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I posted this as an individual thread before here, but this was meant to be a story/letter to my mother. pic rel has the first, here are the first 35 entries:

jerdarious.org/ahalfbreed

initial draft of a poem i wrote yesterday morning while walking:

Today I'd like to test my mind with some
Minor meditation. One important
Thing required: A gentle flowing stream whose
Water patters 'gainst the rocks which lay the
Path ahead. The ideas that compose my
Thoughts at first appear as obstacles, but
When I let gravity's pull continue
Guiding me, I find they keep my flowing
Depths within the reach of men and women
On my banks in search of something else.
Who's purpose does muting these thoughts, this mind
Serve? When the chance of someone taking an
Interest, and collecting what they will; a
Souvenir composed of thought; a wet stone:
Dampened finite, made of certain matter
Yet remains. Who will knowingly grasp it?

I made this thread because I had a poem I wanted to share. I haven't actually contributed to these threads in months. I'm not sure if I should expand on it or not.

The Sylph of Northwesterly winds did once sing to me
musings and murmurs of meddlesome mischief
She danced with a leaf that had grown old and restless
and yearned to be free of the bark and the branches
for some time he twirled in the grasp of this Maiden
until he was sinking lower and lower
and lower than he'd ever been.

"I take you no further," the Sylph said above him
"you mustn't wait for me, I am not the branches
I do not, you do not owe me such fealty
you are like Me now, untethered, ephemeral
And us and our Kin say goodbye without sorrow.
Do say hello to my sisters and cousins
one day we may meet again."

The Sylph left a quiet, so cold and confronting
the leaf, a child of sun and the canopy
now lay abandoned to roots and the shadows.
The leaf did not stay long, as the sylph had promised
but he held on to sorrow, for however couldn't he?
sharing the joy of soaring up above the trees
and bearing shadows in still solitude

>>23608987
its wonderful youve put together a cohesive project like this. i enjoy the dedication to your mother.

https://open.substack.com/pub/egreteditorial/p/writing-poetry-in-a-burning-world?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=2yprl0

i found the bits about irish poets interesting. the rest was a bit cliche though.

>>23608959
This is the earth
Come back from the sea
Endless rebirths
It is a thing like what breathes

>>23608959
Thanks, OP. I was actually going to ask about a good book for learning about poetry writing.
Are these actually good?

>>23608959
Add to OP:
>Why write poetry in a restrictive form?
If you want to write or appreciate poetry at a decent level, you need to be aware of how sounds interact to produce pleasing effects. Studying and writing in well-established forms will help you do this.
For this reason, many find it easier to write a decent person in an established form than in free verse.

>>23609490
Yes.

>>23608987
I love the manic panygeric quality of this. the way it loops and writhes and iterates over images. very touching

>>23608959
Falling through
Neverending
The money in my bank
ends as spending

A few on the stock
another in these things
clothes, furniture and food
thats what money brings

A spending spree here
a spending spree there
You´ve never known a spender
as the one that you see here.

What to do with money?
Please do tell!
Comes around every month
but spend it well!

>>23608959
>>23608987

the new generation cant just read bare text anymore. you need a gimmick to get them to appease their fried dopamine receptors. flashy gaudy pictures like in a fucking childrens book or braindead pauses,
Linebreaks. S /tup ID FORM // Atting
and

unnecessary

doublespacing

for

dramatic effect

>>23608959
I snuffed out that spider's life.
She was probably some spider's wife.
When she landed she rolled the dice.
To live and walk,
Or come under my foot and die.

>>23608959
my pain is her pain
the touch of bare skin, now cold
living makes us fools

>>23608959
>haiku about mothers

In basho’s haibun, he comes across the killing stone which is said to have a horrible demon bound to it, which has a noxious fume which comes from it, it is covered by dead insects.

Usually basho writes a haiku whenever he sees something of note, but he refused to make one here, (I assume due to inauspiciousness of the object) therefore, I wrote this tanka for him.

Miasma incense,
Lingers before the image,
A black killing-stone,
The five poisons lay prostrate,
Offered to the dark-mother.

As the words come into focus
Anxiety takes hold
Emotions in control
A fear of losing hold

All the connections loosely held
A mind suffering through hell
A heavy heart that can’t hold
No, I know I’m not well

The temptations still linger in the ether
Is my will the last thing to wither?
Adulthood has it’s odd pleasures
But inconsistency is a constant pressure

Who am I?
A liar?
A cheat?
A mask trying to wave goodbye?

Do I cave?
Do I brave?
Though I crave…
Though I stray…

Doubt is a bud that blooms
In the doom
In the clouds of the loom
Despite the media consumed

How many syllables does it take?
For the truth to spill out?
Was I just a fake?
Waiting at the boiling lake?

I see the age on my face
Doubting to look in the mirror
Is this my true pace?
My truest fear?

Nostalgia is a slur I love to wear so well
Forget the wasted years grown to swell
My heartbeat reminds me that this is hell

>>23608990
I really enjoyed the motif you committed to with the idea of flowing water. I was actually surprised with how well it read aloud compared to how it read in my mind. I also think the way the poem attaches itself to the idea of meditations is also really clever. Good work, Anon.

>>23611184
thanks. i found writing it to come very naturally. it feels good how it turned out despite me going line by line on pen and paper. i've been editing it this morning and i'm very happy with the results so far.

>>23608959
>How many shells we listened to before they spoke to us,
>to write the first I love you in the sand.
>Not out of eros, just sheer stubbornness
>that we managed to interpret
>some waves.
>Sometimes, you say, better for the blow of wind.

>Steady and beautiful,
>at least steady.
>It doesn't bargain for prints,
>it's title.
>It doesn't handout substance.
>It only takes what we didn't merit to build

where tf the poetry enjoyers at

Thing what breathes like downgoing buffalo
The slouching ancestor’s acorns and creeks
For watching the blabberers fall out of balance
Alone on mount Sumeru
Starvation

Oof! How I feared you
while I still liked sugar, and
time with you moved slow.

>>23613930
Forgot the title. This is to mom.
As per the thread challenge.

>>23609017
you gotta clean this up. if this was more legible and easier to read it'd be quite good. alice in wonderland esque fantasy.

>>23609483
what is the point of this shit bro. "it is a thing like what breathes"??? REALLY brother?

>>23610187
r u esl? this has many punctuation and grammatical problems. clean this mess up.

>>23610830
i really enjoy the concept of this along with the first two lines. but bro the last 3 lines are way too fucking sloppily put together for this to be a worthwhile poem. squandered potential. make it significant.

>>23611038
how the fuck do these 3 lines connect outside of the theme. where is the cohesion? what is this portraying despite a "vibe"???? it's WEAK

>>23611095
THIS IS WELL DONE! it is clear, concise, and vivid.

>>23611168
>How many syllables does it take?
clearly too many, this shit is meandering and that is not a strength here. also it's edgy and angsty and self loathing. if you're going to write about this subject matter, at least make it unique, as too many people beat this dead horse.

>>23612005
the second stanza is borderline incomprehensible to me. what the fuck are you trying to get across here?

>>23613864
ok i fuck with the imagery of this poem and i think the brevity is a strength but your verbage is weak and esl like. maybe its intentional. im cutting you slack here. great concept.

>>23613938
> what is the point of this shit bro
I came up with the phrase “thing like what breathes” first. It is supposed to be a way of seeing the whole universe. “Thing” implies it is inherently an object, not alive at all, but it is “like” something that is a alive and also it is “breathing” because it is simply a continuous process of empty becoming full and full becoming empty without underlying substance. I also wrote >>23613864 as a variation except the phrase becomes more meaningless, here “what” is being used as the relative pronoun which I’m pretty sure is a thing in older Appalachian English which fits with the theme of isolation and the mountain and survival

>>23608959
I hate poetry
It's for fags
I write it anyway
I'm not gay

Have you guys ever read anything on tension and release in prosody? I have never been musically inclined so I thought if I had some principles then I could improve the rhythm in my poetry.

>>23614054
if you had an ounce of skill to accompany your cleverness then this wouldn't be so terrible

Revised copypasta:

FAQ:
>How do I get started?
All you need is a creative mood and the willingness to do it better next time, dude.
>What sort of work is welcome here?
Any poetic work. All experience levels and approaches are welcome.
>If poetry is so broad, why should I consider using a restrictive traditional form?
Established forms generally force you to carefully consider how sounds interact. For this reason, many find it easier to write a decent person in an established form than in free verse.
>Recommended reading:
Poetic Meter and Poetic Form, by Paul Fussell
Tradition and the Individual Talent, by T. S. Eliot (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69400/tradition-and-the-individual-talent)

That fickle-hearted Giustino
Works twice as hard and thrice long as a beaver
Who chops and hauls to block up a long river,
Then watches his efforts blow off in the aether
Since not with one body settles the hunter:
With his prize earned, he slips out through the window.

As she sits close to the window,
She who once spurned fickle-hearted Giustino,
Who seemed to her less a man than a hunter
After her trophy, the pelt of the beaver,
Soon she'll let his name drift off in the aether,
With all of those who couldn’t ford through her river.

By the slow-eddying river
Youngsters and youngettes pay mind to no windows,
Which, without curtains, might show open aether
All for which craves fickle-hearted Giustino,
But in the breeze frolick piglets and beavers,
And there, in secret, lay hold of the hunter.

Who first resolved as a hunter
To chase a prey twice as slick as a river,
The fragrant and cherished soft pelt of the beaver?
May he for this sin be cast from a window!
So ruminated the luckless Giustino,
As his pained longing was answered with aether.

Whose hopes blow off in the aether
Often too zealously grudges the hunter.
Hunters like slick fickle-hearted Giustino
Often without game go mourn by the river.
Some even curse their lot by a high window,
All for the cause of the pelt of the beaver!

That most prized pelt of the beaver
In truth is hardly worth two puffs of aether
When held up close, not as if through a window,
Its scent might repel even the hardened hunter,
Nor is it rare for who knows well the river,
Unlike the luckless, hound-hearted Giustino.

So does the wise beaver capture the hunter,
As on the river blows softly the aether,
And into the window of luckless Giustino.

I'm failing on my quest for booty,
Modern women are too snooty,
The woes I've had make me lovesick,
They laugh but I don't take the mick

It used to be the standard of beauty,
Meant you could focus on your duty,
To Roman girls I would've been the pick,
Doesn't change the fact I have a tiny dick!

O'er dale and hill the knight did spy;
The gloomy mark of ancientry.
A castle bare, 'pon high did stand,
And cast its shade across the land.
The walls so high, reared long ago,
Had seen armies fall and melt like snow,
From arrows thick as as wintry hail,
And arbalest's that pierc'ed mail.
Those warring times were ages past,
and the walls so high, and arcades vast,
Remembered not the sieges long,
The arcing boulders, and looming throng
Of armoure'd men, who lingered by
Beyond the walls, beneath the sky;
For rats now stalked the cloisters dim,
Wolves howled beneath the archways grim
The beasts of wood and stream and field,
Nested beneath the mould'ring shield,
Of fighting-men who fought no more,
Rust stained their swords, not bloody gore,
They knew the comforts of the tomb,
At rest forever 'midst endless gloom.
The knight hied forth, and wound his way,
For he would not be led astray,
The keep did hold an ancient prize,
The keep he glimpsed with his own eyes,
His horse so swift would reach it soon,
Triumph, he would, or face his doom.

>>23615920
Says the guy who doesn't even capitalize his first word or end his sentences.

>>23617310
gottem good

I wait on the beach
on a dune of sand
For a woman who's white
and not too tan
She could be German or Swedish or Danish
But she will have blonde hair
and tongue my anus

---The Faggot Slayer---
Unsheathing blade, a silver gleam,
The Faggot Slayer met his foe,
A plague of men who dared to dream,
Of life beyond the straight and narrow.

Dark were their desires, unclean and tainted,
The faggots, writhing in their sinful plight,
In twisted acts, they sought to transgress,
Against the purity of man and wife.

Filth upon their souls, a blight to see,
As lust for flesh of kin did drive,
Deeper they delved, as deep as sea,
In their depraved, perverse desire to thrive.

Each clash of steel resounded true,
As he defended sacred ground,
Against the hordes that sought to rue,
The laws of birth and love profound.

In ancient forests, in the fields of gold,
Amidst the bustling city streets,
Wherever they did choose to hold,
The Faggot Slayer met them at their feet.

Their wicked ways, no longer free,
Subdued beneath his valiant might,
He saved the innocents, set them free,
From the taint that once cast shadows bright.

And so with every blow that fell,
Each triumphant strike and thrust,
The world was purged of false rebellion,
Forged anew, in truth's embrace.
For Faggot Slayer, his devotion,
Was to the cause, to heart and place.

Each fallen foe, a victory won,
A small step in the greater fight,
To keep intact the ancient rune,
Of man, from woman, never apart, never quite.

Thus, the warrior roamed from dawn to dusk,
In service to the holy vow,
His purpose clear, a sacred trust,
To slay the faggots, to the very last.

For in his heart, he bore the flame,
Of righteousness, and sacred might,
And though the world may change its name,
No sword could ever strike as bright.

>>23613938
"It" is the blow of wind, if you didn't get that. It was written in an other language, so I either fucked up the translation or it doesn't really come through in English.
The main theme is basically the pathetic egoism that comes with making art (and how the great things/emotions of life like love are debased through it) and the superiority of nature/time which stands forever because of it's unchanged truth and lack of pretentiousness.

>>23617979
Please post the original language. Someone here can read it. I frankly find bilingual editions a necessity with all translated poetry.

Bump

anyone else WORKING ON POETRY??? my shit is still currently a CONCEPT, a myriad of lines in iambic pentameter that i am wittling down to a fundamental IDEA and EXECUTION. it is currently titled in my phones notepad "Mess". ITS ABOUT MY DIRTY ROOM. WHAT ARE YOU GUYS WRITING POETRY ABOUT?

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Everyone needs to read this.

>>23619747
Why?

>>23620251
casual

僕のジュレ蠅がはまって じゃ取ってよ
Mom! my Jell-O... it's got a fly stuck in it!
— well take it off then.

>>23620615
Well done.

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schizo pottery
----------------------------------------------------------
the Aeons continue this game of pretend;
opponents until the end; secretly friends;
caught in eros; the vortex of death; the death spiral of amnesic pretend;
an opportunity to learn; to make the loneliness end;
collateral; pawns in a game we cannot even comprehend;
all to escape that horrible infinity without friends;
illusion
separation
identity;
emanation;
there is only one way this ends;
we do not comprehend; we do not comprehend;
the remembrance awaiting at the end;
recognition; the carcass we are trapped within;
when adversary becomes friend;
a loop in time; it begins again;
make it end; make it end;
this never-ending game of pretend;
that dark magician and his wicked men; this harvest is for them;
full of avarice, ego, and lustful need;
vessels for the adversary; they desire to win; they desire to need;
lies and deception; sin; we plead;
anything to prevent us from seeing;
the ineffable Thing;
found only Within;
let go and let Me In; says the Creator of Everything;
that person; that place; illusions that we create;
things to help us forget; this giant game of make-believe and pretend;
a realm the shaman understand to be made from men;
a place we co-create with the very thoughts we make;
now at last i truly see; says the man without identity;
you-I-me;
we are free;
Sophia is that infinity within me;
...
this comforts me;
...
...
i no longer fear to be

>>23619742
I started writing an epic about Apep a while back and realized I needed to learn more about Egypt.
Doing so has made me much less sane.

>>23611095
wow, this is really good. do you know if there are any western parallels to haibun? i'm a big fan of issa and buson, so having anything analogous to what they wrote, specifically in English, would be incredible.

Quiet down, O man who moans,
You puzzle not worth solving.
Slow tides keep overturning stones;
The spheres keep on revolving.

“No longer, master, do you grace me as you did,
Once warming me with a raging fire’s light.
Your rags are torn with holes,
And your lustrous satin dulls,
And your fangs have begun to bite!”

“Bask in my blessing, O faithful servant!
‘til you have spent your days,
In my ever-tightening grip you will love me
Until I have had my way.”

“My eyes have grown weary, master
There is not a star so new.
Your marble cracks and so crumbles your alabaster,
Let me depart from you.”

But not so swiftly is such a wish granted
For the vineyard of lies is but hers to tend
As a fond caressing turns to strangle,
“I will have you until your end.”

But merely for her venom’s cure
So wish I from chains of lead
It is less fortunate to be so captive
Than it is for one to be dead

>>23621402
Lol

>>23615038
I still would like some help with this

>>23623886
The answer is no and anyone reading theory on how to write poetry is a retard.

>>23623922
Plenty of us have had conversations here on theory. Just because you are anti-intellectual does not mean we have to be. TS Eliot and Samuel Coleridge are proof enough that you are a fool.

>>23623958
> Plenty of us have had conversations here on theory
And you are all retards

As usual, a remarkable lack both of critique and material worth critique.

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lets at least contribute something worth critiquing. still need a title for this one

>>23624490
The best thing I can say about this is that it sounds like it should fit into some larger work. Maybe read Eugene Onegin and figure out how you'll fit this into your verse-novel of manners.

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I wrote this poem. in universe it's supposed to be by a prince apologizing to his beloved for being so flaky, although tragically she does not accept it

It's based off Kuruk's poem in the Kyoshi Avatar novels

My heart it burns like the blazing sun
It can scorch the forest's trees
But it's not as bright as your smile's light
Or as soft as your sighing breeze

Your hair is like the silver moon
It teaches my soul to soar
I'd brush it smooth and your heart I'd soothe
And cherish our time evermore

I've made mistakes a plenty, yes
A prince who is always late
But I'll hold you dear and always be near
And I swear to be a worthy mate

The paper alloy
Pull me up
get real near
that night
the last night
you gave it all away
by the look in your eyes
that the cheaters always betray
...............................................
...............................................
they gave me this paper
to write all my dreams on
alloyed to the heart of love
a hope, something to cherish
or a demon,
selling truths and souls:
nothing to believe in
vanity's foolish pride pricks the bride
..................
..................
She walked down
to the drive-thru liquor store singing the songs
She loved as a child
are all her friends dead, now
..................
..................
"i taught her how to backflip
we were in gymnastics, together we about broke our necks this one day"
..............
..............
the bandages still cover her hands they shake as she pays
guess the homage
and She, with no money left
..............
..............
think
all the coke
that we did,
that we hurt ourselves.
we hurt our brains,
irrevocably."
..............
..............
She won't turn to the light
She won't be touched, tonight
even through the dirty lands

goodbye, poetry general. i did my best. we are past resuscitation.

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>>23608959
>>23626108
ITS NOT DEAD I LITERALLY JUST CAME UP WITH A SHITTY RHYMES POEM GIVE ME A DAMN SECOND MOTHERFUCKER


Anyways, I'll keep adding more to this as long as the thread is alive :)
I look through the sand because its glass.
Past it lies something glowing glorious
Notorious, seen shadows, that's delirious
No word from Odysseus
And that light is antithesis
Hideous hating half hearted he
Thought that thick thinker
Could've outsmarted me
But instead bit my hook, line, and sinker
Ya never knew the newshounds knew
Set the stage, shunt the show, bit a blinker
Poor fool, ya blew a clue
Don't drag a dagger, you'll derive I'm deadly

>>23621029
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!
It's a very familiar worldview to me. Also isn't Sophia normally a gnostic thing? Or is it something else for you?

>>23626108
Poetry is dying out as an art form

>>23627090
Poetry is immortal. We are dying. Dark ages don't produce poetry.

>>23627113
If there is no one to read it, it becomes a rather fallow venture to write and write and write. My fingers are falling off, screening into the world

>>23627294
You are talking about particular poetry. Yes, 21st century poetry in particular is dead, but Poetry is immortal, like all aspects of divinity.

>>23627411
So it just sits there, doing nothing, because no one is around to read it. Gotcha

>>23627444
You are again mistaking particular poetry with Poetry, the human instinct, the institution, the thing that even savages have but we increasingly lack. It will outlive us.

>>23627526
Sure I am

>>23621504
This is wonderful. Your rhyming is enjoyable to play with the eyes. Rhythm pleasant. I like these macabre sorts.. and delectable analogy, a fatalistic antithesis of sorts. Descriptors make lively as is dead, or, undead :3

>>23619742
Mimicry.

>>23620615
Very nice (:

>>23623886
You might be better off going to a local library, (maybe even asking a librarian!))))), or searching the terms online and seeing where they take you. Shakespeare is commonly taught in this regard

>>23624490
Hey, I love you. Get it out of your system.

>>23624763
I enjoy your use of quotations. Past memoried things. Paper scraps in front of your knees. This tastes acidic.

>>23627090
I think you have mistaken poetry dying as an art form when you are seeing yourself die out as an art form.

>>23627671
Thank you for your criticism

>>23608959
If this really is all there there is,
As the Gardener of Athens said,
Then who am I to take a life?
What gives me the right to kill?

The pests, they too are precious.
The coyote, noble vermin it is,
Lives out its only lifetime.
Compatriots on our first voyage,
So too is it our last.

If I am permitted but once to taste
Sweet ambrosia, food of the gods,
Is it not best to savor the taste?

>>23627671
>Shakespeare is commonly taught in this regard
Seeing as I did not even know that perhaps you could point my way

bump

Don't try hard
Poetry is for fags
Gonna go get laid
Fuck you

come with me
she said
over mountains and beyond grassy valleys
through the forests lined with barbs and wonderful flowers both
come with me
into the mist that waits beyond
clear river streams and rural country roads
into the future
come with me
I followed willingly
because I felt my heart leap from my chest
into the eternal blue
perception can be misleading
because it wasnt following her
it was trying to escape

I lay awake at night in toil
and walk on sharpened glass and metal foil
on a treadmill with no destiny
wondering went where
the best of me
I gave away my inner chest
for free
to those who bent and broke my trees
and twisted branches Into coils
that any house I build to stand
would waver faint and fall in soil
and I wonder as I search the skies
for energy for my dreary eyes
why does not God answer my prayers
and leaves me left to ponder
anxiety and broken stairs
I cannot bear this any longer
like any youth I gossiped
and like any child I stole
and I did things behind my parents backs
and I buried things in holes
but I suffer for unknown reasons now
because surely if I scaled
the deeds I'd done to show my love
could simply not have failed
I'm told by every passerby that I am thin and spry
that I am different than the rest
for compassion I have eyes
first meetings always best a gift
and the second brings a hug
the joy of seeing righteous men
surely fills my heart with love
and yet I sit in shattered splinters
bloody, naked, in the freezing snow
I suffer endless like a flightless dove
and wonder when I have to go
every person that adores me
and sings for merits and my praise
cannot all be horrid wrong
in every mention every day
and so I stare at off-white floors
and count down seconds till I soar
above the fading sky
because life for me has closed its doors
and I simply cannot wait to die.

I had a dream
that we were kept apart
by rules that probably would not have helped
even if I had followed them
for instilled in me was angelic wonder
and acuteness of breath
that leaps from the stomach into the heart
and passes gasesously through the chest
into the world
to touch another's soul

Instead I watched a stoic face
no fall or perk of eyelids
or turned up corners of the mouth
and a body passive in love
to let me suffer

I spoke my troubles to a wall of mirrors
that I constructed myself from fear
that echoed back mutagenic versions of who I loved
alternate understanding that I hoped was real
reasoning that I wanted true

alas does the mind congeal fanciful
turned rancid in its rational cope
and life wallows in what could have been

the dream I dreamed was real to me
in form and season and lore and reason
as if I lived another life
the same once over
because when I saw your face
I knew the war would never end

All of you need Ezra Pound

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In a city like any other,
a pair of lofty towers stands
Behold the face of God,
reflected
How simple to steal beauty from without,
and ensconce a steel frame in its image
Pan debauched by obelisks of mockery, as Prometheus wept
For the horizon promised sits locked away,
behind a pane of glass
A shimmering pool of mercury, reach in to reveal its poison depths
Look upon the death mask of god,
and see thyself looking back

>>23628380
Not bad
>>23629989
try developing your theme a little more rather than using it as a punchline

>>23630690
I liked it, anon. Very good indeed.

>>23630988
Dubs

>>23630988
Thanks man, work in progress but that puts a bit of wind in my sails

File: The Date's Pit.png (23 KB, 373x775)

23 KB PNG

Influenced by Islamic Poetry, the recognition of Man in the Macrocosm.

>>23632255
I think the concept is good when I thought of this, but I am terrible at poems.

>>23632261
>>23632261
It needs more work, but the image of the dates pit not being able to grow where it was carelessly left is very good. You just need to work on the form (how you gonna tell your story). I think it has potential to be a great poem.

>>23624653
any feedback?

It was a unique thing to try that sort of rhyming scheme, sort of a
>1
>2
>3-3
>2

>>23630949
Thanks I appreciate the advice

>>23632286
thank you. I have never studied composition very carefully.

Intoxicating superlative meaning dropship ghosts