Yet whom, mean I?
’Tis Sýnya of Odin, monarch of map–
Unfabled goddess, recondite recluse–
How nameless beauty did see her sought.
For never had Odin's sperm such beauty bore
That none aegis of Asgard could rest that heart.
Thus bequeathèd the lands, in form abstract,
As kingdoms of ink doth cross her great easel;
Allwhere she knew a crevice to enshroud
Fractilline sanctums she her life endowed.
And that isolate doth know much of trick'ry
Dealing only in that most covetèd-
In lost will, lost love, lost cause-
For where do they go when men lose their way, sweet Sýnya?
Only the lost will know.

Lo, now! I roar to ye lost!
Have ye ears without lips?!
If thus, hark sharp:
When fallen in the focus foible of Æsir,
Destitute and denied, screams cased in silence,
Know there be a God of Lost Things!
And everything is lost for a reason.

Ponder: for when Óskópnir doth sop that rich ichor of Asgard,
Her final chore remark'd:
Sýnya holds Líf and Lífþrasir, in Mímir's Holt.
Ah, but beg belated pardon for my churlish chatter;
And hark mute now at Sýnya’s stirring matter:

“Once I saw the ash of Yggdrasil hight,
Drawn of the Ginnungagap gelid
As bold buttress of Asgard.
Boughs ninefold and roots holts unto themselves
Doused in that sap sweetest and most coruscant.
Alas was such poetry loved in hindsight
As on novel eyes was great wonder lost,
Ginnungagap did I accost:

‘Lo, behemoth burden bemoan’d!
Eternal labour this Odin’s vet,
For coasts crash amillion,
And woods run amore,
Each wave and leaf a realm unto itself!
O woe, Yggdrasil! How might I mark thy skies and thy ranges
When thy pebble and thy twig art such riddles profound?
And to think it all anew post Ragnarök…’
Bemoan prevail’d till silence grew deaf,
That snaring silence, pyre silence.
Then did I make my roughest of sketch:
Of sands, soils and gravels,
Of pebbles, stones and boulders;
Of fields, hills and mountains,
Of ditches, ravines and caverns;
Of grasses, leaves and flowers,
Of laughter, screams and cries.
Nondescript scribble at maddening scale
Lifetimes spent of more than athousand villages.
And when boastèd what I had done,
Odin's vet finally shown fraud:
A cartographer, for the All-Seeing God."

How the fuck are you supposed to write poetry
This shit is so hard it's all cringe
There's either no rules or there's too many rules
And I don't know how to word anything
Bout to fuck off back to prose, I'm feeling like a retarded middle schooler writing nursery rhymes

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I haven't posted in one of these in a year and a half because an anon sent me off to try and get published
I post this WIP as a thank you to that anon
I have been (and still am) working on an epic poem that is actually going to get published
it begins with the birth of life on the planet and ends with its rebirth after Eliot's waste land

>>23276518
happy for you, bro. will you post it here, or it's out of the question? at least do something what you wouldn't be shy to share with your frens

>>23276518
Where do you look for places to publish?

>>23276517
>>23276518

As i grow older I'm less impressed by freeverse/prose and am only really interested in hard rythmn and rhyme conventions. I havent written freeverse or prose in years

>>23277366
checked
thanks, fren
I'll see how things stand about sharing all of it when it's done
>>23277396
my case is unique so I can't really offer any meaningful advice
>>23277413
I find that to be the case as well, only I am not into metrical composition either and instead try to go for other, less visible structures and rhythms (like Charles Olson's composition by field and other things of that nature)
the poem I'm writing is long so it switches between meter-sprung rhythm-free verse-other structures

>>23277430
>my case is unique so I can't really offer any meaningful advice
That sucks because I have no idea where I want to publish my poetry

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>>23277430
lol well if its structured at all, its a welcome sight to me. Its not easy to slog through most peoples poems today. I wish I could broadcast to everyone that poetry is not just a diary that you hit return in at random

>>23271552
I guarentee you didn't know that thomas gray wrote the poem until you googled it
you're a pseud who probably never even heard of thomas gray before this thread
>>23273327
Never claimed it was mine
keep seething pseudlet

Sink white fangs in the throat of Life,
Lap up the red that gushes
In the cold dark gloom of the bare black stones,
In the gorge where the black wind rushes.

Slink where the titan boulders poise
And the chasms grind thereunder,
Over the mountains black and bare
In the teeth of the brooding thunder.

Why should we wish for the fertile fields,
Valley and crystal fountain?
This is our doom - the hunger trail,
The wolf - and the storm-stalked mountain.

Over us stalk the bellowing gods
Where the dusk and the twilight sever;
Under their iron goatish hoofs
They crunch our skulls forever.

Mercy and hope and pity - all,
Bubbles the black crags sunder;
Hunger is all the gods have left
And the death that lurks thereunder.

Glut mad fangs in the blood of Life
To slake the thirst past sating,
Before the blind worms mouth our bones
And the vulture's beak is grating.

>>23277460
I'd suggest you try going through professors irl, they know people in the publishing industry and if they like your work they'll help you and their mailbox is a lot less crowded

>>23277614
this was stolen from Robert E Howard

>>23247317
Question about writing in meter, particularly dactyl.
I believe I understand the idea of 'stressed unstressed unstressed' in regards to this writing style.
If I write a foot that goes like
"It vexes"
Am I not in the dactyllic structure? 'It' is the intended stressed syllable, but the first syllable of 'vexes' is still somewhat strong. Would I mistakenly be writing 'stressed stressed unstressed' with this line? Or, does the flow naturally still make this unstressed?

>>23277972
every syllable is stressed. i wouldnt use that wording

>>23278001
what?
>>23277972
No, when you have a word with more than two syllables, you can't pronounce both of them as unstressed. Pay attention to how quiet the "es" in "vexes" is actually pronounced and then pronounce "vex" at the same intensity. You wouldn't even know what word is being used if you heard it because as native english speakers we learned the word with the stress always on "vex." this is what it would sound like if you don't stress "vex."

https://vocaroo.com/15p8UwS3akfv

>>23278025
also vexes will always be pronounced with more stress than "it" simply because "vex" is a way longer syllable. so even if you "intend" it to be louder no one will ever read it that way.

>>23278001
>>23278025
>>23278029
I believe I understand what you're saying.
A dactylic style lends itself for more simple words, I take it?
I am trying to write in blank verse dactylic bimeter, but it appears I won't be able to use for evocative words without changing to a different style or increasing my footage. Perhaps tetra or pentameter.

>>23278043
*more evocative
Probably not all 'evocative,' either, but more older stylistic words

>>23278043
well its also clumsy. the "ecks-es" is not a pleasant shift on its own, on top of being repetative. i stopped using that word years ago

>>23278043
>A dactylic style lends itself for more simple words
not necessarily simple words but you have to use a lot of "of the" and "and the" and a lot of articles and conjunctions in general, since whenever you start a foot with one-syllable word you can't follow it immediately with a multisyllabic word. For example, if I start a foot with a monosyllable like "blood", the next two syllables have to be unstressed. So I can't follow it with a two syllable word since one of those will always be stressed. But I can't follow it with a three syllable word because the last syllable of that word would have to be stressed to start the next foot, and there are no words like that. And if I use a 4+ syllable word, the first syllable has to be unstressed, so pick one like "delineate." Since the first syllable is unstressed, the second syllable has to have at least a secondary stress, but then the syllable immediately following that syllable can't be stressed, so the stressed syllable "ate" starts in the middle of the next foot, and everything is wrong. So you essentially would HAVE to follow the word "blood" with something like "of the," or at least something like "of deFEATed..." This is really limiting.

There is pretty much no english poem that follows a strictly dactylic meter because then you would have to have the last two syllables of the line unstressed, which is essentially impossible without a fuckton of enjambment because you can't end clauses with articles and conjunctions. So instead of dactylic bimeter, I would write two dactyls and then end in an extra syllable or foot, e.g.

"FINDing the ROOT of the TREE,
DRINKing the SALT of the SEA."

>>23278093
>>23278100
I see. I hoping I could something more compact with it.
I'll show the opening stanza to what I waa working on so you can see how wrong I was.
On waking, I am dressed.
Dreadful garb--I ne'er doff.
It vexes my repose!
For English, a poetry style that can only be really done with a bunch of filling articles seems really lame

>>23278154
If I could only post without making so many mistakes, my goodness

>>23278154
yeah if I just read that, I would say it was iambic trimeter. you can use anapests and dactyls but usually they're mixed in with other kinds of feet to create a rhythm. See Evangeline's Longfellow and Lewis Carrol's The Hunting of the Snark, the former is supposed to be in dactyls and the latter in anapests, but the Hunting of the Snark is actually pretty mixed and Evangeline's meter is rather loose.

>>23278185
I see. I appreciate the help. I may just try iambic predominantly with some dactylic or trochaic mix-ins.

Some recent Quatrains:

A life, a thousand year shamble
The candle smoldered, the one
Ember gasped and paced itself,
The spectacle too grasping to lose.

Grounds of desperation watered
in unliving fluids of such unthought
that it ill behooves a limping nous
to wet his souls in unholy froth.

Fate, this day make as mold
and set this story to be told
to future eyes and ears alike
as pain earned lessons hate to spite.

Watered wind and earth I cross
And spend my earthly gropings
On what I feel most close, most tender,
Children's glimmer of eye, of hoping.

Tears the heart has torn across the face
gripping in arid expanse the last of day
of the inner world; Open Thy flood gates,
O God, that I may be clean before thee.

What is the name of that which
Naming rejects? It would take quite
a word to quote, to call, to utter,
all for an act of imagination.

I check the cabinet, folders, files,
There's what hasn't made itself known
until after I gave at least half a damn;
Turbo gnosis engaged in timely fashion.

Those dreams held fast and slow
in several states and episodes
as if on film, rest easy as flowers
in felicitous, misty repose

What seems to be the final word,
from that akashic headspace taken up,
told me all those words that don't jive,
don't roll in the ways that keep one pointed.

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>>23278185
>>23278246
Okay. I have updated my poem from poor dactylic bimeter. It took actually very little conversion. Introducing babby's first metered poem. Attempted blank verse iambic trimeter.

>My Tailor Bartholomew
On waking, I am dressed.
Dreadful garb—I ne’er doff.
It vexes my repose!

Oppressive weight! The force
That breaks me! This temple
I’ve poorly kept! The woe!

Tapestries—dark, moody
Banners grow like clinging
Vines. Soon, I will leave home.

How vain my mind—Belief
That I may stylize. Block
The thought! NOW, SPURN EVIL!

Advantage I won’t take!
The judge, he sees my acts.
Indictment I won’t add!

O’ my Bartholomew!
Please aid! O’ my tunic!
So tight! It’s killing me!

Please bring your seam ripper!
Pray I may walk with you
Despite my broken ways!

Please start behind my neck!
Slit me free from my cloak!
Here I join you in your
Exhibitionism.

>>23248893
Dire Straits called, they want their lyrics back

>>23278546
lol this is pretty funny because of how dramatic it is

>>23278720
Thank you, Anon. I was going for dramatic. Although, I don't know if it came across. The "tailor" I refer to is St. Bartholomew the Apostle, who was martyred by being skinned alive. The "seam ripper" is a tongue in cheek way to say skinning knife.
Can you guess what the tunic/dreadful garb is supposed to be?
But, also importantly, is it a 'structurally' good poem?
I'm a big noobie, so I'd love critique.

privilaged am i to have befriended greatness
cursed am i to know
how shit
how utterly mundane
how tepid, mediocre, and uninspired
how much of a waste i am and will be.

cursed am i to imagine of what could have been
what ought to have been
if i wasn't so pathetic.

i think another man's thoughts
i dream another man's dreams.
i create nothing
i care about everything
though not enough to fucking do anything.

>>23278713
CUSTOM KITCHEN
DELIVERYY

>>23278546
not bad despite not being my preferred style

Does anyone have any resource recommendations for improving? I would like to expand my knowledge in a technical/mechanical sense. Shit like >>23278246 and >>23273885 goes right over my head.

>>23279178
Howdy, anon.
I did
>>23278246
>>23278546
I don't know about that Gifts of Rain thing, but I just Google search meter in poetry and went from there. Sound our words to figure out which syllables are stress or accented and Google word that your not sure about syllables count.
For example, in real life, I've always pronounced 'stylize' as a three syllables word, but apparently I've been adding enunciation as its only a two syllable word, so that's how I used it.
I did music growing up, so meter and feet types were easier to pick up. You can kind of think about this stuff as time signature and musical notes

This is a Sonnet I wrote recently. If you reply to this with your own poem, I'll give you my thoughts on it.

I well remember how when we were kids
We played beneath the vibrant summer skies,
And as we grew, how Nature's motions bid
Us harbor more than fun between our eyes.
In all sincerity we stole away
(On every opportunity our schedules lent)
To Woods where we could while away the day:
And so it was we knew what loving meant.
But growing distance killed our growing love:
We could have been together, two but one,
But Time put heavy chains upon the dove.
What once was all my life today is done.
And now, my Fate decrees I be alone
To know the ground above which I have flown.

>>23247941
"Iliazo is an online poetry magazine founded and ran by Christopher Rosales-Renault." It should be, "founded and run by ..."

>>23279386
i see some minor word swapping in the future. but id recommend not posting anything of great quality. the OP is a plagiarist

>>23279549
>the OP is a plagiarist
What are you on about?

>>23279549
"Great" is an exaggeration, but thanks. And, to be clear, I'm not a plagiarist; if you insist that I am, bring proof.

bump

>>23279386
I hope you're not writing from experience, Anon. Old flames gone are such saddening things.
Mine here
>>23278546
if you haven't looked.

the sky was riven by bible black clouds
unearthly winds blew shaking grime encrusted slant windows
one by one the lights went out like dying stars
lets walk crooked roads into the darkness

while singing sweet songs of sorrow
lets descend into the chthonic world
a cacophony of sound, machine and human
call to me in unison

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>>23247317
Daniel Gabriel Rossetti's The Cloud Confines

The day is dark and the night
To him that would search their heart;
No lips of cloud that will part
Nor morning song in the light:
Only, gazing alone,
To him wild shadows are shown,
Deep under deep unknown
And height above unknown height.
Still we say as we go,i
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

The Past is over and fled;
Nam'd new, we name it the old;
Thereof some tale hath been told,
But no word comes from the dead;
Whether at all they be,
Or whether as bond or free,
Or whether they too were we,
Or by what spell they have sped.
Still we say as we go,i
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

What of the heart of hate
That beats in thy breast, O Time?i
Red strife from the furthest prime,
And anguish of fierce debate;
War that shatters her slain,
And peace that grinds them as grain,
And eyes fix'd ever in vain
On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
Still we say as we go,i
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

What of the heart of love
That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?i
Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban
Of fangs that mock them above;
Thy bells prolong'd unto knells,
Thy hope that a breath dispels,
Thy bitter forlorn farewells
And the empty echoes thereof?
Still we say as we go,i
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

The sky leans dumb on the sea,
Aweary with all its wings;
And oh! the song the sea sings
Is dark everlastingly.
Our past is clean forgot,
Our present is and is not,
Our future's a seal'd seedplot,
And what betwixt them are we?i
We who say as we go,i
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

>>23280301
Dante** Gabriel Rossetti

>>23280301
Is that a pomegranate?

>>23280347
Yes.

>>23279613
>bring proof
Just stop plagiarizing and being a generally mindless shithead. Will the youtube video where you paraphrase this post and claim it's your own be up soon?

>>23280452
Not OP, but what video and channel? I've tried searching lit poetry on YouTube before and could only fine poetry jokes from /fit/

cold breeze in a dark winter night
the ones familiar come out, though they shouldn't, despite
the streets empty from living souls
but those devoid of them, wander as the wind blows
as a silhouette of something familiar comes to light
for those unaware, assume it just right
when and where did they form, I wonder
questions irrelevant to those that ponder
do their plans come to fruition?
as though non existent, gather no recognition
from the abyss I tap into my soul
darkness and looming presences felt out of my control
for what is their desire, to be different?
living similarly, though with clear ambitions
their sole purpose do I ask, have they others in mind?
or based on their reputation, solely benefit their kind?

>>23279991
>>23278546

It's fine for a first try. I recommend some slight word changes to improve the meter and to make it sound more natural. For example, the first stanza would better read, I think:

On waking, I'm am dressed
In garb I don't remove;
It vexes my repose.

The second stanza could also use improvement; I think it would better read:

Oppressive weight! The force
That kills! The temple that
I've poorly kept! The pain!

I have two more pieces of advice, less concrete than the above, but more important: make the poem less staccato, and develop more clearly the theme and the progression of the theme. To be more exact: have at least two stanzas without major major breaks in them, and sharpen, so to speak, the development of the story of a man waking up and going to trial. Again, in case you need exactness: have two stanzas of events followed by two stanzas of meditation.

All in all, it's a decent poem, and could be a lot better with a little development.

Godspeed in your writing.

>>23279386
I would go
>So now my Fate decrees
Using "and" to start that line boggles the flow a little. To spice it up a bit, since you're already personifying Fate, you could use "my Fates decree" for a more classical flavor. Also line 6 is breaking your meter.
I'm >>23247418

>>23280628
Thank you for taking the time, Anon.
I can see what you mean on developing the story. I can see how a person could get lost on the subject matter.
On rereading, I've seen how it could come across as a comedy trying to be dramatic like
>>23278720
said.
I have my own idea in mind of the story that I'm telling, but mind doesn't always transfer paper, like many artistic creations.
Would you tell me your interpretation of the story as you see it?

>>23280709
Thanks for the feedback.
>>23247418
You should make it clearer what you're writing about. It sounds to me like you just wanted to wax poetic.

Sin from the Will, this empire built on nihil
Let’s end it, I’m in for the kill
Not my fault it feels like your eyeballs are ingrown
Learn to distinguish a gem from a brimstone

Sent from the future, it’s grim there
With business casual current year swimwear
If you’re worried what the humid nights will yield
Instead of sheep we count the human rights repealed

Small minds, dark times
But as long as they aren’t mines, aww don’t start crying
Heartless slimy conniving fucks
The darkness smiles every time you shrug

It all ends with apathy
Take action not in the abstract, act all-in and actually
Agent of your Will, why’s a shaman of your skill
Watching the aging of your Will?

Craven, like: “he started!”
At best well-meaning, still dangerously weak-hearted
All is fundamental
Give myself a pep talk before I meet Apollo at the temple

Lotta cults in the current year
A lot of mounting assaults all abound, getting worried here
And it’s very weird, derrieres get revered
But the enemy is at your door ready, heavy geared

Already losing, why’d I expect
Any more from a human? Hide my regret
Pretend I’ve arrived at a sci-fi event
Yet it’s boring in lieu of the sights I have dreamt

Yessir, the beat blesser who breathe zephyr
Aggressors get kriegsmessered, the bleak desert
Home to the weeds clever that need spine
On their own human beings dead in a week’s time

>>23276298
Any and all feedback on this appreciated!

>>23281680
oh wow I didn't think it was an original, very nice work, I love the part about drawing at the end.

Can someone give me a qrd on how to at least "learn" poetry? Not even necessarily write it, although that would be nice to get to eventually. I'm familiar with some contemporary writers but I've read a fair amount of older stuff, such as Pound, William Carlos Williams (which is my favorite), Yeats and Keats. However I still feel like I dont really "get" it.

>>23281897
Read widely, and when you find something you like (an author, style, etc.), read lots of it.

>>23281897
well if you have a favorite, it seems like you already get it.

>>23281429
reminds me of my old angsty poems. still worth keeping, hell I kept all mine after 13 years

The pangolin has a shelter, its body is armoured and protects. The poem is a kind of
shelter, a space in which the poet has freedom, I stress, freedom to create their own
world. The poet makes their poem as a home; safe, pleasurable. For what are we all
but perishable symbols of hope. And like Heracles, are we not hindered to succeed?
But is it not true that one may be held back in order to succeed? Making is not a
process of will only, but rather a process whereby hindrance is by will overcome. The
poet is a horse that has lost its rider. And I rename hope love. In the name of you.

bump

What's the best book for learning poetic techniques and structure? I'm aware of many of them but I'm somewhat deaf so I'd like to know how to recognise poetic meter, etc.

>>23284000
Why would being somewhat deaf affect your ability to learn poetry?

>>23284027
/lit/, everybody
just amazing

>>23284027
he only listens to audiobooks

I should like to see that country's tiles, bedrooms,
stone patios
and ancient wells: Rinaldo
Caramonica's the cobbler's, Frank Sblendorio's
and Dominick Angelastro's countrythe grocer's, the iceman's, the dancer's-the
beautiful Miss Damiano's; wisdom's
and all angels' Italy, this Christmas Day
this Christmas year.
A noiseless piano, an
innocent war, the heart that can act against itself. Here,
each unlike and all alike, could
so many-stumbling, falling, multiplied
till bodies lay as ground to walk on-say
"If Christ and the apostles died in vain, I'll
die in vain with them"
against this way of victory? Stem after stem
of what we call the tree-set, row
on row; that forest of white crosses; the
vision makes us faint. My eyes won't close to it. While
the knife was lifted, Isaac the offering
lay mute.
These, laid like animals for sacrifice,
like Isaac on the mount, were their own substitute.
And must they all be harmed by those
whom they have saved. Tears that don't fall are what
they wanted. Belief in belief marching
marching marching-all alone, all similar,
spurning pathos,
clothed in fear-marching to death
marching to life; it was like the cross, is like the cross.
Keeping their world large, that silent
marching marching marching and this silence
for which there is no description, are
the voices of fighters with no rests between,
who would not yield;
whose spirits and whose bodies
all too literally were our shield, are still our shield.
They fought the enemy, we fight
fat living and self-pity. Shine, 0 shine
un falsifying sun, on this sick scene.

>>23281338
Does it at least succeed in waxing poetic? I'm not sure how to be more explicit on the topic without compromising things.

Grey trees half-sunk amongst the mire stand
Weather-smoothed logs sit along the strand
Rushes sway beside the gliding creek
Light snow from out the scanty blades peek
The birch scrub, though bare even in may
May this life endure, and find its way

The black goat of the woods with a thousand young
Pronounce its name, feel tendrils blooming around your tongue
The sounds of them, the whispering moon and the howling sun
Beckons us on the distant cruise of the drowning lungs

Ones who listen hear the kingdom in the void
Drumming rhythm, strumming driven by the sickle and a voice
Humming unsung songs of unpronounceable god's names
Some saw sun, some were sunken in dark caves

Heartache harbinger, render onto outer blackness
Thousand maggots down the hatch, descend along the mouth of madness
Wound up in the bowls with acrid revelations in the air
Later woke up from a state of meditation in my chair

In this crowd there's no parents holding your hands
And the only clothing demand is a ceremonial mask
The testimonial stands, as the mad arab has prophesied
Stars align this night for our black chasm of darker rites

>>23285980
found it

https://sin7ven.bandcamp.com/track/mysterium-ft-sin7ven-disjointed

sun, won’t you come,
won’t you bless us with your
flaming dentistry?

Explode the kamikaze seagull
atop a fleet of squid ships
amid the fizzy acid sea.
And He the Hero aboard in blue
with both arms bracing for
the desolation and abuse.

>>23247317
Death shall grow of the soil again,
And reach its wicked branches
Of daring hands, to our lord, to our king
As serpents trespassing his holy skin

Oblivious to his rotting roots, afflict
With a curse mightier than him, abridged
With a blessing, a promise decreed
Up above in heaven, delivered
Down below in the cave,
Death, shall be no more.

On England

farewell curdled England
forget I existed
wave me goodbye with the wind through the trees
always consensual
never insisted
is my love for you and is your love for me

how I miss woodland
rivers and chimneys
trains full of coughing and sneezing and talk
breath always visible
arthritic trees
as me and the Thames take a long quiet walk

and London, you blight on the
landscape, I love you
a festering, rain sodden, beautiful hive
send me the filthiest
bird from above you
just to assure me that you're still alive

farewell scent of salty damp
smoke and stale toffee
visions of pale beauty wrapped up in scarves
here we go, window seat
aeroplane coffee
goodbye to cold nights indoors in warm baths

farewell my darling
watch as I disappear
try, in my absence to not come undone
sing to me wistfully
I will be here
in an LA apartment besieged by the sun

How the hell to write intentional poetry? All my poems I write spontaneously usually in under 10 minutes, and I just sort of wait for lines to come to me and choose the best ones. After its finished I never really see how to make it better other than occasionally changing a rhyme or word here and there. All my poems are short probably because I try to communicate the theme line by line rather than with larger units. I don't understand how to "compose" poetry.

Any Thom Gunn fans here? I made a thread to discuss some of my favourite poems of his. I may end up reposting some of them here later.
>>23287381

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>>23247317
Oh silent sea, oh azure sea,
I'm spellbound by your depths.
You live, you breathe with turbid love,
With thoughts that never rest.
Oh silent sea, oh azure sea,
Reveal to me deep mysteries:
What moves your boundless breast?
How breathes your labouring chest?
Do the far-off shining heavens
Draw you from your earthly strife,
When, filled with sweet and secret life,
You bask in their radiant presence?
Their azure brightness floods your face,
You burn with the rising and setting sun,
The clouds are gold in your embrace,
The glittering stars and you are one.
And when the dark clouds gather round
To steal the heavenly glow,
Your waves rise up, wild howls resound,
To shatter your gloomy foe...
The darkened clouds disperse away,
But filled with past alarm,
You long raise waves of anxiety -
And returning heaven's shining charm
Cannot bring you peace complete,
Your calm appearance is deceit.
Your deep abyss hides turbulent fevers
For love of the heavens, the ocean quivers

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I'm currrently reading Poetic Meter & Poetic form, by Fussell, to learn about poetry written in English. Already paying more attention to accents than syllables.

>>23287684
I cant tell what this means

>>23287684
based, I have to read this now

>>23287684
you're a literal retard if you needed a book to tell you that stress is more important than the number of syllables. use your fucking ears, people.

Might be a bit of a strange question for a primarily anglophone board but can you write poetry in a particular language while having only foreign influences? There isn't a single poet in my language that I am a huge fan of.

>>23288123
In English, yes; in romance languages, stress is not the main focus. Monolingual woes,

>>23288478
NTA, but what is the main focus in romance languages? What about non-romance, non-english languages?

>>23288536
Alliterative verse. Angloids and Franks suck.

>>23288475
you don't need any influences to write poetry. It's pure natural talent and subjective taste. Poetry is a social construct just like music. Do whatever you want.

>>23288811
I just read some modern English examples from the alliterative verse wiki.
Asides from deliberately adding some more rhythmic meter underlining thr alliteration, it just seem to be a pursuit in tongue-twisters that don't fully twist you out.
Maybe it sounds nice in those other languages, or perhaps it'd be nicer if I heard it read aloud.

>>23288950
https://voca.ro/14hKLUMhNj78

I wrote this intentionally with bad meter. How jarring is it?

Juggling grenades on a promenade
Suicide slave unchained on a getaway
Stumbling 'round with erratic gait
Steady passersby look the other way
Racing up the lane on this fatal day
Airborne 'nades fly in the solar rays
Picking up the pace to a better place
Hand to hand lands the hand grenades
Til he runs too fast and one of them drops
Now that's the one whose pin he first pops
Then he pulls all three, now wait and s-
Boom, he's gone

>>23288977
Sounding somewhat nice, the speaker
Carries the ringing tune. Rightfully,
I could agree calmly, yet can't say
that alliterative verse avails; Albeit that
It has merit for more musing.
>thought I'd give my reply an alliterative try with little knowledge of alliterative meter

It does sound somwhat nice. I don't understand what he was saying, but I partially feel that the poem was being carried by the dramatic nature of the speaker.

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>>23289010
From the Alliterative Morte Arthur Lines 919-931:
Then they rode by that river that runned so swithe,
There the rindes over-reches with real boughes;
The roe and the reindeer reckless there runnen,
In ranes and in rosers to riot themselven;
The frithes were flourisht with flowres full many,
With faucons and fesauntes of ferlich hewes;
All the fowles there flashes that flies with winges,
For there galed the gouk on greves full loud;
With alkine gladship they gladden themselven;
Of the nightingale notes the noises was sweet;
They threped with the throstels three hundreth at ones!
That whate swowing of water and singing of birds,
It might salve him of sore that sound was never!

Then they rode by that river which ran so swiftly;
There, regal boughs overhung from great trees.
The roe and the reindeer ran freely there
In brushwood and roses to revel in pleasure;
The forests all flourished with full many flowers,
And falcons and pheasants of fabulous hues;
With flash of feather birds fly with their wings,
And there called the cuckoo clear from the groves;
With boundless glad rapture they gladdened themselves;
Sweet was the note as sung by the nightingales
That threaped with the thrushes — three hundred at once!
That swift splashing of water and singing of birds
Might assuage the worst sorrow of he whose life knew no joy!

>>23288950
They signal structure like a beat or syllables can. How it sounds recited is kept in check by the structure but you can improvise around that. The first syllable of a word is always emphasized. The focus in English on how the words are stressed seems like a result of not singing the poems, which makes no sense.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBxLPiMk7rI

>>23289128
I'm rather new to poetry, so I can't speak for us.
My lacking interpretation would be that there are limited venues for poetry generally in the English-speaking spheres, let-alone poetry that is sung.
I'd think that unless the poet is quite clear that he or shee is singing a poem, they'd just be considered another singer.

teaching kindergarten
ceramics to white
children

bump

>>23276298
it’s always strange in prose but I think more so in poetry to try to read things like names without knowing how to pronounce them. this also feels more like prose most of the time. I struggled to get into a rhythm while reading it. I would change Odin’s sperm to Odin’s seed or something just because sperm is kind of medical and doesn’t seem to fit with the tone of the poem. overall though I think it’s good. it seems like you know what you’re talking about and have a clear vision.

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>>23247317
We know that on some summit, far away
Within the Soul, a beacon-light uplifted
Makes on the mountains round eternal day;
By its bright beams the clouds are rifted,
And for awhile is glorified the grey
Life-sea, whereon so long mankind hath drifted;
That single flash will oft new strength,
And then the Spirit conquers time and fate.

To all at times these golden glimpses come;
The clouds roll back; the deep, supernal blue
Is arch'd above those mountains like a dome;
The revelation of the great and true
Comes with those glimpses from the Soul's far home,
And the Soul knows her lineage and her due;
But most have striven to reach the source in vain
Whence come those beams, or bid their flash remain.

Yet for life's fever and the mind's disease
The only refuge for the world is there;
Before they reach it none can taste of ease,
There all are sphered beyond the range of care;
Wrecks toss'd in scorn upon the scourging seas,
Our sails are set to find a haven fair,
But, from those mountains shrinking, still we strive,
And drift for ever where the winds may drive.

We dream of islands lapp'd in amber light,
Of pleasant groves and wilding woodland bowers,
Where morn unclouded follows starry night,
And starry night on evening's pensive hours;
We see no beauty in the frowning height—
That awful altitude the mind o'erpowers;
Yet the Soul's home is in its purer air;
Soul-glory, majesty, and might are there.

But there are many, could they see their way,
Who would the summit by their toil attain,
Who not in vain would pour their lives away,
Achieving conquests for their brethren's gain;
But whom doubt weakens, who in tears delay,
And contemplate life's spectacle of pain;
Who to do something yearn, yet pause and ask
Some high enticement to so hard a task.

And therefore have we written, O man, for thee
The book that follow, here its plan proclaim—
Help for thy Soul—help that the Soul may see
In evil days her best, her noblest aim,
And ever faithful to that end may be,
Though faith should fail, though truth her hope disclaim.
And, 'mid the general lapse from light, may find
No impulse left for the exalted mind!

What inspiration from the heaven came down
To fill the brain? What angel bade us write?
Oh, in the green fields, in the crowded town,
And in the sunshine or the starry night,
Those thoughts descended which in Soul are sown,
And ripen'd in us, as the flowers in light—
Their strength supports us, from the ample store
We scatter; may they number more and more!

Oh, may this book, by our own heart created,
Be life in all to whom its dream is told—
To draw the world up God's steep path be fated,
Till all the splendid prospect shall behold,
And on those heights all Souls be reinstated,
From which perchance they lapsed in days of old;
Or those attain who altitude till then,
Though dimly dream'd, was never known by men!

the dog
has a
miscarriage

ritual of the muse:

dance around a fire
wallow in its wretched glow
offer a sacrifice to the unknown
smell the incense in the raven night sky

chant and chant and chant
spill your blood on the floor
draw sigils on the bedroom door
have radiant women tear you limb from limb

write of a beautiful love doomed from the start
write of love so rare and secret
the warmth of our lips
once close now far apart

>>23247317
Digging.
Digging.
Shining and brightly sparkling.
I feel the men, they’re hearkening
To hear the ground below.

Screaming.
Shouting.
Blazing yet quickly darkening.
I hear the men, they’re startling
to yet another down below.

Falling.
Falling.
Delving and swiftly stumbling.
I hear the men, they’re tumbling
Through darkness and the thundering
Of something deeper down below.

Groaning.
Moaning.
Crying and weakly mumbling.
I hear the men, they’re grumbling
At all the world for crumbling
For something deeper down below.

>>23247317
Blue and black are omnipresent
The sky and night like garments for their hours
And changing skins in eve it bleeds
A rouged departure, sun's silent leave

And same it is with morning's reprisal
When wounds of dark are sewn, so light
Like dress of world enclothes its forms
And fabricates a bold returning

The frozen image of the world
Reveals its forms in permutation
But green it comes as a startling miracle
Green's return does not come lightly

So voice and breath and practiced step
All beat upon the pitch in time
The leaves that grow on arms and fall
Once gone, do not come back so lightly

If black and blue words leave their mark
Upon a script for stage or play
Once formed might only change their mind
Through ink that's flooded, washed away

So green that shows its face in spring
Is not a guarantee or right—
That one limb branches off its way
And forms will grow to meet the light

>>23292864
Very nice

bump

I feel like I can't like, write actual poetry. Only shitty prose whining about dumb faggot shit. Does anyone have any advice for getting out of that? Feels almost habitual, and like one I can't get out of.

>>23295770
I'm a novice, or perhaps dabbler would be accurate.
I thinknif you approach your practice from telling simple educational stories or adaptations of children's story books, you can practice the actual "poetry" part.
Maybe Clifford the Big Red Dog, for example.
Take a Clifford story and rewrite it in meter with rhythm and verse if you can.
That could help you practice your structure and technique
Maybe write a generic poem about a little boy named Johnny that went to pick berries for his mom's cake

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>>23295770
look into the different poetic devices to use, google poetic devices. also remember to use the 6 senses, metaphors, and similes

also look into the idea of the objective correlative

pulling her down
with the decorations
after christmas

There is a gun in my head
I think, and it shoots
White hot fucking lead
From where my left eye was.

They scooped out my brain
Just behind where it sits.
Gone forever, and what did I gain?
I'm a lot less talkative now.

>>23295824
Corpses in silence
Red rivers of shame flowing
Berry genocide
A cake unmade

>>23297640
lol

>>23297640
Oh, no Clifford?

>>23297640
>shitty prose whining about dumb faggot shit
>tries to be edgy about a little boy picking berries for a cake for his mom

>>23295770
a common trait with beginner poetry. i didnt stop being an angsty shit until I read a completed works of Poe. ironic, but it challenged me to write better and become better at depicting my other experiences and ideas, not just the ones I dwelled on

On a dark midsummer eve I saw you
Eating by the fountain, sitting on its edge
It was gelato and you had a big dark jacket on
And I saw you lick your gelato spoon
And I took a picture. Here it is.

>>23298093
That's a better prompt but you used neither. Just write you useless fucking retards.
>>23298378
>just be good like me
>doesn't post a fucking poem
Neutered scared idiots with nothing to offer anyone.

>>23247317
What do you fags suggest for someone just getting into poetry?

>>23298962
if you're interested in prose poetry, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly is a great collection by denis johnson

>>23298971
>prose poetry
kys

>>23298931
Anon's original lament found here
>>23295770
Specifically "shitty prose whining about dumb faggot shit"
Other Anon gives him a simple idea/prompts for practicing fundamentals as opposed to prose, including a "generic poem about a little boy named Johnny that went to pick berries for his mom's cake"
Anon then proceeds to post
>>23297640
Did Anon practice fundamentals with his prompt, or did he write "shitty prose" and make an edgy poem out of a simple prompt?
>anon even ignored Clifford

>>23299000
What the fuck is wrong with you retard? There can't be that many of you ruining these threads with this kind of braindead shit. Is it really just you? You make these threads to steal from them and post the most inane rants imaginable about how illiterate you are?

>>23299070
Sounds like it's something wrong with you, Anon. Schizobabble about intellectual theft continues

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>>23298093
>>23299000

I just got home for the evening. I'm a stupid fucking faggot but I'm not an edgelord.

Guys there was this one poem someone posted a while ago that was so good but i can't find it anymore. It was about the moon, and basically described a night or something and the final lines were like "and how could i forget / the moon / Oh, the moon "

I think the title was moon-related but the poem didn't mention the moon until those final lines. For some reason i believe it was written in the 1970s? I saw this poem probably a year or more ago, but I need to find it again. Anyone know what I'm talking about?

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>>23298931
I didnt say I was good, Im just better than I used to be.
Also I would post poems but this board has a serial plagiarist and Id rather not give him the pleasure

>>23298773
here’s a challenge. rewrite this so that it rhymes.

I've hatred for Kant, the demon of hell
A satanist casting the wickedest spell
The prince of miasmic philosophist disease
His words are like armies and legions of fleas
The sperglord supreme and psychotic teutonic
The virgin German, a virus bubonic
A vampirist psychic devouring the brains
Of Lampe the servant, O autist insane!
Inane metaphysic corrupting the souls
Of each philosophe right down to their soles
Reject intuition, reject a priori,
Don't fall for his evil and poisonous story
I beg you to choose a superior author
Or anyone at all except for this monster!

>>23300644
very fun. insane and inane one right after the other felt a bit awkward to me, but I enjoyed it overall, anon.

How does one become a great poet?
Is it just practice over time?
Does the category of "great poets" evolve over time as new works develop and become published?
Are their any poets who received no publishments during their lives and are only seen as great after their works were posthumously discovered?

>>23300835
>How does one become a great poet?
you don’t. you just wrote poetry. it’s up to god/posterity/the reader to decide if you are a “great poet.”

Why was poetry a favored form of storytelling among the ancients?
Particular more lengthy narrative sin the form of epics?
I understand that some still write epics, but typical stories written in prose seem more popular in the modern era. Why has this occurred?