I once tried to make a couplet of spoonerisms
Harder than I thought and flightly soolish.

>>24824368
Is this a painting of Vladimir Stroitel? Amazing life story. Since childhood he had a dream to weld his own rocketship using the scrap iron from tank factories near where he grew up. And even though he burst into flames on the launchpad and became a quadruple amputee, he still inspires us.

>>24824368
Forgotten god of Roman dead
Thine dog doth watch in blackest night
The boatman circles closely hence
His river borders thy domain
Your wealth could not suffice to halt
Those living souls as hand from glove
For writing far away they’ve set
Your clan apart from theirs above

If there are an infinite number of natural numbers, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two natural numbers, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and… then that must mean that there are not only infinite infinities, but an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities, and… (infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and…) continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and…..(…)…

>>24824368
Revised this "sonnet" I posted in the last thread

Rapid, the air’d begun to cool, and quite
a sharp drop-off in temperature as well—
as breezes do on many an autumn night
when April fails in muffling the Sun's fury
during his daily tear across the sky.
The walls of my new house were thin; the gap
below the front door wasn't guarded by
a thing, and I felt the sting of the East Wind
rubbing its Ocean-scented unguent
over this irritated scab of Earth
I live atop, as it seeped in—intent
on salving every bit of my living-room.
I might've born the chill a bit better
were I not already down to my undies.

...and added a few bonus lines. (Basically, the guy is standing in front of the TV in the front room while waiting for his bath to fill, and getting undressed in the interim)

I took them off as well, if you don't mind,
while I was standing by for my bath-time;
my mammalian paraphernalia
were stiff enough to fashion diamonds with,
whereas the one that turtles1 have went hiding…

Me makey poopy.
Big poopy.
Wa wa ga ga goo goo

when I heard you speak
it brought back all sorts of things
I’d like to forget

>>24824851
2deep4me

gungnir savages the creamy pure
needlestrike through threaded fate

old prickeye

I hear that sweet old melody
To others I seem just as jubel
In the backseat of my memory
I only taste salt and gravel
From the juden filth in Germany

First poem ever I don't even know the rules. I tried to justify using jubel for rhyming purpose (I'm not even German)

>>24824916
Trash

>>24824947
One man's trash is another man's treasure

Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po

I am the space you inhabit,
the dead leaves you trample upon
while walking to your faculty.

I am that stone that nearly trips you,
that fit a decade ago, but now
is just a passing annoyance.

i am the still-looking air that
expands and contracts to your
voice, like water waves.

i am the walls of lecture halls
that absorb those sounds eternally -
though you have left for years.

you pay no mind to me,
but somehow i know,
dead leaves are not dead, but live eternally.

Loyal to my hated master
A wolf made a mouse
He left to the hereafter
His dog now in your house

You were a diseased drunk
I chewed through your chains
You stumbled, I struck
A wolf made king again

I think I saw and felt
The last spark of my youth
The moment I stepped out of the
Opera Metro station
In Madrid

For a brief few seconds it flickered
The smallness of everything on Spanish streets
The smell of cigarettes smoked indoors
The tiny elevator, so foreign
The ecstasy of new folds on fresh spirit
Pure experience before it becomes decrepit memory

I was 21 again
When I saw cervecerías
Closed for their afternoon siesta
It has been so long
I felt the anticipation of a first drink
A flash of my former self
Less jaded, less bitter
I was going to be a doctor
I had friends again
And this was before they just became drinking buddies
True friends
By the time I entered the apartment i was me again
I sat on the balcony and hoped the feeling would come back
A pathetic starving fisherman
Throwing his line into the long polluted sea
We can never go back, and even if we could
We shouldn’t
we might get glimpses of how we were
The glimpse is what’s good for us
To live in it would make us too soft
I wonder if all memories, good and bad
Are painted in divine rays of light when looked on from afar
A neurobiological trick
To make a sterile hospital deathbed
Or a gory end on the steppe
A tolerable finale
so long as we can think of youth and home

the last lick of flame
Before the smoke comes
Bleeding out like a severed artery

I think this may just be what I tell myself
The times really were that good.

>>24824951
Bars

bump

>>24825535
Inserting random
Line breaks into banal
Content

Loyal to my hated master
A wolf made a mouse
He left to the hereafter
His dog now in your house

You were a diseased drunk
I chewed through your chains
You stumbled, I struck
A wolf made king again

In our youth I looked up to you
You could never die
As you faded so I grew
As I ate your flesh I cried

You forgot yourself but I remember
Eyes of glowing ember
Sun to my dark December
When will it be dawn
(When will it be dawn)

I'm king to a corpse in hell
Like a dog I run
From the darkness that fell
When the wolf ate the sun

A thousand years pass
A wolf made a seal
With eyes made of glass
And no knees to kneel

Thought I heard your voice
A mirage or a ghost
Offering a choice
I ferry for the Lord of hosts

You forgot yourself but I remember
Eyes of glowing ember
Sun to my dark December
When will it be dawn
(When will it be dawn)
https://suno.com/song/c4b4fdb2-40f0-4ba0-8240-635a388f627e
The Heruli (warwolves) tribe were mercenaries that served under the Huns, then the Romans, then participated in the fall of western Rome and the kingdom of Lombardy. As a culture they didn't survive there but some returned north to their origins around Denmark where they eventually Christianized under the Roman church.

My fair Pomona owns an apple grove,
And from a cord around her throat its key
Hangs tempting me.

For when we pledged ourselves in mutual love,
'That grove,' she said, 'this key of yellowed bone,
Be mine alone.'

And I, half-dazzled by the winter light,
Said—Yes. It seemed so pure and quaint a vow.
It's autumn now.

And what beyond that gate keeps her all night,
How come those rotted apples stain her dress,
I cannot guess.

Are you guys able to recite poetry from memory?

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>>24829010
the two poems i know by heart are Keats's To Autumn and (for some inexplicable reason) Upon the Late Storm, and the Death of the Late Usurper Oliver Cromwel, by Edmund Waller

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a pastiche of 18thC pastoral poetry, which i've posted here before but has since been somewhat tweaked:

When Applepip, fresh from the hunt, slid down
The smooth green slope which waving poplars crown,
And on the dewy grasses draped the deer,
She saw Mirtazapine approaching near:
A long-forgotten friend! Mirtazapine
Himself addressed, while she remained unseen:
'Three summers now, innumerable nights,
Alone I've spurned all pastoral delights,
Forsaken groves where shepherdesses dance
And swains their honour and their virtue chance;
So have I hidden on this mountainside
Since cruel Phillillys my suit denied.'
Just then, Phillillys, couched within a fold
Where thistles bloomed, and fleecy she-goats strolled,
Woke up. Drunk gods their summer sunlight shed;
Deep she had slept upon her natural bed;
The empty wineskin in her one hand clasped,
The other o'er her aching eyes she cast.
Why feels she so amiss beneath this vale?
Its tufts of thistle and its she-goats pale,
The morning sun which gods above provide,
Nor pleased her sight, nor eased the dread inside.
For she had dreamt (and goatherds trust such signs),
As she stepped slowly through those unknown pines,
Across her path a mangled goat-corpse lay;
A bloody head it raised, and seemed to say:
'Goatherd, attend. The primal powers bid
That I inform you what the Fates have hid.
See my red fur; my downy throat cut through
Will look like mercy when they're through with you.'

>>24824952
What is this about?

>>24829544
being ignored by a woman probably

>>24829544
being alive on the page, probably

>>24829544
NTA but it reminds me of two things I sometimes think:
1.) The past and places inaccessible to anyone are indelible in a way beyond us, even without observers.
2.) That the world exists "beyond human influence" in this essential way is comforting despite it suggesting an underlying disunity between us and things.

Usually it's the night sky and imagining other planets and stars that renders these thoughts in me, though.

As a counterpoint to this glad "fullness" and ineradicability of the world independent from us (from "its perspective), I wrote something (bad) last year around this time that seems relevant to this interpretation I made up of that anon's poem:

"This green apple's bleeding autumn
as teeth strip the departing orchards;
accomplice to every ciderhue eating summer green,
and kin to what chisels mountains: the gnawing stream.

Time would die before the same stealing.
Our sentence: never again will things be whole or healing."

I didn't figure out how to express my full thoughts and sentiment about the subject in a way I found poetically satisfying.

>>24829010
yes.

>>24829010
yeah.

slow heat rising from the pavement
couple of stray dogs at the world’s far end
silhouettes walking across the soft summer sun
they vanished into the white blur

void filled with scant verdant fields
gravel roads and abandoned trailer houses
sound of a sparrows trill, a crickets pulse,
time burnt out slowly like embers of a dying flame

Years on, I wonder if she’d pause,
squint at my voice, my worn out face.
She’s married now, kids, they say.
the screen door creaked and i started dinner

bump

>>24830263
sounds like black metal lyrics

I never wanted
things between the two of us
to end up like this

Impressively expensive shoes
Chariots of high repute
This is not a a boast or ruse
I'm going hard on the lute

>>24832289
Why would it be a boast or ruse…

>>24832314
He is "keeping it real".

>>24832372
The line just seems jarringly out of place.

the smell of wet smoke and hot breath
birds that nest on a barren tree
in the forest the sunset is breaking
soon to be twilight
where i'm supposed to be.

>>24832289
I grant your minstrelsy and pointed shoes
Might, for a while, some courtly dames amuse;
Perhaps the pages will, with jealous eye,
Regard your stylish chariot roll by.
But know, O dandy, that a dandy's power
Fades like the waning of an evening hour.
Your lute-string breaks, the mud your horse enmires,
The dame grows bored, and to her bed retires,
Black night descends, and now, with sharpened blades,
The jealous pages lurk among the shades.
Boast all you want; nay, prove your boasts are true;
The grave, the patient grave, still waits for you.

>>24833097
bathetic

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>>24833142

>>24832433
You just don't understand rap culture like I do.
>>24833142
What's your problem?

>>24824851
Be careful, Rupi Kapoor will take this and stretch it across 3 separate pages

>>24833676
Let me live, man. I was in my feelings. Also, I doubt Rupi is capable of writing anything that long.

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>>24833676

e^(pi(i))+1=0

I have no idea what it means

Yet it is the most profound thing that I have ever seen in my life

>>24833770
I get his point, but his satirical poem is actually kind of cool. Anyway

My memories are maladies; I cannot seem to breathe
It's clear that my companion is caught between my teeth
Companion? Compost! She's left me here to die!
And yet there doesn't seem to be a single way to cry -
Well, maybe one;
One single salty tear;
If I dwell upon the feelings of having had you near,
If I turn this shredded mind to make the smoothness of your skin -
If I think upon the fact that you are fucking him -
Ah, there it is!
Could you be happy now?
To see me writhe in agony, while you are freshly plowed?
And rooted with his seed?
Is this what you want from me?
Is this why you still call me when your heart starts to bleed?
Why is it I still answer?
Is this what you mean to me?
Ah. But again,
It drains away - suddenly
My well-practiced numbness drives away the pain,
And drags it down below to await my touch again,
So that I can function.
My memories are maladies, but they don't mean much to me.
I keep them in a box, a locked box,
Far away.
So that I can breathe.

Two plus two equals four
I have no idea what it means
My ex wife is a whore
I know math in my dreams

Have some short garbage.

Silver and gold - riches untold!
Bring in the men from out of the cold!
O, worthy sons, wrapped in your furs,
To your militia all else must defer!
We go for their women, their houses, their gold,
We'll take able bodies - scrubbed and then sold!
We'll cut out their bellies to see the sweet steam,
We'll cut off their heads and slurp up their dreams!
Inshallah!

the trees are bleeding again
i just wanted to go for a walk
but you're being fresh with me, aren't you?
yes, yes, i can hear you
no, no, it's not a problem anymore
but thanks for asking
you horrid bitch
call again soon!

willing to accept it now that i have no other choice i suppose but
willing to come here every day and talk and let them talk and
willing to drive five miles out of my way every day every day every day and
willing to feel my eyes jiggle in their sockets as they try to get in my head and
willing to hear the same shit again and again and again and again
and again and
and again
willing to tell everyone that i've done it again, i suppose, but

Honey, Daedalus is calling again!
He wants to know if you've found the ground yet.
Should I tell him you're still falling?

>>24824368
no

>>24834415
I won't bite.

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>>24829010
About three or four Larkin poems, yes.

I will never post my own work
Nor critique others
Even that retarded Turk
Instead I hide under my covers

We matched on Tinder
But never met.
We never talked,
But even yet
I think of you.
You wanna bet?

You unmatched me
For no reason
Like an act
Of high treason.
During Fall,
My favorite season.
I'll never meet you
In real life.
You'll never be
My wetted wife.
I hope you're happy now,
But I really don't.
I said: I do.
But you said:
I won't.

I did not realize you were there
until, say, fifteen minutes passed.
and when I did, I looked away
and tried to keep my gaze downcast.
and when you spoke, I tried to feign
composure—what else could I do?
I left because I could not stay—
it made me sad to look at you.

i wasn't meant for poetry
for the clever casting of words
but i did once have an interest -
borne mainly from the Greeks -
and i began to wonder where, exactly, it came from
i went so far as to go around the world for it - as i am quite a wealthy man -
oh, the things i found!
from the rainy streets of Rome, which ran black with oil, as though absolving of their sins,
to the
moonlit hills of Ireland, which glistened with soft, cold dew,
to glittering, vibrant orchards, where Bacchanalian fruits practically burst with luscious juice as soon as they grazed my fingers;
wasn't there
and i loved, of course, and lost, a number of women,
snd thought maybe to find poetry there,
for each was a fractal, their complexities ranging, spiralling through an infinitude of
parent-guided childhood bakings
first makeup applications
previous beaus (each worst than the last) -
i kissed their pearl-white fingertips, saw diamonds glitter in their eyes,
bade tearful goodwells and
threw the occasional lamp against a bedroom wall...
i felt the wrenching pains of their presences and absences;
i learned more than i could comfortably relate,
and i found a wealth of
humanity
that still sets me to reflect, on occasion,
but
no poetry
exhausted, i went to talk to the poets,
to ask where, exactly, they had got it from
and, i got the same answer from each one;
from men much less traveled,
and virgins, even,
and one even blind,
had all pulled it out, like viscera, to smear it on the page
i needed only what i had inside!
elated, i tried it myself, but found,
to my great dismay,
that there was nothing in there at all.

no maybe the weird shit is rushed through mumbled speech
jammed in hysterical incomprehension: hermetic
jar patched to stop leaking down
syndromed over this traffic beyond / keeping it in
merely eavesdropping on podcasters babble
it arrives: digging deep into rabble
to unearth a space shuttle
boarding in
out the stiff pause.

I go Zizek on this pussy capital reaching anti-socialist depths of aristocratic gnosis
un-equalized through coherence disintegration
as she smells my pneuma and wants to comprehend
eternal means that need no end
now she's a river once it was sand
I swim those waters masked like batman

cloaked in leather human flesh
beneath — a pulsing fury (fresh)

while I compose a poem (hymns)
you won't hear 'em elsewhere (like films)

saturn day morning deep cartoons
[guess which word does rhyme with cartoons?]
I do not drive nor have car tools
what saves the wise, redeems the fools.

>>24824572
What was your inspiration?

I paid the ticket at the gate to watch the beetle race.
As I entered I could still feel the rain upon my face
Climbing stands; within my stomach I ached with anticipation.
As the people there began to cheer for the occasion
I took my seat and fixed my eyes upon the beetle's shine.
Within my eyes: the beetle made me glad that he was mine.
Mine alone, the people there could never understand.
To have that shining beetle nestled in my shining hand.
The rain did cease and as if at once, the sun began to rise.
The moment that the light had hit the beetles eyes.
He started fast upon his race straight to the finish line.
Before my eyes could focus: he had left his smoky trail.
His opponent, me alone, inside his smoky gaol.
I awoke, slowly, then the sun began to set.
The beetle was now gone, I sat alone and wept.
In his place was but a stain, a shadow on the ground.
A pile of hollow soot; within an ashen mound.
To watch the beetle race again, one must pay a toll.
To feel his light upon my face I'd give away my soul.
I never felt again the way I felt that day
But when it's dark and I'm alone I watch him run away.
The beetle's race it lights me up, when my whole world is dark.
Till I weep and lo' I see, alone the Beetle's mark.