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>>25259884
Been reading a lot of him recently. When you realize that Mozart lived a full decade longer than he did, you start to appreciate the sheer enormity of the loss.

I'm so fucking gay
I love slurping up semen
And in spring, tree cum

stabbed to death in the bathroom
copper smelling blood swirling the drain
being told its cancer
terminal, eating away your brain

a strange phone call, filled with jagged laughter
the footsteps in the darkness getting faster and faster
found myself buried alive
running out of air

reaper stares with lust
we all return to dust
rotting flesh devoured by maggots
skull shining like a dinner plate

its our fate
its our fate
its our fate

>>25259938
lmao this reads like something an emo 13 year old would write in their diary

>>25259884
Night clear as vodka --
from the street a woman's voice
Stumbles through the black --

>>25259942
i tried using horror as a theme, guess you cant win with you guys

voice of the devil
from pulpit or screen
destroy -not with words-
through silence, unseen

>>25259938
lines 1 to 6 are alright
rest descends into caricature and is corny

I'm so deep dear diary
Reaper haunts my dreams
All reduced to binary
Bodies are but machines
>>25259938
I like emo 13 year old stuff though

>>25259938
this starts strong but by the second stanza you've lost the rhythm entirely

>>25259884
Walking outside for the first time in two weeks.
Everything seems unreal to me. Blurry at the edges.
People's expressions like condensation on a darkened window.
This stuff -- all this -- motion tamped into narrow, porous containers,
and the wind blows candy wrappers out of the trash cans at the gas station,
and in a minivan a toddler whines about her sandwich, and the cashier's
blue hair hovers over her piercings. We will never know each other.
I feel twitchy and restless and I'm coming down off too many drugs
from strange websites in foreign countries. Now the fun's over.
Is this all there is? Candy wrappers blown into the gutter?
Overhead, the clouds fracture and coalesce in their blue muck.
Their shadows slip across the parking lot, then linger
underfoot. I feel dense, damp, chill. Excluded, if you'd like.
And then the wind again, and then the sun again, and of course
the light, and the warmth. Of course, of course. Sun blinking
off the tops of cars and streetlights and the laundromat's rusting sign.
And then the wind again, and then the clouds again, and of course
the dark, and the chill, and the faceless, massed water, always overhead.

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>>25259985
>>25259987
>>25259997
You know usually i post poems in here that get ignored, i get zero attention, i usually rip off larkin by making poems about mundane reality with a hint of melancholy .

god forbid someone try something different

>>25260043
good on you for contributing OC and trying something different

however, your poem tries to generate its effects with stock imagery and contains no surprise for the reader (or the writer)

it's also not very lyrical, which in itself isn't necessarily bad, but it's like you're trying to be both poetic and plainspoken simultaneously, and the triple repetition at the end doesn't do anything that the preceding three stanzas don't already do, and each stanza does nothing that the other stanzas don't do

you've essentially written the same thing
>we're all gonna die and it's scary
four times, and each time with images I've seen elsewhere in exactly the same configurations as they appear here

I don't doubt the emotion behind it is real but because of these things it doesn't impact the reader

This is why your poem isn't very good

bathing, bathing, ok, soap.
towel but later. what if
the boiler falls.
slippy feet are not, standing on the rug.
tickles but painful. perineum shaved.
ah, water.

>>25260012
It's like everything you write centers around the same shit: being isolated and miserable and walking around feeling disconnected from the people you see and from your surroundings. It's getting old. You need to expand your range.

>>25260065
yes yes i know, it was a lazy poem, i came up with the first part and tacked on the second parts.

Yes i know poems need a shift, a volta, a le surprise.


no one in here actually posts poetry anyways, they shitpost garbage or make fun of poetry

Sweat drops from my brow
As the rosy sun dips below the clouds
And I say "good night" to the cow
In my pasture

Rain begins to fall
As shadows lengthen, presage of night
My muscles creak and I stretch tall
Comfy tired

Storm hides twilight
And I don't see it, I'm making cocoa
Until I turn, what a cozy sight!
Before bedtime

I say this with all sincerity
This is not a shitpost
Watch and see real poetry
Written by a spooky ghost

>>25260076
I’m not whoever you think I am. This is my first time sharing OC in these threads

I read T.S Eliott's first book, Prufrock and Other Observations. I don't get it
I'm relatively new to poetry. I've read books by Byron, Tennyson, Keats, Dickinson, and some more general collections and I've appreciated most of what I've read. but with Eliott I'm just left feeling like... ok? is that it?
makes me relate to people who look down on the idea of poetry
is his early work not noteworthy or am I missing something?

>>25260201
You are retarded.

>>25260233
yeah okay but can you explain why
I'm ready to admit my ignorance. I know very little about poetry
Eliott's language is awkward and his poetry doesn't contain striking images or messages. I've only read his first book so maybe his good poems are elsewhere

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Remembered this poem after I saw it surface on Twitter. I need to reread Donald Justice.

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Larkin is just so good, anons

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>>25260201
Whenever I read his poetry I’m reminded of the smell of my great great grandfather’s house and it produces a kind of nostalgia in me.

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>>25260941
Larkin is absolutely the /lit/ poet.

Complains about wageslaving
Complains about not getting any
Compains about there not being any decent porn on TV after he went to all the trouble of buying one
Complains about niggers and commies ruining his country
Complains about getting old
Rhymes and scans
Actually good

Got a couple of pieces here that I wrote just for funsies. I’m too much of a bitch to share my serious stuff. Shout out to the anon shitting up this thread with his whining. Just keep writing, bucko. You’ll eventually put out something that won’t make us cringe.

1/2
A rush of pure euphoria hit
When I pushed flush inside you
Feeling every ripple of your tight slit

When I licked your pretty feet
Which on my tongue felt so real
I knew the shape was soon complete

Watching your mouth moan agape
Desperately pumping you wanting more
I finally began to stir and wake
From fucking you raw on my floor

2/2
I went down to the corner store
To buy me something special
Walked right back out the door
With my new one dollar pistol

Just me and my one dollar pistol
Taking it slow on down the street
Everything as clear as crystal
Like gold bricks under my feet

I went up and shouted to room 4D
I heard a commotion on the other side
So I waited there impatiently
Watching paint that already dried

He looked at me mean as a missile
When he cracked open the door
So I let loose with my one dollar pistol
And that sumbitch dropped to the floor

Just me and my one dollar pistol
Running fast on down the street
Everything as clear as crystal
Like gold bricks under my feet
>>25260108
Very good. Tolkien esque in imagery.
>>25260074
I would clap if I heard this as slam poetry

Looking at the camel shaped candy
Hating it
It still doesn't melt.
Mr. You Don't Want to Know, tell me
if the sac cries.
When was the time for fingering
the violin inside.
My woman woke up the same as yesterday
Just ironing crusty panties and
saying no to proposals.
The new part comes from China
in a month or two.

>>25260079
I posted an actual poem here a while ago. Though, come to think of it, it was a shitpost which made fun of poetry, so you may have a point.

word vomit first draft
-
I'm dropped in the middle of Ulysses
wondering if I left the stove on:
a classic.
I dream of the hut which couldn't
save me from the influx.
There, the fish signs hanging,
making amends with the breeze,
and a woman who said yes
under the influence,
mumbling limping love and memory
to the sea.
We still talk, or used to.
Now we agree on the sun
being a spreadsheet,
the flame of youth having long met
earth.
A grand dream then, in the form of
a closet where I can fondle myself
to arrive at higher truths.

>>25260012
it's a bit one-note but I like the recurring water imagery and
>the dark, and the chill, and the faceless, massed water, always overhead
is a great line to end on

In my youth I would pretend
I would act retarded
Now my life is near end
And I'm still retarded

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POET

CALLS HIMSELF

THE DYSTACTICAL PROSIST

RIGS UP HIS FREE

VERSE

VERSES FREE OF

METER

PUNCTUATION

CADENCE

CONCEPT

VERSES FREE OF

POETRY

>>25262434
beautiful

>>25262493
Damn, this really killed the thread. All of /lit/'s little "poets" are now afraid of posting their little broken prose "poems" LMAO

Will they ever recover? Will they keep writing their shitty "verses"? Lives were changed.

>>25263118
I write formal verse but I think your rude and hostile attitude toward free verse is entirely unwarranted. A lot of free verse is great and a lot of formal verse is terrible.

To provide evidence of the latter claim, here's one of my recent efforts:

With bloody shoes, the old man walks the road.
His skin hangs dry upon his hollow bones,
and every word he speaks is garbled code -
a voice so weak it hardly seems to moan.
Beneath his crimson gums are blackened stumps
that guard a tongue left dry and whittled bare.
His limbs are home to countless burning lumps,
and yellow eyes betray a haunted stare.
Alone in desert air, his legs give way –
and crashing down he hits the asphalt ground:
A voice too weak to cry, or even pray.
And hours pass without a human sound.
When passersby arrive at last to see,
they find a man at peace and lying free.

>>25263118

Choking on your limp dick are we

Words of power nine
On the void were carved
Words I'll never find
Nor will any bard

Wanderer with one eye
The heavy load carried
Set them in the sky
In light the words buried

>>25263379
Yeah, you are all choking on my dick.

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>>25263118
>poetry has to rhyme and have regular meter because... because... IT JUST HAS TO OKAY!!!
Right, yeah

>>25262493
Based C U M G E N I U S

>>25264293

Based 0 poems posted cum brain

[im no poet dont kill me]
Everything is on the blank page,
waiting.
We wait. This is how it's done.
We don't think about her face
About the late winner from Wrexham in '98
About the butter left in the sun.
Words appear now.
A covered heart and eyes
Singing like a broken jukebox
Trying to inhabit life backwards.
All childhood faults open
All postponement swallowed
Now they're closed.
A new mall built on them.
A café there with a computer
That is just for tabs
Doesn't play any music.

>>25264410
>the late winner from Wrexham in '98
old Britfag detected

>>25263375
yeah this is pretty bad

>>25266093
As the writer I agree, but can you explain why? I think I have a fairly good feel for meter but everything I write still turns out like garbage. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong.

what do I have to say
for you to hear me
what do I have to do
for you to return to me
this is unbearable

no divorce in the hague
baby pls
im annotating law
take all night
the may I man sleeps
not me
im courtin you
cant you see
my lovvest self
all over your sofa
growing the willy
past pink cynicism

>>25266727
this sucks

>>25266811

maybe but it made her lawyer seethe

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>pooetry

>>25263375
>>25266150
nta but the regularity of your meter within the regularity is (maybe? I'm taking your lead here; I don't think it's THAT terrible) the problem; on a finicky second reading, I noticed that you don't at any point have an odd-number caesura (i.e. a natural 'split' in the line taking place within an iamb; 'To err is human; to forgive, divine.' is, for example a 5:5 split (or arguably a 5:3:2, or even a 2:3:3:2 but this is besides the point)). Your lines essentially all have (arguably) 4:6 or 6:4 splits, or none at all, which maybe lend them a sort of prosodic 'even-ness' which becomes stale fast. (This, I should stress, is simply a best guess, a post-hoc rationalization of a feeling I had upon the first reading, so take it with as big a mound of salt as you will.) Also, a lot of the lines, structurally, and in terms of word-choice, seem contorted for the sake of the end rhymes. The last couplet is especially egregious in this respect, to my ear at least, and leaves a deflating feeling in my mind which somewhat detracts from any of the poems earlier virtues. The rhyming sound, to be clear, isn't bad (in my opinion; it's actually quite a good choice), but the wording ('arrive at last to see' (like obviously they're gonna fucking see him if they're 'arriving' y'know?), and 'lying free' (given you've all ready said 'at peace', what does 'free' do here, other than fill out the verse?)) is poor. Of course, you could have had your semantically and/or artistically valid reasons for this, which I, in a position of over-critical ignorance, am overlooking, but... yeah... I mean... that's my sincerest attempt to answer your question. By the by, you have got a good ear for meter. From one atrocious formal poet to another: please keep trying. One day you'll write something to vindicate the misguided efforts of us all.

>>25259887
I can't get into the long narrative poems but I like the odes a lot

>>25267592
Thank you very much for the feedback anon. You're absolutely right that the metrical flow is overly regular; it's something I didn't even notice before but now that you point it out it's incredibly obvious and kinda cringe. And yeah, I have a problem with warping sentence syntax to fit the rhyme; it's something I'm slowly but steadily improving at, but it's unfortunately still there in all my formal work.

My hope is that if I keep reading the greats and keep practicing my verse eventually I'll be able to gain a better instinct for such things. And if not, at least I'll die knowing I tried lol. In any case, I appreciate the help!

>>25259884
Ay
Ay
Ay
Ay

Ima fuck nigga
Ima cuck nigga
Pull out yo dick
Ima suck nigga
Pull on my dreads
When you bust nigga
But don't call me a fag
Ima tough nigga
Ay

Blicky in my purse
Betta duck nigga
Twerkin on ya hearse
When ya dust nigga
Fuck me in the ass
Til it crust nigga
But I'll put ya in da dirt
If ya call me a puff nigga
Ay

Thoughts?

Greetings and salutations.

I will perform various homosexual acts
while behaving in a stereotypically black manner
but do do not accuse me of being homosexual
I am a masculine heterosexual
liable to murder anyone who expresses opinions to the contrary

She suck me
Then
She fuck me

I'm surprised this hasn't been asked (or maybe I shouldn't be since this is 4chan) --

Recs for a couple lines, maybe a stanza, that would be perfect to use in a Mother's Day card?

I had a line and a nose
Now I have no lines
No money
No MFA certificate
I'm out of milk
Fuck your mom
at midnight

>>25269742
Love you Mom

how do you write good poetry

Pathological passion
Pursuing pleasing prancing
Pathetic paroxysms

>>25269742
Dearer to me thou art than any other:
I long to fuck nobody else's mother.

Mother: I have escaped pussies.
Mother knows a thing or two.
She says Houellebecq isn't anything
Much like Houellebecq's mother did
Bet he wasn't pressed against his mother's tits
Like I am.
I suck. I know it's wrong. It's milky.
Dad will roll the carpet up and take it
to the cleaners.
I go to bed with a clear conscience.
Happy whatever festivity it is today
Y'all.

>>25270369
nobody really knows but everyone agrees you have to read a lot of it

The thing-in-itself
screeches.
I cover my eyes
to not let
the red ants out.
The rosemary
of yesterday
grew teeth.
The salad is bloody now,
unusable
it stays
in the lower fridge.

The Great Poet, Aster

Hi!

It's me,
the great poet.

—Aster

>>25270369
Good poems evoke a kind of wist that bad poems don't. You ever hit a tuning fork to make it buzz and then you hear another tuning nearby fork buzz in response to the first? It's like that. Now, this means that not all good poems will be good poems for everyone. But when you write poetry, try to make sure it stirs something in you when you read it.

There's also stuff like rhyme and meter but you can get better at that through practice

>>25270655
The Great Poet Asked Her

haven't you heard
of the great poet?

—Aster

>>25259884
There is nothing between
two slices of bread
but they will never be
one loaf again

dont be jelly
of anal shine
dick like laser
hard as lime
something smelly
and sublime

The road through Githioro drags its spine through mud and broken stone,
deep with ruts, tired with rain and neglect.

banging beatrice
no inferno
sinking into paradise
hey gustave
stop sketching me
small down there

you want a poet's verse
pinch his balls
if he has any
scanning the tractor
manual labor ftw

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Reznikoff has the rare ability to ruin your day with two lines. I still love his poetry, tho

The walls are shouting
I cannot hold them back
Let them in
Let me out
Died from heart attack

>>25268270
Honestly more entertaining than anything else in this thread. Seems about 99 percent of writers are more concerned with looking smart and clever instead of just, ya know, writing something interesting.

[The blind path]

Impulsive act, left astray
With no safe haven for you to stay
In suffering you may, find a spot
Within,
Maybe,
under your skin,
coated in spring leaves
A jumble of mechanisms
Are you really sure this defence is worth the win.

Empty prayers, sowing the garden
Roots dying as the trunk hardens,
Leaving craters where life once grew,
They imprisoned the phoenix, made it illegal to bloom.
What a fucked up, child
hood,
Now fucking around as an, adult
good.

Who poisoned the depths,
Daily town fest,
No water left, got lost in the jest
Of another electric boogaloo quest.
Parody event, and countless hours,
Spent in the trench, taste the dirt sour.

Who's to blame the lost one coward,
With so many lies on top of the tower.
Who's to blame the lost one coward,
When only death will bring you power.
Who's to blame the lost one coward,
Where spotless lands can't grow a flower,
Who's to blame the lost one coward,
What to do, when everything is on fire?

[To Existence]

What's the deal with all these taunts and flairs, a mountain of poses just to win, just to dare, adding up to the pile of who did done and who was were, a tear from a bear called fear, a beast who dared to shed a tear forgetting those he held dear, now naked and clear, he lost his old wares, found himself dead centered in his own despair.
What else is left for the animal lost in the sense and forgetfulness, when the values crumble under a whole new present tense, a future as uncertain as the present itself and a past no more worth than a dying flower caring less, entranced by it all and the futility played as jest, telling him to stay alive, nurture its growth, see through its own principles and give them up once for all, but at least gain some laughs by presenting them as a joke.
What's left but to play the role, to sing for everyone yet play alone, that's the role of the mole, blind to the sky now filled with worms, and better so as the real ones lay where you were born.

[Humus]

Tis with little thought that I put together words, and words
that all come to naught, pieced together at dawn,
Everything and nothing and whatnot.

The souls I see, bedazzled in a hurry,
A lonesome stream, of forgotten journeys.

Quite a blue spot to find oneself in, With the rhymes
the rhythm, the beat of a feat in a unison dream,
Under a North star crowning you a king,
The illusion feeding itself at every whim,
Backward steps painted in greed.

We will never stop,
Filling bottomless holes no matter the cost,
As long as they wake us up, just a little spark,
Then back to the mud without feeling lost.
In another start, in another post,
Still trying to fly knowing dirt needs you the most.

>>25272080
>>25272096
>>25272101
Your poems are garbage.
Kill yourself.

>>25271873
You're just dumb.

>>25271873
>Honestly more entertaining than anything else in this thread
Thanks I thought so too.

>>25259884
Murder in the Garden

He stepped into the glasshouse from the cold
Grabbing at grapevine, trampling marigold
Falling face first into the green perfume
A bullet found a tender place to bloom
Between the pampered flowers and the fruits
that whither as the chill descends their roots
Smoke wafting from the barrel of a gun
An apparition of the setting sun

Picture for me, If you will, A giant mushroom;
Is your mushroom like a tree?
It’s cap spread as a canopy?
Looming over you and me?

Is this your “giant” mushroom?
It’s hardly worth the name!
My mushroom puts your ‘shroom to shame!
Let me now explain;

My mushroom truly terrifies!
It’s reaching up into the skies,
Its dotted cap so widely made,
It covers all the land in shade!

i like this

Les montagnes regardent, patientes et fières,
le temps qui se retire, lent comme un roseau.

Mais dans chaque blessure une lampe persiste.

>>25272107
:(

Eros/Thanatos

I'm pulling out
when I'm dead.
They said
the world was ending
today.
Still here.
We can continue
our desperation
just in case—
fingering time,
eating the worm.

Got an idea for a long poem but I'm not happy about it. Because now I'm like 'Ah shit, fuck you mind for coming up with that idea. Now I've actually got to work on it and it's going to take ages. I just wanted to spend my time doing nothing and occasionally cranking out a poem which can be finished within a day.
Now you got me working on a single one for consecutive days? Fuck you mind. Inspiring me like that.'

>>25274543
Give the idea to me.

My muse is a cruel bitch

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>>25259884
Night Walk by Franz Wright. Love this poem.

I am not going to
write an epic
just to have a shot
at pussies.
Oh muse just
spread your legs

>>25274023
What does this even mean

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new tiny fragment is up in the archive

RE: the poetry book "Doe" by Conor Hultman, which someone just had a thread for that was deleted:
Conor, you magnificant bastard, you stole my idea for true crime poetry. The early bird gets the worm, but this won't be the last you hear of me.

>>25277858
>true crime poetry
That's so gay.

>>25277879
It's dreary as fuck you psycho

>>25277886
lmfao shut up bitch

I am not going to
Conor, you magnificant bastard
tiny fragment is up
between the pampered flowers and the fruits
you're just dumb
it covers all the land in shade!
Ay
Ay
Ay
in a mother's day card?
I will perform various homosexual acts
this is my first time sharing OC
YOU ARE RETARDED.

>I know, I'll be even gayer. That'll show 'em...

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Double-hyphens make a dash
-- A mad-dash at double-speed
Rolling boulders . . . My ellipses
. . . Fancied me a dramatist
In my tenderest dreams, yes.

In my most fanciful dreams,
A writer -- I be, so I learned format
When I was no longer a teen
-- Fancied it copy-editing
But here's some trouble for me:

I got to chatting
-- With a girl on the web
We came to disagree . . .
I broke off in a 'fell-swoop'
A tired-stroke of cantour

I willed her gone
But I was begrudged thereafter
-- She looked for me in
The reams of the net
And fed AI samples of my banter

On 4chan.org
A post was found that
Matched my stylist's endeavour
-- And yet had not the spirit
Of my soul!

For it was not I
Who wrote that piece of drool
-- But on an anonymous account
Accused was I
Certain was she -- would stake her life.

And the telegram message
Had arrived to out
My two-faced mind!
But what do I care: I'm not
The one hung up.

Maybe her AI will
Detect this authentic
Specimen
Of authentic junk,
If so, I bid you 'Be well -- chum.'

>>25275507
just got back from a night walk thanks anon

Awaking slowly on a sunlit slope,
a gambler rubs his dazed and sunken eyes.
He wandered off around midnight, to wise
observers seeming drunk and full of hope –
a hope that ties to drinkers like a rope.
But now he struggles sitting up to rise,
his gaze still focused on the churning skies,
their foaming clouds that melt as bars of soap.

The sun is setting fast, and up he stands,
the gambler’s drunken high now wearing thin.
The townsfolk say he’s blind – a hopeless man
who lives in filthy, groping wayward sin.
But mountains he’s climbed of snowflakes and sand,
and little he cares for striving to win.

>>25278278

??? trippin

I told you
you're everything to me
you told me
you don't love me anymore
the policemen told me
that it's beem long since the've seen
so much blood
the policemen told me

I'm ruping down
here:
like this
breathless
breathtaking
ess
ential
sequential birds
oh summer
and bloated pools
in flowers
ah colours!

I talked myself over the silence
Sculpted your absence
with my arms
I spilled the night between
the balcony and the doorbell
Wrote what cannot be said
into drawer letters
Pleaded with the morning bird
then relented in an open fridge.
One day this will turn to use
I'll get a new batch of pleasant moons
to sleep under.

>>25278278
cringe

water/fire spills from the most boring mountain in town
a million new rivers but their novelty walked is gone
you call that a charnel house?
the ground has muscle underneath it
the worlds bicep is defined and shivering and it’s making it’s new tattoo of a snake open and close its mouth by flexing

virginia is for lovers

he is moving to the republic of images and she is moving to the breakaway state of sounds

what is to be done you ask?

the minimum i suppose

forget the maximum; the less you know the better; all roads lead to you

not just the roads but the flight paths
and the fast food deliveries and the presidential bunker systems; you are the center of all systems

i am in love with you almost immediately

collapse, desire, the beauty and the sorrow

look through the windows of the trucks of the miracle invasion and smell their patriot organs

mausoleumicrobial god take my sun and my hands and laugh and lose your pathetic dream

lets lose this all together

Gonna compile all these together and use it for my PhD thesis. Thanks for the free work heh heh

Frogs at Judgement Day

The log they crowned as king
Grew sodden, lurched and sank;
An owl floats by on silent wing,
Dark water bubbles from the spring;
They invoke you from each bank.

At dawn you shall appear,
A gaunt red-legged crane,
You whom they know too well for fear,
Lunging your beak down like a spear
To fetch them home again.

Sufficiunt
Tecum,
Caryatis,
Domnia
Quina.

>>25283216
Americans are so pathetic

>>25283274
Yeah it’s pretty horrid.

>>25283330
stop referencing your retarded country in your poems

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John Ashbery, "Quick Question"

>>25283576
I'll be honest. I don't get Ashbery at all. What do you see in him?

>>25283576
for some reason there’s nothing worse than seeing some anon’s creepy fingers accidentally included in the pic.

>>25284553
First Ashbery book I've obtained, aside from the few pages of Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror I flipped through at a B&N one time, so I'm still figuring him out too. Just wanted to share that one. As for what I see in him currently, I don't know, the odd beautiful phrase, image, and, as Hart Crane used to call it, logic of metaphor. He's not a poet one reads for truth, which is why I think he can never be ranked as a major poet. But for a fun, aesthete diversion, why not?

>>25284563
I gotta prove my race. Just teasing. I feel like it adds to the charm. Brings us a little bit closer, y'know? I'm a real human being on the other side of these posts.

>>25284570
yeah it’d be fine but somehow they’re never normal fingers. i didn’t realise you were still here, don’t really want to lay into you, but it’s like everyone here has ugly hands. or maybe it corresponds to likeliness of posting pics of physical books.

Some interesting and mentally ill people in this thread

>>25284740
in the poetry thread? never!

>>25283576
Hackwork, Ogden Nash level

>>25283576

See I hate poetry because I can never tell if the poem is just complete tripe or if I'm missing some obvious thing. If I say this left on the office printer I'd crumple it after stealing two/three word pairings.

Curious wording
Arbitrary
Line breaks for emphasis
Rhythm employed
To mask depth
Concluding sentence as a hook

>>25284806

All line breaks are arbitrary. Most poetry works depending on the reader's benevolence/indigestion.

This one’s called Wacky Life:

Why does the word bed
Resemble one?
Why do I find myself driving
on the parkway
And then parking
In the driveway?
But then the man who runs
In front of the car
Gets tired
While the man who runs
Behind the car
Gets exhausted
How come when I knocked up my wife
Everyone sent gifts
But when I knocked my wife down
The neighbors sent the police

>>25284852
I love the wordplay here anon

>>25284570
i want to apologise to you, after seeing the recent shenanigans in the /wyt/ your hand is actually relatively fine. could be a lot worse

File: IMG_5881.jpg (146 KB, 1080x1350)

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i wrote a poem about cambridge, boys

Socksford,
Boxford,
Hollyhocksford, doxxford,
Clocksford.
The slack of her smocksford
Shocksford.

Roadblocksford.
In the midst of a knocksford -
Landlocksford;
Foxford.

Of what state and stocksford
Our islands rise rocksford
From the sea, not fit for
Many flocksford of sheep.

>>25284989
>>25284852
These are the only worthy poems in this entire thread.

>>25284991

Sniffing your own farts are we

>>25285015
No I didn’t write either of those masterpieces

Dominating the captcha
is easier than the form.

I found a genuine comment
on the chan:
time to build
a museum for it.

>>25285015
nothing to do with me. i wouldn’t’ve included the other poem, or if i did, i wouldn’t’ve included mine because he clearly put more work in.

i’ve got a song that nobody knows.
i put it on when nobody's home.
it sounds like high school,
front gate,
smoke in my face
It sounds like dyed, frayed,
high-waist,
bought at supré.
it sounds like lovin you is easy
but they boosted the bass.
it sounds like ipod touch,
yellow pikachu case.
FL studio free download
in my search history.
FL studio so late
i fell asleep on the keys
with it looping through the speakers, bleeding into my dreams.
it sounds like

In heaven, learning is seeing;
On earth, remembering.

File: image1 (7).jpg (299 KB, 1210x908)

299 KB JPG

Wallace Stevens, "Parts of a World"

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Wallace Stevens, "The Auroras of Autumn"

A nodding ship that drifts away
Off from places so dull and grey
Where grief and sorrow go to die;
leaving only a carefree sigh

No strife or dread or toil for gold
Forgotten tales no longer told
And gentle seas rock fears to sleep;
for wakeful minds alone to keep

Intruding curtains wake my sight
The light betrays my wish for night
What lingers wears off with a yawn
And fades away along with dawn

Sons of Sinope
On poison we binge
So fruits of the life tree
Will always make us cringe

Now that I'm better,
book under the tree,
the stream's trickle
true in my ears
though the stream is far away.

Now that my mind is unfogged
and clear on what matters—
you, him, her, them,
perhaps us—

I can still see
the pile of nails
for pinning impermanence,

the question marks
grown restless with legs,

the face on me
scared of me
and families.

>>25287163
lmao you have kids and are still out here posting on 4chan?

God damn It
I'm
Retardid

No sé tu vida.
No sé tu nombre.
Solo conozco tus palabras.
Dicho a un hombre
Europeo.

There lies an island far across the sea.
A green and pleasant land with folk so fair.
An empire which the sun shall always see.
I mean to conquer all, then strip it bare.
I lack an army, blades I have but few,
Advisor dear, explain, what must I do?

My sovereign lord must stop this doleful tone:
The game of war's now played by merchants, such
That highest bidders lay the claim to thrones.
Your total conquest earned with lightest touch;
With usury we shall enslave this folk,
With rotten print, the chaos we invoke.

Yet should we show aggression lightly masked,
Their righteous rage we surely must receive.
The loyalty of folk will ever last
To noble king, impossibly deceived.
They all shall act when king announces cue.
Advisor dear, explain, what must I do?

My sovereign lord, to start our sordid run
We tirelessly support democracy.
We make the father hate the loving son
And serf detest the aristocracy.
The ancient power of kings shall be constrained;
The crown's despisal ever unrestrained.

The king remains, yet now is bound and trussed.
The folk then turn their weary eyes to God,
In Him alone is placed their desperate trust;
His strength they worship, holding ring and rod.
By priestly words believe they false and true.
Advisor dear, explain, what must I do?

My sovereign lord, we shall achieve our goal
With whispered words in educated ears
"The world's transformed by black and dusty coal
And doctrine's shaped by coin, not sacred fears.
So Man ascends the Christ's eternal throne;
A reshaped world, an image all his own."

Now God is dead and crown the folk abhor
But still they run so wild, with swelling broods
Of children, ten or twelve or even more.
Their teeming young entail the future feuds.
Tomorrow's strength I must today subdue.
Advisor dear, explain, what must I do?

My sovereign lord may plant his flag afield;
We sever ties of matrimonial bands,
By shredding blanket, deconstructing shield:
"The family - a gun in bourgeois hands!
The wife, the mother - brazenly oppressed!"
With truthless chants, their final guard suppressed.

Their faith is spent, divorce is commonplace,
Yet healthy folk remain; impervious throng.
The farmland's produce sold at marketplace
Makes half a dozen men a thousand strong.
With bodies stout, this conquest be undue.
Advisor dear, explain, what must I do?

My sovereign lord, we make with eager haste
To fill their mouths with poisoned processed food,
Pollute their streams with toxic, plastic waste
And make them drink expunged hormonal moods;
We watch as bodies wither, spirit wanes;
Belligerent capacity contained.

(1/2)

My sovereign lord, it seems I spent my last.
We've won the war on every thoughtful front
But should the folk see through our crafted mask,
Then hidden victory shall be undone.
Unless they know the names of kings so bold
Unless they honour gilded glories old
Unless they find their body's stolen strength
Unless they hold their place in shielded wall
Unless they add to line of family's length
Unless they name the architects of all,
Our surreptitious throne shall never fall.

I don't know their lives.
I don't know their names.
I only know this: these words
Were said for Europe's fame.

(2/2)

>>25287192
anon are you retarded nowhere does that poem imply that he has children

Murder in the Kitchen

Coffee and cream, just the way you like it
Rich butterfat cream and dark brown sugar
One drop each of hazelnut and almond
And a cinnamon swizzle stick, for show

Sitting on the quiet countertop, cold

Poetrylet here, I liked Ancient Mariner but I'm finding The Divine Comedy to be pretty hard, especially because I don't know anything about theology, also getting hard filtered by Paradise Lost. Do you have recs for beginner babby poetry?

>>25290077
>The Divine Comedy to be pretty hard, especially because I don't know anything about theology, also getting hard filtered by Paradise Lost
Theology doesn't really matter for either of those books because they are in error.

Good verse though

What parts of paradise lost are you struggling wit. My advice is to take your time with these old poetry books. Read like your savouring a charcuterie instead of trying to fit a heavy lunch into your 15 minute lunch break


Maybe you want mor recent poets like Bukowski or Larkin. Mary Oliver as well although her poems tend to be a bit preachy

(Stiletto)
What is going to be pierced then,
the lung or the heart?

You ask it looming
from toes up.
The jingle
when you move your head.

You impose the room's law
with last year's gift —
but I'm not scared.

Plum-black promises,
kept as bruises
to the hip.

Brown boarded ship, oh deliver me;
Upon a sea of sparkling shining sheets.
Peaks of pointed aluminium rising and falling, until flattened as a field.
The hot waves in lines of matted metal.
Smokestacks pour with vinegary vapours, breathtaking and soothing.
The ache is released, I cavort with spirits of light and warmth, into Orpheus' embrace I am taken home, Ithaca.
Those rugged banks, painfully sought, and painfull acquired, but home it be.
Would that I could stay, but my ship is leaving, and I must pay upon each morn, to find my long way back.

I, a traveller in a barren land.
Passing 'neath shadow'd hills and trees and long dead.
Journey'd leagues of seas; now long dry'd sand.
Came I to a little stream: its life bled.
The arid banks of bones did form a crown.
A voice there spoke betwixt the bony wreath:
'Oft did men visit here; and oft they did drown.'
Fearless was I of the waters low beneath.
And responded with derision at his size.
The voice replied 'you know me not of youth.'
'When my river flowed and raged before men's eyes.
'My waters, the enamel of Empire's tooth.'
'For this was England 'fore men let her go.'
'My name is Old Thames, I long 'go did flow.'

>>25259884
O let me laugh at the wasserfall
Pondering ecstatic thoughts
And sentimental excess
Let me laugh at the wasserfall
And the luminous filaments
Of her buzzing copperhead
Let me — let me, for a bit
Indulge in the applause
Of the wasser in its fall
And its whirling sparkling
Dust, remnants of heavenly tears
— Alchemically induced fevers
Visions of that ruinous Jannah
With its overflown rotten honey
Filled with microplastic and nitrates —
Let us laugh again, my love
At the corpse of that rusted fox
For his agony will be our feast
I will taste his flesh on your lips
As I once savoured that filthy fruit
From your immaculate hands

He the woe-wanderer, lost 'midst life.
Round the raiders rallied, from ship to shore to Burgh.
The child abandoned, orphan only. Father then Mother. Brother's bloodied, left for carrion.
Carried on by sea-tide, running red the surf's foam.
Washed 'mid corpses, coughed the salt-splutter.
Dark, eyes adjusted, walked endlessly; echoing footfall.
Shivered the night's darkness. Morning's red renewal.
Red like life-blood, Sun recalled the foam-fear.
Slept the light's day: hunger awoken, stomach hoarse.
Gnawed the roots raw, supped on tree-sap, sustenance lacking.
Walked again the Moon's path, pace persistant.
Hounds behind heels, hopeless in tree hidden, breathless beat-heart.
Day anew drank at brooke's babble, thirsting requited.
Caught by the hounds hunger, mauled his leg bare
Slew the one, the fellows fled.
Flint-stone dripping with dog's death, bane of beasts.
On leaves he lay low, sleeping his soul left him.
Peace came pleasantly, his flight found him far above skies.
In halls on high found solace in Father, Mother and Brothers beside.
He the eternal, found 'midst death.
Long will the raiders rally, in halls of hewn rock, and fires dark red, remorseful they burn, yet the light of Him shall never shine on them.

>>25290604
>>25290622
>>25290653
>>25290798
Why is an actually talented person (persons?) posting on /lit/? I thought that was against the rules.

>>25290830
got to be a samefag right

Push on to the world's end, pay the
Dread guard with a kiss,
Cross the rotten bridge that totters
Over the abyss.

Run until you hear the ocean's
Everlasting cry;
Deep though it may be and bitter
You must drink it dry,

There stands the deserted castle
Ready to explore;
Enter, climb the marble staircase,
Open the locked door.

Cross the silent ballroom,
Doubt and danger past;
Blow the cobwebs from the mirror
See yourself at last.

>>25290830
>>25290870
I wrote this one
>>25290653
in five minutes. The other guys are actually much more serious about it and talented than me.

you CAN quote lines from over 30 poets, right, anon? right...????

>How body from spirit does slowly unwind
>Until we are pure spirit at the end.

>>25291014
No, I'm straight.

>>25290830
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your kind words. Even if you are just memeing my spirits have been raised immeasurably.
I wrote these three:
>>25290604
>>25290622
>>25290798
I've never shown anyone any of the poems I've written, I spent two days writing my girlfriend a sonnet a couple years ago but was too embarrassed to give it to her. Sincerity and bare heartedness on that level is a weird feeling. I decided to post some here, the first one (Brown boarded ship) I wrote today, and the other two are from a few weeks ago. This sounds really lame and gay but I felt my eyes start to water when I read what you said.
>>25290879
Thank you also for your words. I really liked your poem. The dashes evoke Emily Dickinson, but the language is more engaging than hers.

>>25291078
Not meming at all my friend; I saw your work and immediately could tell the person who wrote it was on quite a different level than most of us who post in these threads. Please continue writing. Your influences are clear (particularly Shelley's fingerprints on the second one) but that's not a bad thing since you're obviously still experimenting and finding your voice. Very promising stuff; ngl I'm a little jelly, but that'll just encourage me to work harder on my own shit.

>>25290870
Not any of the anons potentially involved here, but I suspect the most effective means of samefagging would be a barrage of self-directed, dismissive insults. Best case, people defend you from you; slightly worse case, they join in, which is almost validating in its own way; and worst case, they don't (You) you at all, but I'd wager more people cast an eye at a post with a reply or two, so if the goal is attention...

(You) me or die
bitches only comment if it rhyme

Eras, not years.
Functionally yours
with my caveats.
There's no road to it
until I draw it, stolen brush and all.
The sky is from elsewhere
but I liked the colour.
I'm not saying I won't help you
but I just moved a hill.

My poems are great
I often masturbate
No need to hate
We have tendies on a plate

RISOTTO
THE PROLETARIAT
OF PASTA

>>25291119
>Not meming at all my friend; I saw your work and immediately could tell the person who wrote it was on quite a different level than most of us who post in these threads
Well, I don't know what to say other than I appreciate it immensely.
>Please continue writing.
I definitely will, I haven't felt this motivated ever.
>Your influences are clear (particularly Shelley's fingerprints on the second one)
I was thinking it might be too on the nose with the Ozymandias influence in that one. The "woe-wanderer" poem was my attempt at a form of Anglo Saxon inspired alliterative verse, in the vein of Ezra Pound's Seafarer translation. I don't really know what I was doing in the first one, that one was written very quickly and I guess just channeling the Classics but with former addiction as the content.

post free verse - nothing
post schoolbook verse - nothing
post bullshit - nothing
post my cock - pending
[this is not a stanza]

theres an intamacy in opposition
not even desire to overcome, nor harm
a strike carries more weight than a kiss

the potentional energy behind an arm
seeking and dispelling answers
that no mouth could come to match
youll feel it in your bones come sun
a warmth set of love
the act wasn't anyones to hold,
the rememberance of a mark

yet in the dark of stabs of light,
in sludge and motor and basement
in weeks after, as taste is to right
ill return your affection to some other fool

He walks through libraries of ash,
Where volumes blacken in his hands.
He sees the statues long since smashed,
And finds in ruins his commands.

He holds the flame between his palms,
It sears and blisters as it burns.
It soon shall spread beyond his arms,
The cleansing fire for which he yearns.

Inferno's blaze engulfs his mind,
Denies him sleep, creates his way.
The flame of meaning undesigned,
Its sole demand he shall obey.

Each dawn he spars with his past shade,
His courage honed on stones of fear.
No longer haunted, unafraid,
He bids the spectre disappear.

His comrades wear no uniform,
Each bears his ember, silently.
Rejecting orders to conform,
Resisting pressure violently.

He walks a cold contemptuous street
As jeering strangers gather round.
They harry him on weary feet,
Like vultures over sundered ground.

The thieves are maskless, suits are clean,
They left the alleys, stalk the courts.
Their smiles as sharp as guillotines,
They douse the flame the law contorts.

They proudly boast of purity,
While building bricks of Babel's tower.
They bought the world with usury,
Cathedrals lost to merchant power.

The wolves that prowl amidst the sheep,
They deem them naught but willing fools.
They whisper to the stony sleep,
"Is dark fur less than your white wool?"

His brothers spread as scattered stars,
They see the truth through swindler's lies.
They guard the ember near their hearts,
While building up the kindling pyres.

He reaches past his mortal frame,
Uncertain faith is absolute.
He forges, through the imposed shame,
An iron heart from truth minute.

He reaches down to lowest depths,
Berserker's rage he finds within.
The fiery impulse he accepts,
Yet conquers anger, transcends sin.

He knows this path of fire will scorch,
That walking it inflames his life.
Yet evermore he bears the torch,
And cradles flame through sordid strife.

The Cultured Thug, half monk, half beast,
He hungers daily to reclaim.
He starves himself for victory's feast,
For dark retreats before the flame.

>>25292117
nice

In Dulwich town, where rain does sigh,
A legend grew, unheralded, high,
Of spoons that once did stir the broth,
Now lying idle, cold, and sloth.

The humble spoon, of steel or tin,
Did join the soup, a noble kin,
Yet ne’er a poet sang its fame,
I cried its name.

For centuries, they dangled there,
On hooks of iron, rusted, bare,
In kitchens dim, where shadows fell,
A chorus swelled—*clang*—the bell.

When breakfast rose with bacon’s scent,
The spoons would rise in homage bent,
To toast the butter’s golden gleam,
And cradle jam in dream‑like stream.

But lo! The day of *great* unrest,
When toast was burned, and jam confessed,
That spoons were missing, one, two, three,
A tragic loss for all to see.

The town convened a council grim,
With mayor, baker, and a him—
A baker, known for crumpet crust,
Who swore the spoons were turned to dust.

The mayor proclaimed, with solemn voice,
“Let’s search the streets, make no rejoice,
From gutter‑deep to rooftop high,
We’ll fetch the spoons or else we die!”

Thus marched the townsfolk, coat and hat,
Through fog and mist, through this and that,
They climbed the rail, they loped the dock,
And shouted, “Spoons! Thou art not a rock!”

The baker’s wife, with apron stained,
Did toss a loaf, the heavens gained,
A spoon did glitter from the sky,
It fell upon a cat—oh my!

The cat, bemused, it shook the gold,
And in its paws the spoon took hold,
It leapt, it tumbled, over roofs,
And landed—by sheer fate—on roofs

Of a chapel where the choir sang,
A hymn of loaves and sweet fangs,
The chapel bells rang out “O Spoons!”
And thus the town was saved from croons.

Yet sorrow lingered, deep and long,
For spoons still missing from the throng,
One final spoon, the dearst of all,
Was lost beneath the ancient wall.

The wall, so stout, did whisper low,
“It was I who swallowed fork and spoon,
For I was fed with endless stew,
And kept the silver for my rue.”

So now I write, and weep, and rhyme,
To honor spoons lost to time,
May future generations hear,
The greatest spoon‑poem ever, here.

And so, dear reader, heed this verse,
If ever you should lose a spoon,
Recall the tale of Dulwich town,
And write it down with ink and frown.

You try to climb that mountain peak
Your gaze locked on to what you seek
But every heart is bound to slip
And a waning hope shall lose its grip

For once allow your tears to shed
Mourn that, for which you fought and bled
Lament your dream like a flowing creek
And let your tears stream down your cheek

And once your sight is clear and dry
Then something else will catch your eye
Should you still shun what makes you cry?
- for you have learned to say goodbye

>>25292434
Very amusing little poem. I liked it alot. It doesn't take itself too seriously which I like.
In some parts the rhymes seem a bit forced like you had something going on, but couldn't really come up with something else. Of course maybe you thought well of every choice and made a conscioud decision, who knows.
Like
Of spoons that once did stir the broth
Instead of
Now lying idle, cold, and sloth.
I'd have kept the stanza in the same theme and said something like
"And helped the chef skim off the froth"
Or something similar. You have a long poem and thus alot of space to progress the story forward
The rythm is also thrown off a bit some places. One if my favorite stanzas is actually in the top
The humble spoon, of steel or tin,
Did join the soup, a noble kin,
Yet ne’er a poet sang its fame,
I cried its name.

The last line could use a few more syllables to keep the rythm, so it doesn't feel like you're left hanging there like 'that was it?'

>>25292577
It's what AI outputs when you ask it to do its best William McGonagall impression. That's what a lot of the poems in this thread sound like to me.

Poem by me:
It was really bad...
(Illustration of smiling child standing in front of torn up crushed F graded test paper)
Wasn't half bad
Crushed it, I'd say
Really tore through it
Probably an A...

Poem I like (shel silverstein):
She drank from a bottle called DRINK ME
And up she grew so tall,
She ate from a plate called TASTE ME
And down she shrank so small.
And so she changed, while other folks
Never tried nothin' at all

>>25292743
I figured some might use AI. For guidance I get it. But outright plagiarizing it, I would be ashamed.

Nice little poem.

Something I wrote: I wrote it before my deployment to Afghanistan in a 'goodbye letter' to my then ex, in case I was KIA

Off I went, for my country's pride,
Off 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

I think I was.. 22? At the time

>>25292767
SENSITIVE YOUNG MAN

Please move all these people back to the 18th century where they belong...BORING

Floor-to-ceiling window, your domain.
Answering correctly only reveals a lock.
A shift, or a suggestion of it,
and the light adjusts.
There is no redemption nor danger,
only the pause before both.

O quiet tourist, arriving in London,
And always in Ubers above the hidden Underground.

>>25292767
I'm a flippant asswad, and have written the following on the basis of your much more earnest, endearing effort.

I hurry out, my country's pride!
Here's hoping that I haven't died.
Though, if your reading this, you've guessed,
That I in peace, or pieces, rest.

Oh, darling, if I had but known,
How fate would strip me from my own,
I'd hold your arms, your legs, your spine,
And scorn each fragmentation mine.

Take solace, won't you, dearest friend,
That, though I may have met my end,
My being in the army corps,
There will have perished countless more.

But, then again, if all goes fair,
And I embrace life over there,
I'd rather die, than prove, instead,
To come back home the walking dead.

>>25290876
very nice

>>25291277
Pretty

Blacker than the whores of Gomorrah
Was masticating filth, leering before me
Over six breakfast sandwiches
Two tubs of cola
A grease-trap full of powdered chicklets
And a platter of toasted sausage shells.
Your bulging eyes see no better
Your bones are desiccated logs
They pipe infernal jingles here all the meal long
Thus you shimmy, dying
In your bright purple booth
Across from you are a pair of mutants
Pig-eyed, sop-nozzled, spastic
They cannot even roll to the washroom
To clear the traps of filth gestating between
Their gout-riddled legs
Rashes climb up out of their jumpsuits
Mean red hairs emerge from fields of papules
Children these are not
They are victims of a nuclear bomb
And this is their last meal
A meal of whatever was left
A meal of stone cold pity
For these horrible
Doomed
Pigs

>>25292771
Hahah yeah. Who also happened to enjoy a gunfight. A very confusing concept to women I might add

>>25294044
I love it!! I loved the imagery at end about the walking dead. Many such cases. I hope to be able to write like that too. I still practice.
Some of my other recent work


The tender kiss
Of a morning dream that lingers
Slipping from my mind again;
like sand between my fingers

Vigilant of my dreamy muse
a promise soon to break
An empty place is left in me;
My heart is left to ache

An unrequited farewell
That leaves my heart to sigh
A fading glance at a memory
Of a love left where i lie

oblivion is comfortable

A spear slides between your ribs
water and blood spilling warm down your side
flesh melting as you burn at the stake
smiling faces lit by the flames, as you turn to dust

sleeping in for the day, sleeping in for the night
warm under the blankets, forgotten
rain tapping softly on the roof
comfortable

>>25294044
>>25294591
Another one

Off we go to the ladders and ropes
Off to kill young men's dreams and hopes
How did this end up becoming our job?
The sergeant calls 'go over the top!'

No lack of heroes, yet hardly any saints
And no one here is short of complaints
Now all goes quiet, and the guns they stop
The whistle blows to go over the top

For what are we dying? is it all in inane?
Perhaps I can desert or pretend I'm insane
But they'd disregard my ploy, I fear
- Who'd notice another madman around here?

A Letter in the Putrid Litter

21 Rue de la Visitation,
Poitiers, France.

To my sweet-bosomed Madam Blanche.

Days I longed for the smell of your hair,
And no replies my dear, but I will not fret.
My conditions are of your concerns, I know,
I thought over money and the French law,
Taking my leave, and your hand in marriage,
For a farm full of boars, dogs and children,
A humble life your mother would approve:
Our happy lives in Maine spring; that I hope.

Your very dear Henri is doing good as well,
The little barbet sleeps a lot these days,
Funny how he jolts up to the rusty door bell,
And later, grumbling back to food or sleep,
When everyone but you walks on in.
I will try to keep him fat and healthy,
Though I fear the worst for his old age.

Though much is futile, let us not lose hope,
With utmost reverence for the Monnier family.
Remember my love in these trying times,
And I shall be patient for your reply.

Ton bien-aimé,
Victor.
Signed, 1876.

I want it to be, like, messy

I'm so insecure, I think
That I'll die before I drink
And I'm so caught up in the news
Of who likes me and who hates you
And I'm so tired that I might
Quit my job, start a new life
And they'd all be so disappointed
'Cause who am I if not exploited?
And I'm so sick of seventeen
Where's my fucking teenage dream?
If someone tells me one more time
"Enjoy your youth," I'm gonna cry
And I don't stick up for myself
I'm anxious, and nothing can help
And I wish I'd done this before
And I wish people liked me more

All I did was try my best
This the kinda thanks I get?
Unrelentlessly upset (Ah-ah-ah)
They say these are the golden years
But I wish I could disappear
Ego crush is so severe
God, it's brutal out here

(Yeah)

I feel like no one wants me
And I hate the way I'm perceived
I only have two real friends
And lately, I'm a nervous wreck
'Cause I love people I don't like
And I hate every song I write
And I'm not cool, and I'm not smart
And I can't even parallel park

All I did was try my best
This the kinda thanks I get?
Unrelentlessly upset (Ah-ah-ah)
They say these are the golden years
But I wish I could disappear
Ego crush is so severe
God, it's brutal out here

(Yeah)
(Just havin' a really good time)

Got a broken ego, broken heart
(Yeah, it's brutal out here, yeah, it's brutal out here)
And God, I don't even know where to start

You emerge as a blade
from the blanket.

Cruelty comes with a smirk —
you know it from the blood
a week later.

Everything is to be framed
in your world,
not unkindly,
not with kindness.

Planets don’t deal
in emotions.
The sky empties itself
no matter
what the ground says.

Your hand is on the table’s edge,
always on my shoulder.

It costs the world
to close my eyes
and really see you.

>>25290876
This is really good anon

>>25290876
Nice

>>25294793
My friend for the night, whom I know
My companion, my muse, wherever i go

Your tender burn, and gentle touch
For you, no anguish is too much

You dance on my tongue, like the day we met
You keep me from blowing off my head

When life is hard you lift me up
I return a toast and raise your cup

A fleeting happiness I'll never forget
And for that I'm forever in your debt

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>>25295400
For (You)

>>25259913
Underrated

>>25295404
Mind explaining?

>>25295451
It is for you to interpret

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>>25295453

interpret THIS

>>25259884
A neighbor died today.
That is what my mother told me.
As I was sitting eating breakfast in front of the TV.
Did you know of him? She asked.
He could be seen outside our house biking past.

Of course I didn't know him.
I never spoke to neighbors on a whim.
Yet the feeling that I didn't know him felt stark;
he had lived beside my life and never left a mark.

My whole childhood I lived, just a few meters away,
beside a man who'd worked and loved and raised every day.
He got a job, a wife, a house, and children too.
A life with hobbies, a life with meaning true.

I lived next to a family that now mourn his passing,
a significant part of their life lacking.
Yet my life remained the same,
the only knowledge of his existence being my mother proclaim:
A neighbor died today.

Non stop cults selling the scene forever
bite into the work, endeavor to screw
easy marks either too late or never
out of any kingdom rebuilt anew.
Ousted like the rest of us in the face
of all judgement. Choosing to sacrifice
all hearts, minds, and time will never replace
grace falling, drowning the drought, mercy thrice
over with more on the way. Zero-sum
abandons the hateful score and favors
more ecstasy. Bids the faithful to hum
in concert with hidden biomes, savors
our joy when we sing, our love when it blooms,
free souls commanding, “Rise up from our tombs!”

Silence taunts me
from the grey depths of miserable memory
an inner peace I can't reclaim
borne of child's pain
and self erasure

but even back then it was blessed to sit and stare the infinite hours away
the only passage of time
buzzing cicadas
and dripping moss

>>25290876
Best I've read in these threads

>>25290876
mogs me but

Heed the path before you;
for on it danger looms
Many widows there have lost
Their sweet and handsome grooms

A trail no short of omens;
And a shadowy allure
Most will never stop to ask
If their mettle will endure

For better men before you
Have marched with steady stride
In search of gold and glory
And they have also died

A luring river will call for you
Though it may well be cursed
You'll kneel before the water
and quench your body's thirst

>>25290876

Am I retarded or are you all hysteric about some rhymes? Wtf is special here?

>>25296888
Yeah the rhymes but there's a nice progression too and a journey to the self in a way. I hope I interpret it right.
It's not the best I've ever read but it's a pretty alright poem

>>25296888
wtf are you doing in the poetry thread?

>>25297094

Poetry = rhymes. Yes. Make sure to sun-flower-moon it too. Form is not a substitute for content, we understood this around 1910-20 already...

>>25297113
poetry that operates through rhythm and atmosphere and implication speaks to people who are receptive to it, and often baffles people looking for explicit content. poetry is written for poets, that is, people who speak the language.

there's a major opportunity being wasted right now to codify classical epic poetry which is actually good, such as the Aeneid, the Paradise Lost, using AI music tools like suno, as a tool to enjoy the poetry and even musically memorize large chunks of it.

I've been doing this and I thought others would be doing this also. It would be nice if regular musicians did this with their own projects but they all want to write their own shitty lyrics that will all end up going into the trash bin of history.

>>25297160
https://suno.com/song/bded120f-43c8-4dc2-bbdd-3400f32698b2

Behold what the sky holds tonight:
not a mere sign of the past
leaving a trail for the eye.
Not an opening from which
god's amusement could drip
onto neat grass.
A locked meteorite instead,
assuming the shape of everything
and quickly, so that your mind
cannot decide on impeding doom
or bliss.

So I'm not sure if I'm misremembering, taught wrong, or if there is just different rules for black poetry? I thought when reading poetry you only stop where the punctuation tells you to stop not to treat line breaks as periods. When I was listening to the author of "The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel" she would stop at the end of each line with a hard pause. So she would read "We real cool. We (pause). Left School. We (pause). Below is the poem.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

>>25297629
>So I'm not sure if I'm misremembering, taught wrong, or if there is just different rules for black poetry
there aren't any "rules" for poetry, there's just "easier to pull off" and "harder to pull off," just "traditionally done in this way" and "not traditionally done in this way"

Within woods hidden it bids blood, it comes
Roosting, feasting, preening plumes pulling beaks
Revenging branded memories in distant past
Of aught, or truth, a law of force and fall

It’s dogshit I know but I wanted to experiment with vowel harmony in English.

Is Celan the most -difficult- poet in history? Or is it Trakl? Or Holderlin? Fucking German man

>>25297703
Never make excuses for your dogshit. Just refuse to elaborate, and make a show of looking down on anyone who dislikes it.

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>>25259884
Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

>>25297629
pretty sure all poets recognize that the end of a line effects how you parse a phrase
treating it as a hard stop like a period every time is pretty silly but it makes sense with the piece
dumb gimmick imo

an ivory glove held in an ivory gloved hand
raven tresses floating in her wake
her pale skin unveiled for all to see

she is so close to me

But

I dare not touch and break the glass
her coffin frosted by each heavy breath
rising and falling her chest our feet

My Eyes

traverse her slender neck
and meet her burning stare
forged molten bronze overflowing
threatening to scald and harden
ensnaring me locked within her passion

Then

the swelling strings
a waiting gaze
expecting his turn

she is tossed aside and lost within
a billowing circle of corsets and lace

First the birds came to feast,
And they ate not last nor least.
Then the foxes had a taste,
And they cleaned their plates to leave no waste.
Then those that creep and crawl came up from the ground, and from all around.
And pulled the rest down, down, down,
Into the damp earth, and they churned and turned,
For it was time for the feast to end,
And to the earth all returned,
From whence it all came,
And became earth again, all the same.

Feast ended, banquet commenced.
Plate and glass fill, the spoils of feast dispensed.
Taker and Maker, alone at head of table,
To partake, he is unable.
For he has no mouth to taste,
Only eyes to watch spoils waste.
Eyes to shed tears,
Mind to lament the years,
At a banquet never wanted.
Tears shed for life ended,
Ended much too early.
And so he wept,
Wept for those he met too soon,
And prayed for those yet to come,
For them to see more of the sun.

>>25290876
>nobody realised this is Auden

>>25298996
one of his well-known ones too. this anon couldn’t even see what’s special about it >>25296888

>>25299111

I still don't see what's special about it. It's "nice" at best. Token images, nice clear neat progression that a schoolboy can follow, no line stops you, I don't know mate.

Every Villain Monologue

Tonight I claim the broken city
I rule with false mercy
I show them the ruin I authored
They fear my gaze still

>>25299145
>no line stops you
until the last.
think it was amis (sr.) who said poetry should be immediately comprehensible.
>I don't know mate.
i agree.

>>25299145
You couldn’t see what’s special about an Auden poem in a thread full of bad poetry? Probably says more about you

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>>25299187

What a terrible sentiment

>>25299205
an awful, horrid one that goes back to the very beginning (& definition) of poetry: the more-or-less deliberate attempt, with the rhythmic mesmerism, to impose an illusion on the minds of others. the poet must have constant hold over the reader.

Oh, the gentlemen are talking and the midnight moon is on the riverside
They're drinking up and walking and it is time for me to slide
I live in another world where life and death are memorized
Where the earth is strung with lover's pearls and all I see are dark eyes.

A cock is crowing far away and another soldier's deep in prayer
Some mother's child has gone astray, she can't find him anywhere
But I can hear another drum beating for the dead that rise
Whom nature's beast fears as they come and all I see are dark eyes.

They tell me to be discreet for all intended purposes
They tell me revenge is sweet and from where they stand, I'm sure it is
But I feel nothing for their game, where beauty goes unrecognized
All I feel is heat and flame, and all I see are dark eyes.

Oh, the French girl, she's in paradise and a drunken man is at the wheel
Hunger pays a heavy prize to the falling gods of speed and steel
Oh, time is short and the days are sweet and passion rules the arrow that flies
A million faces at my feet but all I see are dark eyes.

>>25299223
I honestly agree. Basically good poetry shouldn't be too pretentious and cryptic. I definitely agree with that. But Lady weeping at the crossroads is not that, i like it

>>25299205
Emily Dickinson my beloved!!!!!

Cisless Cis

There once was a lad in Tahoe:
Looked for a quick shag with a hoe,
Not picky, for a horny Joe,
Not fishy enough to get poked.

No time to dilly dally, she explained:
"I am but a lassie with a willie."

Wildless for ages,
The lad raged and raged.
"Dross!" he yelled,
"Asses? Not even in hell!"

"I have an idea," said she,
Took out a blindfold for he,
Fixed herself upon his knees,
And drove him wild like Lou Reed.

Though quite helpless for his age,
There goes his minimum wage.

>>25299205
>>25300520
Out if the morning
Emily Dickenson

Will there really be a morning
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Had it feet like water-lillies
Has it feathers like a bird
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, som scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!

your mouth on my chest
your lips on my cheek, my lips
your hands on my hips

>>25302835
I miss her

How can I study poetry structure? Metre and scan among others? I've been a casual fan for a while and want to improve

>>25303129
How do you mean, "study" it? Trying to write poetry in a given structure is probably (i.e. I consider it to be) the best way to brute-force your mind into something of an appreciation for it. Reading it presumably helps too. In what way do you want to improve?

>>25259884
how do fuck do I understand poetry? even when I understand the obscure vocabulary, the meaning still mostly goes over my head. I'm started with modernists, is that the mistake?

>>25303129
Just read more poetry. The structure will come natural to you if you have any rythm in you

>>25303254
Don't treat it like a riddle, accept it simply and follow where your intuition guides you. Also, looking at the interpretations of others isn't the worst thing in the world; don't let pride get in the way.

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A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.

John Milton
1608-1674

Today was one where, lost in thought
I really feel I am
Losing not an ounce of what
You see in me, my lamb

My brain it beams, it's here at all
And living, I must work
To make our lives here justified
And not let trouble lurk

Instead of seeing monkeys biting
I lay on the ground
While my hectic travelling partner
Wanders all around

Oh, all around a left buttock
And all around the right
All around your every curve
I'm going to go tonight
But only hold me, hold me
All the city's on me
And all their wish to scold me
And lay their hands upon me
So only hold me, hold me
And I'll return you baby
I just need an evening
With someone nice to hide me

>>25303244
>>25303561
I'm not asking how to appreciate poetry. I already love it. I mean gaining understanding into exactly what a poet is doing technically and why.

>>25304178
In terms of what? I mean the real "why" of it, barring your becoming an omniscient mind-reader, is, I would say, off the cards. As to what they're doing technically, what kind of insight are you looking for specifically? Like, if they're going for a particular stress pattern, they'll employ words that fit it, within the limits of whatever seems semantically and phonetically appropriate to them at the time. Maybe a line occurs to them fully formed. Maybe they spend a while searching for the perfect word or phrase. Maybe they sacrifice semantic precision for a better sound, or vice versa. I like thinking about this kind of shit, so I'm curious as to what you have in mind. Is there a poem whose structure you're particularly intrigued by?

>>25303129
I'm also interested in this
a more analytical perspective on the mechanics of poetry would be welcome
I've read The Ode Less Travelled and it seems pretty good for a beginner or casual fan, but it reads more like a comprehensive and layperson friendly overview and introduction than a deep dive

>>25298778
>glove
>skin unveiled
is she only wearing a glove? the image is unclear and the final lines suggest she is basically amassing accessories at most. i'd say rework it if your idea is not to have her with only one glove and then turning in an 18th C laundry pile, but if that was your intended imagery then it's probably fine. the capitalisation irks me but it's obviously a matter of style

>>25297629
>n reading poetry you only stop where the punctuation tells you to stop not to treat line breaks as periods.
yeah that's wrong. line breaks are a breath, not the hard stop of a period. commas, semicolons, and other punctuation likewise have shorter breathing stops, but they are all stops for at least half a breath. that poem is a great example of how to use the break of a line or stanza in contrast to the hard stop of a period within a line or stanza

Poetry is dead and free verse killed it