moon fades as sky rises
frogposter yawns
playing games with no prizes
a new thread dawns

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series ain't nothing but a
bitch lasagna

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
Look at T-Series they just
crying for their momma

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series ain't nothing
but a bitch lasagna
Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series just wet
themselves in their pajamas

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>>24870923
I've got a book of Walt Whitman poems on my shelf that I've never read. I don't read poetry. I just have this book.

>>24870923
I walk the path that others wrought,
No need to work my own,
No stumbling, tripping, bruised knees,
It always leads me home

No broken nails from fingered dirt,
No dust within my lungs,
I'll sing the song that others wrote,
And leave my own unsung

And one day hence I will look back,
Advanced though I am in age,
The freedom of the road I thought,
Was really just a cage

Exercise
describe a building while you are sad without saying you are sad.

>>24871105
I will start by posting this one anon made in another thread cause its lit

It was of course
Gray
Not gray as commie blocks
Are gray
Since they have
By design at least
The gray that is directed
To somewhere
Vectorized by someone
With at least some purpose

It was the shade of gray
That you touch
But does not touch you back
That neither gives
Nor asks - gray for its own sake

And rocky - yes it was rocky
But sanded down to edgeless
That tells it could have hurt
Or that it had hurt before
But now it barely scrapes the finger

It had windows - many
Into the most marvelous living rooms
That you can't inhabit
For the hardest I looked
I saw no door

>>24871105
The red brick building of the past
Was once a sight most gay;
But nothing good does ever last,
And now the bricks are... le grey.

>>24870974
throw that faggot's book into the fire. it's better you don't read poetry at all than begin with whitman

>>24870923
That time when people say the
rippled waterlake heals a suff-
-ring heart: at night in the
University of Malaya.

When speckles like stars litter
the floor of the bus that comes
right on time, e'en stiller were
the lights that hang above us,
radiating their golden sight.

And the starless sky was eke
above us, red like rosy flesh,
polluted by our little lights.

One night the stars were present
and blown by the wind. I laid my bo-
-dy flat on the bench, beside the
sleeping ducks. I was starving and
you were there for me. I looked at
the moving stars above and
pledged to thee: i shall improve.

i was not keen to continue living
but i shall improve.

Poems about food? Preferably ones you enjoy

I am not really a poetry kinda guy, but for some reason I have been inspired to read some Greek poetry, where am I to begin?

Monke , 9-8-2022


Why when gorilla eat banana
Gorilla big and strong, but
When I eat banana I no big and
Strong? How gorilla only
eat grass and banana and
have big muscle, but
when I eat banana I no
Have big muscle? Gorilla
No work out and he big, but
I work out lot and I no big.
I want to be like gorilla.
Gorilla look how I want to look

>>24870974
>I don't read poetry.
>frog post
We know

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>Let the candidate fill his mind with the finest cadences he can discover, preferably in a foreign language so that the meaning of the words may be less likely to divert his attention from the movement; e.g., Saxon charms, Hebridean Folk Songs, the verse of Dante, and the lyrics of Shakespeare—if he can dissociate the vocabulary from the cadence. Let him dissect the lyrics of Goethe coldly into their component sound values, syllables long and short, stressed and unstressed, into vowels and consonants.

Have any of you have actually done this?

>>24871740
Yes. Once when I was in a very chinese time in my life.

>>24871740
Didn't he stress imagery over everything else? Because images are easier to translate than rhythms.

Post poems you losers I want to read something nice

>>24871763
No, not at all. You're confusing on the one hand Pound's Imagism, which as a movement never emphasised imagery at the expense of sound, with Pound's analysis of three aspects of poetry: melopoeia, phanopoeia, and logopoeia. He mentions that phanopoeia is far more easily translatable than melopoeia, but he never claims that this means phanopoiea is superior. On the contrary, Pound was probably more concerned with the musical aspects of poetry than any other poet of the 20th century.

>>24870974
Whitman is sublime. Give him a read. Song of Myself is yet to be surpassed.

>>24871818
>which as a movement never emphasised imagery at the expense of sound
interesting. by the title I assumed it would, even just slightly.

>>24870923
To see the moon in all its awe,
like a swan floating delicate on the lake.
A single red car directed toward
the bay and the city, overlooked.
The driver's gaze, a gloomy touch.
Inside his coffin of safety's clutch,
thinking about the next day's affairs
of work and books
in comfortable chairs.

>>24870971
>Ourhailit
>gyds
>nixt
>wyf
>teils
>sawis
>teichit
These are the only words I don't understand.

>>24872010
I like it a lot, would rethink the line breaks but sounds bishop-esque. Nice.

Chalky lines cut into the surface of
suffuse into glittering shadows when
light passes through, carrying
your cherry and blueberry glow.

>>24872233
I don't feel it
Feels like you just choose cool sounding stuff together

>>24870974
You should read that book. Whitman is just the poet for people who don't like poetry.

Envelope me within you,
Envelope to you from me,
I even lope away.

>>24872502
- Rupi kaur

>>24871740
Every day before breakfast.

>>24872511
Rude

>>24872542
- kaur

Men, brother men, that after us yet live,
Let not your hearts too hard against us be;
For if some pity of us poor men ye give,
The sooner God shall take of you pity.
Here are we five or six strung up, you see,
And here the flesh that all too well we fed
Bit by bit eaten and rotten, rent and shred,
And we the bones grow dust and ash withal;
Let no man laugh at us discomforted,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

If we call on you, brothers, to forgive,
Ye should not hold our prayer in scorn, though we
Were slain by law; ye know that all alive
Have not wit alway to walk righteously;
Make therefore intercession heartily
With him that of a virgin's womb was bred,
That his grace be not as a dry well-head
For us, nor let hell's thunder on us fall;
We are dead, let no man harry or vex us dead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

The rain has washed and laundered us all five,
And the sun dried and blackened; yea, perdie,
Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive
Have dug our eyes out, and plucked off for fee
Our beards and eyebrows; never are we free,
Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped,
Drive at its wild will by the wind's change led,
More pecked of birds than fruits on garden-wall;
Men, for God's love, let no gibe here be said,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

Prince Jesus, that of all art lord and head,
Keep us, that hell be not our bitter bed;
We have nought to do in such a master's hall.
Be not ye therefore of our fellowhead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

>>24871105
stairs

>>24872665
Is this about God?

>>24872705
Yeah

>>24872805
Go to church

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>>24872810

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

is the most profound thing that I have ever seen

and I have no idea what it means,

and I’m pretty sure that no one else does, either

>>24872823
stop spamming this shit, faggot.

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>>24871797

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Daylight breaks, breath of mine
I free my mind, widen my mind
I ride my time like flame in place
One dawn, I’ll wave stone to life
Watch new light fall soft like rice
My laughter rolls out like thunder
So raw it heals, it’s wonder
I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel
I know what this calls for
Where’s my trowel?
Operation mend
Like I’m bored sew my inner world up like corn, rows
My internal storm grows like breathing fog in Oslo
Frozen, then I thaw fast, baptized in warm frost
Like sunlight in the garage
Ease your blink with dreamland’s hush
I love you so much
I love your flaws
I love your need for cause
I love your real touch
I love every last one of you
I ponder digesting stars just to be one with you

I love you so much
I’m triple the mother-lover
Mondo-hearted, full of forward
From banana town manor
My slang step like spirit lizard
I play around, fashion a rocket
Shoot to Mercury for the summer
Extended creation till I recompose my splinters

I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel

From centuries of night
I’ve never burned so bright
Can’t believe I’m still dancing
Can’t believe love lasts this long
I wander off to find my lighter
I don’t return till joy validates
Mankind’s destiny in a bloom

By the way, I don’t pet bleachers
Courtside to soul-seekers
Like I speak truth with kin
No response, bless ‘em once
Incoming second ascent

To be real, I just lift ‘em up (just lift ‘em up)
Them clueless struck by crucifix, light burst out from her gut (burst out from her gut)
Love.

I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel

>>24872832
I’m calling the police

Writing to recall favourite creations,
Writing to recieve standing ovations,
Writing to get paid.

Writing attempting to philosophize,
Abounding with stock, sophisticated lies,
Tame, lame, same, and staid.

Writing to look in a changing mirror,
Writing to a distant unknown hearer,
May-be in the shade.

Writing accidental equivocations,
Ignoring the truly useful vocations,
That will get you laid.

Writing like a slightly-addled youngling,
Milk moustached wanting to show you something,
"Look at what I made!"

>>24872931
Complete shit

You're life is a mistake
The world becomes fake

But you still dream
Someone will give you a chance
To make it right again

>>24873146
>You're life
Don’t even post in this thread. You’re too stupid.

>>24873154
Yer*

London, what’s that in your veins
I scribbled juvenile hymns but the rain got to them
Thankfully
Now it’s the kind of grey that doesn’t speak
Still, some green here and there
London snails are in a hurry too
From Camden to Newham I went on all fours
Dragged my nose on counters without regret or shame
And the posh hat still looks funny
Balanced like a champagne bottle on a queenly stick
Stick it, I still love you somehow
London, when’s the last time you called?
But I’m really blaming myself – that’s the way hate goes
I don’t blame the Indian man, nor the Muslim or the Jew
You shouldn’t either
I say this knowing I’ve no clue.
London you’ve just been got by the powers that be
Just like me, just like me

>>24870971
which collection is this from?

>>24872815
Semite mad

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November

Minty oxford shoes? Or playful boots and a plastic
Bag which grocer gave mother, and mother gave
Me?

The slush came onto the fair season as it fascinated me;
From it he tore me free. The reverie fancied I, and I fancied
She.

The Legion Hall radiator’s invisible flame forged my
Comfort. The the sausages warmed me on
The stair.

The silent auction formed my fanciful
Expectations, that they turn to common
Sense. The ice hockey wasn’t for me.

I slid beside myself —
I went

Imagination comes from that.

>>24870923
The Witches Seven sat about.
Which hectic heptad rattled out:

"Upon all rhymed and metred verse,
We call our half-too-clever Curse!"
"A numpty-numbered, cadence cage!
The remnant of a rancid age,
When flights of frenzied overeach
Bore writing different to speech."
"How blessed we'll be, to hear, at last,
The final knell of jingles past!"

"Quick, Sisters! Sisters! Gather round!
By rhymes unstressed, by stress unbound,
In Frelin Grove we congregate,
To thin Man's verse of what we hate."
"Oh, horrid, horrid, hateful thing!"
"Be careful, Sister, not to sing.
You err more rhythmic than you should,
And that can lead to nothing good."
"A good thing we're not held to this!"
"Indeed. It would be odious.
Suppose our cauldron brewed some borst.
Then we'd be forced (and we'd be forced!)
To rhyme the word that followed it.
Thus neutered is a Witch"s wit.
But worry not, my Sisters weird;
Their jingle-jank need not be feared.

"Men suffer so. But here we're flocked;
A remedy we'll here concoct."

"Let's add a sharktooth in the mix!"
"A mason's stones! No less than six!"
"Into these bubbles must we hurl
The labia of a virgin girl!"
"Deaf mother's ears!" "Mute aunty's tongue!"
"Giraffe's vocal chords by blowfly stung!"

"Okay, then, Sisters, settle down.
We have our broth of earthy brown.
The time is nigh that we rejoice,
But first we must unite our voice.
If we're to vanquish Rhyme tonight,
Prepare yourselves! The Spell recite!"

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"That's it Sister's! Hold on... shoot...
I forgot the rhymer's foot!
Within the cauldron must it plop.
Right. Sorry, Sisters. From the top:"

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"'T is so! The mist of magic flies.
Sisters, we must avert our eyes.
And, in a flash, it shall disperse,
Against the evils of Man's verse!"

"Look! There it goes!" "Wait! Don't look! No!
Okay. We've still got one more go..."

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"Right. Here we are. And ever hence
Shall sound make way for common sense!
A better practice we shall craft;
The language, pure; the effort, halved;
Of form, of Rhyme, of merit, free;
And we shall call it: Poetry!"

'T is just as well no poet knows
That there is such a thing as prose.

>>24874033
maestro

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>samefagging your own inane shit

>>24873891
This is great anon, feels very winterly, comfy and intimate. Gives me the vibe you had much more to say. Great work. Send it somewhere

Reality doesn't rhyme
O what a shyme!

>>24875104
- Rupi Kapi

She shies away from touch
She knows it means just far too much

So crawl away and hide
Inside, embracing absences that linger
When colours seem to die

Feel the weight of the gray above
Raise your hands, embrace the biting cold
And somewhere in your skull, you know
That you'll be coming home alone

>>24873789
Idk found the image online

Poetry should not be read aloud. I know no one will agree with me but I’ve never enjoyed a poem more after hearing it read aloud. If anything I’ve liked them less.

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I like Goblin Market :) A nice Halloween poem about licking fruit juice off your sister's face, and the dangers of getting dicked down by foreigners

Any other poems about goblins and whimsy and being a proper Victorian girl would be appreciated.

>>24875868
Do you subvocalize when you read poetry? Have you ever read it aloud yourself? Ever heard someone read out their own poem?

gender bender blender
return to sender
to mender the gender
blunderbuss thunder

>>24876365
blunderbussed thunder
would be better

>>24875868
isn't that the whole point of writing in meter?

>>24875868
>>24876501
Poetry out loud has been done best by rap/rappers. Using traditional meters really seems awful and overdone by comparison - like slam poetry

>>24876732
i wouldn't consider something like parzival, faust, the iliad, and so on comparable to slam poetry. afaik classic poetry and epics were meant to be orated or sung or a theatrical production

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Here is my first ever work, thoughts?

>>24875897
>about licking fruit juice off your sister's face, and the dangers of getting dicked down by foreigners
thought it was going to be about goblin siblings. that would have been better

Poeminho do Contra

Todos esses que aí estão
Atravancando meu caminho,
Eles passarão...
Eu passarinho!

Under the Moonlight, Anon Attends a KPop Demon Birthday

Hunters shimmer beneath the dripping leaves,
their posters breathing the perfume of old.
The children gather, hands full of small hope,
masks catching the last silver of the moon.

>>24870923
Dyr bul shchyl
ubesh shchur
skum
vy so bu
r l èz

Well Water

a creature born from memory
burdened by your living
and you drive it under whip
at a weary gallop

you bounce your heals on its sides
cross railroads under twilight

and a string
attached to the small living thing
at your center
wound around the anxieties
conditions and years

it's dry and it's frayed
but one day
it will pull you like a wind
after all your wandering

the thread
was on page ten
he bumped it
actually it was page nine

>>24877157
it's genius

bum bum fa techno
como sintosizo senza baterio
gente balla su di un beat
ta-dum, bam bam
dj spin that shit, ye
como stroke electrico
va viene si
melo-Dio,
bum bum, fa techno YUP

there's soup on my feet
and I'm eating soup
made of feet

I've been wanting to write for a while now, but I've been scared to try. I wrote something and I'd love to get some honest feedback and advice.

How could I explain to you that a tree made me happy?
That I was strutting back to my car, in a strip mall with an rusting, rotting, ecosystem of storefronts with unwashed windows and unkempt weeds,
Clutching a thin paper bag, with board games still in their plastic, clattering and twisting in my grip
And I had just passed by where that girl lived, and I could scarcely believe it’s been so long and that all these storefronts died, choking on the concrete of empty parking spots
And she loved these roads that no one traveled, because she felt she owned them
And she would make me tea and we would marvel how wild and tangled her home was,
And the air outside felt so thick that I would hurry inside and there’d she’d be, beaming
And there it all is again, a dismal, shaded place with untamed trees and I understand them now, that no one should ever crawl back down this road
As I walked by on that cracked pavement, a small tree was planted and told it should shade the cars that came by,
it must be awfully lonely there,
But it was flowering away because what else could it do but persist?
There I was, awash in music, because I feel a movie should have a soundtrack, and
By God, as Nat King Cole told me he loved me,
Its petals gently cascaded, carried by a short breeze
And I was there to walk underneath them, in a meager shade that it did its best to cast
But everything fell right into place, softly and without encouragement That was where my contentedness thrived,
through the cracks in the hot street
And through the tangled, gnarled trees and bush that seemed to swallow the road in its mouth

Conductor we have a problem, 11-3-25


Winterfall. The trainyard where
engines do come to retire. Icicles
dangle from signal posts mangled
Flickering bulbs soon to expire.

Then come the sparks and grinding
The frictional shrieks of the rail.
Wheel against steel, a racket conceals
A trainhopper’s agonized wail.

Fallen from his boxcar
Too drunk to fight the deepened frost.
A piteous mess of mortal distress
Stinking of blood and exhaust.

Hand over hand he slowly crawls
Dragging ruptured entrails.
Indifferent trains haul on steady
Chugging along down the rails.

Back and forth, metal on metal
An orchestra of grinding and screams.
Some frozen nightmare of no one caring
Where man comes apart at the seams.

Where no one speaks aloud in notice
That a life has been destroyed.
That’s what enables the narrow time tables
To keep trainyard men employed.

So it ends the lives of vagrants
Crushed between rail and machine.
Same-day shipping, frozen flesh ripping
An engine atop blood builds steam.

Not for one life, nor a thousand
Will soon operations compromise.
Not worth an iota compared to the quota,
That schedule need be revised.

Flesh enters one end, Gold received from the other
An unceremonious trade.
But shine loses some of its luster, once it’s seen
How exactly the sausage is made.

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I'll share a couple translations I did recently. The first is from Gottscheerish, an old German dialect still spoken in Slovenia:

«Du̇ hoscht lai oin Ammoin,
oin Attoin dərzu̇ə,
du̇ hoscht lai oin Hoimət,
Gottschəabarschər Pu̇ə.»

"You have just one mother,
just one father, too,
you have just one homeland,
and Gottschee is you."

1/2

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>>24881561
2/2

This is one stanza from Georg Heym's Deathwatch (1908), one of his few works which doesn't appear to have been translated:

Wie ein Wort, im Dunkel verloren
Ehe das Herz es begreift,
Wie ein Traum über einsamer Seele
Klingenden Gründen verschweift.

Like a word lost in the dark
Before the heart understands it,
Like the dream of a lonely soul
All sense had vanished.

Swallow me, my love, my Goddess.
Gulp my brain, digest my soul.
Kneadle me, your loaf, and leaven,
If you will, but wolf me whole.

If my cares could dare transcend
The gnashing of those pearly gates.
I'd be lost, within a haze,
Without a sense what good awaits.

You give me my life, my purpose.
You are all that's right for me.
Chew me, gorge on me, my darling.
Rumination, set me free!

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You're out there
near the blazing red mountains
enjoying life, getting on, breeding
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

Its been so many years
would she recognize me,
the creak of my voice, my ghost of a face
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

We wrote letters, they smell of ink and glue
Did you hold onto them, or throw them away?
Heard you married, had kids, they say.
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

>>24881581
Vorefags like you deserve the rack.

Houston, we have a problem.
Shona smells like nigger droppings.

Gently embrace
Bath in electric light

Last time we spoke
You hadn't said a word
Does that mean love is not real

For 30 years I tried to love you
It only filled me with hate
Retarded fucking whore

>>24880607
I liked it anon. I’m not a poetryman so I can’t offer advice but I like how most of your imagery is based on big and hard concrete things and the poem itself looks like a big tough wall of text

Bow in the presense of greatness
There will be no forgiveness

>>24883485
>claims to be great
>can’t even spell “presence”

That
Anon is a nigger
His poems get bigger
He can't make any sense
Nor can he spell presence

But
This anon is a tard
Writing in metre's hard
He can't get emphasis
To work. Boring and cringe.

You begged me, "Turn away, for sake of ease."
I cried, "You cut my spine to spare my heart.
The blood that’s drawn from mind; a cleaner cost.
You know your heart is beating with my soul."

I wrap you tenderly within my cloak.
The fabric, time, unfolds. We trace a crease
And fingers gently brush. A moment's spark.
This sacred tension unwinds longing's knot.

Our love will be defined when your eyes close.
My eyes between the stars watch you create.
With nothing handed you've made everything.
You granted wonder, calm your breath, my love.

Dreaming hands enclose the space between us.
Feel my warmth inside your restful sleep. Now
Pierce the veil! Let light come shining through it
Granting life. Your cost was nothing, sadly.

Shadow stand beside me, I can't look back.
Charting love unknown that can't be mapped here,
Guiding starlight take me. Make your lines seen.
Trace perfected love in total darkness.

Holy shroud of night I beg with eyes closed,
Blind in beauty's presence sense is stolen.
Take this dance then find our separate stances.
Show yourself now or I'll yearn forever.

>>24883528
Maybe it's no hint of retardation
Per se,
But a retarded way
To say 'anticipation'.

>>24883399
Thank you!

>>24883603
What is this about?

Beleza não vem de dentro
Outrora estaria perdida
Machucados se tornam formas
Peles se tornam feridas
Não poderia cura-las
A casca me incomoda
Em pele viva eu me sinto
completamente vivo agora

Beleza não vem de dentro
Outrora, estaria perdida
Machucados se tornam formas
Peles se tornam feridas
Não poderia curá-las
A casca me incomoda
Em pele viva eu me sinto
completamente vivo agora

All my half-decent stuff is stuck on my dead phone. I should probably dig it out and back it up asap. But here are some different things in different styles:

This fog of coming and going,
Scraped by the setting sun.
To capture a moment in time;
Happiness from the barrel of a gun.

//

"Out of the cadaverous pile", i'm told,
"There rose a figure of symbols and painted gold"
"And hot enough was it's glittering blaze"
"To strike men mad in a hundred different ways"

I couldn't really say if what i heard was true
You know how it goes with stories spun out of the blue
But i just can't say that i don't believe it
Because i saw it too and it was pure fucking evil

//

Driving further out into torrential rain
That deep inky nothingness
Swallowing memories again

Bones are aching and i've run too far
Whether i hide in some house
Or the driver's seat of a car

And i've got pin cushion eyes and a hole in my chest
With a weight somewhere where sentimentality used to have it's place
But it starved and it writhed and so it withered away
And i guess i held it down by it's neck
Because i couldn't bear to hear it complain

Perverted passions in the concrete jungle
Laid bare by fluorescent lights

You're sweating bullets as your balls dangle
Promising carnal delights

They come to stick their cargo in your rudder
They've come to love you like a blow-up doll

You better make it squint, motherfucker
Because your fart was a mating call

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First poem I’ve written in a while - thoughts?

>>24885899
Dogshit. Stop writing.

>>24885899
It's pretty good. Some nitpicks: Dust and stardust in the same sentence feels uncreative. "You do not incur a fee" feels stiff and like a cheap setup for the following two lines, which are actually really good as they are. Also the line "Without being called a reprobate" has too many syllables, clashes with the estabilished style imo. Then, rhyming "shelf" with "myself" sounds a bit cheap, but this bothers me less than the others.

Overall, pretty good. Keep it up!

I have no capacity for rhymes, meter or anything. Still I write as cheap therapy. -

Love went unspoken for so long
Its edges unknown to the most curious of minds
As if infinite, shrouded in mystery
A faint trace of someone’s departure
Never really emptying the spaces -
We built entire cities never bothering to sketch
Now the corners are right
The streets are narrow when they need to be
And the canals can swallow darkness like they’re meant to.

I wish that you would call.
You don’t.
I want you to come back.
You won’t.

>>24885899
You need to understand, anon, that after GPT rhymes are gone. It can be the best poem ever, it will feel GPTlike. Sorry.

Waste of time away
I don't care how they do it
I don't care about that

Wasted time away
Too heavy are the weight of these mistakes
Thats why life is fake

>>24887214
To me, omething feels gpt-like when there is an unnecessary abundance of adjectives, and the tone gives you the impression of having been policed by a corporation's PR department. Its poetry generally misses a beat because, as you might expect, a glorified word-salad machine doesn't have any actual sense of rhythm. A chatbot's rhymed poetry is very much a case of poetic inability concealed (albeit poorly) by the jingling effect of end rhymes. It very often fails to get the meter right, even if you tell it to be strict. A human being couldn't write gpt-like poetry if they tried, because a human being can actually hear the flow of the language they're employing. Anon's poem could be better, no doubt, but to imply that anything other than straying from rhyme will leave a gpt-like flavor in the mouth, is, as far as I'm concerned, nonsense. Then again, perhaps your only or chief exposure to rhyme has been through chat gpt, amd you thus have the impression that rhyme=chatbot. If that's so, then, well, what more can I say?

I
My heart sung,
Like when I was young,
For the music
And the feeling
And the fullness.

II
My love, my love, my love,
With the shadows in your eyes
My love, my love, my love,
Why did you make me cry?

III
O joy that brushes me,
Why do you depart so soon?
O joy that departs so soon
Why do you bump into me?

The loneliest letter of all
It was just waiting to be born

Unto Ages and Ages, 9-29-25

I cut my finger dicing onions
And afterwards the meal did not taste
Very good
Because there were too many onions.
A M240 gunner lies as low as he can in a midway brown ditch
His helmet barely gleams above the opening but it is enough
Blades fly through the air guided by vhs quality headsets
Receiving radio waves, static, finger on a switch with shape charge.
He flanks and hides beneath tanks hull, filled with smoke and skeleton
My microwave beeps claiming the potatoes are ready
I have already thrown out the oniony stew.
Cвятaя Дeвa Mapия, мoли Бoгa зa нac, гpeшных,
He pleads, hands on a rosary
Before turning around and upward spraying .308 into the skies
The 4 legged flier turns towards him, zipping quicker.
His iron sights find one, Bang, an arm down
The pilot blows the payload hoping to reach vicinity
Bang, debris flies blinding the soldier. His eyes
filled with gas and dirt. He stumbles, then steadies,
гpeшных, нынe и пpиcнo, и вo вeки вeкoв,
Continuing, under his breath steadfast.
God, his only witness now.
His finger pulls and he fires into the skies without sight
All while listening, a miracle itself. The device zips past.
He turns 180. Upon drifting back into position it locks onto him
The pilot drives hard, waiting for the vicinity.
The soldier, nameless, sightless, and deaf, fires.
A sideways rain fills the opening ahead, and fills, and fills,
The drone dodges in the area ahead, and fills, and fills,
Until
Bang.

>>24887801
Sure, whatever you choose to believe my man

>>24888500
What is this about?

>>24870923
How do I recognize good poetry

>>24875868
You probably don't know what a poem is actually meant to sound like. The voice of a master verse-reader will always offer more pleasure than silently reading verse yourself because he is capable of identifying, bringing out and perfectly balancing all of the necessary aural qualities, and of course giving it a dramatic power which is so enjoyable in itself. The average person, even poetry fans, does not have a very refined ear, they're not aware of how important sound is in a poem or can even identify what syllable is meant to have what qualities or emphasis in the context of the line or stanza. The music of verse is really the entire point of poetry.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTGkrWFHrLk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uv5KaXpQnpE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpN5UUJiUe4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbK3oh10m_w
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAWaZqDf-VE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr2creTROAY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtyH7LnBwmA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HIgT2IiFL4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tA8cxebp7A
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmDoT1TXV3k
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLUpP9UIlmI

>>24871105
The Magpie House

Wiping away the dust—that clings
to things stacked on things stacked on things
stacked on gallimaufry boxes—
reveals the hallowed temple built,
dedicated to Memory
by wary doting votive will
to live again and forever
by sweet ambrosial history

>>24888741
The missing letter

Out here you wouldn't last a day
Spouting the same shit you do everyday

What's your error
Have you lost your way

>>24889076
>Hearing a poem, as opposed to reading it on the page, means you miss so much—the shape, the punctuation, the italics, even knowing how far you are from the end. Reading it on the page means you can go your own pace, taking it in properly; hearing it means you’re dragged along at the speaker’s own rate, missing things, not taking it in, confusing “there” and “their” and things like that. And the speaker may interpose his own personality between you and the poem, for better or worse. For that matter, so may the audience. I don’t like hearing things in public, even music. In fact, I think poetry readings grew up on a false analogy with music: the text is the “score” that doesn’t “come to life” until it’s “performed.” It’s false because people can read words, whereas they can’t read music. When you write a poem, you put everything into it that’s needed: the reader should “hear” it just as clearly as if you were in the room saying it to him. And of course this fashion for poetry readings has led to a kind of poetry that you can understand first go: easy rhythms, easy emotions, easy syntax. I don’t think it stands up on the page.

>>24889583
Pretty stupid. My opinion of Philip Larkin has declined significantly. Even if everyone could read sheet music, it would still be an inferior means of experiencing the music, because it's a thousandfold less expressive than when performed. The physical ears remain superior to the mental ears. What is missed in hearing spoken poetry is either less consequential or can be later studied on the page, in the same way that the average music fan does not hear everything that is going on in the performance of a Beethoven symphony but can go to the score later to better understand it. Larkin is a depending upon a very modern idea of what poetry is, but the greatest poets in history have pretty much all written verse either very closely to music or with the intention of performance. Yes, the performance can sometimes get in the way if the performer is bad, but great poetry is significant enough to allow for an endless variety in how it is performed without its essential nature being tarnished. As Tennyson said:

>Poetry is like shot-silk with many glancing colours. Every reader must find his own interpretation according to his own ability and according to his sympathy with the poet.

>>24889951
imma stick with larkin

The internet warned me about stairs
yet I was unready.
My foolish pride got the best of me
and stairs claimed another victim.
These doubts ran through my mind as I looked up
at the vast distance I had yet to climb.

I'm friends with a fairy
Take me to Neverland
Call me Peter Pan
Never growing up
Never a family man

>>24890081
This poem is about something that happened to me in the past, many minutes ago. I had to walk up some stairs to get home and it was slightly harder than I thought. I'm pretty much like a Greek epic hero, a modern day Odysseus.

>>24889951
>Even if everyone could read sheet music, it would still be an inferior means of experiencing the music
It doesn't have to be less expressive. Reading music and bringing it to life in my head I can bend it exactly as I want. I'll arrange the instruments, I'll give them voices, and they sound how I want.

Of course the true art, the real mastery, is translating that into real audio, but I would not discount a musician's ability to compose and enjoy music in-mind.

>>24878065
>you bounce your heals

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>>24890674
It's about a Forsaken Priest in World of Warcraft, those are his heals bouncing off because he is no longer chosen by the Light.

>>24890088
is this about being gay?

>>24890823
Yeah

I've set a bookmark in my favourite book
So I can return to if something goes wrong

Something goes wrong
And now I'm gone

Oh
Now I can't turn the page
No matter how much I push

>>24883603
Is this AI? Be honest.

>>24893374
no. i will post my free verse draft that i used before i propped it into iambic and trochaic meter. what does that mean to you btw, to make that accusation? does that mean you think its good? is it trite? you don't like that i didn't answer >>24885459?
took me a couple hours to write the free verse and another 4-6 to "learn" how to write in meter since id never attempted poetry before.
it's exposition for a compact draft im working on as part of a proof of concept of my novel. it's about the concept of nonexistence sacrificing itself to existence to birth the universe as an act of love.
free verse draft:
where are you, my quiet heartbeat? you disappeared into the night after our first dance.
you gave your life to grant me mine. our only embrace felt like release.
you stand behind me, my shadow. let us walk side by side.
I dream of your hand in mine. can you feel my warmth?
you've placed your eyes between my stars; so close and yet so far.
our love is a map unknown. become my constellations.
give my hands something to trace.
let me see you again.

ive conceded my peace. ive surrendered my realm.
i've given you nothing and you've made it everything.
youve granted me wonder- your heart beats gently with my blood
i wrap you tenderly in my cloak; shade cast in your sun.
longing's sacred tension unwinds as this time fabric unfolds.
our hands brush while tracing the creases.
cruelty is our fate misread. will our love be redefined?
close your eyes and you will see me

>>24893506
fuck it i'll post the expository intermission as well since you made me bring it up. i was trying to ape rhyming schemes from goethe while i working on this.

My hand's anointed, hark!
Doused in deepest night,
Finger drown'd in dark.
Leviathan's might:
A string I have pulled,
A tapestry culled.
A-lure is in sight
Where life is seen stark.
That Mother shall bite
When waters bulwark.
Ashore, she takes me
Away. My grip too
Strong, still, for thee.
I've been hailed on land
By a marching band.
Our prince here: The key.
Your distance grants you
False security.
Your secret demands--
Nay! Beckons my hand.
So sons will suffer
Diseases alone.
Ocean borne fruit groans
Unripe! Uncovered!
From Revolution
To this confusion
Failure he atones.
Playing saboteur,
Accumulator
Of flesh rot, broken bones.
Her agnate I’ve dress’d
In funeral shrouds.
To lead her the rest
Of the way through clouds
By hand was my test.
This Prince is my fool,
A broken clay tool.
It’s disfigured form
Dared to defy me
In paradox storms.
Come now, Victory,
You know salvation
Through unity nears.

>>24893506
>it's about the concept of nonexistence sacrificing itself to existence to birth the universe as an act of love.
This is the stupidest shit I've ever read in my life.

>>24893585
thats fine lol. thanks for not answering any of my questions btw. good sign to not bother replying after i post my stuff here.

>>24893588
You type like a retard.

>>24893506
>it's about the concept of nonexistence sacrificing itself to existence to birth the universe as an act of love.
That's one of the things I've heard in my life and I like it. The poem is also pretty ok but I prefer the subject to the execution.

ppreciated m8. i consider pissing off some random anon for literally no reason and getting a pretty ok from another as a big win as far as my writing is concerned.

>>24893629
Stop writing. You'll never amount to anything.

>>24893642
He writes a really good one in 2034 but doesn't post it anywhere. It just sits in his notebook that gets thrown away when he moves in 2038.

IN THE ROOM THE WOMEN COME AND GO
TALKING OF MICHAELANGELO

I’ve been very charmed by Jack Keruoac’s line, ‘Ah, to be free from this spinning meat wheel, and safe in Heaven, dead’ lately. Of course the idea of being dead as a form of safety is humorous yet peaceful, and invoking Heaven makes it kind of timeless and serene, too

>>24893705
Not poetry. Kill yourself.

>>24871233
https://youtu.be/1H3NEp20SlM?si=ud4Lnymv-edi_NTA

>>24893707
Spoken word is poetry? What if i got it in a book of poems here

>>24893713
Isn’t poetry?*

A shiver ran through me,
the land’s sorrow and strength rising through my spine
with the weight of an old, singing earth,
Cape Town’s granite mountains breathing history into my
restless Atlantic tides.

Days gone by
Those halcyon days

What is gone is yesterday

Bye we hardly knew you
Don't know what you were going through

Goodbye, we hardly noticed you
Much less the pain you were going through

It is fun to say you're wrong until you are right
Now lets make up it right
And write it off as another chapter in the book

I took a page from the book
Why are you trying to lie to me
Covering up just to tell more lies

I'll try again to find a reason to have you let me stay
Even though I'm in the red

Even at my worst
I am still the best

>>24885986
as usual the best poems in these threads go by unappreciated

I tore a page from the ill-gotten book
Why, why are you trying to lie to me?
Covered for the sake of telling more lies

>>24895259
Un-(You)'d and unappreciated aren't necessarily synonymous.

Rapidly airedly gunta coolenkwite
an ape had got a temporary tattoo (on its bottom),
a zittle-doo, and Menya Norton might
quell aphid failsons’ aphid failson fury
to wring his deli terracross’s cry.
The wools of my new mouse were tin; the cat
bellows the cunt or is discarded by
the wind, and then I felt this thing in its thing—
Rubingitt’s Soschen-centred ungulate;
Ovid’s eviscerated scarabas;
a liver-top that zits creep in in tens;
Don Salvadore’s kid in my little womb.
I might’ve born the kid in my undies
if I didn’t ba-dum ba-dum my undies.

>>24896151
I like it except for the c word

>>24896194
thanks

poem I wrote a while back, heavily inspired by the greats, etc., but forges it's own path and acts as my own political manifesto.

Man was made to roar and shout
Always let his anger out,
Man is he who reaches heights
Which give women fright
Pull down your pants and wank to Breker
It is the only way to get to heaven
If you dont want to go to heaven
Then let the men who will, use your bum.
Breker statues are bristling with vril,
They must replace nuclear energy
And show man what REAL power is.
And masculinity itself will rule the nation
And cleanse the world of effeminacy

>>24896517
Epic pseud lol

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>>24896517

MMMMM

>>24896151
Much too straightforward in terms of imagery
I mean simply rewrite it in common parlance and you will see

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>>24870923
Tied limbs sinking happily
In draconian lava
Don't make waves

>>24870923
O, O!
O, ooo!
O, Oh!

It is not the presence of love
That makes the candles burn
Instead, the absence of breaths
Of hate
The small rocks we stand on
Are essentially the same rock
Only levigated to various degrees
We labour hard
We don’t look for answers
We don’t even look for ourselves
A pastime for the young
To make and break the spirit
It is a cozy home
We yield from rubbing hands
Together
And if lips can curl into a smile
When the soul is not smiling
The eyes never can
And your eyes are a well
Of quiet

>>24896635
>Much too straightforward in terms of imagery
What imagery? it's nonsense
It's a bastardisation of one another sonnet (keeping the same/similar phonetics for most of it) that I made because I have brain problems

>>24872030
>"ahaled" (made hale, healthy, invigorated)
>guides
>next
>wife
>tills
>soars
>"teached"

gray is what I want to feel
soft in tone, unrusted steel.
but in my heart there lies only black
whispering wicked eyes staring back
crumbled and cracking it remains
unfixable soot wrapped in chains
within this soul a bleeding conscious
destined to create fangled nonsense.

>>24898185
Stop writing. This is garbage.

>>24898185
Keep writing. This is a good start.

keep writing
this is a good start
stop writing
this is the end of art

>>24872901
love the sun love its kind

>>24898185
Fangled nonsense is a ruse.
One will be compelled to choose.
It crumbles not that is not there.
One cannot fix, or break, the air.
Truly wicked whispers, mostly false,
Dance, enflamed, about your ebon pulse.
Stop writing. What is black has never shone.
Or keep it, as you lighten, up, anon.

How do you guys get comfortable with writing in non-rhyming verse?
I've read plenty to appreciate that it can done well. It's not a judgement against free verse or whatever.
Yet I struggle not to to think of a couplet or at least some kind of internal rhyme when writing. Any tips?

I kick time down the road as if it were a bucket of stones
I don’t mind the grey walls and the dirt accumulated on corners
Stark reminders of how far we are from clarity and freedom
I don’t want to drink from the fountain of youth
Manufactured beauty is only true by the hands of the carpenter
Moreover, there’s no order to the vertigo of the mind
Nor swift and tidy consolations for the distances at hand
Sometimes the path is just a highway that never curves
And the little deaths that travel lightly so cheap it hurts
A man with no beliefs is no different from a door handle
A man without obsessions would not find anything wrong with the world.

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My soul is a submarine.
My aspirations are torpedoes.
I will hide unseen
Beneath the surface of life
Watching for ships,
Dull, heavy-laden merchant ships,
Rust-eaten, grimy galleons of commerce
Wallowing with obese assurance,
Too sluggish to fear or wonder,
Mocked by the laughter of waves
And the spit of disdainful spray.

I will destroy them
Because the sea is beautiful.

That is why I lurk
Menacingly
In green depths.

You froze all my warmth
And made me as cold as you.
This is your doing.

>>24901047
Edgelord shit

On the plains of Torgalia
My shadow falls
This fleet of steam rocketships
Represents my cold, dark soul

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I accept criticisms

>>24903814
What notepad software did you use? When I write stuff I want to look at it like this

>>24904023
I use LaTeX

Before the last light dies
and we are buried in our graves
before the wolves come scratching at our door
she speaks from the smoke of a coming war

Before the cities rot to empty stone,
and wild dogs howl at wyrd moons
before the pale Christ comes reaving the night,
long dead stars will be our only light

Il Vecchio, tutto rugoso e ricamato sulla sua panchina.
Le pause fra una parola e l’altra ricolme di sabbia
pronta a riversarsi oltre il ciglio dell’esistenza sua intera
I capelli di spago fine levigati dalle ore ed il sonno inquieto
Ma aveva un sorriso amaro
un sorriso destinato a ingarbugliare i giorni di chi lo aveva provocato
Occhi che svestivano l’anima
Un pozzo di pupille che non erano mere figlie dell’età
E davanti a lui i miei vortici frustrati
E le visioni di fuochi pallidi
Ricadevano su se stessi come stecchini sognanti
Creduloni, convinti di poter girare il mondo in solitudine.

>>24905726
buono

>>24900020
that last line, chefs kiss

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I wrote a blackout poem out of /lit/ posts made on the 20th, and that night a buddy of mine read it at a literary open mic. He swapped which stanza went first (the right choice dezu), but otherwise all the lines were constructed reverse-chronologically from posts made between 17:57:00 and 18:32:51, pulling from Warosu. Made a handful of minor creative choices (e.g., turned --> turn).

>the reading
https://vocaroo.com/1h3tf3E19LXN

>what he read
The trouble with the Jews is that they
see most of the posts here and most of the stuff
is A hot mess. Had to force myself to finish it
not all of them are even bad

You also don't even remember /new/
so you're full of shit
because I can find a book boring or not to my taste
and Iliad mogs in every conceivable way.

Id rather learn german and read it myself in 10 yrs
They said "kill yourself", which I stated is the same as
if you think it is and it is not if you do not
Chad and Stacy Shoujo Enjoyers.jpg

You can go on the site and verify
Paradise Lost is the only worthwhile epic.
when I have sugary drinks
No place on the internet was like that back then
People read slop, like it, and
project their tism onto all

I'm not sure I can quite put it into words
I can trace my genealogy to a minor nobleman in the 16th century
This is the case with all the BAPtards and Yarvinites
What I want is to produce something
women prefer

if you think like this
The Bible is a necessary read for the full context of human thought
What’s the problem?
Peddle your cheese pizza elsewhere
Write Your Thoughts
refutes everyone

I was there unlike you.
Hold your forked serpents tongue.
This might be a bit shortsighted
Unless you can
turn the kisses into actual sexual acts

Dostoevsky is just a Doomercuck
a decoy protagonist
a neitzchemutt
This book is bussin.

she still has to cook and clean
damn bitch
you The only reason why there's divine engagement
in a greentext

I'm trans btw
it feels like being in quicksand all the time
in an off-white bone color, sewn rather than glued
You may surprised by what you are.

Philosophy is an inward movement and trite banality
I'm going to read dark academia
being a sexual deviant
The libra
contrast:
Basically you'll be forever a Mudblood

you should settle down now, so to speak
It kinda ruins the slop that is essentially fascism
until you get to the point that's retarded whichever way you sliced it
it's as good a battle as his motives

maybe instead of all this magic stuff
Joyce was just inconsistent on 4chan
If procrastination wasn’t a problem
it creates another problem
Gratuitous pics
It really is that great.

Deaf-mutes in the den.
Our radio's a reminder!-
Mothers' poison pachinko
Machines, one in every room!

Weep into your espresso
A pick-me-up. Drop it now.
Adult children dot org.
Is it really that bad.

Color-coded closet, a vodka scarf.
Nerveless for tonight's no-show.
Show me your teeth. Oh my god!
Is that when you began to mind, "Matchstick"?

Vulnerable to too much fun.
Thin, asthmatic. Giggler in celestial time-out.
Sails paper planes. Boy or girl?
Holiday bells, lodged in baby throats.

anonymous posts in the poetry thread—
hard endeavoured, hardly read

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>>24906774
that feel when posted two poems in the thread and no one responded to them.

>>24871105
The timbers bent inwards, seizing door in frame
for how long I cannot say. The men inside had long decayed

>>24906788
there there anon, I read them. I just didn't reply

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Dont know where it goes
But its home to me and I walk alone

No tree would speak to me, nor rock,
And in this silence I shall rot,
A beast no more, a man beyond
Unleashed from nature's bond

>>24906017
nice work, anon

>>24903814
i like it overall but what is "unholly?" is that just a typo? leastwise also sounds archaic

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made a break through in creativity and creation of poetry, the idea of word association. create a word association list, a group of words associated with a mood, atmosphere, theme, subject, etc. use the words to create a poem. or Connect sensory experiences to abstract concepts. or
Use a word-chain method, where each word in a list is a direct association from the one before it, to build the poem's foundation. For example, "drink" could lead to "wine," then "red," then "rose," and so on.

>>24906896
Probably un-Christmassy, based on the context

>>24906905
>anon discovers sketching
good on you

I just got nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Lots of mags nominate pieces, so it's not that big of a deal, but it still feels nice.

>>24906896
Thank you.
Yes, it's a typo. It's meant to be "unholy". Thanks for pointing it out

>>24906966
Nice

>>24906966
Congrats anon!

>>24906966
Good for you man

>>24900811
I thing freeverse is gay

Try blank verse at first

>>24870923
Driving my bitchin two-seater
Moonlight in the passenger seat
I pull over to watch her take a dip in the river

She'll swim till sunrise

Like she does every night

How do you explain
These living the rich
It's plain and simple

>>24905726
https://suno.com/song/080d50b0-91ae-4d75-a578-8e5c4c22dc60

(testing gugl translate)
Agito mi botella de mineral sabiendo muy bien lo que pasará.
Onions un bufón majestuoso,
Pero entonces
Tú ya bebiste el tuyo. "Ah" es a lo que me he reducido.
¿Cómo estás tan metida en el fuego?
Cuando maldigo al viento con mi cerilla inútil.
Apenas voy por el primer párrafo.
Y tu ya estás traduciendo el epílogo en un dialecto danzante.
Eso podría ser amor o asesinato verbal
Dependiendo de la hora del día.
Y lo que un simple mortal como yo llama Otoño.
Para ti es solo el rubor de los árboles al pasar.
No me apuntes con esa cosa, pero apúntala.
Ese es el punto.

>>24870923
The only difference between chest and butt
is that a butthole may be filled

I tasted her ebony skin like honey over river rocks,
a slow tide folding centuries into each exhale,
Grey-beard plows her yet her curves still rise toward me.

We are here, undeterred
Just waiting for god to swallow us
There’s a place I know
But it’s beyond our means
I keep the sweet things
Holed up in my heart
And the lonesome words
In pairs, always
It is essential to give back
So that what little we have
Can be ours

Even though I will not see it
For hope
It is a selfish wish
'For(e) hope
To see them saved
It is a thing with wings
To carry to the future

How do you write but no, or out of milk
Kitchen is a trial scene in a B movie
Well it’s midnight stuff happens
This is what the owl says, what are you
Fluid with everywhere to go
But wait. The body is a lot of laws agreeing
“we are finite”
Ah shit. It’s true.
So how do you put any of this in a mailbox
I’m tripping
I’d ring you up if I only had your number

Some cat had to lay down
Outside my window,
Just blocking a flower,
I’d come to love so.

And when that small flower
Came back into view,
By some way, or some light,
There lay something new.

>>24906966
noice. hope you win it

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

I have no idea what it means

And I’m pretty sure that no one else does, either

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

>>24910938
e^(pi(i))+1 = O
is a circular definition
it defines a circle
See that "O" on the far end?
that's the circle defined
to be circular by
O = e^(pi(i)) + 1

First I tread over
icy mud, see it crack into spiderweb
and splash, abyssal puddle hidden
bites my ankles, weighs my socks down
second i kneeled
down to the ground
before a delicate heart worming out, beating, pulsing, writhing tormented
of clammy mud in the hadhramaut
winter wind chills my neck, ex-lover
unbidden
it was warmer when you held me down to drown.
third i stood, socks ruined and boots soiled
Mud on my knees and heart in a little pocket on my sleeve, next to my tobacco
careless of my attention, childlike devotion or toil to
matching dress socks with my outfit (navy blue!) - and both my hearts fire staccato as
down in iced puddle, the spiderweb cracks
split me into ten thousand
fourth, i remembered when i didnt care about dress shirts or slacks
but that time is oddly encumbered by
a muddy heart that buried itself like a razorclam in the muddy sand
twenty thousand eyes in the ice tell me im twenty thousand leagues under
captain nemo doesnt drown, just drifts
fifth, i recall she left only once i was ripped asunder
so lovingly I set that writhing heart on my tongue, choke it down.
heal the rift
and as my new heart beats only now
do i begin to drown

Through mountain mist,
the French language wandered toward her
that drifting mirror of another mind,
fluttering between stones of forgotten time,
revealing worlds she had never seen.

What is even the point of this thread?
Nobody gives feedback, answers questions, or posts their thoughts. Is it literally just archival?

>>24911259
A reminder to write things.
A place where someone reads your writing.
Reading poems for inspiration.

>>24911259
A daily poem
Even if no one reads it
is good for the soul

>>24911000
>there are tobacco smoking Yemenis on this board
cringe

>>24911191
Haven't I told you repeatedly to stop posting your trash here? Awful, as usual.

>>24911259
What is even the point of this thread?
Disregarding my poor grammar above, I say to you, oh /lit/twink, from the top of my head your nubile form tempts roaming hand, as if you led my fennec to your turtle-dove.
Nobody gives feedback, answers questions, or posts their thoughts. Nobody cares for the tempest loose words have wrought. It gnaws at me like a beetle-grub rythmically scratches and scraws inside a felled log, question and answer interpolated in his scritching-scratch thought.
Is it literally just archival? I lamented, but nobody was left to hear, all my turtle-doves fled to greener gardens, all my foxes laughed to xanadu and took up eastern silk hats to mingle with haute cour queers: Is it literally just survival?
To depart point a implies point b arrival.

O time
Thou are fair beyond measure
Yet cruelest
How far is the distance to the origin

I don't get how/why I'm supposed to "enjoy" poetry.

I mean, I get it. Words as textures, conveying feeling as much as idea beyond the ordinary scope of their generalized usage. It's like, mildly interesting. And oh look, it rhymes. Sometimes. How delightfully clever and not computational at all. And then I put down the poem and never think about it again.

In what manner is a poem actually supposed to "mean" something to me to the point where I'm like "oh yeah, I really want to read those words in that order again"?

>>24911937
A good poem has the same appeal as a good song. It's verse, you should be reading it rhythmically and it should sound very pleasing to the ear.

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>>24911937

>>24911963

I hate this reductive view of poetry. Name one Celan poem that you can hum.

>>24912061
I don't read krautbabble.

Raindrops cant in garden green
where sulk bright hibiscus
petals prismatic, dew-clad - squirm
bees - bluebottles waltz though streams
of sunlight filtering films glaucous,
to write glyphs strange like glowworms,

grafting fiery placards to a spine,
roots leagues underfoot wound up.
Bridal veils soaked in rot's ruddy wine,
wrung drip-drop into picnic cups,

as we laze in phantom canopy,
whence lambency saplings haplessly
young grow bold, grow punk,
wide and wizened in the trunk;
home anon of the jay's insipid arts,
set now in scope fair from men apart;

home yet rather to this wild-eyed thing,
nest-haired thing: what witch to lend
onto the pyre - night unraveling -
had we but one coal to spend.

Avow I do my sin of pelt and quill -
that other's tainted scree:
that I share in winge'd arrogance still;
for what befalls that parakeet
dropped lead-like on the windowsill,
that shall not too befall me?

That should not too befall me!
(were I only just so loud/louder in this little drag of mine;
were the stops all pulled, loosed hail of courage
resounding rebates numinous - O dread Carnyx!)

Silence reigns; but then -
the birds can sing, yet have no names.

Being time but fleet
it is sleek to be in time.
Be the fruit in the garden ripe,
may it gum up your teeth.
Be the dew in the garden crystalline,
yellow it gleans in sleeves of tripe.
Be the dripping nectar sweet,
imbibe you its fervid rhyme.
Drunken, pack your pipe;
breathe in this drag of mine.

No linden leaf betrays the backdoor to my heart
No imprudent lover have I to tell of it
No lying friends have I to scheme and strike at it
O Siegfried, I am more invulnerable than thee
And yet for that, thou art more fortunate than me

>>24870923
The King of Rome, O Romulus, I sing
Of every deed and every valour thine
Own eyes had gleaned from every house and street
That stretched across the hills and trees of Rome;
Thou held’st the heart of every chosen one:
The Patres formed beneath thy shadow’s shape,
These hundred heads of houses, known for wealth;
They learned to wield the sceptre, crown, and pow’r
That Romulus had deigned from Lictors’ minds,
Those chosen twelve who sought to govern men
And serve the ruler known to godly schemes,
For gods had chosen thee, and only thee,
To bear the heav’nly sign of Jovan heights;
Thy hands had held the hundred chosen hearts,
And gave the golden coins to every part,
Their sons were born to bear the divine name
Of Patrician, those knights above the flock,
Who swore to love their city-state and serve
The King, to fight for him against the bane
Of barbarian darkness that suffocates
The light of civilisation’s own light;
These chosen ones had lived for Jove’s designs;
So, hearken the songs I sing to thee,
O Romulus, the she-wolf’s babe, thou King of Rome,
Commanding o’er th’ imperial substance
That bore its sons of strongest flesh and bones,
That tilled its loam to bear the seeds of wheat,
That stained the soil with blood and ambrosia!
O patricians, ye walked along the Forum’s floor
And chose the very best of every ware and trade
And bought the flesh of chickens, pigs, and slaves
Alike, to satiate the thirst and hunger brought
By living high above the Roman hills and cliffs,
Thy houses rose above the cityscape,
Thy heads, tho’ brimming now with education,
Had housed the virtues of the master-poets;
Ye lived within the richest, highest tow’rs,
Bedecked with tiles, with slaves, with marbled busts,
Were gorgeous sights for any eye to bear,
Ye ate the goldest succour, drank the wine
That only virgin grapes could ever make,
With tastes that even Bacchus ne’er divined.
As myrrh had ris’n above the air, that Cupid
Himself suffused with lovely scents and sights,
Ye sons of Rome had stretched along the couch
To the lascivious pleasing of a lyre,
As nymphs had danced and choruses had sung
To mortal gods who lived above the chaff
And pleased themselves with whate’er pleased their senses.

Little tingles cross my skin,
Prickly sensations tickle my mind,
Tiny wings flutter in my belly,
Countless ants occupy my head.

My body crawls with writhing insects,
My stomach blooms a garden of butterflies,
My skull teems with centipedes,
They skitter across my mind, seeding poison in their wake.

Lenses of sorrow and a curse of knowledge,
My throat writhes with cockroaches,
My eyes are drowning ants,
Tiny legs torture my nerves.

My body is riddled, infested and rotting away,
My mind is eaten by hungry demons with tiny legs,
My heart is nesting nasty crawlers,
Yet my stomach remains a glass garden of colorful wings.

>>24911937
Hylic.

>>24913171
RETVRN to video games.

>>24913171
>To the lascivious pleasing of a lyre,
maybe you'd forgotten where you read it before (it happens), but that line is plagiarising the famous opening monologue of Shakespeare's Richard III:
>He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
>To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

>>24916078
Are you seriously so fucking dense that you think making a clear allusion to Shakespeare in your poem is plagiarism? Kill yourself.

>>24916090
dense i admittedly am, but i don't know how i should've guessed it was an allusion instead of just an unconscious borrowing. an allusion means something, and i can't see what the reference to that bitter, mocking monologue is intended to mean in the context of this reverential, celebratory poem.

>>24916098
>bitter, mocking monologue
It isn't just one thing. It is a dense monologue that is intended to be interpreted differently and have double meanings. A lot of Shakespeare's poetry has irony, sexual innuendo, or vulgarity that goes over people's heads.
What makes you so sure "Now is the Winter of our Discontent" has only one flat interpretation?

>>24916098
You’re the type of mf to read The Waste Land and come on /lit/ and post a thread saying “Has anyone else noticed that this poem is full of plagiarism?”

>>24916126
In his defence, cribbing poetry was a practice for a long time and many poets passed off superior verse as their own.

>>24916130
In what world is including a single, clearly reinterpreted line indicative of plagiarism and the intention to pass Shakespeare’s words off as one’s own? Shakespeare is so well known that any allusion to his work is going to be immediately recognized by readers. Use your brain.

>>24916137
I wrote the poem. I just don't know why you're going after him. He's allowed to criticise my poetic technique. He said the allusion made no sense, and I'm sorry I didn't make a better poem for him.

>>24916126
i'm the type of mf who can get why a 1920s modernist would want to relate to their tradition through dense allusion, but not why someone writing in a Miltonic style would want to allude to Shakespeare lines.

>>24916110
good point.

Today I stumbled on Prayer to Persphone by Edna St. Vincent Millay in a volume of her poetry at a coffee shop and was so moved by it I had to learn it right then and there. Fuck, that's some feels.

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This poem wasn't chosen by an editor when I sent it out, but I had another poem chosen. What do you think is wrong with it?

>>24917521
It’s awful. Hope this helps! :)

>>24889474
This feels more like nostalgia though. I enjoyed the stacking of things

>>24889951
>>24889990
There are scansion absolutes, and one can hear a poem as much if not better than sheet music, juggling instrumentation. Poets rarely are adequate performance artists enough to do their own material justice. Usually they only give additional cues as to their own internal temprament of their ear, by giving readings.

>>24911937
Read a poem like you would look at a photograph

>>24888861
Bump

Ráð frá Vönum nam
og nafnið Gervidreki
Er garð Freyju fann
þann er gullinn glóir

Boots sink, reluctant.
Icy water swallowing the street.
Soft, stubborn, alive in the trembling mud,
and the puddle, a universe unto itself,
laughs in the dripping boots,
and folds the night around my small, trembling self.
Tracing the street,
folding the night,
in puddles that hold entire skies.

Why is almost everyone here writing in free verse? Did most modern poets abandon traditional meter?

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>>24918228
yes, contemporary poetry is mostly free verse, rhyming and meter is seen as passe, if you use it you use it sparingly and rarely

the key to free verse though is the shift, the surprise, the volta, you can still use poetic devices, its about being indirect, communicating things in a subtle manner.

and yes i know how to write in meter, im just lazy, muh stressed and unstressed syllables

>>24918228
Anonymous in slash-lit-slash has asked:
"Wherefore does meter scarcely haunt this thread?"
his vacant eyes o'er many posters pass
who's laboured verses yet remain unread
by selfsame eyes that cannot scan a line
iambs ungathered, withered on the vine

>>24917521
"This Bile-consumed bondman's own stomach surged." feels awkward to say aloud. I feel as though my tounge is tripping on my teeth

also, shouldn't it be "bondsman"?

also, what is the last line supposed to refer to? what was Caliban failing to cognize? This last problem might be a "me" issue

In a place so full of goo
I reminisce on great kung fu
I think of super hero souls
And mighty mighty flesh eating trolls
My race to space depends on you
Will I fly high or be a fool?

Quit trolling chris

>>24919567
Who is Chris?

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>>24870923
The Great General entered
The Mighty-One sniffed out the cur
Identified my visage shewed my nerve
Identified just how I erred

The great one he
Not Michael-Saint
Not Michael-at-all

The great Mike-y is all - to me - The Kirk

>>24919859
unrelated but it's funny to me how absorbed Europeans are into America's domestic political drama

Abandoned ship among the fields,
The tower, who, be cursed its name,
Produced the shattering that crushed
The proud post of Bane

The normal guy with normal words,
Who sat upon its porch, is gone
The broken windows lie beneath
The withered sign above

'twas once a brothel, then a shop,
But now adrift through sea of grain,
For tyrant Janny had decreed:
Though shalt not seed nor feed again

The tower's ill-begotten name
Were it forgotten't, would be cursed,
Now washed away in Janny's reign
It lies along the post of Bane,
Its weary silent corpse

A bridge where dog and saint converge,
while your two small, trembling hands
brush against the weight of my mistakes.

>>24919946
if americans stopped putting fucktons of money behind our shittiest political forces we'd be more than happy to ignore you forever

It’s almost the full moon

>>24920070
unintelligible

Once lust, once commerce aboard the holodecks,
and the nebulae drink the memory of vanished captains, Sisko, Picard, Janeway,
ghosts drifting in warp currents between worlds.

Once a house of laughter and shame,
Now it drifts, a paper shuttle on fields of cosmic grain.

>>24918228
Modernist poets abandoned traditional meter to try to do something harder and poets gradually lost the formal foundation to really do that effective free verse until none of them could tell the difference between what Eliot was doing and some loser's feelings with line breaks in it. Now most people who do poetry have some vague sense that formal verse is this sing-songy Dr. Seuss thing and that your feelings are more important than counting feet but they also don't have the balls to say Shakespeare and Milton were idiots.

Formal poetry is falsifiable, you can tell when it fails as a form and point out where and why, free verse you can always fall back on "but I like it." Of course bare form can't save a poem but you can understand why poets would prefer to not risk that extra lever of judgment.

>>24922369
>Now most people who do poetry have some vague sense that formal verse is this sing-songy Dr. Seuss thing and that your feelings are more important than counting feet but they also don't have the balls to say Shakespeare and Milton were idiots.
It sing songs because English falls into iambs at an awkward angle for classical feet. I, for one, blame Dryden.

>>24922614
>at an awkward angle for classical feet
Can you explain what you mean in other words? I'm at a loss.

>>24922369
>musiclet cope
Just admit you don't have what it takes to execute meter and rhyme and move on

>>24922721
NTA but modern American English isnt as naturally iambic in its rhythms as other, older forms of English

turmoil comes and raps a whisper
a pain familiar, your heart burns crisper
and so I sit lone and afraid
and see a lighter fate unmade.

Electric screens
My day is good
Glad I made it out the hood

My light shines
In darkest night
The flame brings warmth
Everythings alright

Telephone poles relax their spines;
sidewalks go under. The nightly groans
of aging porches are put to sleep.
Mercy sponges the lips of stairs.
While we talk in the old concepts -
time that was, and things that are -
snow has leveled the stumps of the past
and the earth has a new language.
It is like the scene in which the girl
moves toward the hero
who has not yet said, “come here”.
Come here, then. Every ditch
has been exalted. We are covered with stars.
Feel how light they are, our lives.

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>>24870967
It's beautiful anon

>>24919946
stop controlling our politics (for israel) and we'll stop caring about yours

>>24923072
Those weren't naturally iambic in rhythms either, plenty of good contemporary prose will drop an iambic pentameter sentence now and then.

>>24924087
They weren't purely iambic but had a stronger tendency towards iambicity than English now.


On that topic, I do believe that we tend to start with Trochees (or at least headless Iambs) when we speak. I don't know if this was true back then as our earliest recordings only go back to around the dawn of the 20th century

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>>24924432
Blank verse with a lot of first-syllable elision feels pretty natural for me to write in, even in less elevated language. Somebody wrote a blank verse play in 1965, the language doesn't sound off to me.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hogan%27s_Goat

Your heart strikes sharper,
flames of life stirring under your ribs,
each beat a drum calling you forward,
the rhythm of running carving your fate.

The weight of the unsaid
Bends my world;
I am as the elevator
That can only go
Sideways.
Nothing that feet can't
Reach on their own.
But the terrain of my mind
Is not firm
Nor welcoming.
So I sit with myself
Idle fingers waiting
For the price of time to
Go down.
I dream, not often
Of liquid glass
And imperfect reflections
That contain more truths
Than truth.
The curse ever kicking
Of straight lines and only
Seeing the visible.

It is, in fact, the full moon tonight.

>>24925470
>on the night of the full moon in December.
>That's when I'll be back.

Hmm.

Where's my bitch?
I want my bitch.

Where's my bitch?
I want my bitch.

Where's my bitch?
I want my bitch.

https://youtu.be/G9_oASbbiPQ

Send your poetry out instead of sending it here.

POETRY MAGAZINES

>The Kenyon Review
https://kenyonreview.org/submission-guidelines/
Up to $250 per contributor
Stylistically strong, often philosophical or experimental

>The Atlantic (Poetry)
https://www.theatlantic.com/pitches/
Historically $400–700 per published poem
Published only select poets

>Southern Review
https://thesouthernreview.org/submissions/
$50 per poem
Strong editorial taste for classical-leaning formalism

>Rattle
https://www.rattle.com/submissions/
$200 per poem + contributor copies
Publishes narrative poetry, accessible forms, and interviews

>Griffith Review (AU)
https://www.griffithreview.com/submit/
Pays ~$300–$500 per poetry suite
Hybrid/provocation-based issues

>32 Poems
https://32poems.com/submission-guidelines/
$25 per poem

>Oxford Poetry
https://www.oxfordpoetry.com/Submit.html

>Poetry Magazine
https://poetry.submittable.com/submit

The long and winding road
That leads to your door
Will never disappear
I've seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to you door

The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way

Many times I've been alone
And many times I've cried
Anyway, you'll never know
The many ways I've tried

And still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago
Don't leave me waiting here
Lead me to your door

~McCartney

If you will be true tonight,
Count on me to treat you right.

Teach you wonderways of love—
(Stars 'n gardensex.gov)
Lighten that which weighs on you,
Heighten glee and slay your blues.

Don't you flee, my flighty girl,
I'm the seashell, you're the pearl.

https://youtu.be/Dg3KRzs7vNw

NICOLE

You seem like a nameless dame,
Branding is my shameless game.
I christen you my Nicole—
Notice, how it rhymes with hole?

Tantalize, invade your mouth,
Part your thighs, and raid your south.
Mash your tits—all red and sore.
Drill your slit—my private whore.

For each kiss I'll give, I swear—
Slap your hips and pull your hair.
Nikki, yes, oh fuck, Nicole!
Ravishing you is my goal.

Now that I have made you whole,
With one magic word: Nicole,
Show your mug before sunrise,
Or I'll mourn your sad demise.

Come, confess, "I need this role,
Don't you cast a new Nicole.
Every crevice, every mole
Of my bod craves your control.
Since you own my mind and soul,
I exist to please your pole.
Through the night—screw your Nicole,
Fill me up when church bells toll.
Your spunk... ink, and I... blank scroll,
Fuck my face, love, fuck my hole."

https://youtu.be/54irHUZ74vc