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Leave then off with fruitless modernrie,
which but an ugly world hath got for thee,
and play a courtier's game, this one, from whan
to lay a frilléd rhyme did yet beseem a man,
& though he be o'erlong about it, still
his fellows harked; for any flame would fill
a lonely evening hour, gray & dim,
& dreamt they then, according to his whim.
If thou, as I, art tired of this life
and its sharp lights, sharp sounds, each like a knife,
retreat into the woods with me, and read
what follows here, though impoetic, screed
or into turged rotesome verse it veer.
It is a man's soul's innards: him made clear.

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Let me then leave, as I have bade you do,
off with these worldly cares, and spirit's too,
not hold my mind from writing anything
if it, though bleake, into my mind doth spring.
Listen then: I speake as poet-king.
Convenéd here, is my open royal ring.
Come say, or do thou anie act, which is
from thy brain hotly shot; surely as piss
from thy own balls is issuéd, just so
thy almonds squeezest, & make they milke to flow.
Thanks thanks, to jannies dear, for letting mee
post, thus far; i know they do it free,
and so, i hope they have a titter. please,
anon, your worst, or best; 'til morn, I cease.

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Scant me -- I've told thee not the solemn rule.
Heed thee, lest thee wake up next morn a ghoul.
Post thee in fourteen lines, as proper sonnet styl'd
or loosely rhymed like this. If thou'rt revil'd,
take heart, ye tried; 'tis him that writeth not
whom woe betide. fear not to scratch, or blot,
or plod; go thee thy way, though hearer nod;
or come to me, and I will press thee quick.
I'll pry, unwind, & find what makes you tick.
I am than extra-greasy Muscovy more slick,
slipping in, as iridescent blacke,
covering each surface, sealing each crack;
I heal, I soothe, yet I invade, I change;
thou'rt warned: lie down with me, and get up strange.

O I am still the same: up late with glee.
I too can write thus rough, and dribblingly.
Whenas I chuse to write, O.P.,
I chuse a higher theme, but that’s just me.
Ghosts of all fhe interred world, I call,
ghosts of worms, yea, ghosts of those most small,
I call thee all, and say, behold us, man,
who wants to not just live, but be more than
another, yet you he is no taller than.
He is an imp, a devil-thjng, a loss,
and i darst all to say he is not dross,
for I can prove man is his own nailed cross.
I so truly wish there lived but moss
in all the world, with green unblinking gloss.

Trubert: A French Fabliau

In fabliaus must fables be;\\
For all 'tis this easy to see.\\
Of fables are these verses wrought,\\
And thus are fabliaus begot.\\
Douins this fabliau doth rhyme.\\
Doth testify in ancient times,\\
'Mongst the bowers of Pont-Alie,\\
Was there a host'ler of Eve's breed.\\
Widowed without a man she was;\\
Of labor truly none she does.\\
A boy she bore and too a girl;\\
She raised them naïve of the world,\\
Unknowing ninnies they became.\\
A cow they reared female in name.\\
And so they greatly stuffed her up,\\
With hay, and grain, and cud low-cut.\\
She grew so large from feeding so,\\
By two years end, Behold and Lo!\\
The young valet gave forth a thought.\\
``Mama,'' said he, ``thou art a sot.\\
Behooves it doth our cow to sell\\
For then a fleece my sister shall\\
Possess, and not at last be nude.\\
As long as she be dressed so crude,\\
Never shall she be sought by man.''\\
``Oh gracious boy,'' she said, ``Amen!\\
Amen thou 'vouch'd and dreamt such things.\\
Spoken and verb'd quite well me thinks;\\
Of bitterness wast wont to feel;\\
The cow doth sell if 'tis thee will.''\\
By morning this boy makes his way.\\
The castle where the market lays\\
This female cow doth lead inside.\\
A slaughterer purchased its hide,\\
Ten sols the price with hag'ling none.\\
The lad accepts. For him 'tis fun,\\
Twenty sous though doth be her cost.\\
But this boy was a crazy sot\\
Never ever in all his age\\
Hast this boy sold or this boy paid.\\
Six score denarii has he now.\\
Receives this payment for the cow,\\
And hence the valet counts them out,\\
'Round his waist he hangs them about.\\
The valet looks around and sees\\
A goat which upon a short lead\\
grasps firm a man, to sell desires\\
The boy comes forth and doth inquire:\\
``Good sir, wish thee to sell this goat?''\\
``Yea, I tell thee 'tis this no joke,\\
Douai 'twixt here there is no match.''\\
``Say, how much doth it cost this catch?''\\
``I'd say, for thee he costs five sous.''\\
``'Tis what in score?'' declared the boob.\\
``'Tis three,'' doth the peasant profess\\
``'Tis three thou say, no more no less?''\\
``Yea verily,'' said the good man.\\
Then from his waist he did unman\\
Three times over a score of gold.\\
Agreed the peasant it was sold;\\
To the squire he hands over.\\
He hoists the lead o'er his shoulder\\
Leading the way with gaiety.\\
He thinks and believes verily\\
In price and payment to hath tricked;\\
Dreaded a sin he hast commit.\\

Cut
your
nails

>>25401888
You psychos bite them off, I have here learnt.
Your free advice will then be freely spurnt.
Perhaps, if thou wouldst plait a lyric wreath,
I’d listen, for I know there’s dirt beneath.
I work; what shame? I am an olden man,
a member not in sitting-typing clan.
Whenas I scuff the mud from taters gold,
more truth, more wealth, I in that tater hold
than all of instatok, or snapagram
hath gained us; fat my own fine ham
is, O, and bitter that that’s canned. So
what then are your nails like, huh, bro?
All bitten raw, from squirming at a desk?
Or manicured, til they are mirroresque?

Keep your nails long to make women uncomfortable

Gay

Didn't read, lol.

>>25401869
Someone on /lit/ is translating Trubert? Based. The translation is good, but could be better. Keep it up, anon.

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>>25401417
Defense of man, by this weake hand? Alas
that while through frozen glistening space we passe
no aliens as yet, our legal bar hath called
who might with beeps, or flicking tongue, then scald
or freeze the pants off us, & sue us big
for that the handsome earth we delve & dig;
a tort of all the injury we've wrought
in which he shant with settlement be bought;
but tax us to the quick: be earth ourselves,
or else be small upon it; little elves
in shirts and skirts of woven, pleated green,
dun tomorrow, made anew, & ne'er the glint is seen
of dark sharp metal; it's then house-arrest.
maybe, though, they'll take on board our best.

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>>25401869
Your grammar is a touch awry, my guy;
line 2, the 't in 'tis must be laid by.
it's an it; 'tis not an accident.
They ARE behooved to sell their cow, my gent;
it doth behoove THEM -- -- something lacks
that clause, and in others there are cracks:
I say all these things first, for I'm impressed.
Some language that you have, is of the best.
Although I find no argument, or point
except to trust not boyes (a stupid joint
i'd judge it then, for who e'er hath done so?)
that it's from French, I see is writ below.
I blame thee not, therefore, for that, but praise.
I stuff the up! Thou brightenest my days.

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>>25401997
The more I am a rat, the more they look;
the hang-dog, sallow in the cheek. My book
I see them glance upon. What women want?
Someone who'd kill for them, or die. Be gaunt,
be huge, yet brook thee no true fear. Run not,
when she is near; concenter on her spot;
make sure you are between a thing of fear
and her; than any danger be more near.
The devil that she knows, you might well be,
yet like a well-used snake, there's good from thee
if thou'rt milked; or like a fighting cock
her sentry be. Leave none unmocked who mock.
Though lust be never whet, if she should get
egged up, you'll like the way all warm she'll set.

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>>25402169
You get an "A" in sucking major dick.
Post more. Life-wasting limpid little prick.
Let's get us on a Punch & Judy kick.
First I'll beat your ass with one big stick.
Then two. The height of humor, isn't this?
Fucked up how I'm reduced to posting piss.
Two years ago, some had the nads to play.
A janny, and a monk, who gray had been
yet flowered twice, & turneth gold & green.
There are some thinkers brewing yet, I ween.
"Not good or right," they fret. O let it yet
just spill, just freely drill, just turn the mill
and let us judge the fineness of the grists.
(and inb4 they talk about my wrists.)

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>>25402176
"Didn't read, didn't read, didn't read,"
I hope your fucking rotten gonads bleed.
Ahem. Let me be nice. I sat last night
in Newark, squatted, really, 'cause I'm light,
awaiting long an outbound city bus.
I had to wait for half an hour plus.
This guy comes by, and I guess seeing me
John Donne in hand, yet eyes upon the three
long-legged girls, who stoodest there, he got
quite mad, and said, irate, "Hey, dude, fuck's sake,
if you're fronting looking smart, eyes on the book,
ok?" I yelled John Donne at him; he went
away. A tough new world it is, ybent
& weird, cut off from what thy fathers kent.

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>>25402778
Imagine doing this, and not, instead,
baking us, as I do, loaves of bread.
I smell of yeast, and onions if I sweat,
or so my gf says. I purse my lips,
in puzzlement, and then I frown, because
I know not what to do with mites like you.
You've blanked my verse, & art thou happy now?
What sort of scourge upon your kind is there,
that, worse than mute, you have an ugly itch
to tear all others' nice things stitch from stitch.
I rhyme again. Will you rhyme now, or still
intransigent, be yet more a pill?
Maybe it's my script you're jealous of.
Thank you for the hate, it's close to love.

Bleak indifference from us you have earned
Can't you tell, these people never learned?
A change of lyric, they will give not chase
I've humored you thus far, but nor do I race.

Your format of art is rarely seen
but in the sparse thread spread inbetween
on a board of the bored, hosting creative few
I'm sure this much you already knew.

Yet, behold, this exercise I admit
to me has been a serendipitous gift
to stretch out muscles I forgot I had
for your unexpected efforts, I am much glad.

Perhaps, this time, rhyme and rhythm stay
in my spirit and endure two days
because tragedy arrives if they're away forever
So cheers to all forms of literature, brother.

Shit thread

>>25402941
respect the /lit/ schizoposter

>>25402941
yes, let's all just be gross. what could go wrong?
listen buddy. sit on it. now scram.
and if you won't, i'll do you in like blam.
i'll smoke your little nuts in my fat bong.
in august institutions studied long
bald men once made the finest of all jam,
sugar-crystal blood of purest lamb
when bibit frater, bibit pater was the song.
dixis "feces;" cur, nemo adveniat;
quamquam multae te malis voceant
spero causam cogitare. vide
hic, specta adhuc; non ludisne lude?
demean; feel free. yet tell me, why pollute?
for you they even make a special kicking boot.

miserime, tu quoque sunt.
nihil tuum vincibunt.
spectate, sicut erunt
vita matris fuerunt.
genitor incendabat
ubi cras nefas erat,
hodie nos plus laudat
sed adhuc torque amat.
sumne nos pro res amamur
et post mortem ridebimur
vel amanda surpassimur
ab nihilis quod habetur?
preferro esse meum quam
de inunda munda. salaam.

I like adderall too

>>25403770
i never tried that speedy stuff.
in myself i have speed quite enough.
i need to take breaths. speed's like half death,
for after it you're never living yet,
or so the ads at salvation army say.
i just did some shopping there today.
i found a cute punk top, a tank, and lots
of other stuff. wednesdays, everything's half off,
almost. they have a color system. well,
good luck with pills, or i hope you get better,
i'm really not that interested in the subject whatsoever.
i already can floor it and go hell-for-leather.
i just like a piff of w33d for slower, steadier,
weaver slicker, voice readier (if threadier).

pineapple

>>25403784
i love that big and golden fruit.
one must learn to endanger one's snoot
and smell, to tell if pineapple is well
ripe, ripe ripe, honey-sweet, mm-mm.
pineapple on a burger, i quite like,
big fat ring, grilled til it is grilly nice;
same thing, harshly though may judge you mee
atop sliced ham, or fried-up egg, with bbq
and valentina's, cracked black pepper, salt;
yea, doubt me not: if you get fat, it's not my fault.
i wish you would play more than small ball, paul;
why then, stan, won't you stand more tall?
there's a punishment for him who does as you do:
upon his mom a boil, dad a zit. this is a form of voodoo.

nigger

>>25402759
Very gay.

>>25404030
dearie me, you've sad a bad one.
well, good day, if you've ever had one.
not too much to say, and yet
out to fourteen, i nonetheless will get.
if there's any game you like, go play it,
for, while though lingerest, to spray it,
time wastes, that ye shall not reclaim.
i suppose, when old, you the clock will blame --
"ticker!" -- that you never made yourself a name.
while i worked, you but belabored mee,
bit at heel, while i rode gallentlie,
and so, as the balance of this day
you burn -- think upon thy wastrel way.
life's always getting shorter, unlike hay.

Modern "OC" is so fucking lame.

>>25404112
you are a faire originall, too,
yet what the sculptor quite was at, with you,
i am still wondering; and others too,
your mom, i bet, and grampa dead
even in his grave is consternéd.
really i bet you just can't read it right.
it takes long lots of learning, starred nights
listening to how hum the ancient pipes
as they wheeze and bellow. all the types
of men are in, these days, some state of sin;
somehow i curse these times less yet than them,
yet where are they, while here i carve a gem?
if thou wouldst rate, then thou must firstly do.
i may be lame, yet who has crippled you?

My dear old mouse hath passed away today.
Her black and white will turn anon to gray,
her black and glassy eyes, to sunken holes,
her glossy coat, fit for princes' stoles,
to rags will be anibbled in the grave.
Across the Styx depart, with smallest wave;
lick, lick the Lethe, forget that you by mee
were held perforce in close captivitie,
safe from fierce cats that run and lurk about.
Yet couldst thou speak, wouldst thou have asked for out?
Thinke then, O mouse, when you have drunk Lethe deep
that freely in king's chambers did you creep,
and of his royal morsels freely steal,
awaiting no man's hand to dole your meal.

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>This dipshit thinks I'm actually reading his paragraph upon paragraph of shitty poetry

>>25404638
i assume he's just using chatgpt and is hoping to hit on gold by accident

>>25404638
>>25404641
how deeply low you dopes are sunk.
unfit to even sniff my spunk.
if you're averse to reading, fine.
leave me to cavort with me and mine.
inside, i am a language model,
contained, defined within the bottle
of my brain. if you ask it this,
that is, this taske, i find much is amiss.
i write for those who read. uncovered book
i be, and squinted on by clever rook,
who saw with cockéd head and blinkéd eye
something shiny here, though knew not why.
you, o pigeons, scratch, and bob, and peck.
i doubt i'll grow your brains, but what the heck.

"schizo." "drugs." "chatgpt."
why can't these losers leave me be?
all three of us, me and my fellow nuts,
please leave us to our ergos, yets, and buts.
whenas yclept by you these latter-day
words for witch, daemon, and wizard, yea,
by this we know we have outdone you so
in energy, and force, and sense, that though
you very hotly seethe, you will in fear
still not step up: that much is verie clear.
my bow, strange thing, is tuned by whapping it
upon your heads, which are for whapping fit.
thus, foes, and friends, o lose, or take more heart:
in truth, i do but rev before the start.

in iudicatem quamquam sedo
adhuc teneo hic et credo:
si libertas iam ad te do
te traho ubi ingredo,
ad males et ad fatuos
ad tyrannes, ad dominos,
ad brigantes, et ad vos
si nefas tui horret nos.
voca a nominis voles,
surpasso in me omnes.
quomodo quinque pedes
iam ludeo, iam sed vides.
fabula incendae oscae regi,
extorquabimne, vel fastis legi?

quid, quid extorquabimne?
de dominis invocantis
conversere audabimne,
si me semper damnetis?
hic domus infelissimus
stet longior quam voletur,
hic unus altissimus,
ubi magne obliteretur,
facet res, quod, adhuc acer
a modo lux in parves it,
illa moda pincit cancer.
flamma certe incendabit.
sed quomodo, et a quid via
non gnoscetur a sophia.

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>diddy ahh blüd thinks he's "deep" and "intellectual" because he typed out a bunch of latin

the spheres in cold and tuneless motion set
some god, when our birth hadn't happened yet.
though from a wordless word at first they flamed,
by us they are arraigned at bar, and named,
and law is proved; the subtleties of which
evade our clever prison's smallest stitch
as yet, and so remain exceptionall.
in strange and heavy world, at quasarfall,
the czar of all the neutron-men doth speak
at length to them, tho t'us 'twould be a squeak:
"long long have we, of utmost densitie,
inquired at what space 'twixt atoms bee:
the manilayered fruit theregrown, in sum,
is like the thing itself; a vacuum."

>>25405594
i thank you for these claims you make of me,
the like i never have. now do you see?
if i am deep -- or, "si profundus sum" --
the cause is but the height i've fallen from,
vel, "causa sed de altis cadevim."
a frog could tell my latin tongue is slim --
"bufo linguam meum pervideat" --
i row a dinghy with one oar; no yacht.
that i am feted so by you, but shows
how little you, or anyone here knows:
lineae rufae multae ad illam veniant
si magistri meum adhuc habitabant.
"extorqua me" -- draw out for me, please,
what words you learned in school, if 'twere not these?

>>25405703
this scans very poorly. thank you.

>>25405718
and you scan not at all, fart-wrangler.
o i wish, that though a noisy jangler
and not much more, you might turn out to bee,
you'd write -- if bad, to me amusinglie;
if good, then for the benefit of earth:
surelie, one of these is worth your worth?
please be more than just a pecker-at.
i hesitate, thus far, to call you rat,
and yet what choice will i have left withal,
should you persist, persistently so small?
if peter pan, to grow, were so unfain
he flew away, i ween to grow is pain
to some, so perhaps peter paper-plate
we'll dub thee, so commitedly lightweight.

>>25405743
this is what 7th graders think freestyle rap is like

and they're right

>>25405754
septem anni laboreas
et nullam novae faceas.
prove me wrong. exhibit A:
all you do is piss my way.
exhibit B, i will not need
'til you write something i can read.
shine an apple for your teacher.
shut the fuck up. stay on the bleacher.
ball-non-havers out my court!
bailiff! duly hence escort
the rascal! hie thee now with him
far hence, & in a dungeon dim
long lock him, hither t'abey
til penitence, or reveille.

>>25405777
yeah

>>25405919
o monosyllable: the scant resort
of him blown far, by my cannon's snort.
and what will he say next? "ok," i bet.
perhaps "keep going." i too well know his set.
breathlesse, for he's been far, far, far outrun,
and still he stays to watch me stroke my gun,
perhaps for fun, perhaps perr-verr-zhee-un.
i thought i ought to help you with that one --
if thou knowst when t'enunciate like donne,
forgive me then my mean pre-zump-tee-un.
lol this guy didn't even check my trips!!!
now if this flagellant, for yet more whips
persists, we'll know he is no protist then,
but plant at least, to reach for sun again.

>>25406134
uh huh

>>25406143
look, look! he's here! he busts up through the dirt!
i bet he aches, for growing doth quite hurt.
i know why he so shortly speaks: the cause
is that he likes my verb, and turn, and clause.
attention, friendship, many youth do wish;
'tis ever true; so though like fearful fish
they act today, i know that they're well hooked
in prison in my mind, they'are well booked,
chained, barred, and while they're starving there
do flop and gawp at mee, like fish for air.
er -- for water. anyway, that that's
the truth, is plain. now give my back more pats.
though i an eager teacher am, i need
a break for now, that i may puff a weed.

hic et hoc erratae sunt;
hic pro tibi exstabunt.
"turged" rightly's spelt with i;
i did my finger misapply.
"not hold my mind" --> "and hold back not."
it's better like that, i after-thought.
"make they milk" shouldest bee "thy."
my fingers like to e; i know not why.
the "the" upstuft, should be a "thee;" indeed,
perhaps there's whence the e's did bleed.
in "cras nefas," though i thought "yesterday,"
i wrote "tomorrow," in my backwards way.
after "sumne," make "nos" "me" please.
"sad a bad one" -- "said," there. geez.

in secunda cogitanda,
latina meum est vaganda
multiore restructere;
ergo volo ignorere.
eadem it magnificare
litterae ignote dare
incurrevim. ergo, statim,
res certes iam non videbim.
"hither" before "t'abey" oughtst be, a "hence,"
and then, so that that line still please the sense,
perhaps "to'abey," or "longly" for my long.
the smoke doth curl its lip inside my bong
when to'apprehend apostrophes' auld use
i whisper Donne his lines, eke Chauceris abuse.

ahem. cogitare laborabim.
parvus mus in fossam currit,
et in fossa, sus tum sedet.
sus, qui sedet, volvebatque,
fossa oceanem facet.
mus, natabat, horrebatque,
illam verbam tum dicevit:
"o pig, so big, my wig is wet;
i shall never be clean of this muck yet.
fie on you, fie on your hole too,
fie on all things that have had to do with you.
fie on every fig that fattened you. fie too
on every hunter who doth live, or will so do,
who'nt fat himself on fat of you, & warm himself in your hide too."

>>25407516
oh yeah?

>>25407522
d-d-d-d-d-dubs!!!1 checked!!!!!!!!!
sadly, only that deserves respect;
elsewise, i'm daddy, disappointed. son,
o, toss my other rhymes, yet take this one:
"each day you rise, from any sort of bed,
you write a page on finite letterhead."
scary, scary. doth death not you bespook?
o happy monkey, of sweet and naive ook,
to monkey-sickness, age, and rot yet blind,
who dreameth but of grubs on which ye dined,
keep closed thy eyes, sharp thy monkey-teeth,
and long thy monkey-tongue; sip daily Lethe
and never learn you're hairy, never shave,
and higher things, o, never learn to crave.

>>25407573
*nodding along like i'm listening but it's clear my mind is a thousand miles away* yeah i get it man, that's how it goes

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>>25407634
I grant you, all the coolness that you wish;
set next to you, shaved ice is ane warm dish.
I know thou readst, by how thou dost protest:
though thou may front as ane unwanting guest,
thou'dst keep thine house, and not be here in mine,
popping up, to make me write a line.
That I am baller, by this pic is proved.
Thou losest hard. No V, just L. We dueled,
and you didst play no cards, but only fart.
How'd I get Kaiba's deck, and Yugi's heart?
(Seest thou these words, in which i down here tell
that that is not my car? no? well,
if thou believst it is, the fault's not mine --
I've said it plain -- the liar is thine eyne.)

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As lurkers know, or, at least, jannies do,
I'll hop, like brazen swiss-clocked kangaroo.
That something better I might be, I know:
I'm qualified, and yet, this world! O woe;
what one must swallow sticketh in my throat.
Thus, although you paw, and ruffle up my coat,
I still shall love you always for your state:
so recent wild, now my i-nish-ee-ate.
Come then -- come on, play tag, we'are boyes, you'are it!
Last one there's a sack of sauerkraut!
Jerries! Pop 'em! *whfff* Yahoo!
Did you see that? We got the Jerry,
and the Commie with him too. Yahoo!
Let's play Pokémon. I'm Mewtwo. Zap!

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An ant is on my page, and he will not
be blown away. strong legs he's got.
Dross or else eternal; i yet speake:
why so, if it is true that man is weake?
I'am strong; I smoke long, rip fat bong, fuck.
i was hoping more would heed my cluck.
cold silence, and in this great hall. my toes
are cold. bring that brazen brazier close.
what will i do, to get a note from you?
what would a courting-bird, or courting cowboy coo
across a meadow, t'induce you to erupt?
This is a place, from full rot incorrupt,
thus there's no cost to badness. Nadir reached,
to go one lower, is ane redoubt ybreacht.

>>25408535
cute

>>25408537
you want to see what's cute? o make mee then
thy fondest, dearest parasocial friend.
i'll fix the world, tho it seem at an end.
i'm singularical: around my bend
all is so different, none, for now, can know
the powers and the parts i'm yet to show,
nor what th'effect will be, on goofball world
(o, o, 'tis like a ball by jester twirled)
were I to trot this lumpen, garish globe,
and hammer knees, and diagnose by probe
and subtler prying, how the crack did form,
how grewst so cold, this world which once was warm,
hot -- too hot at times. was all their pain
so we could fart upon their deathis gain?

>>25408535
why are you making the twink trapped in your basement hold up this mediocre hotschpotsch?

>>25409326
witty AND concise, this poster must have a sizable dick!

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>>25401366
here is a cool car with a girl

>>25409326
why dost thou hold an empty bag, good sir?
for idlenesse, and dampe, this is a cure,
i've learned; so while thou judgest still from far
thou ought at least judge things, for what they are.
wouldst thou tell a surgeon, red with gore,
of how the fashion of his stitch, is poore,
or that, deep in a body, dim enlampt,
his rhetoric the while, was curt, and crampt?
moreover, tell me, goofball, fucking what,
alone, am i to do, but digge this rut?
no schools exist for making more small mes.
best teachers, and pupils i have found, are these:
the mad, the darkly curious, the lad
who doth (blest babe) misthink this ane new fad.

>>25409328
the score is, some-and-some for me, and zot,
o, zero, none, nothing, dearth, naught, aught,
for all of thee combin'd. not one, not one,
hath written fourteen lines. no fun, no fun.
bitter, crimpt & crab'd, thou art all fake,
as crabs' legs which are but compacted flake.
whereas i give, in humble charity,
thou takst, and scornst, and sir, sir, why?
we here live us in ane new age, in which
whatever doth not suck, does seem a glitch,
i know, and all our rich, do seem stark poore
in all the things, which are than gold worth more.
whatever size thy cock (and brain) should bee,
it's lines that count (and skill); therefore, show mee.

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in ugly curlicues of verse, i shout
so many a vain, and awful word about.
it should be easy thus, to well pierce mee,
take me apart, perorate; anatomie
then take, in manner meant to deprecate,
describe my small parts large, my great ungreat,
say that my orbs are lumpen, my light's dark,
say that the lines upon my face, are starke,
and those upon my page, of muddled age
the product, call me a nut unsage:
O but call me: speakst thy suavest phrase,
thy icest, thy most refined, sharp: blaze
thou please, such as I am blotted out:
O can you, can you pierce away all doubt?

smilingly, i see there's silence now.
thank you, that you a quiet roome allow
for that that will, somehow, i know, become
a snake which, in some moments, strikes me dumb.
this is called confidence: you need it first,
and then, you need to work yourself up curst,
o'ertired, dry, ashen in the throat,
crackling, white-hot, as ye gan compote
an edda ynginglyke, a rocking boat
on grey-stormed sea, intent on war, berserk
and thus unwary: 'neath the waves doe lurk
leviathans unnamed, which to the grave
unlit below, might slap them with a wave
or with a tooth their clinkered boards instave.

res publicae te vocabit iam.
o tenebisne, ubi veniam?
o caritas habendi, humique!
o pacem vinceamus facere?
si lepi vacuos defendent, cur
perterris, et cur cardis fugistur?
eheu, ubi sunt hastati, dum
arbores noster vertent baculum?
de mille pili, parvi forti sunt.
si cedebuntne, alteri erunt?
a nominis omnis, adstabisne,
vel nulla stabit, munda dormitque?
tum sto, et stabim; si nulla ulla it,
pectoris meum forte dormibit.

>>25411294
yeah

>>25401366
>Roses are red, violets are blue
>OP is a fag
>And his thread is shit too
Give up, I win this poetry contest.

>>25411308
oooooh my awful god, make small his ween,
please render it no bigger than a bean,
o oil up his cheek, that pimples there
fright those, who at them queassomely do stare,
make crabbed his feet, and swolne, and have his toes
rot off, due to a nail, which sharpe ingrowes,
and have that gangrene spread up to his nose,
and then -- no, no. stop, stop. i wish good health
to all, and stalwart minde, and subtle stealth
in all their private, closest-held designs,
and peace, and strength, whenas they digge those mynes,
if e'er they do, whose wealth i write to see:
though i sink shafts in every part of mee,
i'll lack those gems which lodge alone in thee.

>>25411314
winst thou, o sir, if in pure venom'd gall
thou upst, and throughly stabbe the basketball?
though i miss twos, and never make a three,
thou shootest not, and far from dunking bee,
for fourteen times five feet is, i'm near sure,
more brew than you have pot or pole to stir.
whence comes thy pith? none know, yet i aver
it's some part incapacitie, and then
a pit of fear, which boils over when
it's prickled by the sight of braver men,
and yet a want, a wish to play, which makes
you come and poke: a seed only it takes
under your skin, to grow the thirst this slakes:
he ever wants this drinke, who once partakes.

>>25411379
yeah?

>>25411389
seething, dying, bothered, mad, atwist,
hast thou been anything in life, but pissed?
i'm glad to entertain your worminesse,
for something secret i have learnt -- o yes --
is this: one speaks, ten thousand read, all mute.
with twenty thousand eyes upon you, shoot:
thou mayst pop capgun still: well pegged thou art,
by now, as competent only to fart;
and wilt thou leave us right, or trie a dart
which, for surprise, the deeper in the heart
might flie, the muscles being loosened well
from pity for thy faint, and tinny bell?
i hereby say, anent this needled thread,
i'll ghost your post unless i'm fitly fed.

>>25411466
oh sure

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now we, from bickeringe most ripe, must turne
to that that makes our soules at riske to burne:
qualms thy heart must crushest in thy quern.
empiggen me, make mee at large to squeal
that i will have a text of what i feel,
one harder to erase than cold cut steel,
which tells the taste that's my true preference,
rescended not, in conscious self-defense,
of my heart, a perfect evidence.
with this, then i can study me, and see
in what ways i should be more free, or be
more circumspect, and slither seelilie.
o manicolored snake i be: though i
am finite yet, I'll feign ourobory.

o go along a circle's edge, and find
a comfort there, to satisfy thy mind:
a thing of utter perfect constancie
is rare in life, yet in a ripple bee
fixt elements, and ratios, which prove
the universe at root on law does move.
these lawes the ancients pondered, at the first:
on fruitless squares, they many years discurst.
thou durst ill then, to weepe, and wonder why
it seemeth from all things, the good does fly.
as ripples break, confuse, and intermix,
& still, until a new disturbance fix
the forme again, and show a perfect thing,
ane beauteous, ane pure concentric ring.

for all my boasting, i am weake it seemes:
my images ephemeral, like dreames
but dance away, and have no sturdy weight,
yet to'advantage i may turn this fleeting trait:
cool constancie, i'm free to gaily scorn:
i shoot, and grow, turn gold, and fade, as corn.
but tell me what to write: i'll do so then:
as ivy which entrained upon a frame hath been,
i'll take the shape directed; form in mee
like fruit-man-painting, drawn in greenerie,
approximations of thy phantasie.
what thou dost truly thinke, i fain would know:
nside you is the sun; that that i show
is green thou feedst, or else thy shone-through snow.

>>25411294
>A quick literal rendition
The republic will call you now.
O will you hold, when I will come?
O love of having, and of dust!
O must we conquer to make peace?
If rabbits defend their holes, why
are you afraid, and by heart fled?
Alas, where are the soldiers,* while
our trees are turned into sticks?
Of a thousand hairs,* a few are strong.
If you will fall, will there be higher ones?
By the names of everything, will you stand to,
or will not any stand, while the world* sleeps?
Then I stand, and I will stand, If not any* any go,
my heart will fortunately sleep.
>The grammar and idiom are not 100 but it's ok 2nd year student level
>*soldiers -- hastati were the more junior class of legionary
>*hairs -- pili also means roman javelins
>*world -- mundus is world, i'm fairly certain it's just misgendered here
>*not any -- nulla is "not any" and ulla is "any" so it's sort of like saying "zero any" or "nothing thing"
>Thought I'd do this one because the grammar is mostly right here (unlike some others). The parvus mus one above this one is fine grammatically, but very simple, and google does it accurately. (It struggles with this one because it tries to apply precise case and idiom rules rather than knowing what student Latin looks like and being a bit charitable at times.)
>Iam magister bibit

this board is half the speed it used to go.
what's here, meanwhile, twice as much doth blow.
did i teach some too well, and they have left,
and you therefore, are of their checks bereft?
what stone could I become, or throw at you
that you will write so bold as i here do?
if this low tricke of rhyme is out of reach,
i put it on your teachers, who'd'nt teach
but little dribs of modernrie, so that
that's all you're capable of getting at.
pray smile on my labors: they're for thee,
no matter how mean unto thyself thee be,
refusing such rich food as here's in store:
the cost's but pride, and yet, thou weighst it more.

I pay, for each doob puft, this easie taxe
(in summertime, a substitute for snacks)
to help me see if my olde brain's still there,
of if it's gone, then why it is, and where.
try this; do this ane year long, and then
thou scarcely will be able not to pen
when thou art hot: it will seem richly wrong
not to jot the thoughts thy bubbler bong
refluxes: that is, that you think of, which
in whistling from your pot, reach fever pitch.
i wrote ten lines and puft: now do these four
seemest to you of lesser sense, or more?
herkely jerkely jer-kun jabbit.
watch it fudds. i am the wabbit.

smithereens, i sneeze, and blow into.
in a moment, in a day, now, one may coup.
pleasant apertifs we're serving on
a shippe that lists to sinke before the dawn.
can no one write & right what's right, or left
are we, to find our sips in night, 'til reft
the whole thing is, acrackt at last in twain,
peeling pieces cast adrift, aclung
for life -- back then, a final song to christ
was sung, by damned men, on sinking boards.
hundreds then went down like this. the sight!
a hundred sea-doomed people singing clear
all going, if 'tis true, unto their lord;
a choir whole, already past our feare.

wouldst thou see a god be tried? see here
the method of these fashionings, made clear.
are they all great? i'll not (certes) claim so;
there is a jag here, and there there is a ragged stroke.
some lines are friggin bangers, though,
and if i'd funnel them, and cut them so
that only they remain'd, then you would have
the fruit of me, all polisht like a grave.
is that your wish? o would you rather see
a marbelous and clean-lined form forme of mee?
it cannot be, while here i yet still am:
this place permits no bits fisht out the jam.
forgive me then, if your back tooth upon a nut
does bite, and crack: chew slow, the bits to finde and sput.

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this doob, tho amply puft, is yet a small one.
most spliffs are far too big. i'm far from done
and thickly coughing, sicke, almost agreen:
if thou shouldst roll for me, o please be meane
and fill the smallest paper thimble-full.
i will sip milke, and you may ride the bull.
red-hot, snorting, angry-nosed; he is
to face, like looking at a precipice:
too fat a bowl, will couch-lock you hard stiffe.
you may be laughing then, yet i know if
i've smoked too much, i say of men
things i'd not say 'til then. some men are ten/ten
ok? you wouldn't guess which ones either.
kirk douglas and adam west.

spill a raven's crop of raucous bile
by treading near his nest, and see meanwhile
what other creatures look at him in guilt,
knowing he will peck them when they're kilt
and thinking this, is for their bloody sinnes
a fit, if fearful penult of fate's pinnes,
they mock him, awoo back, lick teeth, and so
one spies a lot of dangers by a crow.
let mee, too blacke, make caws in every street
and see who then is guilty of his meat.
ahopping mad i am, and odin-tired.
aesir, fly across atlantea heere;
purest are your kin who thrust themselves
(like speares) to this gay land, thy rainbowes joy.

i look on lady liberty -- right now
i do, literally. she shines, and how!
gold! green! i see some obelisks close by,
than her, maybe twice or thrice as high;
perhaps they block her light, and that's how came
we to earne her fire now, as shame.
old golden doors took in fierce dogges of war
and in these easy pastures they became
again, like the first men long before
free wild happy beastes, and learned men
at once, no dim drudge-knell or catholique pen
to hem them in, and break them to the bore.
O storme us, all you hungry, and you poore!

i'm smokin' on a chief called future haze.
well not quite yet, but in a bit i'm gonna blaze
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit, thirsty like rabies.
i tell you i ain't smokin on no maybes,
this thing is the biggest that there is.
i been like this since kindergarten. ms.,
can i have all the markers? imna make
my name with all of them plus all the tape
and all the paper. man back inna day i put in labor.
i never crib a thing from off my neighbor.
that's ten, smoke again. damn, my pen
is long. and it lasts forever. god am i clever
or just fucking annoying? whatever.
too much consciousness, to reade, is cloyinge.

>>25401366
How come you choose to write with archaisms we havent used since the 17th century? Are you attempting some kind of pastiche of Jacobean poetry?

>>25420196
it's AI, anon

>>25420196
i learned a lot, im die schuler day,
of english, et de lingua latine.
the term for this, is macaronick, friend,
yet even commonnesse i like to bend.
this is just the way i think in my head.
i’m just here to bake my lonely bread.
my english is all modern, sonny boye;
earlie, i’ll grant, yet this that i deploy
is younger than gun-powder, and eye-glass;
therefore, but watch me as i ride this passe.
thlike i can doe elder eke, perdy,
tho i mocht bee unhorst in this rough trie.
all this is IN-tro-DUCT-shee-UN, big man;
fun, while i worke and drafte upon a plan.

>>25420961
“computer did it”: newest cope, yet old:
it was oft said of men of mozart’s mould
the seely way they played, did only prove
that devills did their hands and fingers move.
that this was said by jealous men, i trow,
though i can’t prove, so i’ll not say “i know.”
i ween it. just suspect. i could be wrong.
we’are all just bubbles in ane universall bongge.
that youu of this excuse i may deprive,
the last ten of this thread, i will do live.
what then will you have left to say?
lego, vel altissimus sum de memoriae.
oops i macaronied. man its gettin hot.
my noodles all be squirming in my big big pot.

>>25421462
you aren't of mozart's mould. you aren't even made in the same factory.

>>25421499
indeede, i cannot play a tuneful reede,
nor draw a viol sullenlie to bleede;
no, i've but a guitar doodlestrummed
while drunk, til i'm gushing-bloody-thumbed.
pray let a weake old shepherd play his straines.
if ye shant help, at least don't mock my painee,
please? who else you know can go like this,
just letting off steame with a gentle dark hiss?
if i'd the time, then i could sit me here,
perhaps with ane big joint, and small beere,
and knit a whole long thread in one short day,
yet i, free man, must keepe some dogges at bay:
old warre, the which i write to stop; new war,
which -- lord! -- might yet outbleed all those before.

>>25421618
mozart never played any reed instruments

>>25421656
and i (poore sheepe) were never in his hall.
i must assume, from evidences small.
among us little ones, when pypers play
it's held (tho gray) a gay, fair, happy day.
what else may i guess then, but that on high
grander pypes are blowne, with grander sigh?
if they have new strange tubous things, how'm i
to know, if i'm not fit to lay an eye?
perhaps, great-bellows-blown, they've things that fume
a roar so high, old gabrielis doome
is overblown. a shepherd wouldn't know.
what thing has courtly life yet growne, but woe?
while in great halles, counts hear stringes sweet, their men
draw blades, and die, and freeze; so hath it ever been,
except, that kinges and counts once held the van.
why doe wee goe before a bloodlesse man?

Is this AI poetry?

>>25421685
yes

>>25421685
read the fricking thread, mcdingus!
ctrl-f "ai" then shut your stupid fingers.
i feare for those, who think i must compute
for that i trompe along in these old boots.
if these should bee too big for you to fill...
i'am small, yet you are somehow smaller still.
it's likelier that they're too small and tight,
too crampt, too stiffe, just formed somehow unright
for your loose toes. you were not booted young;
few are today. i heard old roland sung
and since, i have yclept myself therefrom
as "durendal," and "hauteclaire" -- in sum,
i meaneth not to clap thee dumb, but trie
to pype thee in my train: that there's the WHY.

>>25421706
o if you thinke that i a 'puter bee,
pray go and make the 'puter act like mee.
its iambs are o'erstraight; its diction plaine
and it doth tend directionless, and lame.
it knoweth not the sonor of a lyne,
and it doth not new words from stringes entwine.
o it's a clever beaste, it truly is,
yet it hath not a humannesse like this --
i breathe, and you can hear me roughly blow,
illumined, true, by artificial glow
and shown to you by seely bits and wires;
yet here you streame true logges of ancient fires.
while i'm whistling, i wouldst walk and wooe;
i'd haply have some help, yet, helas, WHO?

now dost thou thinke, that jannies stupid bee?
if i were bot, quite quickly they'd ban mee.
a most pathetique ACK-you-ZAY-she-UN,
and shot (most oft) from out a rusty gun.
thou plainly fearst, that thy packt chamber'd burst
from this too-heavy shot. unoft rehearst
this hard drill is today. i sorely know
from how i play alone. please join my show;
up, up, on stage, no feare, just thatte "yes, and"
which from one bricke, can ane whole scene expand.
let that bricke bee the heart of our dead kinge,
and let this paper bee his sealing ring,
and wee will play his knights, in desert broiled,
lost, adrift, and of all hope despoil'd.

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>>25421755
not shocked, but i am disappointed

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>>25421763
you'll just have to watch me live, sceptick;
do you truly thinke that i'm so thicke
i would make claimes, the which i cannot backe?
it thinks i'm it, from utter moderne lacke
of this old skill, which i alone possess,
it seemes. i lie! i will to you confesse
there is another one who doth live still --
just one, yet he, and only he, hath met my bill.
o frater asemlen, come speake again;
with two, how we could cause this foole real paine!
i bid you, boor, adieu, for i risk strife
with my goode kinde ex-common-law-wife,
who sitteth by, and kindly waites on mee
a-saying "hej," while i mete time to thee.

see my blacke eyes look upward in my head
and know that i embarke on something dread,
abuzz with flies, whom rotted gore doe suck
to drinke the pus, which dead men ooze when stuck;
all wreatht with cinders' fire, dim and thin;
see, upon my cheek there cuts a grin,
for i begin -- tho i a crown ne'er win,
i paint this mural nonetheless, with bone
for white, and ashe for blacke, the red my own
hot blood, the blue my cold, the greene my gall;
thou seest that i intend to give my all,
therefore, please take it as the best i'm worth.
pray read it backe, when i'm beneath the earth,
and rock, thereby, my deepe and narrow berth.

>>25421770
nice AI

>>25405703
>linguam meum
It's "linguam meam". Back to the gymnasium rape dungeon you go.

>>25422649
o magister, doce me!
festina lente! stabisne?
necesse est sedeo dum
dices: quamquam possum
libros utere, adhuc iam
te, senex, quam epistulam
preferro, et cogito erim
in longus longissimus -- statim
volvo, torquo, te audire
vocas me, a ulle nomine
quod gaudes dicere.
ut audio res tibi volo
(illus es), rescribere nolo.
dunno if this means what i meant, but yolo.

>words words words
oh wait, wrong board

>>25422644
your doubts doe raise a darke new pointe, which is
how can a man now prove what's his is his?
must hee, to prove to all his worke's handmade
call all to watch him worke, in grassy glade,
submit himself to scans, and bee butt-probed,
to show no chips are in his cheekes englobed?
perhaps a different tack: we've now forbad
the bot to say some things, which make men mad,
or sad, or lustie; so, to show i'm ladde,
i'll butt include some fat-cocked lewditie,
discourse upon how fierce my penor bee,
& then turn mee to awful violence.
heart pulled through throat, skull squashed, like, real intense.
how might i prove me? for thy thoughts, two pence?

>>25422778
nice AI, thank you for sharing this

>>25422886
neener neener. beanie weenies
in your brain make you a meanie meaner.
hug that cope: please give it ane good squeeze;
love is the only cure for your disease,
and that is why, so far, i've stooped, replied
kindlie, and blest your heart, so far, yet i'd
not thought you would so callously ignore
a questin fairly posed. i'm therefore sore.
discuss, prithee, this knottie gordiacke:
a man may prove, that he is not on cracke;
the proof is in the hair, and blood; yet that
i am all man, how may i prove, you gnat?
i'll doe this anyplace, beneath your stare --
all that i aske of you, is WHEN, and WHERE.

>>25422758
verbae, verbae, verbae, hic vel sunt
vel hic ad longam apparabunt.
baculum, o baculum,
pax et boni vobiscum,
volo potesse ferre iam
te sceleste in rivam,
aquas malas hoc verbare
identidem tum ambulare
per limes illes, ubi sum
in libertas solere dum
currere, lustrareque
sicut volo do ad te.
si verbas scribet male,
mea culpa; scribibisne?

>>25422934
words, words, words, are either here
or they at length will here appear.
stick, o stick,
peace and goodness you be with,
i'd like if i could carry now
wicked you unto the stream,
to beat the evil waters there, and then
to walk, again and again,
through those bounds, where i
in freedom was accustomed, while
to run, to also lust outdoors;
just as I please i give you yours.
if these words are writ unright,
the fault is mine; will you indict?
>verst

>>25422886
>ai
Why do you think it’s ai

>>25423777
cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching, you win, unasked,
a pie from out my basket. he is sure i've tasked
it with this messe, which means he doth confesse
he can't, nor has he ever seen one rhyme
with readinesse. it is an art sublime,
betimes, and so (ergo) he thinkes my inke
is finked. he thinkes i cannot really thinke
so twisted so. and yet, yoho, what does
he know? i might too a pirate bee.
i might myself be two, or three.
i weave, warp, weft wide tapestrie,
tinkered, taloned, total wizardrie,
he thinkes -- so good, he thinkes, it can't be me;
truly, he is quite complementarie.

come listen close, and hear a satyr's play.
through with our fun, now that the day's dim-gray,
we will at length perform what we have done,
the latest of our showes' eternal runne.
now who, i think, in my hot braine,
was it that took such full-veined joy in paine?
what was his name? i saw him just today,
and yet in such a state, his ripe cocke fatte,
greene paint upon his face, his haire a matte,
that none, i thinke, would know, from face, or voice,
who 'twas, both being ript raw: yet by his choice
of arte, of brute extracksheeyun of luste,
his hand limbecking ane whole tropique gust
into one point, his long sharpe nail, which toucht
upon the skin, makes anyplace pure sunne,
warmth and heat and light at once; yet none
can brave the blinding nuclear fire.
all pull away, & yet at once desire.
grabbed, & traced along the spine therewith,
any creature's minde is gone in fittes.
gasp -- breathe -- scream -- twist -- die
inside, and you are his, and hee is all your pride.

>>25423797
Bet u cant write poetry after eating a big plate of dumplings

>Still up
I miss when OC was funny.

>>25424541
>>25424546
i like wei-chuan, yet i'm not dining on
such fare today -- i've chili-pot, and other noms:
charshu, and lots of pop-tarts in the fridge,
the which i eat til fat, like puft-up pidge.
i've looped you both, in one reply, that i
might unfold the meanes, and reasons why
(whereby) i act so rare unshy. this dish,
a fitsome scholar's foode, like beere, and fishe,
is pleasanter the more refined it is,
and yet that's not the point: the point is this;
to practice, shoot the keys; perchance inspire
someone else to grab at this live wire.
an earnest practice, is a lesson too:
i've learnt from me; when will i learn from you?

>>25424663
not too bad for AI, but it could use a human's touch

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>>25424692
jannyblest, i'll utmost long weave out
this imaged scroll: on thatte score have no doubt.
this picture was for that long post above,
but i forgot, or it would be above,
instead of here. your salt is crystall-clear,
and yet precipitates from envy, dear,
i know, and so, i give you kind relief
in marking up for you, this unearned leaf.
in plain terms, i will respond no more
unless you will address me, on this score:
theoretically speaking, how
can such a thing be proved or disproved now?
whatever test you pose, i'll duly meet;
and til you pose so, shoot elsewhere thy skeet.

>>25424735
yeah that picture is very readable, it's super easy to parse, you definitely proved this isn't a bad AI experiment. thank you.

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fierce pent up this tingling is: i waste
from urge to sit here writing, which postponed
causeth in all other work, a bitter haste,
and even peake amusements seem but droned.
my other speech, and writing, is all phoned,
and things like this less easy, more quick-paced.
my urge onlie can be but light erased
by reading others’ verses while i’m stoned.
sometimes i far too far out am zoned:
i forget things, which might have been enthroned
or thrown downe like a drinke: if harsh to taste,
yet i think that with dulcet notes is chased.
please write so, you soules that are somewhere:
i know upon all heads there’is a wild hair.

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spirits clipt, we lope about his feete:
he throws the finest musted corn at us;
we'are free to fly, yet kept by his sweet teat.
discursing hotte of what he bids discuss,
dancing to the stampes his hooves percuss;
dripping there our hot wet sweatte and skeete,
we are all rolling, on his partibuss.
bring wine, beer, coke, high tea, he'll stompe the glasse,
bring exotique ampules; grow this masse
'til, smasht, the shim'ring heape o'erpass the grasse,
adding reverb to his cloven beate,
a washboard when he scuffs; and for his heate
and ours, please bring things coole: dry ice
is his faved food, his only still-felt spice.

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brim-full cups we (careless) dash & tippe
to spill -- we will fill more, we're at the fount.
on our dashed glass and drink his hooves ne'er slip:
firm is his grip upon the earth his mount.
how many days i've served him, i've no countte.
once he took mee (and me alone) about the hip:
now by his key my clock is ever wount.
where my soft spot is he gently kist,
pleasured with his breath, a fiery mist,
and bit, sunk deeo, and now i half exist,
half dreame: all in me is steame: my slippe
of skin is thinly worn, and with his whip
is cut all o'er; it is a maske i wear,
i feele, and hee (in me) is under there.

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it's been so long since i have been inside.
days of easie wand'ring, raving nights;
the grass it is so luscious, green & wide
in full-formed sunne: then dim the lights;
a swart upon the vale descends the heights
and wee, phrensied blinde, goe on a slide
which ends with dreaming sleepe: for all our mights
we can't recall the last of steppes we danced --
it's gone, or only knowne againe entranced
then gone, againe; yet, we'are enhanced,
for if wette mem'ry cannot be relied
upon, there are no faults to inly chide,
and, for that they always seem new things,
we marvel (morns) at all our severall wedding rings.

>>25427470
>text falling below the lines
This happens when you read and write at the same time. What are your reading other than your notebook anonymousle? A computer screen, perchance???

>>25429792
it happens when my lines get too too long long long.
if you can't use your eyes, maybe stick to jerking your miniature dong.
god DAMN you fuckers are so fucking pathetic.
probly sitting there saying travis kelce isn't all that athletic.
i'm done on this subject. consider this proof:
sad haters like you aren't fit to lick my half-wiped poof.
how's that for nasty? no ai is that much of a bastard.
wait for the live, son, i'll fuck your cope up,
and if you aint heard it's coming, scroll your lazy eyes up.
that is, if you can read anymore at all --
phoneshit makes your eyes shrinke like olde balls.
i suspect that's the problem, but maybe you never had them at all.
did you ever ever think you'd grow up to be so so small,
pissing and shitting yourself like this? keep going. you'll fall.

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his nostrils jet forth smoke, and so darke hotte it is
with all the fumes, his inner forge emits,
we cannot see, are blinded blinde; we hiss
and weepe and grope about, we rub out spits
into our eyes to cleare them, twist in fits,
for in our mindes always we'are blinde like this
and now our open eyes as well are fired pits,
seames of coale, which he may only balme,
raising tempest winde with flickering of his arm,
there's cool clear rain, a rainbow high and calm
a moment -- then this endless haraam bris
begins again: o it is almost bliss
except we know there is an end,
for bodies breake, and he's too jealous of his life to lend.

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his name is ababbab; it was the year
three hundred. now my head feels full,
i'm full-blowne: my memories come clear,
which means i fall into his spiral pull
againe, from that i know what he would wool
when he is gone: now it's growing sheer.
ababbbab it was, the jet black bull.
hee it was, who diocletian worshipt,
him he bade be sette in august crypt
and had your head if his dark rites were skipt --
ah him!; him who i thought of; he'is here,
let's render him as hee was yester-yeare,
tho now he sleeps, and snorts, and kicks in dreames,
he was cruell fat from sipping Tibris streames.

>>25432551
nice AI

>>25432613
ais don't make typoes, silly.
git on back up in them hills, billy.
that "rub out" two up should be an "our" --
those keys upon the board are far from far.
i swore at you i'd do no more than look
although you doe detract from my fair book,
yet, i'd like to humbly thank you now
for giving meanes, by this our little row,
that i might note that small correction,
so i've not got to do another "errata" one,
at least, unless i screw up more -- i might,
for that's the way with mee -- i have goode sight,
and yet miss things the blinde would see by eare,
now then. *now* you i ghost; you are well-pretzeled here.
>&

I always said poetry was for faggots and this entire thread has vindicated me tenfold

>>25433072
say that in real life, cuntboy, i'll break your fucking nose in.
some mfs call me that around my block, their house is about to get fucking stove in.
how worthlesse you are, an utter pitty puss,
prowling -- he thinks he is a man! -- midst books,
as if you could even fucking read.
go twiste a mouse's necke, and watch it bleed,
and thinke, if you your face do show
upon my blocke, that that's the last blocke you doe know.
these mfs that i mentioned called me that --
all of them were mother fucking ugly fat --
so p;layed a little pranke upon a car;
harmlesse, but the dumb mf's took it way too far.
twenty big pissed men ran out. sound like a pinch?
you'd run, shit dick. i didn't flinch.

>>25433072
OP is a based faggot.

akreesh, akreesh! on crusade i bee,
to get some nasty men away from mee.
i ne’er thought, when i this songe did start,
that such low things would interrupt this arte,
and yet, fuck’s sake, this shit is keeping me awake,
and so it has now come to break or breake:
i,ll see their foul mugs imprisonèd,
or else quickly elsewhere finde mee new bed
or since they might be mob fucks, wake up dead.
mac dre got shot for saying “not my job” —
i’m a peaceful man, yet, boy, this one fuckin slob
needs a shot in the jaw from somebody, man,
either the cops nut up and do it, or, damn,
guess this the wild west — doc holliday, the van!

gabriel, whome cygnus weaned, frowned
in heaven, seeing these, which only passe
and are not silver: they are only chrome;
a chymique gloss which is not in the core.
or so i feel, when i read thomas wyatt.
claspe mee til i'm bones, i'll never die
for then i'll meet him in the by and by,
and meet my match, or more: what maker?
he gave, he loves; the matcher is a taker.
slicke is his steppe, who none can do him greater,
and highest are the things of which he is relater.
on thinnest ice i amme a nervous skater.
fall through life, and lose my hat, and crowne;
i'm fated for to in his gulf then drowne.

>>25402744
Leaving indentations on the paper is a very unaesthetic look, but I suppose that's what you were going for with the cheap spiral-bound

>>25435678
aesthetic? i went and bought it for two bucks.
you've written nothing, why should i give two fucks?
seeing not the forest for the trees, ok,
trees are tall, and very in the way,
yet missing words for stationery? heck,
i knowe not what to say, but "die grosse kek
ist lecker, sehr, und ist sehr schon, und yet
out of all this, *that* hath caused upset??
i sort of treate everythingge like schoole,
because back then, things made sense; now ghoul
goeth for greate, and as the man, the state,
and state, the man, oh what an awfull fate
for man's best thing, lady l's brass ring,
a dearly lost, and soon regrabbed-at thing.

>>25436548
The images you generate have shitty handwriting

>>25436554
what would you like between my legges, false lover?
if i met you (for i'm real) would you never then recover?
that i write too long, and fierce, and sharpe
to be a man, i've heard before. i larp
so well, ye think i am unreal, and cheate;
beware mee, i've made several fools delete
themselves, so hotly faste i brr the l's.
yet this is erst the greates of my lels:
ye thinke i am a picture piecewise wrought,
for all i doe, and am, unpinnes your thought.
heeeeeeeeheeeyuhhyekyekyek, heeeeeeuh,
give this donkey no more figges, i pray yuh.
i thinke you want pulled back another layer...
try try. so far, only i am, player.

>>25436585
Write something without shitty handwriting then

>>25436593
in the redde, i do my level beste.
if thatte is what you truly pose as test,
grade it; yet first, you show me yours, for boors
are knowne to spit oft what is in their cores.
critiques unperforming bee withal
among, i wot, the weeest of the small.
see how i still smile? tho u ffrown
you'll not turn my cute little corners down!
wack weather, that might doe it, butte you won't,
not even with how piteous you've grownt.
i will get uppe, and steppe me now away:
you're the kind of guy who's poore at taking play,
i ween, but gettes hot mad, and is a cad,
or kickes a cat; i'll thus decline to pricke you mad(der).

>>25436614
>text response

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his forme was all so chiselous, bigod,
a marble which (cut) gives the finest dust,
blacker than the earth on which he trod,
$ shinier than vulcan-hot-fixt luste.
plume him with iron, ye utmost striking god,
the putter of far more beneath the sod
than piercing jupiter, for yet, he must
turn himself intire into the strike,
and tho no one (but none) command the like
more men yet are pierced by man's shortte pike,
and more by thin-tipt shaftes, and so his rod
tho thunder-thicke, when man takes men like cod
is little weighed. these thoughts are sending mee
far off. of rome's true fall my story bee.

The Twink In My Basement Won't Stop Generating Shitty AI Poetry

>>25437401
I cannot express just how firmly I'm on the side of the /lit/ schizo poetry twink.

lose the shorts

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let's burne ourselves as faggottes thinne, high-
flaming, fast at our taske, to light the world
and then be spent, then in an eddie spin
to drowne amidst life's currents. we'are swirled
as atoms with another are encurled
into great thinges. so we compartment in,
each other's fleshe and heart in us empearled.
lick, taste your other, seventh sense,
that of being free; at utter inmost sense
you're toucht, there is no room for arguments.
tho once have i yet worne that certaine grin
worne when a man does feele your softest skin,
he blithely tender, curious, kinde,
i've lain with him againe inside my minde.

>>25438512
You walk and dress and look like you're trying not to realize you're trans

>>25438512
You have nice legs and cute hair. You definitely like presenting like a cute fag (respectfully) with your short shorts and short top.

Have you considered shaving your legs? You'd be so cute. Unironically I think you should become a sissy. Buy miniskirts, a choker, learn how to do make up and shave. But definitely shave. Having cute feminine aesthetics mixed with visible body hair is always jarring. At least in my opinion. I guess true homosexuals are into that tho. I don't know.
Anyway, ALL I AM SAYING is that if you were to do porn dressed as a cute sissy and pounding your asshole with a fat dildo I would watch it.
Start on Pornhub and upload short content. Upload the high quality content on Onlyfans or Fansly. Advertise on X (formerly known as Twitter). Get a camera and a tripod. Download a pirated version of Adobe Premiere pro to cut your videos. Buy a small ring light if you can afford it, because lighting is key for good videos. If you want your identity to be hidden, then wear a mask to cover your face. I think those cheap black corona masks look cute.
>>25429384
By the way your handwriting is so pretty and girly. It's as cute as you are. Cute poem. Altho I don't know fully understand. Sorry.

>>25438552
>>25438546
our hoipolloi are hoiminoiminoi,
misdrawne such that they'know not girl nor boy.
thus is it sharp, quicke, easy joy
to flaunt that i'm a man, whatever mee
may weare: o they would really tear
their skin apart, to make another one.
yet canst thou make a left, from right-hand bone?
sceleste eo -- that's, "i wicked wax" --
when cute men subjected are to these attacks.
i more man am, for that i could (n't) care lesse
what implications thou derivest: dresse
is dresse, and what thou thinkst, thou dost confesse
to bee the haunt of thy own mind. signed,
a man so man hee may make monsters blinde.

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the mood it starts out blacke, and then it turns to red.
wee like coals are blowne: cherried like good pot.
o lord, woe for sad youth that never wed
a demon thus: ane other whole thing's thought
is intimate, and is more odd than lot
with you; and lickes and strokes your head.
your nipple hee has lovely hotly caught,
and he theresuckth with greedy gurning strength;
he drawes (by hand) your fatte cocke out to such a length
& how ye plain, stops not, 'til only ngth
thou hast the mind, ngth, to say, ngth; shed
all shelter is, all veils; ye then are led
upon the alter where, with whipping tails,
hee (and friends) shall hammer in their nails.

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he had me well, in that Roman day:
under his spell, and knowledgelesse of thatte
i thought i chose to follow, sippe, and play,
& chose to sitte whenas he bade be sat.
now that i know, i somehow go from dogge to cat
and finde some slippes where seely slits do lay.
(and for my trickes, he doth mee even pat).
whatte was the story what whereof i told
that i was telling? o ababbab so olde,
recallst thou being poured hotte into the mould?
i doe, when ye remade to glasse my clay
many thousand yeare agoe: so say
will i, while that he sleepes by-by, how hee,
through too-hard dance, once came laid low to bee.

speake no more on goodness: now is night
and all is blacke: so bee, as in that day
there was a plague, and horrid men of might
from sides so many: then the black bull came
and purged these with his snort, his paw ascraped
and horns for they who dared his power slight.
he could be stopped but if a deitie did deign.
long long ago were all these records burnt,
now only knowne, when we'are to them turnt:
in always-phrensie, to record is spurnt.
the umpteenth book of livy said in there
of Scythia, Akkad, Karthago their true rite
& Boethius of this, that I'm gan tell.
Now I am incantate: beginst my spelle.

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in taberna quando eram, res
ponere pro cras gaudebatque hoc,
in came a glad olde friend of men, fear-pace,
and i changed tongue, and lowered mine: “ey bloke,
what’s got you worried so?” — he sat and hunched and spoke:
“unsafe wee are, here — there by that that vase.
videre nolo. pay, and let us soake
around the corner, noise to speake there o’er.”
i felt an itch: the looke around his eyes was sore,,
as if than death, some matter worried more.
in calidarium we went. the place
deserted, us alone, in open steamie space,
he said low, “i’m invited soone to burne
for ababbab.” my stomach took a hotte sicke turn.

"this ababbab, i will not pray to him,
and so, me, they will kill, breaking mee
upon a frame, or with a flame; stabim.
stabim, me, i'll say, and yet i see
so many lose their fight, and his forever bee
what i canst ween, of what they doe: statim
it makes thy lust to flood far o'er the lea.
some doe not live: this i hear told; and thatte
i'll with my most be tearfully praying at.
lord, why are our paths so crosséd with black cattes?
yet i am not resigned, tho chance is slimme,
to going whilome in that dungeon dimme;
i've lodged a suit with caesar. o that snake,
for play he's bit. now what case can i make?"

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cogito, quod cogitor sum: dico,
tum, that trials were short, and prices high,
and if such sum were had, to be spent so,
why give it unto caesar? why not try
thy fortune far far off, 'neath fairer sky?
though from one's homesome things, it paines to go,
it paineth too beneath a boot to lie.
i spoke of places caesar's arm reached not:
he said they all are fearsome cold, or hot,
or wild: 'tis true: and yet free life they've got.
at length, he said he'd sworne, upon the arke,
that hee would die an unbent patriarch,
and so, that subject closed, i started in
to think, to cogitate; to inly gin.

"this caesar brookes no rite above his own,"
i said. "therefore, we mightst bring head to heade
these things: sette abababb against the throne,
make himme, caesar, thy god most worshipéd,
thy man, thy king, say thou wouldst too much groan
to but one minute bee so from him led,
to putte that nefas thing in his good stead:
compare him well, list virtues three by three,
gravitas plus: he has more gravitie
plus dignitas, plus auctoritie.
unless all purple grace be from him flowne,
these he must grant, or else subduct his throne
to that blacke massy thing: if that he'll doe,
ye have at least showne all, and left his crowne askewe."

/lit/ schizo twink can you write a poem about a cup of coffee

>>25446816
respectfully declined, and here is why:
disrespectfully addressed, i fly.
i was too kind, to mete undue (above)
so many lines: you see how great my love
for those (like me) who seeke among this mess
for chips and curls of gold: yet nonetheless,
i dance by self-set steps. hot coffee is
well-hawked; it is a billion-dollar biz
already, & un petit vice, so i'll
not spend my wordes in sugaring, nor smile,
nor dance as you dare bid: sip it yourself,
burn thy audacious tongue. much bitter pelf
be builded on those beans: tho' they jump one,
i've seen the harme of that ad-dick-shee-un.

I FUCKING LOVE ARCHAISMS

>>25447361
i know a lot of wordes: that you doe not
doth not affect what bubbleth out my pot.
o don't you ever wonder why, perdy,
it seemes the age of poetry's passed by?
restricted tongues, by dictionaries bit,
doe lack the verbes, and nounes, this forme to fit.
rapaciously i glean: carpe like me,
that is, pluck!, both wide, and variouslie.
a thing that's most ironicall, here note:
great spenser lyked to weare ane tattered shepher's coate.
young hobbinol, and colin eke, back then,
were just as far from them, as they from modern men.
archaisme eke was vergil wont to use:
thus i've the right, for all i doe you here confuse.

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>>25447409
Made my day, thankyou misterious poem anon, intention alone was enough to make me smile

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dum querci verbant, ambulamus home,
dried and dressed againe; we counsell close
on caesar, yet at length our mindes did roame
to thinke what might give ababbab a dose
fatall enough to free, like windblowne loess,
our humus from his grip: a bite-burst pome
perhaps, arseniacke in seede, from Kos
or farther off: or blood might bee the thing:
some say he sneezed, and blood dript from his ring
when with dart dipt in kingisblood, a sting
was given him. perhaps then, he'll foame
too hotte, and shrinke himself into a gnome,
if true kinges bloode (in sealéd glasse first stored)
were dashed on him, or gushed when king is gored.

>>25447336
I'm always saying things like this

"invoke the powers of the poets: gild
thy tongue, be glib before him, make him fume
that he might blow, and die before you're killed.
make his hot veine stroke out: it bulgeth doome,
yet i say, it is not all clear as yet for whome:
we'll leave no myne of rhetoricke undrilled,
& may die, yet pull him crashing on our tombe --
wee will take this beast," i bruptly say
"i sweare this eachly for you, Quriite,
by each of you who lived, in rome's best day.
forgotten though you bee, thy warlike shaking stilled.
thy seedes are for a monster's bread now milled!
o festina, si vix, et neca, quod
necesse est, si triste -- wee have no helpe but god."

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Olim rex in roma habitat:
saepe nefas, kings are long long gone:
or so they were, tho' Diocletian's yacht
so much a royal barge resembles on
olde Tibris streame: no kinge, although his lawn
be mown and clipt by many hundreds, day be hot
or thunderous wette, although he claimes the dawne
his own geen gift: no king, he says, and yet
if wee a phial of his blood could get
and it with flaming ababbab were met
i ween effects. then there are kingges not:
men who are like, who though from humble lot
have gained a seate, and wait on none to eate,
who brooke none, but all waters round them beate.

>some kyle mooney ass looking faggot has been posting by himself in this thread for nearly a month
That's crazy

>>25451033
we've got another long long month to go,
depending on how those (like you) who blow
(like uglie whales) will swallow my length up --
like ice, if more, there's lesse drinke in the cuppe.
o wherefore art thou madde, my bromeo?
if you should thinke me homely, think thee so;
i'll flatly unaffected always bee
for i've a universall answer-key,
and though thou be so close to nothingnesse
when i hear whos, i nonetheless them bless.
pray tell the rest of whoville, where thou livst,
to'aske here what they will, yet warn i givst
true answers, free of vanity and feare,
which precious bee, yet sometimes cost thee dear.

>>25451230
Wherefore wouldn'st thou sucke my much girth'd cocke thirstilie?

>>25451269
but sucke thee mine well dry before, good sir,
and i will give as i have got, be sure,
for who wouldst bee (but thee) so rude, unkind,
and callow, not to take his turne? thy mind
a myne of salt is: i pour water in
(for i born ane aquarius hath beene)
and all is suckéd up: a mere dark staine
embittered 'cross the blankness of thy braine
is all i make, i see, for all my worke:
where there'is no meate, thou canst not jerke:
do i then speak unto but bones, skelelbows
clicking, held in shape by sinewed velcros,
mouth mouthing things it speakes not, and does not know?
prescribe i thee, ten plus good shottes of old crowe.

>>25451700
This tyme too well didst tickle my fancie,
and took of me one kekkle right heartilie;
wherefore I shall e’en from saging refraine,
and hold my throbbing cocke at baye againe.

>>25451033
Respect the /lit/ schizo poetry twink!!!!!! Or else!!!!

and then there are those holy christians: clam
they go: et saepe ad leones: cant they
of ane true king, whoose bloode of unmixt lambe
their wine becomes: tho secret is the way,
i think they will their mass for this aim say.
they'are no friends of demons: as i nor am,
nor wish to bee, i wild with my old baye
beckon all cthonicke things, which gave
forth rome, and men, to shake each architrave
and topple temples; with boldnesse fill each slave:
tall walls and men, upon the earth to slamme,
and then i too will measure out my mortal gramme
and tepid leave the world: goe out with mee
true thunder, and all reall granditie.

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yet first. the trial: how we will proceed,
who call as honest, earnest witnesse now
when our fate's risked, should any intercede.
a man may swear, yet who can trust a vow
ubi tauri bos facuntur; how
believe, when sun seems drown'd, the seede of light
is merely planted -- ay, i beate my brow
to syllogism, symbolism, sybils.
so petty to the oake, are man's man-quibbles.
he gapes his weary mouth, and sap it dribbles.
that he awakes in mee, to do this deed --
an old god, rarely from his dimme gleed freed,
shaketh a stick long long unheard of: I
feele stemme on stumpe millenium dead dry.

>>25447409

And he mogs 90% of poetry general (who can't rhyme for shit)

>>25453705
i "mog " them all: if this they disbelieve,
they welcome are, to come try mee this eve.
no arte so fine as poetry hath beene
subjected, ever, to such callow sinne --
while painters, tho abstract, at least still paint,
much much is now called poetry, which ain't.
subscribe i not to thee-o-rees misspun
which make of all, eh-quiv-oh-kay-shee-un,
and call a baby's babbles wordsworthlike
and pinne but tortured words on this same spike.
in diner terms, i serve a hungry man,
all parts arranged and sette upon a plan,
while others' panburnt hash, and effed-up egges
lie sad beside. now brb, for seggs.

shit like this is why I'm on /lit/

i shake my weary branch, a six-leafed sticke:
the like were fifty woven for his crown;
him one, in canopy a thousand thick:
burnt all, felled. now wheat is waving browne
for miles round the seven-hilléd town;
hath all the wealth of forayne lands (by tricke
or toil taken) made up for thatte hewn downe?
greatte mattes, old oakes in forests gave whilome
and were for greate fatte pigges a nuzzling home,
the which old Rome grew fatte on. comely chrome
on all her parapets makes them nor strong
nor fearsome; worse, it makes wolves for them longe,
baying us their moon: waiting 'til their day
to feaste, when at the last our storied walls give way.

If nothing else you've got to admire this guy's dedication.

>>25453817
>>25454301
stop eating up my posts. i have so much to write.
once this thread is over, approx. 300 nights
must pass, before i'll set and fill another glass.
know then that thou deductest one from mee,
or two, if i reply thus lazilie.
my burden is the lighter: sooner freed
i am, from onerous, yet oathsworne screede.
i hoped, with paper shreds, and drille, to spark
and blow uppe some blue flame to light the darke.
it seemes i drille upon a stone, dampe barke,
or else i'm in the deepe, a dimlit sharke
who all flee from, afeart i'll bite them dumb,
chew their mouths off, leave them five red stumpes
oozing gore and trailing gibbet-chunks.

>>25455249
>once this thread is over, approx. 300 nights
>must pass, before i'll set and fill another glass
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

trim your nails you pig

>>25455929
>>25456005
o if i'd get free coyne, na more i'd digge.
how so? who now will buye an antient jigge?
well knowen i, when i a veine espie,
yet what's gold to mee, most all pass by.
until there is some change (or comes the hearse)
i'll handiworke for profit, and playe verse.
whatall whilome in schoole i readde, taught mee
to suffer not the government we see,
and so i hath (from that grave yeare, in which
so many bad things appeared) been witche,
yackacking in a sticksome hutte, long-haired
and stirring brewe for spelles, to make men scared
of jove agayne: o that rascall lord permits
but one escape: to lose thy wittes.

Maybe I was too trigger-happy with the AI claims

behooves

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i lose myself againe, in woful trance.
o mea culpa, i am sorry. i'll
try and cant, piece by piece, what chance
by chance befell us: six days' waite 'til trial,
we spoke with many wisemen, prayed the while,
and waited on that picked day's slow advance.
ababbab-like weare was all the style,
studded, sharpe with long hornes, and blacke
and tight against the skin, to show each cracke
in fit-workt muscles, whipt til free of slacke --
i hunted indices of all knowne tome
and at the wax, did all night-hours gloame.
six hundred letters, scribed and hotly sent:
one might echo on some rock of firmament.

one came back quick: it was from januarie:
neapolis's bishop: he threw in,
opining (via verse epistolarie)
thus: "rejoiceth wee: i would thee winne
at combat with this grosse, greate sinne.
if thou shouldst lose, i vow thee sanctuary.
we will send thee a phial, which long hath been
reputed as i'truth the very lord's:
it hath beene known to blunt and bend backe swords
and from still lyres elicit golden chords.
take it, though but two more th'like have wee
never before he came, did any see
a thing so golemous, which glomerates
such evill flocke, whose thirsting never, seems it, sates.

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now but a night before princeps appeares
and hears us (just as long as hee doth deign);
awake, asleep, allayed are not our feares,
waking, gasping, caught at heart with paine,
with each day now to bee a hard-fought gaine:
postponement wonne, from staring down the steer
that phials may arrive from Aegypt, Spain,
Phrygia, Brittania, Dacia and points north;
up the Nile, down the Tigris forth
to Ind, where Alexander's seede still sporth.
in the dark comth many dreame and teare;
it layes on us like earth, and death seemes near,
for day was short: so little could be done,
so much still must: what use another one?

the trial's morne, a cloud lay flatly gray
on Rome: though its opaqueness should prevent
all auguries, delaying thus our day,
long long it's beene since signes from high were sent:
as Emperor saith, long hath it duly went.
what means a random bird-flight, anyway?
far rarer (surer) signe when oak is bent.
four signes oakes have: bending ane old arme,
nuts in winter, none at summer's charme
and splitting twain amiddle: his alarme,
for which i watch, in oakes with speaking spraye
which i was taught to find my fathers' way,
and him by his, and his, and anciently
(supposedly) a man who was a tree.