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PUBLICO, EN EL FORO, UN POEMA;

POEMA FRUTO DE MI ESFUERZO;

MI ESFUERZO FUERTE DE POETA;

DE POETA QUE HACE VERSOS;

VERSOS PARA QUE DIOS LOS LEA.


EN LA PLAZA SACO MI VERGA:

LO MEJOR DE MÍ AL VIENTO ORDEÑO.

>>25553732
no new material innit

yo soi el mejor,
y quiero decir
que vais a morir
de tanto hedor

que emite mi amor
por ese vizir
de vieja Gadir,
de twink su esplendor.

yo soi mariquita
y dáme por culo
en una mezquita

un twink nazarita;
no, no es ningún bulo
que soi sodomita.

>>25553736


¿ALGO NUEVO PARA ESTE FORO DE MIERDA? NO.

yo saco gran placer
de engullir penes con mi enorme boca;
pero has de conocer,
amado twink, que poca
es la gente que mi próstata toca,

de manera que pueda
correrme casi instantáneamente;
estos ríos de seda
te envío cordialmente
hacia Arabia, país con twinks ingente.

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>>25553266
Another microfragment.

blurb of all time
read this
he has to pay his taxes
the times says it's riveting
blurb nobel
a lifetime of blurbs
can you write on it?

I apologize I let the other thread expire. There were some good OC poems posted in that one. This one I thought was especially stellar: >>25536501

(I'm not the writer of it, I swear!)

>>25553849
Fuck you.

>>25553858
I said I was sorry!

red eye, fighting sleep
sad eye, cannot weep
twice you lied and twice you tore
twice you fled and shut the door
I am broke and battered done
just some bloke who's got a gun
give me silence darkness dead
press my gun into the red
pull the trigger happy pop
not my problem
get a mop

what is and isn't considered poetry?
i don't know anything about poetry, but i think i came up with a new format; except i don't know if it would be considered poetry

the basic idea is that each line (for the entire poem) must have the same number of words and syllables with compound words counting as one word; since that's how they're written
also, the poem must have it's lines paired such that each pair shares the same sound (phonetic syllable) without being a repeated written syllable. so something like "sat" and "cat" don't work because their, singular, phonetic syllables are different despite both ending in that "-at" sound
if you repeat said written syllable, then they must be homophones. because syllables that share a sound and mean the same thing are cheating and not fun

i can post an example (which i'm unsure if it fully satisfies the criteria), but that's pretty much it
rhythm and rhyme are left up to the writer

>>25554578


POETRY IS THE LITERARY ART; VERSE, AND PROSE.

IF YOU MEAN TO ASK WHAT IS VERSE, THE ANSWER IS THAT VERSE IS METER.

IF A LINE OF TEXT LACKS METER, IT IS NOT VERSE.

>>25554609
>IF A LINE OF TEXT LACKS METER, IT IS NOT VERSE.
lol, lmao even

>>25554578
Poetry is language beautiful—in the ear of the beholder—in its own form, I think

>>25554697


?

>>25554715


YOU DO NOT THINK.

>>25554726
>what is free verse

>>25554733

>what is free verse [SIC]


DYSTACTICAL PROSE.

>>25554738
I missed you tripfags. I don't agree with your take at all, but it's good to have you around.

>>25554727
kek

Usually this thread took at least 50 replies before turning into some reality TV trash spectacle but alas

>>25554578
Post it.

Cradle

The dark yellow air,
the black hedges
and bricks,
damp with the dew
of scampering,
lost and found children,
worming—

Through dream dirt,
in soiled shirts,
and fluttering,
teasing skirts
of brown flowers
and snake dens,
in the melting
frost light,
like silver moths—
quivering.

The kiss
of black Melissa
in their brains,
on their lips,
breathed—
through peg-hole mouths,
as a wisp
in the lamplight,
and the lifting mist.

Mouths seeking—
red candy,
receiving—
black gumdrops,
in the smoke rain,
beneath the canopy
of the black cradle—
rocking.

Mouths kissing—
one another,
soft and wet,
on the lips,
in the crusting mud
of the sediment—
ever shifting.

They tickle each other
with feathers fallen
from the ash sky;

Cling to
a flesh impression
of a clock moon—
fading;

Hold each other,
as if in flames,
in the black cradle—
rocking.

The walls has left the sun in shade
And eyes that once shone clear,
Have since faded from my mind
Yet kept me waiting here

From my thoughts, your ghost returns
The blurred smile you once wore;
Floods my face and heart with blood
As you appear at my door

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>>25554837
pic related
i don't know if i can currently make a really nice, polished example; but this is just a quick attempt at trying to make something with these constraints

i initially wrote a 22 line version before noticing that (for my selected three word format) there are 9 pairs of where the shared sound can sit (i.e. first word and first word, first word and second word, first word and third word, second word and first word etc.)
so i revised my 22 line original (which didn't even have all 9 pairs) down to 18 lines where those 9 pairs appeared once
i also sorted the pairs so that, excluding the first and last line, they sweep (albeit irregularly) from side to side

Bump

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood,
Stop up th' access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry "Hold, hold!"
---- Lady Macbeth, Shakespeare's Macbeth

>>25554842
You need a longer line length. It's very good, but if you didn't break so often and relied on the comma and em dash for your pauses within the line, you'd have a much more powerful thing.
Otherwise, no notes, but don't neglect the opportunity to be better than good

>>25557322
I really appreciate the feedback. I tried to write it with the flow I hear when I dictate it to myself, but I think you're right, it reads pretty choppy.

Something terrible was revealed,
The story found another sorrow
then beneath a second silence.

Beside you.
The play was good.

It was simply
too long.

Progress

effervescent buzzing of dragonfly overhead surveiling grey napalm
the muffled wings
the silenced prayers
there is no relation between them
that's what I read
that's what they say anyway
about the lakes on fire
and the vast empty hand shakes
one million people can't be wrong
one thousand people can't be wrong
one person can't parse the fundamentals
the river is too murky, and the bed
houses dreams trapped in amber and oil slick and
diaphanous wings raped into the earth's still beating
happiness at a record high
they crunched the numbers
numbers go up on the telly
that's what I read anyway
that's what I heard them say at any rate
or so I've been told
I can't hear the buzzing of wings anymore

A poem I wrote after reading a bunch of housman. I love his war poetry

I lay here slick in crimson,
And though the cloudless sky
Mocks the throbbing wound I earned
I dare not close my eye

Beside me lay a fellow,
As stained in red as I,
I remember him beneath me:
'We both are here to die'

'Oh right you were, my rival;
The wound earned in our fray,
Will kill me by the morrow,
But you were killed today'

>>25558670
You should rearrange the first three lines so the rhythm's better. You could split it at overhead/surveilling*, and get a better beat, likewise you'd get better emphasis on silenced prayers if it wasn't as even a balance to muffled wings
*two Ls in surveilling
>diaphanous wings raped
It doesn't carry the same sense but consider rapped. It keeps the assonance from trapped, diaphanous and happiness, when the vowel sounds in the line by itself don't justify keeping it. You also just rework that line in general
Overall, pretty good

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Galway Kinnell wrote like the poet Nabokov was parodying in Pale Fire

Bump

What of beauty, what of love
What of God and the rock dove
What of the many selves your ego breeds
Sowing their own seeds

>>25560464
I don't know, you tell me.

great disorder under heaven:

Bone stick trees
shiver in the breeze,
the leaves are falling down.
Grass grows
from the concrete streets.
The sky
is an ocean
of black grease.

The pale Christ comes like a mighty crack of thunder, splitting the heavens in two.

His love like a warm soft star
falls to the earth
reawakening humanity

>>25560587
Could you be a little less on the nose and a little more creative with the imagery?
>Bone stick trees
You can do better than that, can't you?

>>25560536
No.

>>25560669
Are you asking me then? Are you looking for explanations of these things?

>>25560690
I'm asking you to think.

>>25560720
You're assuming your reader hasn't thought about love, beauty, god, rock doves and human psychology? Like they're going to read this and go, "damn, what ABOUT the rock dove. I've never really thought about it..."

Don't assume your reader is an idiot. If you're not going to use the poem to provide a unique or personal insight into any of these concepts, at least varnish it aesthetically. You do neither. You just ask a question about a list of generic concepts that everyone ever has deliberated over for as long as culture has existed.

Scaffolding protector, earlier than the bird
to break my sleep.
Head in the pillow, yawning and thinking,
I am not a scaffolding protector yet.

>>25560862
But you are an idiot and you've never had a thought in your life.

>>25560862
who the fuck let this tiktok twitter zoomer youtube essay addict in

i surf on yellow trees
to make leaves falling on my shut eyes
drinking blood by day and walk through the night
so ive grown ten arms and three heads, that look into each other to find my answer instead of notes from mother
dreaming dream im but a dream it seems who knew i already had it my blanket rustles
i leave, i enter, i leave i enter
seems i never sleep

I eat the little world

I wanted to pick up the other one
I'm hungry.

Milky plate good morning
spoon-messed, joyful, your turn now.

>>25561185
>>25561205
Did you come to a poetry thread expecting praises for your garbage? Why are you so upset? If you can't take criticism from a stranger online, how do you expect to become an accomplished writer in any capacity? How are you going to take your certain rejection from publishers? Get over yourself, learn to take criticism, and improve your craft. Or find a new hobby, your "poem" is garbage.
>youtube essay addict
Try harder.

>>25561302
There's always at least one idiot who floods every thread with posts advertising how illiterate they are in this exact smug reddit style. The shitty poem is extremely basic yet it manages to go completely over your head, like everything. Please, just stop.

>>25561333
Why are you defending your garbage so hard? It doesn't go over my head, it really is just a poorly written, unimaginative poem. Explain its genius to me, and enlighten me. Maybe you're right. I'd welcome that. But we both know the truth. Stop being so fucking defensive, it's pathetic. You invite further derision. If you're so insecure, don't post in these fucking threads.

Behold! Two anons lock’d in combat bold,
As between light and dark, water and fire,
A real duel, neither by the other troll’d:
One stops not but his foe must expire.
Yet in truth it’s not so simple to tell
One anon from the other, nor discern
From whose fat greasy fingers which post fell
Nor whose foul odor whose nostril does spurn.
Thus their own follies escape detection
And taunt them into quixotic pursuit;
Each aims his rage at his own reflection
Which does with equal scream each point refute.
If only there was one who could show ‘em
How to shut up and just post a poem.

In solemn thought I ponder to what world is she after.

For not the one I offered with intestines and blood I barter

She has left me behind in ruin with an intimidating apathy to brew in

May she find that world shes after and may I come across another traveler

To fill my days, to fill my nights erasing her memory and evil blight

She has gone and left, for these words are all I have left.


>> my shit is corny and bad but idgaf, can anyone help me find a good resource to format a pdf into something I can publish on kindle, its dog shit but I'd rather put something out since there is enough detritus anyway.

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>>25553266
it's alive i think
can we keep him?
no we can't interfere he has to figure it out himself
awww his glasses are so cute though~
look at how his fingers dance while he types
bed to computer to bed to computer to bed
it's like a drum beat who is he performing for?
for himself? if so how romantic
look at how
he lives
and loves
and cries
oh...
i'm starting to think he's lonely
we have to send a message
to let him know we're here and that we love him
how about a post on his favorite forum?
it's worth a shot

>>25562750
scary

>>25562653
try /wg/ for the formatting, more of them self publish i think. try reading aloud because your beat is slightly off in a couple lines, highly recommend reading Wyatt for your corny purposes because it would hone your skills a bit more

>>25558831
that's funny, I actually had the same thought about the line breaks but decided against fiddling with it further before posting. and I wasn't fully satisfied with "raped" despite its pathos. thanks for the feedback

>>25562653
No, the solution to detritus is not more detritus.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

"I know why the caged bird sings"
Maya Angelou

>>25562824
thanks for the help! I'll reach out to wallpaper general. Never would've thought to go there but I'll heed the advice.

Yeah for the beat I just read it in my head and maybe subconsciously made it rhyme so I had something to add to the thread.

>>25562851
This ain't me but I'm glad you thought my work wasn't dog shit enough to be passed off as your own. I do agree the line breaks could use some work.

>>25561333
he's right. "What of beauty, what of love" alone would have been sophomoric and ridiculed 400 years ago. you would receive the same level of pushback from a publisher or writing circle, just not as bluntly

>>25562888
>wallpaper
sorry, it's the writers general on this board, if you're not being facetious.

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>>25554578
>>25555375
i made another example using a 2 word and 2 syllable format

i was hoping for some more feedback on whether this was an interesting idea or if it even feels like poetry

Midday allows none to know shadow most yet
Dark in these bodies spun still ever rests.
For sun skips along skin but so too sets
Before it has time to find the true breast.
Tender light, be still! Rest over their head!
May you two slowly soften as spouses
So that mere skin may melt into pure gold
And your ray rest in their holy of hearts
So may ever run their ray of dark.

She sounded across sound
Weighted and unwanting
Waited as her weary disembarked.
He hurtled towards horizons
Wanting and unweighted
Took like from above light; below dark.
Two took upon the tides
Both weighted as one wanting
Each into the sea parted forth part.

She appeared in triad - youth, truth, beauty -
Faces, full and profile, whispering together
All night in my bed.

And when dawn came
At last, from a tousled pillow resolutely
I made my full surrender.

And when she holds me
As close as candlewick holds flame
And from all hazards free,
My soul drawn back to its virginity.

What world did we first find with our eye?
Did we tremble before fire? Did we sing before water?
We found a world that too trembles and sings
Do not speak to me! Sing!
Do not walk with me! For I will be dancing!
What word did we first dare flick off our tongue?
“What?” Not this the word, for it never had sound
“There!” This the word—and we the echo
What wheel did we first dare round with our wedge?
Did beginner’s luck make a perfect circle?
We rounded a perfectly round-spinning wheel on a perfectly round-spinning world
Come, spin with me! May we become perfectly dizzy!
We forged a world that trembled before blows of our hammer and sang songs of our dream—what will be our echo?
Do not speak to me, for I tire of words and worlds
Do not walk with me, for I may lead you astray

>>25563487
it's difficult because the less real estate you give yourself to work with, the more scrutiny your poem naturally comes under. you REALLY have to justify the fact that your poem exists exponentially more as it gets shorter. and this makes sense; you're distilling an already dense medium into its barest essence. every individual word has to bear an unbelievably massive weight without much in the way of other language to support it

it is obviously still poetry, but whether or not it's any good is another matter. I will say personally that "Some prose, small sun" got a real chuckle out of me and I think there's something to that. but these micro poems almost invariably leave people with the sense that their ideas could have been better utilized in something that was more developed. you have to present a masterclass in interpretive ambiguity, technical skill, and depth to have poems of this length stand the test of time

Few quick ones from an upcoming volume of mine.

TIMELANCE

No home at last
you find this side of

things. Before you, as it al
ways will be: to tear, a

wound December noons
pallium, if not glass

in the festering new
nesses of

world grief
slits you through.

As such histories de
cide their way from you,

can you remember
when the heavens were still

something strange and
warm?


"After Listening to Cocteau Twins’ Head Over Heels"

Senescent breadthgold
of fall.

Hard dark sky
overoceaned

with whys, with
souls.

Womb.
Geist.
Impotence.
Contrition.

Today
all the children you used to be
rest like a cold stone in your throat.

Today
all things become
unspeakable.

"Coresong"

A kind and impossible body
has welcomed you, someday, out of yourself

and into the one you knew
you’d never be.

You cannot imagine
how long you have been loved.

Maybe, the novel being
muses through you, it’s been

this way for some great time. Or,
maybe, the memory itself

of a time
consubstantial with
violence,

the cold, wild city
of your manhood

and the many
lives it led

you to lead, was not, after
all, a

memory
but a dream

which must, as all
must, melt away

with the knowing of an early June
Sun in your eyes

and the sound of your mother
calling for you.

>>25563487
>>25563643
oh my god I didn't realize it said "small sum" that's honestly not nearly as good

>>25561942
Behold! Anonymously written shit,
Respecting not the customs of this place.
Its scansion is as lacking as the wit
Of both the dolts it's written to disgrace.
These dolts? They exercise a general right,
However greasy-fingered they may be
(Long-serving keyboards damn near set alight!),
To criticize another's poetry.
By criticize, of course, I mean contemn,
Confound, hurl insults at, and denigrate, And in that spirit, as upheld by them:
Your poem's horrible. At any rate,
Here's mine. Feel free, in turn, to shit upon it.
My skin's as thick as me. Voila. A sonnet.

>>25563794
Your vile lines make a sinner of the Sun
And criminal accomplice of the air;
The one for lighting what light ought to shun,
The other, sounding what no ear can bear.
As chaste white snow fresh fallen from the sky
Is blackened and tarnished by baser clay
So beshitted is the unlucky eye
That looks upon your “sonnet,” (as you say).
The buzzing of a fly deserves more praise
Than lines so void of pleasure or profit;
I’d sooner listen to a donkey’s brays
Or search for gold in a pile of vomit.
Still, your lines are not without their purpose:
Mine shine all the more as yours are worthless.

>>25563643
>>25563667
that makes sense
although to be fair, the poems i posted weren't the subject but merely examples of the "rules" i discussed in >>25554578
there's nothing prohibiting a poem from being structured to have 8, 9, or 10 words and 15, 16, or 17 syllables per line or any other combination

like i said earlier, i don't know anything about poetry. i've heard about how there's things like iambic pentameter, haiku's syllable count, and how sonnets/ballads have a specific structure, but that's about it
so i started wondering if a piece of writing constructed around an arbitrary rule set (even one i made up) would still read/feel as poetry
i guess what i'm getting at is what kind of fundamental structure/framework is there that, regardless of any other patterns present, causes some writing to be a poem rather than a snippet of text. after all, i don't think people would consider it a poem if you cut a paragraph or two from a novel and added extra line breaks

>>25565083
Margaret Atwood was a regular customer at a bespoke clothing store my girlfriend worked at in Toronto. Apparently she was in insufferable cunt.

Poop
In a loop
Through a hoop
Onto a stoop
I shiver the hair from my skin
And dance in the wind
Pee-pee from my mouth
Alas, the sun settles south

are there modern day poets who writes insanely long epic poems like Homer?

>>25565355
I do in my head, but I never write them down.

>>25553266
How do i write a poem for a girl i like? I mean a real panty-dropper, i want this bitch soaking wet