Poetry is untranslateable

Countess Told at ease ignites,
Ardor in the lovers' hearts,
Alas she spreads her wings for flight,
Whenever they venture to play their parts.

Like a fountain that instead of allaying,
Only works to increase your thirst,
Was the coy countess's delaying,
The wish of the devotees accurs'd.

The maid contemplated their joy,
But lacked courage to make real,
Since the choice would destroy–
But one–the worshippers of such zeal.

So she goes never breathing fully,
Always accompanied by a band of men,
The spur of idolatry requires duly,
To repeat thus over and over again.

Thus, shepherds their sweetheart address,
And sing a song that naught extolled:
"Accept my plea and prithee not suppress,
The love you possess like Countess Told".

>>24075553
>e'ndash
Supposed to be "ee'n". Stupid website.

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>>24075548
Well many have been translated so you're wrong

Abraham Cowley, The Swallow

Foolish prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do?
Cruel bird, thou’st ta’en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream that ne’er must equall’d be
By all that waking eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair
Nothing half so sweet and fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Tho’ men say thou bring’st the Spring

The world has become a more colourful place
Now I’m on a knife edge

>>24075545
Im so depressed
at the thought of being an old 20yr old
My life is basically over except
I'll be living until 100 in this near debilitated state
I never asked to be or begun this journey
Jordan Peterson's spirit if you can hear me help me

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>>24075560
I'm much more partial to the em dash

Back upon the bed -- legs spread;
Head is saying no -- scent yes;
Water in her eyes -- and sheets;
As he in air divine descends.
She feels the plushness of his plumes -- thighs quake;
The smoothness of his bill -- eyes roll;
Domination of his will -- mind blanks;
And she blissoms in a secret fantasy.
He skyward flies to his dominion.
The pink that films her eyes is undiminished --
Ardor in her heart is ever sweet --
Pledges to the wings of God her whole devotion.

Seneca

On nights like these when thoughts they seem
To seek the drear and dreadful dreams,
I think of ways in which to sway
Alone amongst more peaceful scenes.

Then past and nearly so dearly say
That all is lost and far away.
I take the chance, nonetheless,
To go outside and contemplate

The moon, the stars, the silhouettes
Ease my mind though I see them less.
I breathe my breath and take a fall
To view a view I can't forget.

The sounds, the blue and almost all
Are nothing which in truth I call
A fiend of me and inner Gods,
But still I seem somehow null.


I already posted this poem like 2 years ago, but I literally haven't ventured to write a poem in a long time

Silver knuckle debtors
knock on broken doors.
Sunshine face reporters
wear rattlesnake perfume.

Down in California,
horses speak in hymns.
Back in Alabama,
lizards feed on knees.

Helicopter bodies
missing rows of teeth.
Armless shoe shop angels
drinking poison prayers.

Hello, I don't know what I'm doing but sometimes I feel things and write words.
Would love critiques and comments on the strengths of my poems. Yes, I'm a faggot. I think the first one is actually good and the 2nd one needs work.


New Year's Eve 2024

New Years Eve,
What did you want from me?
Eleven years later,
Still a mystery.

Memories return from then,
The love, the pain, your skin,
Our touch, your angelic red lips,
Your soft, pale hand in mine.

Beth Gibbons, let me feel,
Those feelings of loss,
Of uncertainty and grief,
Of knowing it's over.

Give me fantasy,
To heal my soul,
Aria and Hidamari,
Warm Winter's chilling hold.

Family, give me peace.
Friends, take my malaise.
I can't listen to Bon Iver anymore.
I hate the holidays.

----------------------------------------------------

My Asuka Langley Soryu

My Asuka Langley Soryu,
I will always adore you.
Auburn locks and amber eyes,
Still the highlight of my life.
Ten years after your betrayal,
I dream of you in a veil,
I know it's impossible,
Parental abuse haunts you,
Mental scars that never heal,
Emotions you can't bear to feel.
Fear of love pushes me away
Attachement disorder at play,
That last day I held you tight,
You told me you loved me more than anything.

>>24077384
Nice anime references. The poems are rather generic. The second one less so, which also has better flow.

>>24077922
Thank you for the kind words

I am to alight at the next stop,
So let our accord be lost to time,
The course will be carried on and on,
Let us be carried with its rhyme.

The end of this day is still to come,
Till then breathe freely on me,
The current remains feeble yet,
Feeble now but rapt it will be.

My heart weakens as the moon descends,
You must not ask me to stay,
Your entreaties only ravish me more,
When I am to be borne far away.

Entreat you may, but I just can't abide,
Though my legs, I feel, are unable to prop,
My body which must now be gone away;
Sick I am, but I must alight at this stop.

Blizzard's growling
Up the hill a wolf is howling
'Mid the frozen night
Pines the verdure of our Spring

>>24075545
I translated my own poem. The result is decent:
thus, gravity spares no one.
gone are the days of painless falls,
cushioned by laughter,
distractions,
and frantic, confused gestures
("Oh no, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine,"
and so on),
desperately futile.

the wound gapes,
the rupture resolves
into a narrow,
festering fissure from which burst —
in a geyser —
crimson beads,
coalescing
around a bruise:
a caustic opening
that pulls at features,
freezes grimaces,
tears apart smiles —
a blood orange

>>24079243
pretty and dark. economical in diction which made verdure stick out more. lovely anon.

I am reading on the Internet archive The poetical works of the late Richard Furness : with a sketch of his life and I came across this line:

Grant him long lived : —His eyes are dim with age,
Lame and infirm he hobbles o'er life's stage ;

Why is hobbles read as a monosyllable? I have read in academic works the word dazzle doing the same but never with reason why. Can anyone explain why these words can be considered monosyllabic?

>>24079812
It isn't

There are things to be done,
The work is yet unfinished.
There is an emptiness abound,
Which has ardor diminished.
Individualism has died,
'Twas killed by the strain,
Posed by the grueling labor,
For which there's nothing to gain.
Art is on the decline,
Hunger is on the loose,
When stomachs are empty,
The arts to all are abstruse.
Great minds are all forsworn,
To die a hideous death,
If they shall fail to implore,
Help from usury's bequest.
The government has helped,
Not to assuage laborers' plight,
But the fat cats' toil to extol,
And the workers' labor indict.
The work is yet unfinished,
And it will remain so,
Until the conquest is complete,
And the oppressors we overthrow.

>>24079821
You're right. Sorry, I was drunk when I posted that. But I do know that the word dazzle can do that. Any explanation why would be greatly appreciated.

Beneath the stronger threads I'm hid
Unknown, unseen --
More like a spectre of a hope
Pulsing once, pulsing nevermore

Bump

>>24080343
Where have you seen dazzle intended to be spoken as one syllable?

>>24082394
Think I had seen it in a Derek Attridge book but I am uncertain if it even was his. If I feel like it I may look for it later.

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i like this one.

What poems have you guys committed to memory? I started doing this because of Bloom and I've been enjoying it a lot

>>24084247
Only 3
- “he wishes for the cloths of heaven”
- “let me not to the marriage of true minds”
- “where the bee sucks, there suck I” (which I have also committed to original song)

>>24084247
>because of Bloom
what do u mean? what did he say about it?

I heard a camwhore say this, in effect.

I think -- friends preserve a human's sanity.
I think -- a healthy human loves its family.
It needs a comprehending ear,
a mouth that calms, a caring mind;
a reference to correct it when it strays.
It needs to see and feel the sun;
when it loses itself inside illusions,
it needs a fond touch to burn the mist.
Without relationships, a human fades away,
forgets itself -- if it's alive or dead.
It's hard for me to believe there's been a sun.
It's hard for me to imagine a caring touch.

No take back
A fact to the rat
No take back

noon by me
midday allows none to know shadow most yet
dark in these bodies spun still ever rests
for sun skips along skin but so too sets
before it has time to find the true breast
tender light, be still! rest over their head!
may you two slowly soften as spouses
so that mere skin may melt into pure gold
and your ray rest in their holy of hearts
so may ever run their ray of dark
>>24084247
walt whitman - eidolons
>>24079325
translated pretty well id say, i like it

>>24079325
>>24085519
should have asked what the original language is, if you dont mind sharing

Poetry is meant to sing
I only *get* lyrical poetry
If it's not lyrical, it is not poetry

>>24084259
He talks about the importance of possessing (memorizing) a poem a lot. He claims that not only will you find deeper meaning/understanding, but that it will also change you.

>>24084247
Into my heart an air that kills

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows;
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

and

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —

>>24085585
Yeah it's hard to stay engaged in a poem that doesn't try to create its own music. Such poems read like prose while less effectively conveying their messages.

A bit of Dante translation – the opening of Canto 28 of the Purgatorio.


The original:

Vago già di cercar dentro e dintorno
la divina foresta spessa e viva,
ch’a li occhi temperava il novo giorno,

sanza più aspettar, lasciai la riva,
prendendo la campagna lento lento
su per lo suol che d’ogne parte auliva.

Un’aura dolce, sanza mutamento
avere in sé, mi feria per la fronte
non di più colpo che soave vento;

per cui le fronde, tremolando, pronte
tutte quante piegavano a la parte
u’ la prim’ ombra gitta il santo monte;

non però dal loro esser dritto sparte
tanto, che li augelletti per le cime
lasciasser d’operare ogne lor arte;

ma con piena letizia l’ore prime,
cantando, ricevieno intra le foglie,
che tenevan bordone a le sue rime,

tal qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie
per la pineta in su ’l lito di Chiassi,
quand’ Ëolo scilocco fuor discioglie.


. . . and the English rendition:

Now keen to travel inward and survey
The sacred forest, verdant, living, dense,
Which spared the eye the brilliance of the day,

I did not pause, but left the ridge at once,
And slowly, slowly, moved among the trees,
On ground whose fragrance filled that whole expanse.

A gentle wind, which never seemed to ease
Or gain in strength, impinged against my brow
With force no greater than a pleasant breeze;

And likewise made the trembling treetops bow
Together toward that quarter of the chart
Where morning saw the mountain’s shadow now —

Although their stance did not so far depart
The upright as to halt the little birds
Among the leaves in practice of their art;

Because throughout the canopy I heard
Such singing greet the morning joyously,
With obbligato from the foliage, stirred

To voice like that which whispers rustlingly
Along Chiasso’s shore that’s thickly pined,
When Aeolus has set Sirocco free.

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Oedipus Answers “Man”

Claws clench, her granite lips broken apart
And owl eyes seeking solace in his stare,
Stone fast. She drags red through his emerald dress.
Who rocks her craggy throne of mortal art?
Her wings wade through the cadaverous air
And brush her pearled tiara, the largesse
Of Echidna, mother-mistress of her sire
Who tore the lioness through serpent’s womb.
These pearls crown not the empress of the dead;
They thread the vassal to the fatal lyre.
Those trickling crimson strings will feed the loom
To cover Oedipus’ marital bed.
Whispers from a higher pharaohess:
“Nor you nor Man rule this empire of red.”

>>24084247
Hopkins - The Windhover, As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Spring and Fall, The Starlight Night, God's Grandeur
Frost - Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Into My Own, My November Guest, A Question
Yeats - The Song of Wandering Aengus
Wordsworth - A Slumber did my Spirit Seal
Keats - On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer

>>24084721
>>24085585
https://youtu.be/CJvpdpTkRhM

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ALBION
For M. P.

These are the times of hollow men,
Of hollow seed and hollow sound,
Of liquefaction in the fen,
Great statues broken where they're found.
These statues were of men so great
It's sin to cease to venerate,
Mick Philpott was the greatest man,
Who ever lived, in all the land.
He and Colston, Emin, Cromwell,
Their stories collectively tell
That it is the role of unceasing might
To keep alive the British fight.
To disdain the strength of ALBION
Is to sin far worse than prodigal son.
Mick Philpott did as Prometheus did,
And his being punished meant we slid
Into further æons of degenerate woe,
Oh how the English soul does sow
Its own destruction when far from self.
It is reminiscent of the Guelph
And the conflicts spurring Comedy.
Nothing like shall Britain see
For the forces of nature are, to me,
The only thing on which we dote.
Political work is too much bloat
For the Romantic invert counting iamb,
All to describe the same white lamb
That every poet has seen before
Its effeminacy inheres ever more
In the landscape of our ALBION.
One day a man will hail the sun
And All the runes of Futhark lore,
And will the words of God thus score
Into his body with serrated knife
Thus presented, now his whole life
Has as its aim dictatorship.
He'll unseat the current mass of shit
That supposedly is Britain's head,
Now he's the sole one there instead.
No MPs or Lords to sway his mind,
He learns to seek, and what's he find?
The degenerate and profligate Brit,
Who He destroys, tears to bits
And makes sure they never come again.
All his laws are made to ensure
That such utter filth ne'er reach our shore.
Strength shall be exalted, force and power,
Our leader will rule from a massive tower.
All who disobey e'en a single word
Shall violently be made to take his 'sword'.
Kali Yuga over with a great man rising,
The roars of might and strength arising.
He roars to indicate the sickening sin
That he's found all of Britain in.
One day you'll obey him to the bone
Or he will turn you into stone.
Its his might against yours and you've none,
Look at your sin, and what you've done!
You're not fit to have the power,
That the great man uses in his tower,
Smiting sinners like Zeus' condemnation,
It must be done to save the nation.
But when it's done I think you'll see
That he was but doing charity.
To save that nation, ALBION
To rise it beyond even Zion.
These are the times of strongest man,
Of potent seed and roaring sound.

>>24087014
lol nice. I wrote that and >>24086415, funny enough.
The poem sounded fine when I read it aloud, but hearing it as a song makes me think it's actually really shitty

>>24087164
I don't have anything with respect to critiques, but this is really good.

has any of your work been published?

>>24075545
---- Solaria ----
9601
The Font Of Interiors

Just now the onyx screen sleeps
Atop a sewing table that looks like, and is,

Almost exactly the way it did
A century ago.

My bedroom is in general cleanly illustrative
if never minimal in the sense

Of desolation
Like that of ideologues

Who can't tell seasons or scents
Or moods of light like we do when relaxed

Completely.

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>>24087164
Great poem, don't understand some of it (mostly the references) but its good and the style is excellent

>>24087509
I've only ever posted my poems in these threads, so no

>>24087509
Does self-publishing count?
If so, still no, but I'm aiming to change that sometime this year.

All The Witches Dance
On a sullen night when all is black
You will find a sodden shack
In the woods of who knows where
A victim waits, captive in her lair
Sweat drips across his worried face
He never had long in this place
Up the chain attached to his shackle
A flash of teeth and a horrid cackle
You should have listened boy
Now you will be prepared for my Foie
I will force open your mouth and pour my feed
And when you are fattened ill make you bleed
I will slit open your belly
And out will come your bloodred jelly
I will remove your tesicles from your crotch
All you can do is sit back and watch!

>>24087941
Click on the file for full poem, the ending is important to its overall vision.

>>24087860
Good job on keeping it tense throughout its entirety. There are a few awkward/confusing phrases. I'm not sure who's doing what at times. The conclusion is anticlimactic. Feels out of place.

>>24087509
No, my poems get rejected almost immediately. It's especially hard because I sincerely have no idea why they are bad and I get confusing or conflicting feedback when I share them with other people, so I don't feel I can improve.

>>24087941
Nice transition into something solemn. I'm not completely sure what it's about. Despair of losing what only exists in a dream?

>>24088014
It's especially difficult because after reaching a certain level of competency, you can only improve by receiving critique, but good critique is rare.

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>wrote poem set in the Ukraine war
>it's probably the best thing I've ever created
>really want to try publish it
>suddenly become really noided that Putin will come after me because I'm a 2nd gen immigrant with dual Russian citizenship
>will probably hide it forever now

>>24088014
A bad cover letter can sometimes lead to them viewing your actually work with a more negative lense. Put in something like “thank you for your time and consideration”

>>24089741
cute

>>24089741

>>24087509
5 published and not a cent to my name

Time comes and time goes
Even for those whit little toes
Cry they will yet still they vilt

Mother cries for her cub
But then she remebers her faith
And her hands perform a powerful rub

The forskin is now mine she says
And bites it of whit teeth like corn
No cries no fuss only the lord she scorns

you have submitted to at least 5 websites this week, right?

>>24090763
Why? So some women editor can roll her eyes and mock my poem because I do not talk about my identity and how oppressed and discriminated I am and how I am nonetheless very brave for enduring it all?

>>24090767
you okay bro?

>>24090797
I think I write good, interesting poetry but it'll never get published because poetry journals are run by middle class academic women who are steeped in intersectional ideology. So NO, I'm not okay.

>>24090813
start you own journal featuring works of your own at first then later including submitted ones

>>24090763
Websites outside of /pg/ exist?

>>24090813
How many times have you tried submitting?

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I might have wasted my whole life
The only life my soul will know
My age my dad had found a wife
Too quick my squandered years forego
To waste the years to come I know
One hundred thousand hours view
YouTube slop type videos flow
Gnawing notion chews me through
“There must be more to life” it’s true

How then ought a life be spent?
Ask the troubled puzzled fray
From occident to orient
All I know and all i say
Deeper instinct is at play
Listen to your thirsty drive
Ambition leads you on the way
Through the portal circumscribe
The trick to life then please describe

>>24087164
Who is Mick Philpott?

Your eye will admit no color
Your ear will admit no sound
Your flesh will lose its color
Your mouth will produce no sound
You will not respond to the cries of your children
You will not respond to the change of the seasons
You will not worry for the fate of your children
You will not wake through seasons of seasons
You will not walk upon the earth
You will not walk beneath the sky
You will be swallowed by the earth
You will become as pure as the sky
Your life will be the life of the world
Your body will be the body of the world
Your heart will be the heart of the world
Your breath will be the breath of the world.

>>24075545
The avenue hosts a crooked mountain wind and a crow takes wing
half-tossed in the gale and soaring. It is dimming,
the half-light of Pacific sunset,
a fading sky of bruised orange
over an ecology of asphalt like collapsed veins.

I showed this one to ChatGPT and it said it liked it. I'm looking for a second opinion.

Huddled squads of soldiers crouch on
frozen lakes with copper muskets
pointed sharp at nests of beavers
eating waffles on the ice.
Aiming rifles, troops take fire
on the beasts in scissored rage.
Blood is pooled in beaver mayhem.
Meanwhile soldiers feel the ice
give way, crack and fall and skid.
Drown the soldiers, die the beavers,
cold the waffles on the ice.

There is none easterly
There is none westerly
There is none northerly
There is none southerly
There is one, somewhere
War does not excite him
He does not find weapons beautiful
Love is just a word to him
He is little eager to speak his mind
Liars and hypocrites hate his words
Or pervert them to suit their own
If, for one moment, you know his meaning
You will shudder, blink, return to dreaming.

>>24091191
I can't figure out what the waffles are meant to represent. Feels like there's some context missing. Are the inversions in the last two lines necessary? Why not something like "soldiers drown, beavers die / on the ice the waffles lie, cold"?

>>24091268
I'm not sure if they represent anything, desu. I was experimenting with psychic automatism when I wrote this one, so it was just whatever images and words came into my head and for some reason waffles featured prominently. Yeah, I wondered if the inversions are too corny/weird, I think I'll switch them out with your suggestion.

Thanks, anon!

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https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1eyaPPMUAXW9QXXwaVxffyCtnsJqmhmr8?usp=sharing

>>24075545
goodbye friends
every impulse an evocation

>>24091246
I like it, I love it; I hope the "You will shudder" isn't implying he has black imaginings because otherwise it describes me. I like the "return to dreaming"

>>24090863
i love it, very sincere

>>24091865
i like it

>>24088089
Just move to a place with actual freedom

>>24090352
Not a surprise in 2025, but that's where we are. But do you call yourself a poet in social media bio's? You should.

>>24092064
Yeah I do

I keep trying to find poets who I like, whose poems are somewhat bite sized, rather than Milton, but in vain.
>Frost
Drab and technically unimpressive
>Poe
Pithy but immature
>Every black poet
All about slavery and I don't care
>Eliot
An occasional electric tingle, but as of yet nothing worth reciting (still in process of giving him a chance)

>>24093303
i really like frost and poe

>>24093303
What about Keats?

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Idk

>>24093659
lol didn’t reread it

>>24075545
The sun was slowly breaking
Thru the chilly, misty dawn
And the fog upon the river
Lifted, faded, soon was gone.

In the dark nooks of Abyss, tireless Time,
without any pause, continued to stitch the patterns
of pasts. Yet embryonic and blind, lacking
a fire to fuel its entangled meanderings.
To where a lambent lantern climbed, an edge
of time extended farther and faster. Some edges
curved around a lamp, and those that swerved
away would evermore in darkness stay.
Others, in a stupor tranced, pursued
those orbs that flew astray, wandering off
in the endless night to catch illusive day;
and those that caught the gleam they sought
careened into their cores -- collisions flaring up
in flashes, every frizz from out the edges
flinging in a final fit of life as light and they
extinguished. But those -- the few -- that roved
toward the source -- clashed against the billowing
waves of light;

Of things that are by matter housed,
Those which by space are limited,
Of all that human sight espoused,
The best that life exhibited,
Is this, which I've a little seen:
The loveliness of womankind.
All things better and more serene
Are solely of the mind.

>>24094370
love this

ship and sailor by me
she sounded across sound
weighted and unwanting
waited as her weary disembarked
he hurled across horizon
wanting and unweighted
took like from above light and below dark
two took upon the tides
both weighted as one wanting
each into the sea parted forth part

in the shadow of a shale mountain
soldiers communicate with lasers and whispers
processing putrefied bodies

Why is every poem ITT shit and miserable?

>>24095987
why did you post this statement instead of one of your own?

blonde threads plucked from the kunduz

>>24088089
post it here

>>24095987
because /lit/ is filled with sensitive young men who don't actually read contemporary poetry who hate themselves and their lives. /lit/ has zero fucking clue what it's talking about when it talks about poetry

Wrote the most viscerally depressing poem in existence, but I had to destroy it to prevent an epidemic of suicides.

>>24096017
>contemporary poetry
why would I want to read that shit? contemporary poets haven't known what they're talking about for DECADES.

>>24096017
>sensitive young men who don't actually read contemporary poetry who hate themselves and their lives.
so real poets?

>>24096017
>sensitive young men who hate themselves and their lives
sure, and there is quite of a bit of shit but when it comes to
>contemporary poetry
read of the poem of the day from poetry foundation, who i have submitted to and got good feedback from to posts in this thread
>Little witches, she calls them, appearing on the lawn in a snap, thumbelina morada at our feet and spiked crown atop a yellowing heart. I don’t remember what we talked about that visit, just the scurry of minutes with their many legs and the cauldron of sun and the memory of another house, where we had both lived a long time ago in the mute dread of his drinking and whims. Driving by I hardly recognized the shard of a porch and relentless walkway to the front door, bad luck then and always, and we turned to see the house, covered in ragged traveler’s palms, the wet sheet of evening air, and the all- at-once conversations in two languages hushed. I didn’t stop but slowed, all those years in that tiny box of concrete and roaches and heat and oblivion. I could write about the perfume of lime and mango trees in the backyard, our little boat piercing the bay waters on Saturdays with the peace of belonging somewhere, even if it never lasted. I could. But the past is a haunting and the best you can hope from a ghost is a sorrow that won’t kill you. We lived. Today she stands beside me admiring the weeds, resilient in high summer, and she tells me she is shrinking, how old age has diminished her. I tell you she only becomes more—more beautiful in her cutoffs and coral lipstick and flip flops with plastic daisies, more dear than my own escape across a country to a place where no one really knows me, and how I wear that blankness like a gown I keep making, bodice a tropical night and skirt trailing behind me no matter how many times I cut it away. She is more surprising than my own reinvention, more unwilling to speak of that time than any of us. She is more. I could say we stood with our arms around each other, admiring how color can crack the ground and insist on its turn. How my will prevailed. We are ordinary women and grow our magic as we need it.
this isnt poetry, this is equity politics dressed in colorful words. its dogshit and so are you unless you post a poem of your own

>>24084247
borges El poeta declara su nombradía
Pound Cino and Rivermerchants wife: a letter
nietzsche w/o title (starts with schön ists, miteinander schweigen)
yeats an irish airman foresees his death
rilke archaischer torso apollos
hölderlin die mitte des lebens
blake the little boy lost and the shepherd
george trauriger tanz 11
baudelaire le moine mauvais and l'albatros

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this was among four sonnets posted last year by a guy going by blown_through on twitter, and its the best contemporary poem I have read thus far

Dream Deferred -- Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

>>24096017
You aren't the arbiter of poetry. I prefer a style that was developed and still practiced by a small group of European peasants. Retards like you keep acting like that's not a valid tradition because it's not the same exact rehashed shit you learned about in your burger propaganda institutions.

>>24096017
>>24095987
Why not critique and point out flaws so that we can improve? That's a much more effective way to start reading good poetry on /lit/ than is complaining.

Did I find you with a hail mary pass,
Threading the needle for a deep connection?
Or did our eyes meet through enchanted glass,
Polished for us to meet our soul's reflection?

Mysterious this mirror seems to be,
Tempting our loved ones also with it's spell,
How marvelous when they peered through to see,
A kindred spirit call to them as well.

As hardy plants persist in gloomy weather,
Perhaps we'll learn a thing or two from them,
We're stronger if we stand and twist together,
our odd pedals bloom from an odd stem

As we look at the past year and beyond,
Remember, hard times forge the strongest bond.

>>24095987
>>24096017
>goes to amateur poetry threads on 4chan
>complains about finding amateur poetry there
>postures as better than everyone
>of course doesn't post their own
Quite the lives you lead.

In heaven men bear witness like blue herons
To women's whirling warmth like summer wind
In hell there is no hate nor affection
The air stands still and silent to no end

Previously on Hoosy When He’s At Home: “Hoosy, I’m hooooome!”
Hoosy, who’s halfway solved Sunday’s sudoku grid using natural
Logarithmic logic cuz why not, wisely asymptotes his easy love-face.
He’s at ease when he’s a tease a tome. And she’s our exitlessless moon.
She’s puzzling little oreo. “Oh, come on cookie, must you bore us every time?”
Hahahoohoo, excellent! Hoosy hoot who’s ever home: she always says that line.

Cold-cut opening: the snoozy stareman’s breakfast be the motion of Seline;
With waffle waitress warble, she says: “And u-babe?;” and he, deep Homer,
Rejoins: “Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck ‘em!” “I reckon it’s high time,”
Simpers curve-smiled Lina, “that you feed The Gizmo” – their dog, a natural
Merle Dane, faithful, unhaggard, hoongry. P’aws. “Eva atque wally, moon-man.”
“Peace out, rainbow trout.” Gone, with sandwich. He twiddles till his exitlessless love

Face volitant day’s reregard and we see wolf-floater don her tenebrous love-face,
Panning up, entoptichron. Ep. 3: “Blastoff, Arf-stronaut!” The Gizmo gets front line.
“Hoof!” wuffs Hoosy’s hund with kenneled handiness, but fewer craters on the moon
Than context crittering, germinating like a Russian doll set, in that semi-antic home-
Word-bound syllable. Hoofhooffafa, axes bent! Pora Pora or a bora? How unnatural
This honeymoon peek into The Gizmo’s hermitage, its shedding head. Newman time!

EPITAFFIO:

Giace ivi anonimo cartario
celibe sì, ma involontario
fu di vita modesta e borghese
mezzo povero e marchese
morì solo, senza pianti
destino crudele; rime libere.

poetry is /lit/'s only hope

I’m pulling into my apartment parking lot
Bob Dylan playin and buckets of rain
Filling up behind my the ridges of my eye lids
À neighbor is walking to his car with a scowl
And im glad he’s in a hurry for Im much ashamed
Much like God sitting before creation
I weep for these, my lonely and decimating thoughts

>>24096017
kys retard

>>24096250
poetry love!

>>24095987
>>24096017
There is roughly a 100% chance that these guys posted poems in this thread and are butthurt that no one critiqued (read: complimented) them.

>>24085569
French
I’m trying to get my poetry collection published so I can’t post the original unfortunately

>>24096719
post more! if you feel like it

You must be tired after twelve brief years
In which you’ve proven my most honest friend.
Therefore, my friend, please quell your abstract fears,
And God to you will abstract pleasure send:
Unending dream reels laced with lullaby,
Where precious life can never die again.
Could this relapsing sentiment I’d fain express
Towards eyes that whisper love before distress,
Which saw me, distant, daily and with love would quake…
Could this, this state of vacuums, be heartbreak?
Dream not of me, for I was not your friend.
To dream of me would blind you to no end.
Dream of the soul. Now sleep, recline, expand,
And dream that which I cannot understand.

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What best resembles the view of nature for the bugman? Nature as the spark of human action, like an Emerson poem? Nature as a mirror of humanity that detaches oneself, like a Robert Francis poem?