To write poetry after Artemis II
is barbaric

>>25202370
>OC
The Hallowed:

She is wicked, you can tell.
Just her glance sends me to hell.
Swallowed by this hallowed ground
My heavy soul that drags me down.
Dirt and gravel beneath my nails.
She is heaven and I fell.
Eyes still wide to drink her in --
Intoxicating -- milk light skin,
Cheeks of soft sky-blush clouds,
A lilting song sits in her mouth.
Tears and dust strike me blind
but I still see her in my mind
burning bright like torch's light,
blessed cherub, awful sight.
As I erode and become earth
I, at last, find my worth.
For I can bear to hold her now.
As she steps upon my ground.

>>25202370
At first 5am
was treachery,
but now
I've volunteered
to work at 6am
on my Saturday off.

Did I die?

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Right on the outskirts of Zanzibar
are the outskirts of Zanzibar.
Someone closed the door
and ate the rusty key.
How would we even know
there was a key
and a door
and Zanzibar.
Alright — we must do something.
Sleep on a mirror until
we fall through,
ending up where we are already.

>>25202370
Song of Cleansing

We could never fit inside
the early morning boat
that sails above the deluge,
Not in the holiness of water
from the visions of Johanna,
In her unseen intervention,
In any of her cupid's bullets
flying over our red right hands.
But in the selfishness of hearts,
In the broken laughter
bellowing from the idiot wind.

All that is left of our material love
is dead with the unserious world,
As we drown in our own trying ways,
Ninety thousand feet deep, trying
in our own small, little awkward ways.

The serious world has arrived,
The serious world is innate and right,
As Noah wakes to the sun shining
and all the pigs fucking.

Laments of an Anon

O Jesus fucking Christ, my life
Is full of bullshit, sadness, strife.
The buses here are always late,
And Blue Team always wins my state.
Abroad, our wars increase in scale,
Yet, in the end, all seem to fail.
The price per gallon's now o'er four,
While girls I've known have turned to whores.

I scroll through job boards, sitting down,
As new rejections make me frown.
I try to date, or make new friends,
Yet all this leads to bitter ends.
Compared to those born 10 years 'fore,
The skill I need seems 10 times more:
That is, to live their happy lives.
They work? Rich. I work? Just survive.

Depressed, I hence reminiscence
The all-out loss of innocence.
To ease my mind, I trawl Y.T.,
Yet goyish slop is all I see.
Dejected, I ring up AI;
Its wokeness makes me want to die.
The things I loved? Now closed or gone.
An endless dusk without a dawn.

When all I see is woke, woke, woke,
This world sure feels like such a joke.
I've contemplated trooning out,
Accepting Christian faith devout,
Or maxxing things like "gym" or "looks";
Perhaps a journey into books—
"The Classics", people often say—
Can soothe my soul through troubled days.

Alas, I know deep down in me,
This awful tide will always be
A nasty force o'er all my world,
Forever wreaking slop unfurled.
Whate'er I do, it's only cope.
Might it be best to use the rope?
With nothing to anticipate,
I might as well resign my fate.

>>25202370
Are there any good books for autistic retards to help me understand poetry? I need something that covers a little history and theory together, because I'm uncultured swine and also don't have the time to get an entire classical education first.

I want to "get it", but I need help finding a foothold. Thanks, fags.

>>25203417
There's a good handbook for poetry by Mary what's-her-name... Oliver, I think, Mary Oliver's Poetry Handbook

>>25202637
kek

Rooted in curly sunlight — unable to lie.
A fruitless tree that still gives: have
some shade.
I'm not one to break a heart like an egg.
You know I leave what's needed
on the sill.
From up here, the town laying down
and the tiny souls always
running around.
By contrast, at night, the river-dreams
in which peaceful armies dwell.
They can't pick up a spear
but they can melt in your name.
Doodled birds on the page
tell you that I'm still the same.

>>25202370
dat nigga yeats changed my life

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THE LITTLE BOY LOST
‘Father, father, where are you going?
O do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.’

The night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep, and the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.

PARADISE LOST, BOOK IX

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck'd, she eat:
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe,
That all was lost. Back to the Thicket slunk
The guiltie Serpent, and well might, for Eve
Intent now wholly on her taste, naught else
Regarded, such delight till then, as seemd,
In Fruit she never tasted, whether true
Or fansied so, through expectation high
Of knowledg, nor was God-head from her thought.

“Earth felt the wound” is such a tragic and apocalyptic line. Reading this part evokes despair and anger, lamenting every great act of evil ever committed throughout history as it flashes through your mind.

Then Adam’s inner thoughts after discovering this:

O fairest of creation, last and best
Of all God's works, creature in whom excell'd
Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost,
Defac'd, deflow'r'd, and now to death devote!
Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress
The strict forbiddance, how to violate
The sacred fruit forbidd'n? Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruin'd; for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die.
How can I live without thee? how forgo
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly join'd,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart. No, no! I feel
The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.

Sublime. The moment the colour from Eden fades to a daub grey.

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>>25203854
>>25203908
Love Blake’s art

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Post some. If you wrote it great, and if not well that’s probably even better

I just need a moment
To compose myself
I want you and all your shadows

Based on previous threads, I'm convinced this general is a grand experiment in trolling. The best pieces get zero replies, the worst ones are debated as if they were Shakespeare. Also, stop writing in archaic English for the sake of it, it's fucking cringe especially when the verses themselves are utter cow dung.

>>25204140
Sorry, I don’t usually make the generals but I made this one :( I just like poetry and you anons sharing it. though I recall a lot of troll posts in the last one.

Soft shiny golden bob
Eyes wide seashore blues
Skin alabaster
Lioness

Lithe lays under me
Cushioning my tired body
Observing her strawberry face
As she gasps and gesticulates

Bodies wet of sweat
Her tongue sweet
I breathe my thrusts
I dream awake

I spat blood today
and felt fine
Maybe I'll spit blood
tomorrow
or yet today again
but I think I will feel fine

>>25202370
—Who has their penis out?
—Not I, beguiled Denise
Among matrixes green
with spring's unfurling change
slithers an ivy cock.
she lied, she lied, she lied.
When nature takes its course
It's me who's taken
like every time the town's
reliable source of good
must call for holes to dig
it's my hole,
must call for some to give
I'm found among the some,
must call for rocks to break
my rocks become their sand:
my pollen in the air pirouettes
away from me.
My Love finds me afraid,
often. I cling on her,
I ask again. we love
this routine, like I don't know.

Is Pablo Neruda the most overrated >poet in history? Every poem and verse I've read is simply cheesy and prosaic. Even the ones from Canto General. He seems imho a poet for plebs (I know he was a communist, it would't surprise if he defined himself as a "people's poet".) And yes I've read it in Spanish. Any suggestions that could point me to his actually good poems? (if those exist)

I have an infection
Of the middle ear
A ruptured drum
I hoped would pass
If ignored enough
willed away
After time enough
I finally went in
I couldn’t hear
My doctor a nurse
The nurse a man
He asked doesn’t it hurt
I said I’m unsure perhaps
Not as much as other things
time won’t heal
Confused by honesty
Well your blood pressure is great
So I’m taking my medicine
Ten day supply
Kissed my only pendant
My last idol
and threw it to the river
Offered a trade
My most powerful spell
To bring back my muse
She hasn’t returned
I see her everywhere

>>25204313

he’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I enjoy some of his stuff, but not all. If his book of questions does nothing for you then yeah he’s probably not for you.

Te metí un dedo en el culo
y salió un poquito de mierda.
La olí.
Un poquito de ti.

La punta de mi dedo
penetró ese tu otro coño
que suele estar cerrado
excepto en ocasiones especiales
y por eso siempre se siente especial,
como cuando tienes la regla
y aún quieres follar
y tener mi polla dentro de tí
pero no dentro de tu herida sangrante.

Esa masa que no eres tú
sino tu producto
y que por tanto lleva
el sello de tu existencia,
la esencia de tu flora,
dos genotipos heredados,
y también la esencialidad
accidental de tu rutina.

Me miraste divertida
y te toqué la nariz.
Con un poquito de ti.

Magno Neruda.

>>25204351
>book of questions
Thanks fren.

>>25204140
That's how it goes with anons on here, m8. Everyone larps as 19th-century poets, even though that style has long come and gone.

Were you the poet or the poem today and is there a difference

>>25204140
>Also, stop writing in archaic English for the sake of it, it's fucking cringe especially when the verses themselves are utter cow dung
Careful, you can't say this or a dozen anons will crawl down your throat squealing about how poetry must sound like it comes from the 1800s or it's not real poetry because it just can't be okay

>>25204140
Ye catapults! Let Bess to Heav'n be flung,
And the high Moos eclipse her falling Dung!

>>25204140
Exactly. All poetry should be written in the common language of the day, no matter what. Anything else is cringe larping.
That's why Rupi Kaur is the greatest living poet. She's the only one who truly writes in the style of the times.

>>25205058
I prefer those BRAVE souls from Palestine who say fuck metre, fuck form, because my friend from school got blown up or something. It’s so in, it’s so now!

>>25202370
>>25204140
NIGGER... Nigger...Nieeh-Guh-Urrh
I savor each departure from my mouth
at the same time I breath out—
An inhalation!... NIGGER!
Nieeh! I catch it with the tip of my tongue on White teeth
Guh! I press it to into the back of my throat
Urrh! down split lungs that swaddle beating heart
NIGGER! I partake of pneumatic nectar
For am I not a god enraptured
Who with a word binds men in chains,
and women in even crueler shame,
that time and triumph cannot disdain
or any other utterance capture
NIGGER! Nigger, nigger... nigger.

She's eighteen
He's thirty-two
She's like a sister
That he would screw

She's just a friend
Who's his fantasy
Her boyfriend's
A welcome boundary

He'd ruin my life
That man of thirty-two
Who's not me
I'm telling you

>>25205311
How does it feel getting cucked by an 18 year old kid, grandpa? He'd probably beat you up if he read that.
LMAO

>>25205058
Come on, anon. You can do better than a false dichotomy -- or so I would hope.

Fucking gay
And empty day
Major poltroon every way

>>25205058
The point of poetry is to convey stuff via the form (in its broadest sense) rather than content of writing. That's all.

>>25205058

The common language of the day being non-archaic English? What are you, the template uncle who doesn't listen to music before the 60s because it's made with "devil electronery"?

>>25205359
you are brown I can smell it

>>25205369

I think you simply buried your nose in your own asshole, a magnificent feat of flexibility, but not poetry.

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I want someone to understand what I’m going through and grant me a small favor.
I’m just a college student who has to submit poetry for the college magazine, which will be printed by June.
But I’m completely out of ideas. my only muse is gone.
Oh, I beg of you, lend me some of your songs, your poetry. It would save me from embarrassment, as the deadline is fast approaching.
It’s due on the 15th of April!

>>25205433
what?
if you're submitting, it should be yours
just rewrite your favorite poem in your own voice

I saw a pit with no walls,
straight drop no turns or bends.
A man resists but still falls
and prays it never ends.

>>25205441
Oh please understand,I don't have any time or idea left!! It's not possible for me to get something to write about anymore.
I'm depressed and dealing with real life problems rn. I wish someone can write poems from my stead for once!! I will even use your name as my pen name on the magazine.

>>25205455
Literally just write a poem about that. If it's earnest, it's earnest. Or give me an idea of the kind of thing you'd write so I can attempt to ape you.

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Poetry isn't my hood scene
I'm a minister of "hoe-ology"
I push tranq on poor whites
I drink sprite between greedy bites
Of Popeyes

I'm a Mormon Priest
My wife, I've loved her least
Because I coveted a newer
Younger-little showpiece
Bless my sinues and knees

I'm a jungle man
Was on a walkabout . . .
To walk was the plan
"Shek da booty
Shek da booty"

I'm a teen from the midwest
They wright about my scene
On Pitchfork and "subreddits"
God, I need help
Please God, send it

I'm a gruff daddy
The '70s were dark bohemian times
The bathhouse: went inside
And when they shuttered
Tried the fire-escape

I want to tell you
Something that I missed about
My identity as a thug selling bricks
I'm not black
I'm Indian -- kinda wack!

>>25205433
I can give you some of my work cuz I'm Cyrano. Lmk, Christian.

what part of no contact don't you understand?
i want to be a one man band.
i'm trying to leave but you won't let me go
your kindness all along
was just for show.

no journal can help me
no forum can help me

i trace back the steps to how i got myself into this mess.
from the start it was me vs carlsen, 1v1 chess.

please let me go
you stupid hoe

>>25206884
No.

Unsere Liebe;

In träger, träumender Trübung, Isolde,
bin ich deines Verlangens im Bilde.
Meine keuchend, keimende Knospe
sei Morgendämmerung in unserem Gemälde.

Thisbe, mein lebendiges, loderndes Licht.
Ruht die Hoffnung in meiner Sicht.
Reift die reizende Rose in deiner Pupille,
trotz Mittagssonne und unserer Stille.

Echo, so schweigt die sanfte Schönheit herzlich,
so sage ich der seelenruhigen Sehnsucht vergeblich,
dass die schwarze Welke in unserer Seele
im Zwielicht nur noch Leere wäre.

>>25203922
It looks like Adam is getting cucked by Satan.
Well I suppose he did, in a manner of speaking.

>>25204137
Don’t wait any longer.

>>25205433
In June they print the graded college poems
The students write at their instructor's say
In magazines that no one reads or owns
Until they get past graduation day
And then develop morbid fondness for
The hasty sketches scribbled, unadorned
By technical ability galore,
Finagled in a maple-tabled dorm

If only I could could come up with a poem
Or even just a sequence of haiku!
I cannot for the life of me intone
A mellifluent verse to contribute
Just clumsy pictures and overwrought prose
Half eaten metaphors and rhyming codes
Where are you -oh Muse? Why are you hidden
from me, breath of my lips, ink of my soul

>>25205433
How about some translation? You can have this one. I'm never going to get round to doing him all and even if I did no-one would publish it.


Noli admirari, quare tibi femina nulla,
Rufe, velit tenerum supposuisse femur,
non si illam rarae labefactes munere vestis
aut perluciduli deliciis lapidis.
laedit te quaedam mala fabula, qua tibi fertur
valle sub alarum trux habitare caper.
hunc metuunt omnes, neque mirum: nam mala valde est
bestia, nec quicum bella puella cubet.
quare aut crudelem nasorum interfice pestem,
aut admirari desine cur fugiunt.

— Catullus

Don’t wonder, Rufus, why you sleep alone,
Without some girl to offer you caresses,
Despite your endless gifts of pretty dresses
And necklaces of rare translucent stone.
I’ve heard some nasty rumours. In the vale
Beneath your arms a goat resides, it’s said.
This scares them off. Quite right! To go to bed
With such a filthy’s beast’s beyond the pale.
So try to smell more like a human being,
Or otherwise get used to people fleeing.

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>>25202370
Is Hughes’ reimagining of Philomela a confession of abusing women?

[bad poetry#46]
The crown's cursed throne is best left there
Say what you will of the kingdom
but some people still live.
Facing backwards now with his
troop thoughts from a balcony
Does his dearest remind him of
the silver ties and banners of home.
What if he's not assured of posterity
with his broken cane.
The carriage has already lost its horses
to street wisdom
Not quite the plague and yet
law stands firm before freedom.

BOYS, BOYS, BLOOD!
(Formely "There's only pleasure here")
By JKL

My heart is a hole
full of worms,
a cunt
full of cum.

Sex,
drugs,
rock and roll…
A place that don't
exist anymore.

Red stains
in a soft spot;
girly cuts
on a girly arm
to fill up a girly soul.

¡Boys, boys, blood!

Short skirts
and broken dolls.
False promises
of endless love.

One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five kinds of body fluids
laying on the dance floor.

Every second alive,
I still breath.
It fucking hurts.

rimbaud via berrigan

Sonnet III
Stronger than alcohol, more great than song,
deep in whose reeds great elephants decay;
I, an island, sail, and my shores toss
on a fragrant evening, fraught with sadness
bristling hate.
It's true, I weep too much. Dawns break
slow kisses on the eyelids of the sea,
what other men sometimes have thought they've seen.
And since then I've been bathing in the poem
lifting her shadowy flowers up for me,
and hurled by hurricanes to a birdless place
and waving flags, nor pass by prison ships
O let me burst, and I be lost at sea!
and fall upon my knees then, womanly.

Someone is doing taxes.
I'm thinking of a better use for the meteorite
that killed dinosaurs.
The best retorts are born in the too late.

lie to save a life or
let truth destroy mine?
look at my sores
open the door

unaware of shy signs
disbelief at live lines
impugn the scheme
avarice fines

no man, no team,
no home, nor beam
of light to lift me up
content to rest my cup

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I know you guys like short poems. I just wrote this.
Look into the trees
It's coming over me
It's coming over me

Into my eyes
Into my eyes
It's drugs
Into my dreams
Into my dreams
Machines are breathing for me
Otherwise I'd be dead

I welcome your thoughts.

I Enflamed No Hearts


What's really important here
Is that he had written about the rhetoric of suicide
To ensure that they died in their sleep
Which dimensions are on sale to the general public
As triangular purple shrouds cover every head.

So Even in death he was able.

Permit me, broken and defiled
— I ENFLAMED NO HEARTS

- Lord Byron Vere Claudius

how would you respond
if I told you “I miss you.
please come back to me.”

Charging Auschwitz
With poetry's death;
Believing souls die
With a martyr's breath.

Holding a corpse up
To silence the rest;
Ghosts at the famine
In silent regress.

>>25209807
It's in the trees
Looking into my dreams
Into my eyes
Watching me breathe

It's coming for me
To keep me undead
Hooked on the drug
Of the breathing machine

I took your idea and rewrote it. I hope you see the constructive criticism within that.

A timescape burrows into the past
And out pops projections of painsly porters
Put up with me if you will!
But know that the sands of time wash with waters unsublime

My name is anonamous
I got tranny sausages
In my esophogus and
On my brain,
a chud metropolis
We are not the same
but opposites
I blame the world
While leaving white deposits
In my sockesses
In mom's basement
She thinks im in the closet
Going outside makes me cautious and nauseous, what is the cause of this
A coward's synopsis

>>25210069
I like it. You improved it IMO

>>25202640
You putting the pussy on a pedestal, man

Cuddles invoke
the three second rule.
You see an absence better
than my head into yours.
The bed disarms competing countdowns,
the night forgives and forgets if you offer it
a bit of red.
Wildfire is a pickle
better dealt with
in the morning.

Hydraulic olive pressing:
a staple of autumn rhetoric.
The wine is as good as the blood of Persephone
in a strong year.
You who sneak prosciutto to the peacock,
you are seen.
Outside the cobblestones reclaiming themselves
from tourist socks.
The fortified walls keeping business inside.
Someone will lie about it in the guide.

Another short one

Mother resists
By the ocean
Hooked fingers
Empty stare
Deathbed bedside
I don't care

BIG NOSE
SHUT UP
SURRENDING IF
LOST FOREVER

BIG NOSE
FUCK UP
YOU HAVE SO MUCH
NOW GAVE FOREVER

BIG NOSE
SLURPEE
TAKE YOUR HATE
GET LOST FOREVER

You guys are lucky to have me, actually. Goddamn lucky to have me here.
You re so goddamn lucky to have me here

It's pitiful, it's pathetic, it's restraint. Mom left me in the hospital restaurant. They call it the rule Cafe.

I GOT SOMETHING TO SAY!

I RAPED YOUR BABY TODAY!

You can call me anonymous
Most just call me proctologist

>>25212817
An asshole doctor?

>>25212718
*SURRENDERING

>>25212924
Nah just be acceptin that
Im inspectin your rectum

A shepherd listens, counting constellations like sheep.
One by one they fall asleep in the sky.

The wind carries a story older than iron:
that everything built too high
eventually confesses itself to the earth beneath fruit bats descending on the neighbour’s tree like living dusk.

The concept of inductive
assertions
actually appeared in embryonic form in
1946,
at the same time as flow charts were introduced
by H. H. Goldstine and
J. von Neumann.
Their original flow charts included "assertion boxes"
that are in
close
analogy
with
the assertions in Fig. 4.

[See John von Neumann, Collected
Works 5 (New York: Macmillan, 1963), 91-99. See also A. M. Turing's early
comments about verification in Report of a Conference on High Speed Automatic
Calculating Machines (Cambridge Univ., 1949), 67-68 and figures; reprinted
with commentary by F. L. Morris and C. B. Jones in Annals of the History of
Computing 6 (1984), 139-143.]

>>25213066
Have I not told you countless times to stop posting your banal slop here? Fuck off.

>>25213083
In our
tiny
population, we collected information from all the
individuals

In
practice, investigators only collect
information
on a sample of the population
of interest. Even if the
counter-
factual
outcomes of all study individuals were
known, working with samples prevents
one
from obtaining the
exact
proportion
of
individuals
in the population who had the outcome under treatment value
a
, i.e., the probability of death under
no
treatment
: Pr -
Y
a=0 = 1
cannot be
directly
computed

One
can only estimate
this probability.

>>25213066
I enjoyed this more than pretty much anything itt

>>25213095
If the sample space
consists
of a finite number of possible outcomes,

then the
probability law is
specified
by the probabilities of the events that

consist of
a single
element.

—

In
particular,
the probability of any event {s1, s2,...,sn}
is the
sum of
the probabilities of
its elements

There once was a man from balquhidder...

>>25213105
Have I not told
you
countless times
to stop posting your banal
slop
here?

—

Fuck off.

>>25213112
Whose leg was so long it would slither

>>25202370
Banal sex, taken up by many
Has no relation whatsoever with the proliferation
of bass licksing musicians

>>25213143
Anal sex barred for so few
Had a revolution with the intrepid poultice
Of Nectar sipping stoners

horcrux?
heartsauce

horror?
hope lost

horrible
not right

servants
take flight

Pretty pink nipples, pretty pink nipples!
Uh huh, yeah
Uh huh, yeah
Pretty pink nipples, pretty pink nipples
Uh huh yeah
Uh huh yeah!
Rosey Red and swollen
Rosey Red and perky!
It's when I feel jerky
It's when I feel a little jerky!
Can Jeremy come out to play?
With brown manly nipples
No way! No fucking way!

Pretty pink nipples!

>>25204488
what a silly take. if we're actually gonna do away with all convention and particularism then anything goes, including the apeing of old styles. you won't have it both ways

Waking up with the copper of someone else
on my lips
and the phone filled to the brim,
all of it unanswered.
Summer is cruel.
I love it.

trans rights
are
human
rights and
chuds can't
understand
basic

------

biology

whoever you are shitting up this thread constantly, get absolutely fucked

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New to this shi,
is this true?

>>25215349
Which posts are shitting this place up and which ones are good?

>>25215363

forget it, 4chat deserves this

>>25215366
You seem like you might give decent notes im my art work im trying yo get plublished. Any notes?

Unhhhhh
Yeah
Unhhhhh
Check this out
Yeah
My name is anonymous
My brain is a chud metropolis
Of tranny sausages
Mom says i'm closeted
In her basement leavin deposits
In white tube socksses
Being outside makes me cautious and nauseus
What is the cause of this
A coward's synopsis

>>25209846
your poem inspired this one

your soldiers rage
scream from above
my children die
offer you love

dove in my hands
choose now its fate
pierce the wall or
fling wide the gate?

wait no longer
come to my room
we decide if
a home or tomb

whoever you
are
shitting up this thread
constantly,

get absolutely fucked

>>25215498
Worst poem itt

I love this thread in Spring
You horny motherfuckers

Her body was lit with a thousand candles
Her soul was a fucking wasp nest

What of my casual forays into
the art world?
I am art,
leaving impressions
on your sofa.
Don't think about the bird
nesting in my pocket
but of future flights
Don't try and draw circles
from a forest.
Sometimes the wheel of fortune
is a cube.

>>25215606
"Don't disturb my circles",
Wise words from an autist
Upon the collapse of an
Empire and the creation of
A new one. Circles are
Eternal and abstract
Like a bird's foot
Printed in concrete
Before it dried
Or the cycles of your
Windshield wipers
When there's no
Rhyme or reasoning
But repetition
We can recognise its
Song in the pareidolia
Of a car alarm
Or
The constant humour
Of musical spheres
And the physicist who
Assumes that 3d shapes
Are all
Anything ever was
Or could be.

Sink that knot
Deep
I'm going to cum!

>>25215650
Lol'd

>>25215669
Yeah I'm a funny bastard

>>25215676
Oh yeah, make me laff again then

>>25215683
I'm a mirror.

>>25215686
:|

On the fly
All structures were built
By some guy
Post-structural guilt

>>25215917
>I'm erect, why aren't you erect: A meditation on the post-structural
Post-modernism; modernism;
The decadents; and, let's face it,
Most mystics, medieval or not;
It always comes down to
Big dicks rule the world
But everyone goes on making
Babies in the mud anyways
Even if the whole structure
Burns down due to aliens
Post probing.

—Philboid Studge [posthumously]

>>25215686
What of?

>>25216517
Of you all here with me. We're all mirrors of each other. Our wants needs ideals dreams morals. We're a lot alike, if you have noticed. We like books we like complicated literature we like simple literature we like movies we like music we like games we like to shit post on 4chan. Lol.

I finally got some decent caffeine in me and I feel better. I haven't felt good in 3 days. Nicotine helps too.

test

>>25215463
What do you mean by the first stanza?

>>25216590
Beautiful.

>>25216612
Despicable

Where exactly is the line between poetry and prose? I can't help but think of it as a continuum with almost nothing inhabiting the "purely prose" pole: If poetry is simply writing that conveys meaning through form (I could be wrong here) rather than content of language then it's all poetry isn't it? Who can hear the sky described even in clinical, scientific terms and not—if he truly understands the description as of the sky—recall memories, sensations, and associations related to it? Any kind of stylistic choice, no matter how utilitarian, will change the emotional hue of thoughts evoked by the writing it is applied to.

>>25216694
Prose is intellectual. Poetry is feeling. You can't always tell when a poem is poetical. You can tell when prose is prose. Jm2¢. I, myself, am an intellectual but I love poetry down deep in my soul.

>>25216694
>poetry
here
>prose

>>25216727
Kek

>>25202640
Reminds me of the coffin of andy and leyley

>>25216715
>I, myself, am an intellectual
Only midwits refer to themselves in this manner.
Poetry can also often be more cerebral than prose depending on what it is.

>>25216821
You wouldn't get it. My soul brings in the 1880s. You would get it then! I promise, my friend.

>>25216826
I'm an intellectual too. They just don't understand us, anon. Being smarter and more beautiful than everyone around you is taxing. I get it. It'll be ok in the end, bro.

My deep thoughts are true art
High priest of a reddit sect
Mechanical god with no heart
I'm enlightened by my intellect

>>25215623

My autism can't let me decide if I'm flattened or offended

voices echo
whispers insane
brain marinates
flow substances

testing mettle
or mind heart trap?
wrap hands round my
nettle wound neck

glowering sneer
from me to I
fly to wrought arms
clear sanctuary

breathe down through feet
associate,
copulate, teach,
meet the next love

>>25203417
Harold Bloom Best Poems of the English Language

Can a dactyl like "covenant" function as a cretic/amphimacer in iambic meter? I don't mean at line-start, where its placement would be hardly controversial, but mid-line, across two feet that expect a "/ U /" pattern.

>>25202370
Poems are gay.
Poets are fags.
Have a shit day,
You stupid slags.

>>25218445
Your autism isn't deep enough yet, you'll get there

a stray dog struts and yowls outside
bible black spiders crawl on a window
killing and eating a fly, drinking its insides
a distant siren floats like a ghost through the air

fan hums a dull electric hymn
street lamps flicker, crickets start to pulse and chirp
kids playing in streets scatter softly back home
Distant thunder. Then, the rain.

if i called her
would she remember my old voice
the creaks and the cracks
would she talk to me one more time

>>25219493
I don't see why not. Write a line out and let's read it out loud

A fly lands on me
Hoping I'm dying
So it can feast
On my putrid flesh
Yes my flesh is putrid
Because I'm dying
Just like you

Is iambic/poetic meter supposed to be as noticeable as rhyming?
I don't really feel anything from iambic. (Though trochee, the reverse of iambic, does sound cool.)
Any good performances of iambic that highlights its effect?

Also, would listeners to shakespeare's plays count the number of iambs in each line of the verses and appreciatively nod when it always added upto 5? Sounds hard. Is this where their superior oral processing/memory, due to illiteracy, helped?

Freud? I love my mother.
We peeled potatoes on Sunday.
I watched her knit the latest sweater.
"You can't go out like this
in winter"
Her scoffs have been
the metronome of my youth.
My cheeks always ready for
more pinching.
And if I don't end up
insisting on the bloodline?
She'll always have her cats
and the shelf photographs
Her wrinkled hands
reminding her
that she's always done her best.

sever connexion not to mend
rend my savior down from his nails
fail grace acceptance. none else can
plan, jail, send my penance for me

trees tend my garden. the snails ran,
fan circular around the pale.
stale vibrations messengers send,
defending souls from the never

File: IMG_2496.jpg (3.14 MB, 4032x3024)

3.14 MB JPG

>>25202370
Recently picked up this collection from an antique store just by chance. I’d read the spell of the Yukon a few years ago and really liked it, but don’t know much about his other work. Has anyone else read through this collection and have any favorites, or have any recommendations for similar poetry?

>>25220675
Never read his collections but my favorite poem of all time is the cremation of sam mcgee.

He also wrote a biography on Stalin i think.

>>25220738
It’s funny you bring that up, just before i saw your reply I decided to go and see if any of the poem titles caught my eye. I read through the cremation of Sam Mcgee just a minute ago and really liked it. I’ll report back if anything else stands out to me!

Can I just admit that I really don't get Rimbaud. It's a me thing because he sounds like everything that would appeal to me. No I don't read French.

>>25220564
>Sounds hard.
Sounds hard because it would be hard to do. I don't think they'd have counted foot-by-foot. Take this, for instance. I can't speak for you, but I don't need to think: 'One iamb; two; then three; then four...' and so on to the fifth. Don't get me wrong it's got a stunted flow. I'm not a Shakespeare, and there's some unwieldy enjambment, and an overhanging syllable or two (that's alexandrine I suppose). At any rate, I hope you get the point. This last line breaks from the flow. You with me?

Heart torn apart
Soul unensouled
I feel
Pain

Black like my father's heart
On the day
He walked
Out

>One I wrote a couple springs ago:

Today I heard a blackbird sing
With Heaven’s light upon its wing
And golden pitch, like rain, fell earthward
Staining all the rooftops

A warmer breeze cut stillborn air
From gripping cold and winter’s bare
And stole, from death, life hidden where
He thought I’d never find it

Peering eyes may often find
My home unkempt, my face, my mind
Today, my pacing thoughts resigned
I’ve found them neatly folded

If tomorrow brings no lovely sound
If wind casts salt upon my ground
I’ll watch the rain come falling down
And shutter all the blinds

But today I heard a blackbird sing
With Heaven’s light upon its wing
And scarlet tongues of flame fell earthward
Staining all the rooftops

File: dumby.jpg (52 KB, 980x980)

52 KB JPG

The designated driver
couldn't resist
we had to call
the Uber mensch.

I love and I hate but I can’t tell you why
In my heart not my mind I feel my love die

(I am attempting to translate some of Catullus)

In dreams to frozen plains
New World, Old, all the same
Blonde hair brush fingertips
Outstrech'd under pale lips
Touched by frost, ever red
Unspoken, shivered
By frost, unadmitted
Lines to temple, cold lead
Put me under the ground

My Lady shines through my shuttered window
Attacks, alights upon my sleeping eyes.
Awake I tumble from the Sea Eternal
Over cascading waters. Magenta
Hues suffuse the morning mist,
A lunar sediment; plenitude resting in
The One above The One in All
Until their dissipation by her flaming tongues.
Steeples erected, verandas buttressed
The instant I throw back my shutters.
I raise my eyes to see My Lady:
A fiery, decapitated head.

"out of the clos(het)" by Anon

A phrase biting
At the back of my
Throat

Tepid fingers grasping
For invisible reassurance
Bolstering the courage to say
I'm gay
To my dad
He beat me

>>25221313
Adroit.
>>25221330
Daunting.
>>25221332
Melancholy.
Anon. Fuck that dude and what he thinks. I'm sorry you went through that

>>25221062
Spring poems have weight. I've noticed this. Good poem. Thoughtful!

Memento Mori

The wise man shall remember death
And knows that life is its own wealth.
If fear of darkness harms your health,
Repeat this ancient Shibboleth.

When death approaches, simply smile,
Accept its hand without revile.
Apollo's envy burns the sky;
To live at all, we all must die.

Go forth and answer Virtue's call,
Go onwards to the glorious fight,
Walk evermore in Honour's light.
What matters most outlives us all.

What is the time of no time if you've time
A few more times
There, what a poem

>>25221332
I hope that your father is okay, anon. It is not easy to find out that your son is gay, retarded, and a poet. I wish him the best -- God bless his soul.

>>25221062
I'd change it into '' 'morrow'' in stanza 4, verse 1. I'm also unsure about ''But today'' in stanza 5, verse 1.
If these were deliberate stylistic choices (like verse 3 in 1 & 5) then alright, but to my ear it messes up the metre.
Else it's a pretty poem Anon, well done.

>>25220756
>there are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold
Any other poems of his stand out to you?

The quiet things: or,
everything has been weaponized.
The bird,
hair,
marginalia.
Everything but the gun —
which I hand to you
for when I stray too far.
Knowing you'd sooner
deal with me
with a bucket of cold water
And a red pen circle.

The Iron Moon

A pale sun drips beneath the horizon
The city withers into dissonance.
Citizens blister as the machinery tightens
As avarice shatters the grip of their innocence.
Corroded bones fuse with the blood of a machine
Engineered by the dreams of a cosmos of glass.
But clocks spiral apart and space splits at the seams
Generating the heart of a prismatic mask.
Now hollow worms bark at the moon
That's rusted and bloody and broke
And writhe in the mass that heretics exhume
To consume the truth of what gods leave unspoken.

Gnashing teeth, red claws
Lusting after my innocence
A spotless lamb left
To die
Martyr to her own purity
Redeemer of sins not her own
Woman

>>25211577
Thanks for posting this, I liked it a lot. I'll be reading some collections from Richard Siken on account of this.

>>25223434
Kinda tryhard but well written nonetheless. It's grim, anon.

O wondrous sun that rises just in time
To tell us all that morning is quite good
I write this line in careful perfect rhyme
Because that is what poets say I should

The sky is blue (as skies are wont to be)
The grass is green, a shocking new detail
My thoughts are deep as shallow thoughts can be
And feelings always gently tip the scale

Behold! A rose! It symbolizes things
Like love and also possibly a heart
Which somehow also metaphorically sings
(At this point Shakespeare would applaud the art)

So here concludes my poem, bold and true:
It rhymes! It scans! It also means… shampoo?

>>25204804
Yes, like this very post: I like to use 'poesy' for what is proper — formal verse with ambition — and 'poetry' for the formless, diaristic scribbles that American poets ill-popularized, even though this is entirely ahistorical, since the words were literally synonyms, even when both were in use. I somewhat agree that Elizabethan pronouns are raucous in modern poesy, but what is most commonly called 'archaic' is usually just elevated diction that gives a real metrical and meaningful purpose to verse, not mere ornamentation. Modern critics, especially here, can't tell the difference between functional form and empty pastiche.

>mfw patrician gf says I have two days to memorize Pushkin's Eugene Onegin (in the original Russian!) or we're DONE
O_O

The parking miracle:
unexplained, bi-annual
possibly supernatural.
I knew we'd end up here
watching the river catch
streetlamps and stars.
Every soul of this city
materializes near us.
The terrace will exist tomorrow
this here, just tonight.

>>25224385
To drivel such as this, the disrepute
Of rhyme and metre owes its greatest debt.
Each line as self-assured as those who shoot
A musket at the closing fighter jet.

The sky is blue, except when it is not;
The grass, when parched, becomes a thatchy yellow.
And desiccated streams of brainless rot
Attend the passions when they over-mellow.

Behold! Not prose! But cymbalizing verse,
Roundly, by clanging monotone, repressed.
Thank God it scans! For, were it any worse,
At this point Shakespeare might well clutch his chest.

But anyway, I'm joshing you. Lord knows,
It's easier to poke fun than to compose.

>>25220834
I see.
I can still feel the metre even though I can't delineate each individual foot on the fly, and it is apparent when a line is shorter than the others.

Arrogant bag of bravado
with holes.
You've just cleaned the carpet.
Your sigh is the mathematics
of fondness.
My grin holds the continent
people book their flights
and trains stumble into
proper timing.
The egg shaped light
on this black stage
interrogates the microphone:
where is he?
In the back, disbelieving mirrors
concocting some grand
metaphorical arson
that will help the married couples
in the audience
months from now.

>>25216694

the purpose of good poetry is necessarily musical; good prose is not concerned with being musical

My cock
It's so big
Is so girthy
It shoots ropes three feet long
It's so big
It's so big

My poetry cock
It's so big
I know so many interesting words
And I write everything perfectly
It's so big
It's so big

Pass the salt, honey did you fix x
And it’s lovely, is she married now?
Haven’t seen you in years
Oh don’t worry he always does that
“Honey stop”, I’m unable to eat
before it gets cold
No dear Lord, not the China
How was New Year’s, is mum well
Can I make some tea? It’s my house
When are you getting a job
Perhaps it’s time to move out
Networking with a loose cable
What can I say, a lonely town
You’re welcome and don’t forget
To close the door
If the landline rings
it’s the Maya’s fault.

OC

--Waking up--

The tender kiss,
of a morning dream that lingers.
Running with my mind again;
like sand between my fingers

Vigilant of my dreamy muse
My heart it yearns to break
An empty place is left there now;
a feeling I cannot shake

A tacit farewell
An unrequited goodbye
A fading glance at a memory
Of a love left where I lie

>>25203023
I like it. fun

>>25227076

--Afterglow--

The quiet hush,
of twilight breath upon my window.
Drifting through my thoughts once more;
like smoke too thin to follow

Restless with the ghost of you
My soul it aches to stay
A hollow room remains inside;
a shadow gone astray

A silent unraveling
A half-remembered sigh
One final touch upon the dark
Of a love that passed me by

fuck off

>>25227178
>>25227076
Stealing this for my own purposes

Started reading Dickinson today - kino. I think I prefer blank verse to free verse.

I try to write poems that reflect beauty
But all I write are gruesome lines of flesh
Being torn, crushed, liquified, abraded
While bony architecture that frames them
Bends, buckles under obdurate forces
My muse is a butcher, a predator,
a carrion feeder that sees only meat
Stirring nightly, it lurks, it kills. It eats.

Most posts on here
Are me trolling you queers
And you fall for it every time

But don't you yet cheer
The end is not here
I've plenty more dogshit rhyme

(Not really, but this popped into my head and it seemed a waste not to post it)

>>25227840
This nigga lonely
This nigga homely
This niggs my homie

[angry rupi kaur]
I'm out of it when I'm in it
I ran out of unsolvable easiness
Now just munching at the day
Look, the sunset
I pluck the sun out and stomp it.
You're weeping clouds out
But I just go on.
Who broke the bench
and what was the park about
go lay with the others
and stay there.

Are you allowed to write poetry that's syllabic but non metrical? Like, can I write poems that are decasyllabic but not iambic? Would this count as free verse or not since it does structure itself around a rule but not the one most common to English poetry; the alternating of stressed and unstressed syllables. If I do this, will people call my work shit?

>>25230254
Pretty much the only rule for poetry is that it not be prose. Don't indent any paragraphs and you're fine.

>>25230254
They might if they misinterpret it as a bad attempt at iambic pentameter. But, you know, you'll know, anon.

hopeless? dance
prance upon
ground under
psychic waves.

enclaves suck.
muck exchange,
rearrange

wide space. freedom
place lightens eyes.

busy hive connives to rest.

>>25227076
>>25227178
Charming!

>>25230347
You can't tell me
what to do Dad!
I'M A BIG BOY
NOW

So if you don't write love-sun-flower stuff in perfect form, this thread is as useful as oprah's sunscreen?

I brushed away what the road had left on her,
dust on her ass from the long ascent.

>>25231107
If you want to make the thread a better place
Take a look at yourself and make the...CHAAAAAANGE

>>25230254
Syllabic verse is a real thing, but it usually refers to using the same syllabic structure across multiple stanzas, not a uniformly decasyllabic structure across the entire poem, which would probably be interpreted like >>25230502 says.
Here's an excerpt from Marianne Moore:
wade
through black jade.
Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
adjusting the ash-heaps;
opening and shutting itself like

an
injured fan.
The barnacles which encrust the side
of the wave, cannot hide
there for the submerged shafts of the

sun,
split like spun
glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness
into the crevices—
in and out, illuminating

>>25202370
This is the future that NRx wants
An endless sea of roiling tangled limbs
Grasping, groping in every direction
But down into the thick hot soup—
Congealed bodies' fluids, black and heavy
Encumbering all, the lowest ones the most
With crushing pressure. So they clamber up best they can, however they can manage
To climb up so high, when they leap they soar.
And fly up, up above the sodden clouds
For a heartbeat, and then come crashing down

>>25231341
>This is the future that NRx wants
>An endless sea of roiling tangled limbs
>Grasping, groping in every direction
>But down into the thick hot soup—
>Congealed bodies' fluids, black and heavy
>Encumbering all, the lowest ones the most
>With crushing pressure. So they clamber up best they can, however they can manage
>To climb up so high, when they leap they soar.
>And fly up, up above the sodden clouds
>For a heartbeat, and then come crashing down

Modernist poetry is soulless, holy fuck. What are even this line breaks

>>25231443

Fuck, wrong post, meant to quote the Moore thing

>>25231372
Maybe, but that's eerily similar to how Kerouac described Ginsburg's vision for the future. To be is to be something in particular and to be something in particular is to be limited, anon. Total emancipation means dissolution of everything you are and love.

NRx is gay though, although I'm glad something like it exists. I agree with you there.

artificial tests
for cult and country.
ego massage for
all forms of gentry

produce no virtue.
we who failed these tests
ask of our fetters
for eternal rest.

>>25223152
Yes i did end up reading through more, and I liked most of what I read. One that really stood out to me was “The Men That Don’t Fit In”

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

>>25232307
To elaborate, I lived all over the place from when I was 18 until my 30’s as a result of being in the military. And while that kept me fed and paid, and even taught me a few things, the nature of never really having to do much other than what I was told to get by I think made me complacent in having no real aspirations, as well as made it easy to pick up and subsequently drop friends and relationships in general. As I’ve now been out for a few years I’m rediscovering what it is that I want out of life and I guess in a way how to make sure I dont look back at my life as having “Just done things by half”, so this one really resonated with me

>>25232307
>>25232320
Excellent poem. The whole thing really spoke to me as well. It made me kinda feel nice in a bittersweet way at first then a bit sad lol. But honestly this stone is growing moss so maybe the last bit isnt really prophetic after all for me.

I traveled a bit as well and got some travel friends who cant cut it anymore and struggle with trying to start new lives.

From what you describe of yourself seems we are currently in similar boats so to speak.
You probably developed some skills though and probably have relatively good health and are in a better position than many. Sounds like you kept busy in the military. What did you do?
You could have taken another 10-20 years to come to these realizations. Many never do or do so after their vagabond/carefree lifestyle fucks them up

>>25232307
>>25232320
Bessie's Boil by Robert Service
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

>>25232390
So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."

OP, by anon

OP
Sucks cock
On the clock

>>25232375
Thanks for the response, and I’m glad you liked that one.

I spent about 10 years in the Navy doing Nuclear work. I’m not trying to continue a career in Nuclear power in the civilian world but I will say I think it gave me a solid technical mindset that I’m currently using while going to school for Electrical Engineering, and I’ve got a solid plan for a career once I’m finished. In retrospect it feels like knowing what I know now I could have learned a lot of the same things without all the shitty parts of being a rolling stone in the military for 10 years. But that obviously applies to everyone so i can’t really be upset over it.

Would you say you’ve at learned some lessons during your time spent traveling that you can use now? Or does it feel more like starting close to square one?

"I must be free" said I
And threw away my coat
Overshirts and undershirts
And soon I burned my boat

"I WILL be free" I cried
Then forgot all the names
Of everyone I cared for
Family, friends, old flames

"I'm nearly free" I whisper
And shivered in the throes
Of pulsing burning fever
Swollen, bleeding nose

Free forever
A dead heart's anti-dream
But nothing's nothing's worthless
Just death without esteem

And life goes on, endless
unbroken chain of being
Eternally to God above
and sinner, I, below

>>25232471
>Nuclear
Sounds very complicated.

Haha no way! I was just taking a break from studying for my last Electrical 2 test, and i often think to myself that i could be an electrical engineer eventually. It's all pretty fascinating to me and i wish i had starting learning skills like this 10 years ago. I wonder, what would a career path even look like for an electrical engineer? Literally engineering stuff in an office? Field work?

Also the funny thing is i will probably be babysitting a plant soon. Tbh i prefer to be in the "impact" zone anyway.

I wouldn't quite say that I'm starting at square one. I have certainly learned a lot about people. Done labor bum work all across the country. I can weigh weed in my hand without a scale. It's all there on my resumè.

>>25232555
Nice

>>25232636
Thanks anon. It's been floating around in my head all afternoon.

>>25202370

1813

O Fortune most fell,
thou who from the twinned pithoi dost pour on men and kings their bitter fell,
For in gray-eyed Minerva's gift, Napoleon is foremost of all,
nor second to one in unwearied office thrall.

Three hundred thousand, answering his call,
from Reggio to Groningen, from Plouarzel to Niedernhall,
Marie-Louises, some unshod, some unarmed, yet in all doth run l'ardeur;
their hearts' desire is to behold their sire,
and in his presence shout "Vive l'Empereur."

But all is for naught; headlong went they,
led by Macdonald, Oudinot, and Ney,
their banners torn, their columns swept away.

Why the Scott, O son of Carlo, did you forget
the fate Rymnitski wrought, and at Trebbia he met?
Thou fight'st as once thou didst, when o'er thee shone the sun of Austerlitz;
but with Roland's death cometh thine also,
beneath the moon, the moon of Plaswitz.

West of the Elbe rises thy star;
Dresden, a victory that wounds the Tsar,
yet glory won in summer fades by far.

But 'tis not dawn, O Napoleon; thy star will set;
for Trachenberg has proven to thee
as unshakable as Hephaestus' net.

>>25232869
Forgive me for asking, I hope this doesn't come off as nitpicky, I really do think you did a good job and admire how your skils obviously exceed mine, why do you use the roman name for Minerva/Athena but the greek name for Hephaestus/Vulcan?

>>25232928
He probably used Hephaestus' to get to 10 syllables

>>25232985
Ah that makes sense. I'm a brainlet.

>>25232928
For Minerva/Athena I was referencing the art of war. I chose the Roman name since Rome feels more closely tied to military organisation and doctrine, which better matched the angle I was taking.

With Hephaestus I reverted to Greek cuz, well
>>25232985
lmao

>>25202370
A post I found on reddit, formatted as a Kauric poem

Rupi Kaur's poetry is overrated.
Both of her books were in general,
very underwhelming.

I know that she writes about important topics
and that she brings a diverse voice to the genre,
but her poems read to me as vapid and low-effort,
like she wrote out a sentence or two,
formatted it,
and called it

poetry.

I'm not claiming that my opinion on good poetry is more valid
than anyone else's,
and you have the right
to like what you want to,

but just because a woman
of a minority race
published poetry on a topic of modern importance
doesn't deserve Rupi Kaur's work
the right to be hailed as one of the best writings
of our generation.

There are so many other poets
out there
who deserve more
recognition than she does.

I invite you to change my view (CMV)!

O slutty tranny,
How uncanny
You look... Your makeup is a mess;
Why do you wear a dress
When you've not got a fanny?
(Would probs still fuck you, I confess...)

>>25231486
thanks anon. I didn't know that about Kerouac or Ginsburg

>>25233227
O porno tranny,
How uncanny
You look... Your makeup is a mess;
You've taken off your dress,
And still I see no fanny.
(I kept on wanking, I'll confess...)

>>25233251
Final revision before I submit it to the New Yorker:

O porno tranny,
How uncanny
You look... Your makeup is a mess;
You've taken off your dress,
And yet I see no fanny.
(I still kept wanking, I'll confess...)

I open my eyes
To look upon deformed self
Close my eyes

Meter criticized, meaning received
Wordy, what's up
You have to see my png
I wanted to tell you something
but it's only cursory thoughts
Bathroom first, then mirror
then the page saying go to bed.

>>25202370
Should I bake a new bread
Before this one molds over?
Or should I wait instead
For the bread to roll over
On its own after no one pays
It any mind for days?

>>25202729
What does Zanzibar represent here?

[im horny]
You arrive, precisely,
with the certainty of someone
who has points to make
and the thighs to
make them with.
There's no turn of phrase
that would fit
on your collarbone
No mountain wall that
speaks
like your shoulders do
when you stride towards
what's only a given.

Your nosiness has led you
to God
who isn't surprised by anything,
let alone finding you
at his door.

>>25230898
Thanks. I actually only wrote the first one.
>>25227076
But I love that it inspired the other guy lol

I've been reading a bit of Housman and been inspired by some of his poems relating to war. Having also been, I wrote a farewell letter to my then-gf. She never saw it since ai obviously made it back

--Farewell--

Off I went, for my country's pride,
to where I took my final stride.
I hope you know I did my best,
But from this war I'll now find rest.

Oh my darling, if only I had known
That I would never make it home.
I'd hold you like you were always mine
And kiss you gently one last time.

Oh my darling, my dearest friend,
I promise in time your wound will mend.
I will soon belong to days of yore,
And you will find true love once more.

This letter holds the pain I bear;
I found a heart so pure and rare.
For you my dear I'd tell no lie:
It's time for me to say goodbye

Say yes to love, for it is rare
While happiness is nothing to show
Say yes, even, to the love of others
For nothing brings you regret like a 'no'

And if there's no echo in your heart,
Then heed the other regardless
They'll change through that, which is you
Your 'no' will kill something priceless

And possibly, you'll never learn to love
But you can learn to say yes.
And if you can light a light in his eyes
Then you know of love nevertheless

You who write messages to the awake night, now.

Product of USA, Chile, Mexico, S. Africa, Argentina, Brazil, India, Vietnam, Indonesia

File: 1741530340096011.jpg (103 KB, 768x850)

103 KB JPG

Thoughts on George Chapman?

Rinaldo, the poor fox that lost his tail,
Persuaded others also to lose theirs:
Thyself, for one perhaps that for desert
Or some defect in thy attempts refused thee,
Revilest the whole sex, beauty, love, and all:
I tell thee Love is Nature's second sun,
Causing a spring of virtues where he shines;
And as without the sun, the world's great eye,
All colours, beauties, both of Art and Nature,
Are given in vain to men, so without love
All beauties bred in women are in vain;
All virtues born in men lie buried,
For love informs them as the sun doth colours,
And as the sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers
; So love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts.
Brave resolution, and divine discourse:
Oh, 'tis the Paradise, the heaven of earth;
And didst thou know the comfort of two hearts,
In one delicious harmony united,
As to joy one joy, and think both one thought,
Live both one Life, and therein double life;
To see their souls met at an interview
In their bright eyes, at parley in their lips,
Their language, kisses: and to observe the rest,
Touches, embraces, and each circumstance
Of all love's most unmatched ceremonies;
Thou wouldst abhor thy tongue for blasphemy.
Oh! who can comprehend how sweet love tastes
But he that hath been present at his feasts?

And I, who had been counting my own absences,
listening instead to the night bird that insists on two notes only,
found my thoughts folded like clean linen on a chair.

>>25236104
Very nice little poem

Nostalgia: you've your own
cabinet.
Venetian glass, home to an
impossible blue.
A muted ocean, disappointed
by the stoic way
stones and pebbles take
the brunt of time.
Youth and its ripples
charging at the day's geology.
Daring the lined candles
to die, softly,
with a palm that opens
like a knowing Spring.
But in these hours
only the stubborn red
that cracks
and clings to the branch
unwilling to let go
despite the
certainty of going.

It’s interesting as fuck. At last, what women
Keep in their bags, revealed! For my last birthday
And the low price of just one matcha latte,
We tried six hundred brands of fresh-spun linen.

I run a chain of sports bar-slash-casinos,
And here’s how I got rich from home. Six dudes
Just dumpster dived and found this in your food.
Dump him this instant if he wears these chinos.

Los Angeles bush-fires. You’ve never seen
A cat do this. You too can learn to code
On second Mondays. List of episodes.
Pacific flights from 5/12. Slay them, queen.

My nephew, 33M, can’t find work.
Ten toxic traits to tell you they’re a jerk.

Up-close of my vagina. Link in bio.
Men fear this graph. You won't believe her face
Before the fillers. Urgent: what's the ratio
Of vibes to rent? Millennials called him based.

You need these boots. This quiz knows when you’ll die.
Just look at what she wore to court that day.
Why Gen Z hates the thumbs-up. Reasons why
Your dog might sue. (But not in Florida.)

The moon is fake. The vibes are off. A plane
Went missing full of MA libertarians.
This pill reversed my age. She danced through pain.
They’re not your mom’s sectarian Ukrainians.

They photoshopped my nipples: here's the proof.
I ghosted him, and now I’m bulletproof.

First, clean the penis with an antiseptic.
Make sure all patient records have been checked.
Apply a dorsal nerve-block anesthetic.
Wait up to fifteen minutes for effects.

With a blunt probe, detach inner mucosa.
Pull forward the redundant foreskin. Plan
Incision line beneath the glans corona.
Cut open foreskin to expose the glans.

Pull up redundant foreskin. Neatly clamp
Incision line. Now with a sterile scalpel,
Excise the foreskin from the penile shaft
Shielding the glans with a metallic panel.

Now once the wound is safely cauterized
And stitched, the patient has been circumcised.

>>25236474
>>25236477
>>25236481

ok

Timescapes escape into the past
And out pops projections of painsly porters
Put up with me if you will!
But know that the sands of time
wash with waters unsublime

The past song of birds
is lodged in the stone.
The carpenter working
on time
with his hands
from before
the world.
First the knots
which are many;
Then the kerfs
of loss
which are wide,
to be dressed
into purposeful forms
that can hold
all of memory's seasons.

>>25236842
not as good as mine

>>25236846

I agree. Which was yours.

File: Lannes_mortally_wounded_a(...).jpg (969 KB, 1200x899)

969 KB JPG

>>25232869
Here is my second Napoleonic one.

Elegy for Lannes, Paladin of the Empire

Hard was thy body to bear, O Roland, so great,
by lamenting angels borne aloft to thy rest at heaven’s gate.

For nine days thy soul in death lay waiting,
not in Austria's fields where Mors roams unabating,
but for thee a novena, his dark vigil keeping.

All of mother France joined in his grief, and tearful son of Carlo,
and all thy men and others, and the Duchess of Montebello.

Who among mortal men can claim an ascent such as thine,
O Lannes, son of Gascony, sprung from a carpenter's line,
father of the Grand Armée, to whom dukedom and title feel mean,
an insult to the greatness of all thou hast been.

For every ordeal, for every campaign’s throes,
thou wert the cure where war’s dark tempest blows;

At Landshut’s field and Ratisbon’s hard stone,
unyielding Gascon, Napoleon’s sword and bone.

To Saragossa thou return’st, O Roland, flesh and not a phasm,
where Palafox with Spaniards stands and rends the Frenchmen’s chasm,
conquering they fail, as thou and Charlemagne in chiliasm.

Now thou, triumphant, dost take the town, as did great Alexander at Tyre;
yet thine end is the same: in the rearguard thou meet’st thy death,
and we, lamenting, raise thy pyre.

No less than Charlemagne’s, Napoleon’s grief is sincere,
his wrath and answering fury no less severe;
for Charles he faces again when the Pleiades reappear,
and hurls him down as the great king once did the emir.

But to thee, O Lannes, fortune hath been kind,
for only glory and triumph did she grant thine eyes to find,
and at the precipice thou diest, thy star and Empire's light resigned.

>>25236917
would you mind reading this one aloud, please? on vocaroo or wherever

>>25237923
Nah, my pronunciation isn't good, English is like my fourth language.

>>25236474
I remember you
not bad. isn't this an old piece?

>>25237980
Nta but very impressive if it’s your fourth language. That puts monolingual plebeians such as myself to shame

When night feels endless, cold, and deep,
And dreams are bruised by things we keep,
Hold fast, the thread has not yet bent;
It isn’t right, so not the end.

The dawn still waits beyond your sight,
To turn the wrongs to gentle light;
All storms will hush, all hearts will mend,
Everything’s alright in the end.

The specifics of the moon—
this extraordinary
quality of light
and its Mediterranean character even here
luminous gradient that
the French windows frame
almost architecturally against your hair,
the way it catches this October
which contains a particular
emotional—
"Stop.
You just want to fuck"