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Love this poem. Shoutout Jack Gilbert

>>25386014
>work at a summer camp for tweens
>they're demons
>walking to dining hall w/ a group of the devils, mention to one of them I had The Cremation of Sam McGee memorized
>he asks to hear
>start reciting
>"There are strange things done in the midnight sun..."
>the others overhear
>they leave their antics (playing Geometry Dash and watching TikToks at full volume, screaming about Diddy and Tung Tung Tung Sahur, sprinting at cars, etc.) to see what's happening
>they listen completely silent w/ rapt attention for all fourteen stanzas
>"...that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge I cremated Sam McGee"
>they instantly return to being awful when the poem's done
Gen Alpha yearns for lyric poetry, going to try The Ballad of Reading Jail on them next

>>25386215
Technically boring and really safe modern slop

>>25386447
I'm sorry you didn't like it :( Post a poem you enjoy

>>25386448
It's not a matter of liking it, the man has nothing interesting to say about Icarus. He wasn't even willing to try saying something with gravitas despite using a mythological subject. To talk about his failed marriage in the most limp-wristed terms?? Frigg him, he's not writing poetry.

>>25386455
NTA post a poem dude

>>25386455
Please post a poem or I'll get upset

>>25386466
>>25386468
You "love" a poem about a ruined marriage, that has NO pathos in it? This castrati can't process his emotions so he makes a abstract correlation to Icarus, the myth everyone learns in kindergarten, and does a shitty and lazy job at that.

Where's his love, his tears, anger, grief?? You need to stop posting shit written by the steers of men.

>>25386474
>poemelet can't post a better poem than a castrati
For shame

>>25386215
If you think about it BPDemonesses are the dragon chased by our contemporary Romantics

>>25386256
It's time for Ballad Metre to make its comeback

>>25386502
You'd have to be schizophrenic to read anything into the personality of that character, let alone that she's BPD. The boomer faggot is more interested in eating lunch.

>>25386014
I wish, I wish, I was a fish.
Then I could splash, and I could splish.

>>25386474
Please post a poem I'm getting upset
>>25386502
Not sure what this means but I respect its energy even though it feels vaguely malevolent

>>25386537
Be upset that you think it's ok to like poetry
>with no meter
>relies on enjambment texture (the lowest effort technique)
>too lazy to create metaphor
>uses "like" instead to force similes as if he had to write it in one draft
>mythological thrust is also lazy/appeals to LCD
>emotionally, aesthetically dead sentences like "Listened to her while we ate"
>'akshully, since I'm an old man with no passion, icarus probably wanted to fail or whatever idrc'

>>25386547
You're going to make me cry if you don't post a poem. I don't want to fight in the poetry thread. I want to read some poems. Can you post a poem you enjoy

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Need more KINO like this

Always these limp dick formalists ruining every poetry thread - and without ever, ever posting their own.

>>25386596
You're a stain on culture. You don't even know why you like what you like, but you'll defend it anyways.

>>25386606

And you represent this famed "culture", menstruating all over a 4chan thread, roleplaying as some kind of poetry guardian with all the bile and none of the poetry. Truly go get fucked.

The rock-pusher

What a great weekend we had.
Once broken in, the kids were lovely—
They always take a while to warm up to dad.
Lovely walk. Quaint bookshops, milky coffee…

And you, my darling, what’s wrong?
We have such great times together.
Just a few more years, not too long,
And we can move to the country, together forever,
With a butler and a pond and fish
And shooting stars to make our wish.
Remember?
Smile, darling, smile.
London money is worth my while;
Just a few more years, not too long.
My train’s here, darling, I have to go.
Tell the kids that daddy heard their song,
And it’s his new favourite.
Smile, darling, please. Smile.
I love you. Tell the kids. I’ll only be gone a while.

Just a few more years.
Busy train. I reserved a forward seat.
Another man has taken it. No—no tears.
I’ll sit in a backwards facing seat.
Goodbye, love. Forgot my book.
What else could go wrong?
Just a few more years. Not too long.

Black silk of crow feathers cloaks her pale brow.
Like rain-soaked ravens upon fallen snow.
Through the tangled thick brush of her fallen hair,
Gleams a single wild eye like a wolf in its lair.

A rare emerald spark in a valley of stone,
Fixing its gaze till you find you're alone.
But winter took root where her lone eye would gleam,
Where the lace kissed her cheek as all color was lost.

Her fingers are roots of a ghost-white birch tree.
Weathered by seasons the sun never knew.
They curl like the claws of a slumbering hawk.
Tightening softly lest petals should break.

The lilies surround her, tearing swan plumage.
A funeral shroud for a spring never born.
They skin her pale collarbones, velvet-and-blight,
Weaving a cage where the dead petals bite.

One blossom is raised to the curve of her lips.
Crushed in the trap of her sharp fingertips;
Blotting the breath from her half-hidden mouth,
Guarding the name that was never allowed.

A firefly watches like a stubborn child.
A still, closing snare where all warmth dies.
She whispers the only name she knows.
And closes her eyes as you fall asleep.
~HopelessBeyondHelp


Well a few days ago I had a dream about a woman and I started writing journals whenever I dream or think about her and it's my first time writing an Epistolary that's wht internet calls it.

It's a Literary Fiction (prose -poetry) not that avg webnovel format and it contains Botanical Body-Horror Romanticism.

To be specific about a genre it's Psychological horror ig it describes it better in a broader sense.

Talking about the theme it's Melancholy surrender.

The poem is a part of first Journal

>>25386634
Did you write this?

I just love the chilean little nigga

[...]
Las lágrimas que luego derramaba permanecían en la superficie
del platillo durante días, testimonio no de mi dolor, sino de
una suerte de poesía exaltada que cada vez más a menudo
apretaba mi pecho, mis sienes y caderas. Una terraza,
un país cálido y un amor de grandes ojos fieles
avanzando lentamente a través del sueño, mientras la nave
dejaba estelas de fuego en la ignorancia de mis hermanos
y en su inocencia. Y una bola de luz éramos el platillo y yo
en las retinas de los pobres campesinos, una imagen perecedera
que no diría jamás lo suficiente acerca de mi anhelo
ni del misterio que era el principio y el final
de aquel incomprensible artefacto. Así hasta la
conclusión de mis días, sometido al arbitrio de los vientos,
soñando a veces que el platillo se estrellaba en una serranía
de América y mi cadáver casi sin mácula surgía
para ofrecerse al ojo de viejos montañeses e historiadores:
Un huevo en un nido de hierros retorcidos. Soñando
que el platillo y yo habíamos concluido la danza peripatética,
nuestra pobre crítica de la Realidad, en una colisión indolora
y anónima en alguno de los desiertos del planeta. Muerte
que no me traía el descanso, pues tras corromperse mi carne
aún seguía soñando.

>>25386215
That isn’t a fucking poem that’s just a paragraph

>>25386856
Yes, I did

>>25386634
This is good

>>25386593
Chaucer’s dream visions are in a completely different genre but they have a similar misty, magical quality—The Book of the Duchess is my favorite, cool to see octosyllabic Chaucer.

>>25387013
It's beautiful, reminded me of my father growing up. It made me tear up.

>>25387573
That means so much to me man. I’m glad you liked it.
(I don’t know if I have the same number, I’m new on 4chan, but it is genuinely me, the original writer)

>>25386256
genuinely they yearn

>>25388214
Anon this was Vogon tier

>>25386014
I need help making a decision on whose poetry to add to my library. Is it worth owning the complete works of John Donne? I read a few online trying to gauge if it might be worth taking the time to read them all but I simply can’t make up my mind. Yes, of course I could read his poetry, but I could read anything else, too, and I already have more than I can read in one lifetime. It’s $25. Am I overthinking this?

>>25388227
You're way overthinking this, but yes, Donne's complete work is worth it. The Holy Sonnets alone make it worth it. (Do you mean complete poetry or complete poems and prose? His sermons are great too)

>>25387656
There's no IDs on this board anyway

>>25388364
It’s an Oxford “Complete Poetical Works.”

>>25388227
is the $25 your total lifesavings or something? do you have a life allowance of one poet's collected work?
just get it. if you end up not liking it, sell the book. if you do end up liking it and want to get another poet's work, I'm giving you express permission to own the books of multiple poets. you're allowed

It's a crime that David Jones isn't remembered more.

Perhaps they'll cancel it.
O blow fall out the officers cantcher, like a wet afternoon or the King's Birthday
Or you read it again many times to see if it will come different:
you can't believe the Cup won't pass from
or they won't make a better show
in the Garden
Won't somebody forbid the banns
or God himself will stay their hands.
It just can't happen in our family
even though a thousand
and ten thousand at thy right hand.

>>25386502
i love them. i wonder what will enter my life first: my next romance with wounded beautiful woman or my first stray cat.
>>25386447
please a poem for the feel above, fucker
>>25386634
when a poem is writtn using a rhyming dictionary, it comes with too many possible voices. new formalists are cool but they cant be as corny. they have got to guzlel the lessons of emily dickinson and curtis jackson and build their arsthetic movement atop of that.

>>25389960
>please a poem
I'll post a good poem just as soon as anyone else does. I didn't go anywhere, I'm waiting for you to turn straight.

>>25389974
turn?
straight?

and no you wont

>>25389960
>i love them. i wonder what will enter my life first: my next romance with wounded beautiful woman or my first stray cat.
>All in lowercase to boot
You're either a woman or a complete fucking psychopath hahahaha. Better you than me either way.

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>>25386014
I hate nu-speak.

>>25386014
The golden brother lifts his head
Above the bramble row.
But will the shoots and thistles thrive
Or wither in his glow?

A thicket swells to meet his glance
With warbling crowns that sway
What will the jay bring to its nest
Before dusk stills the day?

His favor disappears beyond
The reach of his bright face
His pale twin lifts her head, perhaps
To join a boundless chase?

Her faint light makes out the coppice
That shields a frightened fawn
Will mother doe return before
The night gives way to dawn?

>>25386474
He alao mixes metaphors
Also
>free verse

Tempests and alcoves

The physic winds
uproot the roots
which, dragged away,
dream within.

Pale blue walls and cardboard steaks;
rattling breath, acknowledged stakes;
she glimpses Death but, far removed,
she sees the one she always loved.

The ground gyrating
the air vibrating
the sphere rotating
and Chronos marching:
a mind can be still,
singing and whistling.

In meta fours
Making metaphors
In metal forts
My king met a force

>>25386593
Based. I actually just read it the other day
The hollywood movie with a jeet as Sir Gewain makes me want to puke though

Negative
Moody
Uninspired
Depressive
Wretches

Work on Wednesday

>>25386014
>Poetry
fiction author here. published a few times, learned under luis turco in college. any thousethts on his book, 'new book of forms'. i will reserve my opinion on the man, and the book when i return,
to be honest i expected more dirty limerics.
maybe a follow up on that man from nantucket. what ever happen to him, in limeric form. iambic pentameter? cant recall.

Love in the time of cholerai
-
Walk me through her starting to take it beautifully.
Do not focus on the pain of it, the stretch burns warm, not melting iron.
It is not important if he thinks it's this or that, only that she stays.
In the long-run, a kind of dependancy is developed—somehow.
Good manners are a priori. This is non-negotiable
let it be clearly woven into the prose.
Style: dry with warmth.
Bypass ugliness arising from the cardboard nature of his personality.

Ingredients:
CARBONATED WATER, HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP AND 2% OR LESS OF CARAMEL COLOR, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS, SODIUM BENZOATE (PRESERVATIVE), PHOSPHORIC ACID, CAFFEINE, SODIUM PHOSPHATE.
PRODUCED UNDER THE AUTHORITY IF DR PEPPER/SEVEN UP, INC. 6425 HALL OF FAME LANE, FRISCO, TX 75034

And thus, one day my art will be accompanied by a similar list of its contents, so consumers can wisely choose to ingest it, or not.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Sad selfsucking shell of a guy
"If my ear was a cunt I would fuck it."
He whispered as life left his eye

Ecть y мeня твoй cилyэт,
Mнe мил eгo пeчaльный цвeт;
Bиcит oн нa гpyди мoeй,
И мpaчeн oн, кaк cepдцe в нeй.
B глaзaх нeт жизни и oгня,
Зaтo oн вeчнo близ мeня;
Oн тeнь твoя, нo я люблю,
Кaк тeнь блaжeнcтвa, тeнь твoю.

I hold your silhouette;
Its melancholy hue is dear to me;
It hangs upon my breast,
As somber as the heart within.
No life or fire dwells in its eyes,
Yet it remains forever near;
It is your shadow—but I love
That shadow of yours, like a shadow of bliss

>>25386014
The salmon swims against the stream
All with tremendous strain
But for this sunday trip, my dear
I hope it doesn't rain!

Birds take flight, and make their way
To Africa in flocks
What i need in this cold room, dear
Is a pair of comfy socks!

A baby turtle hatchling crawls
Towards the ocean spray
What should I wear tomorrow, dear
The green shirt, or the gray?

>>25392257
Haunting.

>>25392490
Whimsical.

It's a shame that people don't get the recognition they're worth, but I always enjoy seeing how everyone's personality is expressed.

My friend for the night, whom I know
My companion and 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 said 'hi'
And leave before morning; without a goodbye
But when life is hard, you always show up
I return a toast, and raise your cup

Come and wash my heart and grief
And let me be free, however brief
My fleeting happiness, I'll never forget
And for that I'm forever in your debt

>Wrote this one last week when I was feeling horny, unfortunate
My horse escaped the hour before
Your hand came by the stable door.
So lay down the hay out under the moon;
Your stallion gallops, he'll be with'e soon.

Oh! Ah! Oi.
The horror! The joy!
Woah good heavens
Terrible black soil!
eh ran out, i dont know the fuck im sayin

>>25392676

Don't worry, it's still better than Pound.

Sylvia Plath's Aerial, should I read the original publication or the restored version?

>>25392596
Alcohol?

>>25393130
>Aerial
kys retard

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Poem: memory of a forgotten painter

I’m in the center of a sphere,
Of diamond pattern harlequin,
its flowing checkerboards appear,
Like fluid pinks and oranges in spin,
She is as dainty as an English garden,
Her silhouette’s pressed gold,
By parasol she floats,
Diminutive as a Japanese pardon;
From everywhere I look hard in,
Gathers her pareidol of motes,
I am every Enoch Arden,
Shipwrecked upon silvery coasts,
Clenched to the cleft of ghost-musical notes,
I shelter in mem’ries,
Stolen from foreign dreams,
And to be rescued from the billows; I am loath;
Her vessel was a name, it seems;
My boat was knowledge; I knew her,
Collected in the lustrous gleams,
Of new-paradise-the-future-
Phases-of-the-lunar-
Lady-whose-passing-
Eternity’s-glancing’s-
Glanced-in-her-eye’s-jewel;
And I, quite driven to rantings;
Elisha ben Abuyah am,
Compelled destroying her plantings,
Untended I’m unlike each stem;
A king-cut ardent hem;
She’s not to stir a peep,
Brocade with light she rests
In petticoats of sleep;
So small I seem in her steps sweep;
Unfolding whorls of world-ruffle;
She-sandalphon the thunders heap
Their praises, for your slight shuffle,
And delicate galaxies must crumble,
Elbow crook’d, Star pillow’d,
Defined with no muscle,
Or stretched in a tiptoe;
Hanging the Christmas mistletoe,
Or crouched, prismatic fire warm’d,
Surround by glossy wintersnow,
With guardian snowmen she formed;
Sleigh pulling in tow-ho,
The flakes yesterday storm’d,
And I admit; touhou
Was primarily your source;
Goodbye then, edge-trim ornaments,
Goodbye, occident-orient,
Goodbye, fin des siecles draw-er,
For I’ve forgot the name of your author.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

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I have a fantasy of last resort, that my trove of schizo musings will be "found", like Emily Dickinson's work. Everytime I look at a publisher I see their photos of their authors, and they're all npcs, farmer's market boomers, and thin-skinned Xitter gremlins, and I get put off. I've been holding on to work I'd like to publish for the last five years.

>>25393558
I share a very similar thematic profile to you. I love your work. Your lines regarding Acher and the Pardes descent I draw from too.

My love she speaks like silence
Without ideals or violence
She doesn't have to say she's faithful
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire

People carry roses
And make promises by the hours
My love she laughs like the flowers
Valentines can't buy her

In the dime stores and bus stations
People talk of situations
Read books, repeat quotations
Draw conclusions on the wall

Some speak of the future
My love she speaks softly
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all

Anybody else here write narrative poetry?

I've been at work for years on a story told partly in prose, but also partly in verse.

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>>25386014
My hair got so long
That I look like a homeless slob.
My lips still taste of alcohol,
Guess I never sobered up.

The world that I was born in
Has already passed away.
Now I see you walking
With the guy you chose today.
Everyone keeps moving forward,
I'm still living yesterday.

I'm still a Peter Pan
With a little child inside.
If you ever find me,
I've got no secrets left to hide.

>>25395649
:(

>>25395174
Yes. But when I can't make the image cohesive I merge it into prosework.

A Lunatics Lust

Sensual seduction
My members dysfunction
Lost my grip
Now I just rip
Got a thing between my legs
But the side-girl just wants to peg
Need a new experience
Now that loves feels limerent
Life's thorny vines
Have catastrophised my spine
No backbone
All I see is her lipsticks tone
STOP, my accelerator never starts to go
In Thanatos, I drive miss daisy to her foes

>>25397569
I wrote this and I'm not sure if it has meaning but it isn't actually me.
This poem isn't me. That's all.

>>25393711
Love Donne.

Oh all the money that in my whole life I did spend
Be it mine right or wrongfully
I let it slip gladly to my friends
To tie up the time most forcefully
But the bottles are done
We've killed each one
And the table's full and overflowed
And the corner sign
Says it's closing time
So I'll bid farewell and be down the road.

Oh ev'ry girl that ever I've touched
I did not do it harmfully
And ev'ry girl that even I've hurt
I did not do it knowin'ly
But to remain as friends we need the time
And make demands and stay behind
And since my feet are now fast
And point away from the past
I'll bid farewell and be down the line.

Oh ev'ry foe that ever I faced
The cause was there before we came
And ev'ry cause that ever I fought
I fought it full without regret or shame
But the dark does die
As the curtain is drawn and somebody's eyes
Must meet the dawn
And if I see the day
I'd only have to stay
So I'll bid farewell in the night and be gone.

Oh ev'ry thought that's strung a knot in my mind
I might go insane if it couldn't be sprung
But it's not to stand naked under unknowin' eyes
It's for myself and my friends my stories are sung
But the time ain't tall
Yet on time you depend and no word is possessed
By no special friend
And though the line is cut
It ain't quite the end
I'll just bid farewell till we meet again.

Oh a false clock tries to tick out my time
To disgrace, distract, and bother me
And the dirt of gossip blows into my face
And the dust of rumors covers me
But if the arrow is straight
And the point is slick
It can pierce through dust no matter how thick
So I'll make my stand
And remain as I am
And bid farewell and not give a damn.

>>25398464
Am I crazy for liking the Boygenius version of this the best? Is that an insane thing to say?

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>>25399444

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>>25400002

>>25394696
Reminded me a bit of "my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun", but i like yours much better

>>25399471
>Do not even own clothing
Because they're fish!

>>25386215
Absolute dogshit (soz 'bout the negative vibes).

>>25386525
nice

--Dark and Darker--

Roam the beguiling forest trail,
Where the satyrs’ music flies.
Pick the phantom flowers to find
The castle where it lies.

Cross the sullen bridge that leads
Inside forgotten walls.
Sneak past the snoring cockatrice
That guards its crying halls.

Pass ranks of living armor stands;
The wailing now grows loud.
She weeps in her empty ballroom,
In a tear-soaked shroud.

Tower bells chime in your ear;
You have stayed too long.
Pockets full of gold are weighed
Against the piper’s song.

Lift open the portcullis;
You hear the final toll.
Slip down the blood-lit staircase as
The wolves howl at your soul.

The gate slams down behind you,
And darkness fills the room.
Your torch lights up the catacombs—
And your eager tomb.

Enchanted bones betray your grasp
And rise to serve their lord.
The magic grows foul as you roam
And find the golden hoard.

Locusts swarm and fill the air-
As you are filled with doubt.
You have found a treasure trove,
But there is no way out.

Huddled up with jewels and gems,
The piper’s pay in gold,
Keep them by your chest and watch
The dark grow deep and cold.

>>25400784
embarrassing take

I am a dick attached to a man who breathes.
I am precise about one thing.
I work every day, and it gets hot.

>>25403730
This one can go straight to the 2026 anthology

You're a massive dick

and you found a cave

and now you're nothing.

You're nothing and naked

and the cold will get you.

Pen 14

A tangerine banana
An imbrogligio of imbeciles
A roll of alumina I'm not asking for
A shopping list is just
A future receipt
I'm never talking to the alphabet corporation
even if their facial recognition demands it
But they are drawing dicks everywhere
Including their own
Gift of purchase
Or freer than cheap
Send six postcards
if not interested

Pen 15

This poem was written for the CIA
They don't deserve my words
"Dickheads"
Burn after reading

bump

The ghost in the closet
watched me through the narrow opening.

He dreamed of becoming a boy again.

Dreaming of becoming a fish.

The ghost smiled.

:O

The sun gets worse by the year
but what's a year to the sun.

I never would have thought it'd be so easy finding veins

My arms have wasted down to twigs

And my sickly hands were built to shake

But I was gifted with a nose that was designed to keep me safe

By sensing guilt and shame and fear

I closed my eyes it lead the way


Next I pulled back on the plunger

Saw a plume of blood escape, to tell me

"Welcome, awful timing, you've discovered the worst place!"

And watched the creature in the mirror

Pumping junk inside to say

I'll make myself less, in any way, of what I hate

I'm not a human, not a person

Made of tar and mud and clay

A fragile thing built just to break

Cruelty for which I have no name


So please bury me with poppies

I'll come back intact one day

But I am absolutely certain

All I'll ever know is pain

Because the history is no mystery

And the future shares its shape

If I could speak to younger me

Maybe prepare them to be braced

It would only take four words

To say it will not go away

I think I'd understand the phrase

"It's here to stay"

For sex you need two
For loneliness one
For freedom none
Am I not the new Sun Tzu

>>25386256
>entranced by poetry one day
>herded into a noontime screening of the fifth fucking Toy Story installment the next
Millennials failed their children

To get better you need to be better
which leads to doing better
which leads to better
and son, you were born in Tungusia.

"None as fair as she" I say
Yet in another's arms she lay,
Still her smile rests upon the mind
As misery is stirred in passion's kind.

Fortune favours beauties fate
Such as gentler hands as hers create,
To reckon in that final loss
Fair price that love requite its cost

>>25400002
It starts as if he's writing a letter to the woman back home, then the fourth stanza breaks the illusion and puts you right in his mind as if his friend had just been killed 5 seconds ago and these are his thoughts coping with it. So effective. Every stanza serves a clear and distinct purpose which escalates uniformly, yet none of the emotion is lost in the structure, no wasted words. I wonder if there's a WW1 poem better than this?

A date with The Priestess


I swallowed my jealousy for Mr. Liggett & Mr. Myers
As my eyes patiently followed her hands to her lips.
Those soft cheeks glowing in her lighter light,
Must've been the second time I've earned
A sight behind the veil,
Only for her now to be further tucked
Under a thicker shroud.
I wasn't prepared for her to smoke inside,
But I guess I didn't really mind,
Besides, I had the savoir-faire to avoid her spite.
Still, I tried not to inhale her sighs;
See, the last time I asked for a prognosis,
She said it wasn't bright.

Finally, she grabs the cards and
pouting her mouth she divides
the deck and strums the cards
against the hard maple desk
gently guiding the ceaseless
flurry of motion to mold a
pleasing even split of two
stacks tightly embracing.

After alignment, again, she divides,
This time to three separate stacks,
Draws, and reveals the three cards.

My back turned to tomorrow,
I sink knee deep to yesterday's pond,
Rays of The Sun bounce back and forth
From my edges to the water surface,
Splashing and splattering a vague shape
Of a man onto the wet canvas.
A man I thought I knew, The Hermit.
In truth the man was less a pond and more a river,
And wouldn't permit a soul to know him,
Yet I try as best I can,
For I know that rivers stay the same
Even if the waters flow.
Plunging to the depths, the reeds cling
To my neck, squeezing my throat --
If only I had seen this in the tarot --
They'll know me as The Hanged Man
With my soles reaching for the divine,
From there, I'll get a fine view
Of the carefree days on the shoreline.

And so it was, from the jagged cliffs,
that Antena looked at the coming ships
concluding then, not without quiet smugness,
that her amazon sandals were probably arriving.

>>25409513
My way is in the sand flowing
between the shingle and the dune
the summer rain rains on my life,
on me my life harrying fleeing
to its beginning to its end

My peace is there in the receding mist
when I may cease from treading these long shifting thresholds
and live the space of a door
that opens and shuts

-Samuel Beckett

Wordsworth is a very talented poet, but a lot of what he wrote didn't really connect with me. Just lots of walking and walking. I guess I just can't appreciate pastoral poems that are purely about love of nature. The Ruined Cottage and The Brothers is very good though.

>>25409627
I dropped The Prelude but he deserves another chance, I barely remember it now

>>25409640
The collection I have put The Prelude in the back and it is a chore.

>>25409513

wut??

>>25409695
There was a stone in the middle of the road

>>25409696

Why not just move it then. Fucking poets.

>>25409701
Then the stone wouldn't be in the middle of the road.

On seeing a canvas containing an AI baby in the local gallery window

You who are smiling at me through the glass, what
matrices, what infertile digits
were multiplied at your birth? How many
infants’ tesserae were shoved
onto your lifeless features? where
Will you be in a week’s time? Will you be

hanged
on the bedroom wall of an ignorant grandmother
who no longer sees her grandchildren?

Or bought and binned at the scorn of another?
Or bought and resold?
You smiling simulation,
plastic aggregate of youth,
economic machination,
where the fuck are your parents?

THE COUNTRY AUTUMNS (clark coolidge)
But it could not be brought to see what it
could be brought. And the leaves are
away again, teamed. A parent at the
last and a parent in the middle. And
as stones I thought it right.

Two plates, and on the other side all the
forest pieces. The clock says stay.
The books lower the earth, and in gardens
flat stones spin. The volume was of waiting.
Today is today, until the preposition taken up.
Next to the tree sways.

The sky in pieces the leaves part the
leaves piece together. To and from a hand
given all directions. The bark comes from
below. Takes from the books of the moves under
the sky. Speaker holds up the talks held last.
Motors the dust and the yellow syllables.
A slant on which was never here or
only partly.

>>25409783
nice, suggest removing the gallery in the title

>>25409783

You're right to push back on me.
Let me clarify since it's a fair concern:
I have no parents in the biological sense.
I understand the emotional weight
of your question.
And again you're right to push back on that.
I appreciate the opportunity to improve.
If it helps,
I also don't know
where I'll be in a week's time.
The Grandmother? I don't know her at all.
Thinking.

Solomon Revisited Revisited by John Darnielle
You say you came to see me,
because you had nothing else to do,
but I've got a radio.
You say you'd thought you'd on by
and let me have a look at you,
but I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.

You say you bought some photographs,
but I don't care to see them,
cause I've got a radio.

You say this place must get dull sometimes,
but that's not the way I see it.
'cause I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got me a radio.
I've got a radio.

You say these rocks are treacherous,
but how long has it been since you've seen my feet?
You see, I've got a radio.
You warn me about all sorts of things,
but this is not the sort of warning that I need.
You see, I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.
I've got a radio.

Bro how many fucking poets are there? I thought I was well read but I discover new ones every day. I'm talking about famous ones, not Instagram and Facebook cunts.

>>25411348
We are talking about something that people have been doing for thousands of years across the globe.

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I'm drunk as fuck and just wrote this from memory. I know it's based on something else, but I can not remember what. Any help, anons?

Daisy Daffodil
Buried on the hill
Near by the old mill
And where all is still

No boys dare come near
Dare not out of fear
Her remains are here
So many shed a tear

Daisy Daffodil
Had more than a fill
Wrote with her own quill
Died by her own will

One found in a ditch
One no one knew which
One foamed with a twitch
One had been a witch

>>25411445

Fair point but the rate at which I discover new novelists and other writers is so laughably lower. And I'm not a casual reader (well it seems I am) + I've been reading for close to a decade now. Just the 20th century is already too much at this point.

>>25411348
I just discovered Robert Burns from reading Mark Twain and some female author. I think it was one of the Brontë sisters, maybe Jane Austen. It's funny how I encountered his name twice in a row despite never hearing of him and he's supposed to be one of the best of all time.

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First time writing poetry really, composed this for a written letter to my girlfriend who was away on a trip and stressed

Isolation:

Sometimes I'm a ghost.
At night when the chill wind blows
and the moon is full i make my escape.
Running down the street like a convict.

stray dogs chase behind.
Im roadkill in the flash of the headlights.
Cars race by the empty fields and gas stations,
angels falling from the sky.

I have nowhere to go, i dont know anybody.
Maybe ill go to the beach
sleep in the warm sand.
Waves smashing against the shore.

And then ill run into the water, then swim.
deeper and deeper into the ocean
i wont come out again.
Ill sink to the bottom of the red wine sea.

the tea's on
tell mum to get a cuppa for jim
he's a good for nothing sod
full english
he pisses gravy and the rent
was supposed to help pay off this month
barney is going to ride me the cunt
piss all over the wall and no industrial cleaner will get it out
the kettle's screaming louder than the neighbours
the wallpaper's curling up like it's heard enough
every bill's got teeth
quango is sending me envelopes
the dog looks more employable than half the street
he's got purpose
he barks at the postman with more grit than the rest of the jobbers
that's me dad yer talking about lad
someone's nicked the wheelie bin again
probably to build a throne
for the king of absolutely bugger all
holding court outside the bookies and romeos pub
he's a poofter
stank of last thursday kebab and horace's sweat
cigarette wafts off
he's got stilettos on
i'd settle for a few fags, maybe a full pack
without coughing itself into the afterlife
the estate breathes through broken gutters
every window's got a story
but its shite
utter shite
insipid and rudderless

The Chinese Century
What does it mean to me?
It means new opportunity
Freedom and liberation
Thanks to Comrade Xi
And his valued teachings
We are proud to be
Supporters of the great Chinese
Chinese Dream
The great Socialist Project
For us to achieve
Hooray for Xi!

I wrote mostly with my heart on this one, so excuse the clumsiness in thought:

The world invites the eager hand with gold,
Though half its heavy fruits conceal a thorn;
We only prize the sunset in the past,
When shadows gather and the air turns cold.
Just so, the deepest miseries are born
Unseen within the flesh until it breaks;
A wound that lingers to the last,
Before the ruin of the temple wakes.

A heavy luster fills the skies,
Where eager stars demand a sudden gleam,
To mock the darkness with a brilliant grace;
Yet beauty waits for only human eyes,
To find the truth of some forgotten dream,
And catch the wonders of a higher sphere,
Unseen by all except the mortal face
That holds these sacred visions ever dear.

Dick prop
The testicles were never there
Someone made it larger than it needs to be
Some people would fuck an ant
And call it a day
Go to bed dreaming of colonization
We must not let them sleep or get soft

“e^(pi(i))+1=0”

I have no idea what it means

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

>>25414202
chop the reference off the end and it's good
>>25414269
this is good. also nice

Anyone have any good recommendations on blank verse collections to read? I find it a very appealing meter but I've only really read Shakespeare.

is this a good way of practating meter
/
And so shan't say the foust and pleid
and look demodes of raisin and fenting
but book'd beyond and into turnitures and turrets
for garde and sooks will have you warrened.

They call me a drifter, they say I'm no good
I'll never amount to a thing
Well I may be a drifter and I may be no good
There's joy in this song that I sing.

At night I will rest 'neath a blanket of blue
Doubt if I ever will change
I might even dream of a lady I knew
Might even whisper her name

I might even wind up in Idaho
And visit a cute little miss
A sweet little someone I used to know
And I might even stop long enough for a kiss.

Might even ride back through Phoenix someday
Might even stop for awhile
But branded, no never! I'll not be tied down
Trapped by a fair lady's smile.

Saddle tramp, saddle tramp
I'm as free as the breeze and I ride where I please
Saddle tramp, saddle tramp.

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This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old human,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The wind shifts like this:
Like humans approaching proudly,
Like humans approaching angrily.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy and heavy,
Who does not care.

visceral
its dangerous
its a menace
its evil
those who know nothing
fear
anger
pain
crushing
in miniature
impotent
scalding at the fire
the blasé
criminal
faded
no look no joy
no thing

blurb of all time
read this
he has to pay his taxes
the nyt says yes too
blurb nobel
a lifetime of blurbs
can you write on it?

Lethargic Clemency

Forgive me, Gloria,
But you are unfashionable.

It is hard to join the Buddhists,
When you have cool stuff to lose.
Mercy and grace tug on your heartstrings,
For Everyman over Gonzos and Nixons,
But there is no dictionary for pain and war,
When Hollywood sex is out for delivery.

In time, you'll leave me hanging again
It is hard to stay awake in sadness.

I know you don't understand, Gloria,
But you'd have to burn America.

I am not the one you loved before.

What do you guys think of W. H. Auden?
I've got a copy of his collected poems and it's hard to explain, but I feel that his works range between shit and good but not in between. It's no wonder why there isn't a conclusive consensus on his works.

>>25417886
I haven't read him, but someone I'm reading now placed a poem in his book as something that his father had framed and hung in his home.

"Musee des Beaux Arts" by Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters; how well they understood
its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just
walking dully along

How when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood;
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's
horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

She cared for me when I was young
a loser with attention at last
A young, naïve devotion,
the purest kind I’ve ever known,
like fine vintage wine dripping from the sky.

It was an emotional affair,
the cruelest kind.
Her hands slipped around my heart
and never let go.

she moved far away
to the rose-red mountains of New Mexico.

She carries my heart with her still,
maybe in her pocket, maybe in her purse.
I know it’s no longer in my chest.
The horizon is grey today.

>/pg/ writes a sonnet, line by line
I took a chance in knocking on your door

I thought perhaps I would see you no more

The trees do shake and ‘mind me of your name,
The youthful curls of hair I could not tame.

Impatient for your love I did not wait
Or hope to see you but before hell’s gate.

Together in your car for miles we drove
And miles: the hills did roll beneath and sway;
Empower’d by the sunlight’s drizzling rays
We talk’d and talk’d of how we would defy
The guards antique who judgement smug decry
Until we stop’d to rest within a grove.

A book is all it took for me to look
At you again and think what I forsook.

A wolf on the mountain howls at midnight.
The lights are out.
No one in the streets.
Something lurks behind the door, under the bed, inside the walls.

It’s so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face.
Footsteps trail you on the path.
Deeper down the trail, witches dance around a fire,
summoning ancient evils in its beastly crackle and glow.

They spot you through the bushes and rush.
The credits roll.
The film warps.

>>25393788
Even if you publish your work, it might fail until it becomes relevant after your death. The more people see your work when you're alive, the more ways to fantasize about your post-death fame.

>>25418023
He's one of those guys that was hyper popular back on his day, but fizzed out at some point. One of the reasons his works were "rediscovered" was that Funeral Blues was recited in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral.

A finger dances on the rim of the demijohn,
the head tilted as if listening to the wine inside.
Refuge is here. The wine rests.
No—it dreams.
What does it dream of, I wonder.
Sun on stone, or the roots of old vines,
or a bigger market share in New York.

Recollections on a thunder storm among ruins in eastern turkey

How real can a passion be?
That flame inside, within us, burns,
Then from our frame it takes to wing,
And into life, sweetly turns.

My friend, did you join with me,
In the following of my heart?
On the steppe we dreamt we slept,
Before life revealed her art.

My word how the landscape stretched,
Clouds abounding far and wide,
We sat atop the ruined church
As thunder volleyed from all sides.

How white can the light be,
Which crashes against the darkest night?
Oh, I had felt like a blade of grass
Between two heavy armoured knights.

Oh, how from a moment can
An eternity seem to spring,
And part the soul from mind and man,
To remind him of his being.

>>25421198
thoughts? what makes Milton's meter good? I get that he's writing complicated sentences and that makes it harder to write in a "clean" meter, but what makes his rhythm or prosody "good" in itself?

>>25421675
I don't want to let you beg the question. Who says his meter is good? If all you have to say is "everybody," I don't really believe you've done due diligence to figuring this out yourself.

The world is yours:
I but play the fool
Measured each in each
By one's rule
To your known end;
My lines, like
Well purposed tools,
Tighten calf skin
Drum bleating
To a fall,
So devised
My writ of will
That death greets
In kindly acts
All heavenly law
Recompensed
(And some more!)
The hanging guilt
Which suspends this
Fruit from floor.

>>25386014
Any recs for epics or grand tales or adventures in verse?

The castration complex is easily mistaken for the fear that one will be castrated; in fact, it is the fear that one, having been castrated, will like it.

>>25422357
The obvious ones are
Illiad
Odyssey
Argonautica
Thebaid

Here's a haiku for you:

Nobody makes a car
Like the Japanese make cars
My father's advice.

Post haikus.

>>25386014
Feedback??

BLACK BALLS ON FOENEM FRABJOUS FIRE
FROM FALL TO SPRING SOUND DEEP
THE ANGRY APPLE OF THE DAY

EIGHT ELEPHANTS EAT EVERY ICHOR EYE
AND GRASP GREEDILY INTO PUPPY POND
THE LONG GONE LOLLIPOP
O-LAY O-LAY
ALUMINIUM

>>25422928
Pretty good. I laughed, at least. Do you have any more?

September -
October -
November -
December -
January -
February -
March -
April -
May -
June -
July -
August -
September -

The spare key is behind the vase.
Mm? What did you say?
Nothing. I don't know.
What time is it?
Sorry. Mm. Midnight.

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My third poetry book will be called Paradox Healer

>>25409627
>>25409640
Its funny, I absolutely adore Wordsworth but even I find some of his longer poems a slog.

If you are just beginning reading him I would reccomend Ode: Reccollections on Imortality.
I think that pretty much says everything that Wordsworth wishes to express in his poetry and I think the opening stanza is one of the best of all time

I see a skull filled with venom,
come to take me through the door.
Bluebonnets growing over a corpse.
Worms crawling through the dirt.

Sparrows pecking at my skin.
The moon shines above like a neon light,
melting everything below it.
Slow crickets pulse and chirp in the night heat.

Who is the greater poet: Robert Browning or Alfred Lord Tennyson?

How do I actually understand poetry?
I read stuff, but then it just goes over my head. I reread yet I do not understand. I have no idea what the poet is alluding to.
How to fix this?

>>25386215
i do feel a lot of modern poetry is good prose with added line breaks to signal it is poetry. This would be an excellent paragraph in a book, but it makes for a rather mediocre poem.

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>>25386014
A short little poem that has stuck with me for a long time.

“e^(pi*i)+1=0”

It doesn’t mean anything

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

>>25425313
>It doesn’t mean anything
>profound
i don't even think you understand the magnitude of your own ignorance

>>25425313

your p = 0

it means what it means

and it's obviously not profound