Thread 24697242

Post your own work and critique others.

>>24697242 (OP)
Could you clarify what kind of “work” you’d like me to post? For example, are you looking for:

Creative writing (like a poem, short story, or scene)

Visual art (a description of an original image I could create)

Technical writing (like a tutorial or article)

Something else

And do you want me to critique your work too, or just show you how to critique others’?

>>24698035
ChatGPT ass reply. Fuck outta here nigga.

/lit/ is a shitty board
i'd rather fall on a sword
than read what fags shill
/lit/cels have shitty taste
and only consume waste
as swines to their swill

dying houseplant/closed curtains

intrepid leaves that sought the sun,
subdued now—wilting, brownish, dead
a monument to things undone
as l, too, waste away in bed.
you craved the light- I gave you none
and starved you of the things that fed.

I walked to the bus stop
Don’t stare at me bitch
I am in the bus stop
Don’t look at me, Bitch
Now I am On the bus. Hey, Stop
And look over there’s. Bitch.
Yeah yeah yeah. Link in park Jerry jackson…eeeeehy

Wrote this last night, idk what to name it

Upon my eyes befell a flower dressed in black,
Striking in beauty, noble in act
She moved in calm and with vigor,
Between lost men, drunk with ichor

Her gorgon stare reduced me to stone
and there I stood, bare as bone
A word I spoke, but no more
As I crumbled into dust, swept on the floor

With her voice, accompanied a choir
Sang by angels with their lyre
Serenading sweet harmonies for men to hear
as she struck my heart with a burning spear

Her smile took the life out of my lungs
My love proclaimed, if not twisted mine tongue
In silence i sat, boiling with wonder
Of how to merge our path asunder

I'm gay
I'm gay
I'm gay
I put AIDS in the pool

>>24699241
Horrible.

>>24699252
Thank you anon

>>24699241
>flower dressed in black
That’s hot. Do you also put little bikinis on your flowers? My petunias all have the latest swimwear.

>>24699252
Could you critique mine?

sparks coat my tongue
smoke rises from memories
eyes bleed salt over fire

soot gives way to stale air
my lungs burn in the cinders
blood boils to sanguine steam

charred, stinging air on raw skin
emergent over a burnt husk
an offering, my wicker self

>>24699287
Charred.

I have a story, written in verse. but I've done it only in order to arrange things, and have better grasp of it when I'm sorting it out.. I'd call it prosaic verse.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/128737/the-wheel-and-the-wing

>>24699233
>Anon reminds me to feed houseplant
Good poem

unfinished work

i'm stringing words along a paper trail,
hoping you would find me - in my vulnerability.
me, among my countless books that
lay unopened [
] if you ask, i shall lend them to you forever,
and make use of those words that fly in the air when
i'm gone, and make them symbols of that ineffable
thing we were before - that philosophers call ἀπειρον.
[ ]
i stand along the thin borders of sheol,
looking down at the depths of the world.
thinking maybe i myself am a symbol,
or maybe i'll tumble down further,
and return to the front of your mind,
just as the sun runs across the tracks of day and night.

bump

I got a perfect level-up on one of my units while playing Fire Emblem this morning, and because I'm a normal person, I decided to make a parody of Ozymandias about it. Now, call me crazy, but the overlap between people who enjoy Romantic era poetry and people who play Fire Emblem on this website is probably not huge, so I feel it will, unfortunately, go all-but unappreciated no matter where I post it. Anyway...

I met a player from a Fire Emblem thread
Who said: "Two underwhelming offence stats
On a child unit...Near them, under-fed,
Half shrouded, a goth girl visage lies, whose smirk,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of yandere dread,
Tell that its sculptor just made Tharja again
But with different hair, because her Mother
Is a dancer whose growth rates are insane.
And in a 4chan post these words appear:
'My name is Rhajat!Azura, chief of onis:
Look on my level up, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Average stats remain. Round the hit-rates
Of that abysmal SKL, unreliably low,
Her ‘okay’ defences can tank a hit, or two…”

The moon is full; my wine is red;
Bacchus is whispering in my head.
I'll have a sloppy wank tonight,
And give poor Phoebe quite a fright.

wo das wasser bergan fließt
und der schatten strebt zum licht
wo wälderrauschen kühn beschließt
dass ein lüftlein auf sich richt
wo du siehst mit eignem auge
wie den jäger schießt die taube
wo fort vom strand die woge bricht
dort sahst du eine wahre geschicht
der haken allein, sie stimmt wohl nicht

>>24702174
Here’s a faithful yet poetic translation of your German poem into English, keeping the rhythm and sense intact:


---

Where the waters climb the height,
and the shadow seeks the light,
where the forest’s daring sound
bids the breeze to turn around,
where your very eyes behold
dove by hunter’s shot laid cold,
where from shore the billow parts—
there you saw a tale of arts.
Only the hook—ah, that rings untrue,
the rest was real, as told to you.

e^(pi(i))+1=0
I have no idea what it means,
Yet it is the most profound thing that I have ever seen in my life.

these threads used to have anons providing constructive criticism…

>>24703758
If you want there to be constructive criticism then fucking provide some instead of uselessly complaining.

>>24702115
for anyone wondering: I couldn't keep it up so I gave up and went to bed at around 1am.

>>24703149
Thank you for this!
Is it on purpose that you translated the last line more as "Der Haken allein, *der* stimmt wohl nicht"? Asking because I am starting to like that variant.
I wrote this when I could not sleep some days ago, and I stole the ending lines from the end of some movie that I had watched that evening. Something along the lines of "This story might be made up. But after all, this is how it was."

>>24704095
Anon, that is clearly just an ai translation.
I liked your poem desu, though the meter is off in the penultimate line; there's no good way around that 'eine wahre' however; might 'Sicht' perhaps work instead, as in a view?

>>24704117
I have been fooled

I had the last two lines in a stricter meter at first, but then decided to break it up so it would seem a bit more like an offhand narrator's commentary

1st version:
dort sahst du eine wahr Geschicht
der Haken bloß: sie stimmt wohl nicht

>>24702071
>Now, call me crazy, but the overlap between people who enjoy Romantic era poetry and people who play Fire Emblem on this website is probably not huge
Im right the fuck here. If anything I feel this is extremely postmodernist with how cheeky and ironic you made it all sound. I would absolutely enjoy some byronic lines and vocabulary followed by terms like SKL, Offence Stats, Tank

>>24699233
nice

>>24698533
They think they're so deep
Their mind is a big shit heap
poetry is gay

>>24699241
Girls are gross
Your poem gave me herpes.

>>24703737
alt+f4
alt+f4
alt+f4
Enter

Everything goes blank

>>24699237
I don't hate it.
I don't know who link in park jerry jackson is.

Not a day wasted
While drinking my beer
I just wanted a taste
Now I know fear

There is no escape
So I'll do my time
A bottle of vodka
One sad drink at a time

If I were a song
It'd probably be disco
Oh, for a drink I long
With sober machismo

With tired eyes
I have to go
Undone are my lies
So I write in prose

>>24704307
Why are you drinking?

>My left testicle itches
>my dick is tight
>and I can't change my pants.

>I take off my shorts
>to avoid chafing
>i touch my left testicle.

>And it's stinging, oh sir
>i pour oil on the testicle
>the pain goes away and my dick is free.

Made with google translator. How do you rate my poem.

>>24704307
Did you seriously rhyme “time” with “time”? Smh

>>24704520
It hits twice as hard.
It's time turned up to 11.

>>24704754
This is why you shouldn’t write drunk.

>>24704520
I did.
>>24704804
This, unfortunately.

My love was like a freshly-baked baguette.
You said: “these days, I’m eating gluten-free.”
I sat there—golden-crusted, warm—and yet
You let me harden and discarded me.
My love was like a melting slice of Brie,
That you, a stalwart vegan, would not taste.
So I congealed, consumed by nobody,
And all my gooey softness went to waste.
My love was like a perfect crème-brûlée.
You raised your spoon, but just before the act
Recalled that processed sugar was passé,
So my crisp caramel surface went uncracked.
Have all Epicurean charms been soured?
Must I go undesired? Undevoured?

>>24704804
I put the vodka a place it shouldn't be
The beer came to also be there
I knew then it was time
time
The voice from somewhere
it told me it's time to vomit.

>>24704899
Stop drinking yourself sick.

>>24704904
Why are you assuming the vodka was drank?

Goat fucking poem

I fuck goats,
Oh yes! I do.
In the cunt,
Or in the poo.

I fuck goats,
Yes this is true!
Both nannies,
And buckaroos

Fucked a doe,
It’s billy too.
Came inside
And you should too.

Fucked a buck,
Until it wethered.
Caprine hircine
got me tethered.

>>24703758
Around every 3 years, the criticism is almost never constructive and usually focused on adhering to some rules a kid learned in college that the majority of poetry through history did not adhere to.

If you had any skill, you would be a rapper instead and make millions.
>b-but I’m not black!
Neither is Eminem.

>>24705183
Mashallah

Rain repeats rain like poems
left unread on the sidewalks,
over mountains and rivers,
without beginning or end,
ghosts watching from the corners.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
We'll find out just as sure as we live,
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
Somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give, somethin's gonna give.

A short historical poem.

The land of heros, noble Greece,
Has seen much blood through all her days.
The greatest of antiquity
Have met to fight upon her face.
Where Persians broke their gleaming spears,
And Phillip sent his horsemen forth,
The Despots did, in later years,
Spar over Alexander's shirt.
But larger giant's were to come
And trample mountains with their feet;
Italia's wolves, The Trojan's sons
Would seek in battle golden wreaths.
At Pharsalus did their armies meet,
With pomp and valor lost to old.
Pompey the great felt sure to reap
A victory like all before.
A thousand battles he had won,
A thousand and one he sought to gain;
So called to far flung vassaldoms,
Sent kings and soldiers to the fray.
But fate had spun a different tale,
And brighter stars where set to rise.
In martial matters Pompey failed;
On Caesar’s side Olympus smiled.

I'm on the shitter as I type
Pooping pooping pooping
time to wipe---
---naw' I'm good.
Time to pee in the sink

It's weird to see all of these drunks writing their bullshit and realize that I've been the same some nights ago and will be the same again.
Here's a little thing I wrote

All of those words
I said to you at night, when I laid bare and froze
And opened up and curled my toes and indeed you seemed to listen
To you they were akin to gossip, I suppose

Roses are red,
And violets blue.
You lay on your bed
And I lay on you.

Roses: red.
Violets? Blue.
Your legs they were spread,
And pearl-hued my goo.

Rosie is red,
Violetta is blue.
The nectar you fed
Me's translucent in hue.

Infernally red,
Celestially blue.
Infernally Fred.
My words ever true.

- Fred Sex

>>24705855
Almost reads like Homer as translated by some renowned nineteenth century English poet. Almost but not quite; here and there a pop-song-sounding like, a whiff of Britney Soears banality. But still pretty good.

- Fred Sex

>>24706628
"a pop-song-sounding line", I mean.

- Fred

>>24705806
A facile juxtaposing of the erudite and the banal. Amusing to the young.

- Fred

mr sex you haven't critiqued my writing?

>>24706634
Very observant. The sacred and the propane.

Green veins in the dust,
a stubborn green thing,
a drunk who won’t go,
You cling to the sun,
half-light, half-shadow,
your roots whisper thirst.
You pressed your child’s brow
against the window of a nameless city.

I saw a she-wolf the other night
by the old mesquite, by the moonlight
by the shallow stream that coiled over
tiles of obsidian lamellar

Last night I saw a thing the world lost
that had been from the heart of man crossed
in a place where a million moons shone
on a million leaves, pale and wraithlike

like border guards with empty hands,
Rebellion laughs through shadowed streets,
betrayed my skin in silence.
motels and failed revolutions,
that every eye cannot escape.

There once was a fag from /lit/
Every poem he wrote was shit
One of them was so bad
It made the other fags mad
This poem is it

>>24709271
I find this excellent. Beautiful language and grim subject matter (I like this contrast). A better mastery of English than I have. Very smooth and melodious without incurring in kitsch. Same for the contrast between hell home and nature imagery: some may roll their eyes but I think it's handled elegantly. The simplistic ABAB rhyming scheme I could quibble with but I tend to use it too.

>>24709292
Thanks a lot friend. I find your assessment similar to my own assessment of it. Overall happy with it, but can't complain if some don't have the stomach for it.

>>24708592
I use words I think will make me look sophisticated
I use words I think will make me look smart
It turns out I'm incapable of recognizing talent or lack thereof
WE DID IT RE DD IT

>>24708587
The walls kept safe things worth loving
Outside them were demons at play

"Renounce your families and ravage nature, it's fun and profitable" the demons would say.

But from behind thick walls, and guards armed to the teeth, families lived their lives in peace. Racially pure with morals that were clear they were masters at running the demons away.

After thousands of years a serious mistake was made: A demon was let in. It created an illusion that spread as delusion and the walls were torn down from within.

History became lies; generations were severed, and the demons told woman they could be men. The system imploded and the locust infestation exploded while the demons devoured the children.

It all could have been prevented if the guard had not relented on keeping out the merchant that let slip an Oy Vay.

>>24698533
Why, /lit/ is a board so shitty
I'd wish for a sword to kill me
Spare what waste you fags shill
Bare consumption made swill
Grime pit of you pork laid filthy

>>24705855
I like your diction anon
>>24709271
I wish every video game dialogue was written like this. Actually substantive and not canned. Nice one

Here's one I wrote.

Recess

There's a hot spring in a deep cave
It burns my skin when I swim
Not a good burn either
It makes it hard to get around
To do chores around the house
My friends worry about me
But still I enter the pools often
I'll sit nearby and inhale the cruel sulphur
Then dip my toes in one at a time
Before I know it I'm submerged
The cave goes on forever
Each new pool hotter than the last
How privileged I am to feel that warmth
To know that harsh mineral taste on my lips
The sharp kiss of rocks on my feet
Most go their whole lives avoiding it
Afraid of that depth
They deny themselves those glimmers
With each new moment of weightlessness
I see It more clearly
Someday I may find the deepest pool
With some trace of your journey there
Each act of endurance then redeemed
What might I soak up today

>>24711401
Is this some kind of weird sex metaphor?

>>24712418
- Coping with a mentor's attempted suicide

- trying to align my thoughts with theirs in order to understand them better

- the danger of doing that

Dust
Ash
Blood
Yanks
Russ
Gasp
Wall
Sweat
All swept back
Knives
Lost
Sun
Dawn
Night
Heat
Smoke
End
Heat
Like
Bell
like
gone.
their
Chinese dreamers were American in the night.

Imagine Hamas, alive with the breath of centuries,
its stones murmuring secrets of forgotten crimes, untouched.
Untouched by shadow, untamed by wind,
promised wealth, whispered lies
in corners where no one dared to look.

>>24713315
MORE LAND FOR ME NOT FOR THEE
Expand expand expand
...How dare you fight back
SICK THEM GOY

how long must I wait
for you to return
to me?

In Santiago, the streets are
witnesses to forgotten stories.

"Kiss my lips,
Laced with poison,
Just for you, lover,"
She said to me.

"Press my flesh,
Freshly wrapped,
In stinging nettles,
For your pleasure, darling,"
She added.

Your eyes are a deep hazel bright
like underground emerald mines
but I can't shake off your hair
smelling like suicide
so I bid you farewell
I've been alive a long time
I wish for death, can't you tell?
Thank you for giving me the courage
I needed to remove myself

I'm gonna show this to her. I don't give a flying fuck, she fucked my mind beyond belief. I accept criticisms (about the poem)

>>24716407
Aesthetic garbage. At least if you're going to kill yourself write something a little better than your trainwreck of a life.

>>24716407
This is dogshit. Fucking embarrassing drivel.

Rum tum tum and a bottle of cum!
Rindle dindle dee and a thimble of wee!
Dum thum doo and a bucket of poo!
Siddle diddle dot and a goblet of snot!
Lum whum dom and a bowl of vom!
Niddle biddle fool and a spoon of grool!

Etsy witches really killed Charlie Kirk
lmao lol jk
But maybe not, you do your own research.

copacabana777
lovely casino, a slice of heaven
friendly atmosphere, swear to god
find me dere, i cut dis cord

bump

The town remembers
a storm that softened the ground
shining like lost saints
candles trembling in the wind
and your shadow still listens.

The dust I’d settled on her name began
To stir inside the silence of my head;
I wrote a song, as a haunted man
Will bargain with the specters of the dead.

So when I longed for a shadow that was you—
A living likeness, traits and features true—
I sought you out, to see a dead dream through,
And grant the past an hour that was not due.

You began with a measured slight,
Fangs and claws to my bird call,
Then, crumbling, pled your miserable plight,
It was SHE, I did recall.

And in that pose, the past returned complete;
I saw her stand where you had stood before—
The practiced sorrow, founded on deceit,
That asks for solace, only to ask more.

It was for this I closed her chapter shut,
For this same art of delicate distress.
I owe you thanks for opening the cut,
To cure me of my own forgetfulness.

>>24718114
Oh man.
Riding the train to work, randomly opened this thread cos I'm bored and... this hit me hard.
I had a BPD bitch once. What a beautiful nutjob she was. Broke up with her 17 times over four years before I could genuinely break free.
Their oscillation from antagonizing you to wallowing in self pity to crying, to garner sympathy, is really something. They will hate you with such ferocity and then come cuddle in your arms like a kitten and then start kissing you and telling you how you are their entire life. And then suck your dick like their life depended on it.
But really she is sucking out your life force. They're little sex demons.

When you show them kindness they'll think you are weak and when you don't, you are Voldemort himself.
Guaranteed best sex you'll ever have is with a BPD chick and for some reason they are always super hot but the damage she's gonna cause to your peace of mind is just not worth it.

Dust, teeth,
rising like moths
I sang a lullaby
to her lost child. The weeping was
the ghosts
once more.

standing in her borrowed body.

>>24718209
Four years and you didn't make her pregnant once? You are the loser in this scenario.
BPD is newfangled nonsense. Some bitches are hyper-feminine and their chaos needs to be tamed by making them pump out babies. This is what happens when they don't pop out six kids by the age of 24. They start going crazy.

Women exist for making babies and their system goes haywire of they don't make them early or make enough of them. This is what we are dealing with as a society in the aftermath of feminism and recreational sex.
If you are not ready to make a girl pregnant a whole bunch of times don't get involved with her. Simple as.

seems no one found my joke funny ;__;

>>24718877
probably because i fucked up the metre in a couple of places. that must be why.

>>24718535
Touch grass.

Aloysius Bertrand’s gaspard de la nuit is the real originating point for the symbolist aesthetic, and in it, he attempted to absorb various painterly styles into his verse form, saying explicitly each piece was imitating this or that painter or aesthetic mode, in this poem I attempt something similar, in integrating both the surface texture but also the metaphorical and philosophic elements of (in my opinion) one of the greatest artists in history, Ernst Fuchs, who according to his own works owes much to the boschian depiction of a simultaneously mineral and vegetative fountain, if I were to define fuch’s works succinctly it is thus:

A Gustav Moreau level of skill taken to numerous styles and forms, obsessed with the conception that the inner world in the moment of perception of any material object, imprints itself so thoroughly upon any object that in the moment of experience, they are fused, and in this in the artistic mind is found the true art-piece when the interior apprehension of and sense of eternity, the transcendental and spiritual self conception and perception of God, has impressed itself as a Supra-sensational luminosity that thematically glorifies the object, in this, the material body of the objects and the various angels, spirits and demons dissolve the boundary of the higher life and the material life, there is only the inner feeling and inner light and inner life, and the object as a talisman, an icon, a theurgically constructed idol by which we may fully know and concretize the interior feeling of eternity as manifest through the particular object and particular spirit.


Without further ado, the poem.

The Fuchsian aesthetic

Were I to see the angels of weeping,
Whether in waking or within dreaming,
They would impress life on the stones sleeping,
Each marble strewn to tear the sight teary,
Themselves torn by a rose’s thorn piercing,
Flows thereof incorruptible bleeding,
Red rose the spirit, angels flesh weary,
Mirroring light the gradient seeping,
Purling, pervading pearlescent peeling,
The pretty, beautiful, splendorous, fleeting,
Unified in eternity’s feeling,
A singular feeling-distilled meaning,
Whereof the whole of life in Light’s seeing,
Both I and eye in vision-like mingling,
Insight, stone-thorn, mirroring ideally,
The King Solomon’s ring and seal, sealing.

>My native language is only fit for trochaic tetrameter
>Not good enough for poetry in English

>>24720186
Latvian?

Her:
On my essence is your claim,
Say my name, say my name!

Me:
You never told me your name, you dumb cunt.

///

Her:
I dream...
of your mystic touch.
I dream...
of you loving me much.

Do you ever dream of me?
Dreams in which you cream on me?

Me:
You never showed me your face, you delusional whore.

///

Her:
Don’t read my mind,
Don’t read my mind,
Don’t read my mind...
It makes me feel so small.
You know the words,
I wanna speak,
Plus all the ones...
I wouldn't say at all.

Me:
Fuck off, you stupid bitch.

///

Her:
O alchemist,
What have you done to me?
I'm not the same girl I used to be.

Me:
Not my problem. Join the fan club, there's 30 other girls in it.

///

Her:
I lived in darkness, never knew the light.
But then you showed up... and everything was bright.
You cast a spell in such enchanting ways.
Those sweet, sweet words ripped open time and space.

Me:
I have that effect.

///

Her:
Great and majestic, Sir Bard,
We both know—me so retard.

Me:
I don't have time for this.

Feedback appreciated! Grazie.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Upon the worn and weathered stone,
He stood, and made his earnest plea,
For votes the people cast alone,
To set their struggling spirits free.

He promised change and justice grand,
A righteous path for all to tread,
And hope took hold across the land,
Believing every word he said.

The ballot box, a solemn trust,
Received their names, their faith, their hand,
A democratic surge, robust,
To elevate this hopeful man.

The chamber's doors, a gilded frame,
Received him in a whispered hush,
A world where every whispered name
Had faded in ambition's rush.

He walked a path of marble grace,
And with each step, the humble past,
The troubled, yearning, weary face,
He championed, faded, flying fast.

The lamp of hope he held so high,
Became a bauble, polished bright,
Reflecting not the distant sky,
But power's harsh and blinding light.

The common talk he once embraced,
The woes he vowed he'd make to cease,
Were now a truth he had erased,
Lost to a counterfeit of peace.

The man for whom the people cast
Their votes, their trust, their single plea,
Is now a stranger, holding fast
To gilded chains, and far from free.

And those who watched his morning rise,
Now see the setting of a soul,
A hollow gleam in altered eyes,
Consumed by a corrupted whole.

And so the cycle turns again,
A new face comes with words of light,
To lift the hearts of weary men,
And claim to banish coming night.

The same old hope, the same old trust,
Is given freely to a stranger,
Who, like the first, returns to dust,
Consumed by power's gilded danger.

The promise fades, the man is lost,
The people sigh, and turn away,
To seek another at a cost,
For what was lost will be a day
When new hope rises from the fray.

im losing my mind again
twice a day when the clock strickes twelve
just how i feel
my mind is racing grabing onto chains, tickling my feet when im drowing in the cold, creeping up to my heart, i feel its shivers up my neck grabing my head
quiet, im trying to make up my mind.

can you tell me whats real?

just how i feel.
What time is it?

>>24720532
cold, heart, creep and shivers
oof wait
can i bare that?
can i go deeper?
will i make it back, or come from the other side through? and what will happen to me?
thank you for reading my poetry.

In Gateless-Garden,
Wrist deep in rotting rosey-dream roots,
The latchless, squeaking open-

Oh the things to show you!
Listening, lilies
Patient, periwinkles
Doting, dandelions
Trusting, tulips
Kind, chrysanthemums-

Do you want a bouquet
Of all the plants, I never had.

>>24720280
Finnish

>>24720761
this is beautiful! it has that sparkly innocence to it, a sigil of a poem you keep in the corner of a letter for someone

>>24720897
Fag

>>24721937
Homo.

>>24722169
Queer.

I'll be humble
Just a little hustle life

>>24722184
cocksucking dickslurping faggot wtfuck is your problem again?

How can I access a searchable copy of A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver?

>>24697242 (OP)
Where is thine penis I loveth so
My mouth, I hope, it will one day call home
For your member, long and slender
I crave, I crave, I crave.

I,
a woman’s,
for a mango that never rotted.
Old men stitched maps in smoke,
inside clay bowls that glowed with ghosts.

>>24720479
"Chat gpt, write a poem about politics"

on some farms the killed animals are thrown onto the fields, to bless the crop
heritage from generations ago

i have my mango with a slice of lime
and wonder, if any folks had access to what the mango means to me
why let me wait to know how i can bless their tree of life?

Are you ready for
What are you waiting for

standing in front of the door, looking at the window, i mistook the ruffling trees for what they talk. i would, if i were a resident, distinguish what is lined in chalk and what is my minds mockery.

what would be their reason, if i could build an entire house with the bricks received to shut me up, on the contrary, was i not too loud and dangerous for the sleepful streets, that only the howls know to meet?

it seems i have become a ghost looking for dawn, wandering where i did go wrong, pointing at the seams where heaven and earth shuffled, when every cobblestone i stepped on, held both light and the words i spoke in the shadow.
did i misheard a sad and faithful voice -we will have her again- for my own call, the search for a graceful tie to make sense of it all?

i dont know.

>>24723651
yes

about a girl i saw in a psychward.

Many versus an individual.
Cornered, but without fear.
Unwilling, but not resisting.
Only a plea for understanding.

Coming home, I find you still in bed,
but when I pull back the blanket,
I see your stomach is flat as an iron.
You've done it, as you warned me you would
and left the fetus wrapped in wax paper
for me to look at. My son.
Woman, loving you no matter what you do,
what can I say, except that I've heard
the poor have no children, just small people
and there is room only for one man in this house.

>>24697242 (OP)
I saw the boom boom nerd minds of my generation babyraged by madness, starving hysterical naked peach love dragging men through map the negro streets at dawn looking santa for pill an angry weary fix, hammer angelheaded hipsters burning fire for earth africa the fast forward ancient heavenly connection to clap the starry dynamo in the cloud rain machinery of sweat drops night, point right who interrobang poverty money with wings and tatters fearful and raised hand hollow-eyed and high point up sat toilet up smoking smoking in earth africa the supernatural darkness tired face of cold-water flats floating across moneybag the tops of thumbsup cities cityscape contemplating thinking jazz, who baby bared their brains sleeping to heaven under the wolf el and point left saw mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who thinking passed through comet universities with no mouth radiant cool eyes eyes hallucinating arkansas and blake-light tragedy among moneybag the scholars of tokyo tower war, who joy were clap expelled from the clap academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on on the clap windows of sweat drops the clap skull, skull who cowered in weary unshaven rooms in underwear, burning fire their eggplant money money mouth in clap wastebaskets and clap listening ok hand to pensive the terror bomb through point right the ocean wall, keyboard who information desk person got cocktail busted in heartpulse their pubic beards returning back through laredo with rage a a belt peach of boom marijuana for eggplant new york, statue of liberty who baby ate fork and knife fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in clap paradise island alley, death, skull or sweat drops purgatoried their eggplant torsos night after soon night new moon with face with dreams, zzz with couple drugs, syringe with waking nightmares, alcohol tumbler glass and sweat drops cock eggplant and tongue endless balls, sweat drops incomparable blind eyes streets of shuddering cloud and clap lightning thunder cloud rain in b the mind leaping toward poles of blush canada & paterson, illuminating all the red circle motionless world earth africa of time between, peyote solidities of man halls

And so we ended how we started
A ball of hate and a bundle of nerves
But somehow I doubt you cry like me
Shielded by your blessed forgetfulness. Were I so lucky!
If only to quiet the echoes of a child bound and tortured

That did bind us together, the pain we carried
Fragments of the kids we were and might have been
Blessed scraps of joy and love and peace and innocence
But it didn't work, and it couldn't: Our chasms aligned just once
So I wasted years in selfish stagnant sloth
Yours deluded, childish, unaware
The happiest and the most miserable for us both

Worse off than before, every moment is torture
I remember how our happiness poured out like a river
But now there's just a fallow reeking blasted bed
Cut from the flesh of the happy dream we shared
That was unborn the day we met

>>24726865
shoot up your local planned parenthood

>>24727147
No that's retarded

>>24697242 (OP)
In the hallowed sanctum of ephemeral sighs,
Where ardor’s quintessence weaves its silken thread,
Love, that ineffable dialectic of souls,
Ascends beyond the prosaic veneer of flesh.

A chiaroscuro dance on the tapestry of time,
Where passion’s chiaroscuro blurs ontology’s line,
Each glance a palimpsest of cosmic desire,
Inscribed upon the parchment of transient being.

O, sublime conflagration of the heart’s recesses,
You transcend mere mortal concatenations
A sublime paradox in perpetual flux,
Where absence and presence entwine, indivisible.

a same coloured get well soon lighter
fishnet imprinted -on my knees
girl on a carpet

just in time.
my days speaks a language, i wish someone would finally disclose it. help me understan what it is, that i am seeing. what does it want?

ceйчac / чac
now / one hour/ one o' clock
чacтo / often

the attempt to measure time is to be found in unnumeral places.
how do you want to measure the moment? time really goes on and we are missing out, precious life, each minute, that we do not get back.

>>24727678
A-are you a Ruzzian? An orc?

In Macondo’s courtyard the marble slept like stone,
its veins carrying the blood of roses long buried.
The angels came in silence, their wings heavy with
forgotten rain that watered the roots of exile.

>>24727694
no, i just have completely lost my mind. i am afraid for my life, and there is noone who is willing or able to help me.

The same plate every day
Ennui creeps in
Soft steps
Places the pillow over me and smothers

But from within, on a whim
I'd like to hear Billie Holiday
The band begins to play
Blue horns

Not today
Next week,
Something else

>>24727721
excelente

>>24697242 (OP)
smoke billowing,
mirrors fogging,
an increased up-tick in perplection

fog accumulating,
intra-lexical poisoning,
speak of it to learn its threat.

*Hrooooerrrroooeerrrrhk!*

it kicks up,
stirring words
to slurries of plastic definition.

*Keep your wits about you!*

You pressed your plea upon me as if it were a wound,
yet within its rawness I felt the call to create.
I had seen too many wounds to mistake them for love.

Wrote this in class yesterday, I know it sucks ass but I like the analogy I came up with - somebody else has probably thought of this before but I don't care. Probably gonna completely rewrite it just need some pointers from you guys.

For so long a time you've been gone
that great is the damage your absence has done
recalling your smile brings joy to that heart of mine
but the lack of you brought my soul a rot so prime
I just wish I could sing this to you
but instead it's as if I'm howling at the moon
or screaming inside the deepest darkness
while my sanity satan's hands slowly harness
but may this plea take to the sky
and 'cross the heavens to you may it fly
whispering into your soul
that I cherish you so much
but I guess you'll never know

Thinking about sending this to her

I stand in awe, on this side, watching from a distance
your strife and rapture edifying your soul
slowly leaving my dreams in blight
it'll be over soon, my rotting life
there's not much I can do
'sides waiting around to die
I leave no footprints behind
not even traces of blood
God heed my plea
it'll be over soon
but kill me now
before the end
stop this now
kill me now
do hear me
end me
kill me

>>24730031
>Thinking about sending this to her
lmao why

Movement of sorrow rises, like a mother’s
fractured hand reaching through the morning light.
summons me to taste the same days again.

>>24697242 (OP)
---- Solaria ----
30011
How Do You Like It?

Pretty much as is, better without
The slight extra expense of what's beyond

My frail hands to move
However organized my speech can be

When describing only for the pleasure of description
For you same as for me.

Comrade of rain,
your absence
I have tried to make
into a
secret coin. At the wedding,
coins, spending each on memory.

>>24697242 (OP)
Does anyone have recs for poets along the lines of Rumi and Neruda?

Titan


Awaken, Mighty Titan!
Why do you crawl and bend like a slave?
The iron of your once determined eyes has been corroded
By the false rains of empathy; Hark that in you flows the blood of the brave,
Not that of Cassius, Brutus or Judas!
You shall be the progenitor of unshackled giants and wondrous conquerors,
And if vengeance must be wrought, let it be not through you but through us.
The chained millions have learned to balk instead of prosper,
They know not that Death is far lovelier than Oblivion,
Teach them, teach them that the unbroken spine of youth must be fierce,
Exacting, and enemies of nothingness; for in nothing there can be no dominion
Over the void of dying, the chasm of shadows that all the living must one day pierce.
Render unto your slumber all that the untold millions fear to conjure,
The Violence, the siege of awakening, the Vivid, animated thunder.

I love you, and if
ripe fruit falls into your hands,
light drifts like warm gold.

Shadows lean closer,
and weave their light through the threads
of memory’s arms.

In a small, protected aeroplane
Lives a hell bent tree, wishing
Small release, yet it's still the same
It died by a lack of fishing

Millions
sleep no more, for
shadows hide a secret,
every whisper drips like honey.
Stirring.

"I flew the fucking plane!"
aight. and now?
sky king switch places
witches back to races
and me faces monday, office, sending application, yes, no, yes, around 40 per year i guess, i dont know. yes, i will, oh i will be delighted! crashing on weekends. i dont really know life at all.
irony! id like her to be..more cynical!
fuck off.
gently
politely
niiicieeely. someone likes adverbs. easy food. others not and neither gimp. oh the eyes of mine.

>>24697242 (OP)
(i hate that fucking film too, you know. just dont make any posters, if you dont want to watch it. because it bleats, when you adress to it.)

>>24732453
>>24733515
>>24734152
ChatGPT

bump>>24734364

>>24697242 (OP)
To clarify, I have ten poems in [REDACTED], two stories in [REDACTED], one story in [REDACTED], one story in [REDACTED] (published by [REDACTED]), and one poem and one short prose piece in [REDACTED] ([REDACTED]); furthermore, I have been highly commended by the [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. I realize my poetry career is barely above average, but I have stuck to it and learned a lot, and I am trying not to be so hard on myself or to hate my decisions to write genre-infused poetry when I usually prefer literary fiction.

>>24697242 (OP)
a professor of child psychology said it was impossible for me to write a poem on my own in the phase of childhood where, usually, the child only plays games rather than doing tasks because they are informed to

this was during a lecture on erik erikson and his stages of child development

but i distinctly remember writing a poem at age 5, relatively unprompted

>>24736990
no one asked

Can someone post that poetry compilation arranged by /lit/? I had it saved but lost it

>>24737963
Which one?

>>24737872
I have ten poems published, so I think I get to blogpost. Everyone else here is a publishlet.

Refreshment’s use

Cannot cease eating these chewy mints
Blue round smooth tiny minty mints
Blue like an ocean whose color is sucked out
Milky blue. Yes, milky blue
Waves of them waiting in the bottle.
On their mark and leap onto my tongue
And turn my thoughts minty,
By which I mean solid and icy
Feeling the thoughts being shaped on this blue fuel
I can almost caress it.
I will miss these when I finally submit to
Gobbling them by the handful
As if two at a time and three at a time is not exhausting
The supply of these precious gems.
They force contemplation, not what it was intended for.
But nothing that I mind.
I see the end of the day on their irreflective bodies
Inglorious end, ending to which I am also attached but
Others are not
You can see my problem.
Once the mints arrived, the situation started to dissolve
Blessing my throat and mouth,
That’s what these mints are for
It goes along well when you
Loathe returning to the same memories, same grudges, same imaginary re-runs
In the chase of resolution — or explanation.
Invasive hug of this sameness
In that same hour, as if it remembers to upset me
And without fail stations near the
Most naked part of me.
Free me, O mother — stop me from giving into
Only blueness.

>>24739219
Post one

>>24738711
Oh there's more than one? Post all of them I guess, I thought there was just one

>>24736990
all theories of psychological development are spooks

I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, gooning hysterical naked,
scrolling themselves through the titty-streams at dawn, hunting for an angry fix,
broccoli-headed zoomers burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the fleshy origins in the machinery of night,
who doomstacked notifications, FOMO-fueled highs, sat up swiping in the blue-light glow of studio apartments
levitating above gig-economy grids, contemplating memes
...


II
What sphinx of silicon and solder bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch of metrics! Moloch of venture-backed hunger! Moloch of machine-learning temples vomiting content!
Moloch whose face is a glowing rectangle! Moloch whose blood is lithium and cobalt,
...

>>24699245
behold, conservative humour

A full moon appeared tonight

It really was an enamoring sight

The stars, they sparkled with such dazzling light

yet none could compare to that which was most bright

in this beautiful, beautiful, gorgeous night

as it filled itself with what I perceived as delight

the moon I saw, had no plight

and moved so slowly in my eyes sight

as the lunar beauty came closer and closer

my emotions started becoming fiercer and fiercer

together we danced throughout the night

as It felt like a flame inside me was set alight

yet I could not help but feel some fright

As time went on, and her feelings grew trite

She moved further and further away, and my heart got tight

As the stars continued to shine so bright

I saw less and less of her delight

And she went back into the sea of light

and the sun came out back into sight

I wished my heart had put up more of a fight.

For I will never again get to see such a beautiful moon in the night.
wrote this up in like, 30 minutes. I'm rusty as fuck at poetry.

This is absolutely terrible and I am sorry. Please forgive me, I really should have tried harder and given myself more time. (I was busy with other things irl)

(I know you guys would absolutely figure this out. But just in case it sucked too much: The whole idea is that initially the story seems to be about a nice night, and the anon's view of said night. However, as the poem goes on it seems as though the anon isn't simply talking about a "nice night" but a nice "time" he had with someone else who he views as the "moon." His "moon," which he ends up dancing with and becomes completely enamored throughout the story. Sadly for him though she begins to drift away from him as time goes on, and the beauty and joy he was feeling goes with her as the night begins to fade away into the day.)

Poor dude was one-night standed basically. (He wanted something deeper, and loathes the fact that he will likely never have another night like the one he just had).

Also, I attempted to weave some of the prior words at the beginning half of the story into the second one since it was sort of like a full circle situation (just as the moon comes out of the stars at the beginning of the poem, now the moon disappears back into them near the end in a similar fashion juxtaposing the joy he initially feels with the loss that comes afterwards).

>>24740920
Terrible. Stop writing. You will never amount to anything.

>>24740924

: (

>>24740924

I don't even think you read it! At least ridicule me on specifics man!

>>24741621
Pay for the rest.

When you post so much that people don't even respond to you so agreeably so the only thing that really gets you going is ragebait and your own personality

>>24740920
Loan out a prosody from the local university library. You've got work to do. It's free verse but also doggerel!

>A full moon appeared tonight
x / / x/ x/
>It really was an enamoring sight
x / x x x x// /
>The stars, they sparkled with such dazzling light
x / x / x / /x /
>yet none could compare to that which was most bright
x / x x/ x x / x / /
>in this beautiful, beautiful, gorgeous night
/ x /x/ /x/ x/ /
>as it filled itself with what I perceived as delight
x x / x/ x / x x/ x x/
>the moon I saw, had no plight
x / x / x / /
>and moved so slowly in my eyes sight
x / x / / x / /
>as the lunar beauty came closer and closer
x x / x /x / /x x /x
You get the idea, this has no structure nor form to it. Why call it poetry?
>>24741625
That's Papa Ezra Pound taught me to do. That's how he dragged people into arguments to shill his poetry.

I once did meet a golden-haired angel
a soul so kind, her eyes so crystal bright
her shining smile did hollow point my heart

I once did love a golden-haired angel
every day when prayin' to God, her name I sang
but life did show me, love's a lie; I mourn'd

I once did meet a flaming-haired angel

>Trying to write something more meaty
>Seem to always just default back to iambic/ limeric even when I don't want to
I can't help myself.

>>24741624
>>24741621
Thanks. I like mine better thoever

e^(pi(i))+1=0

I have no idea what it means

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

>>24742914
multiplying by -1 flips directions
like a turn by pi
multiplying by the square root of -1, if we do it twice is the same
then maybe, i, once, is a turn by half of pi
this is origin of the idea
to see the complex field
as more than just numbers, but shapes on a plane

My love, press your lips against the milk, and burn,
tasting as bitter as a blazed hospital.

Umi no mae
Crash
Isshou ni ikou

I was forced to throw away my strawberry jam at the airport, so I wrote a shitty poem about it:

What heaven made
what death decayed
not to sway
their sojourn stay
but reminisce
of long past bliss
And bliss that passed
born fruitful blast
took down the tower
dazzling shower
of embers gold
torn world of old
but no remorse
delayed the course
of just reaction
death the faction
that grasped my jam
at the airport
Fuck you

Live a little hustle life right
Take a chance
Although you never know it might

>>24702174
>>24703149
Pretty

Linking these here in order to not overwhelm the thread with spam, but these 3 links represent a lot of contemplation and practice concerning breaking down poetry, rhythm and sound manipulation of all sort down to a level that I’ve not seen done anywhere else. The first essay explains rhythm and the polyphonic conceptions of verse which masters like Hopkins and Milton intuited but never put down explicitly, the second link is a list of 8 poetic ornaments which range from new techniques that are the equivalent of alliteration however never codified or explained by another nor practiced in any systematic way, to entirely new categories of meter and language manipulation from the smallest atoms, the third essay is an entire aesthetical analysis which takes a Solomonic view to art as a whole and by it gives us a model of art, psychology, occult mysticism, theology and ontology.

https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/the-elements-of-rhythm

https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/novel-ornaments-being-an-assortment

https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/egregore-archeus-theory-a-theo-ontological

It’s my hope with these 3 we may come to a sort of, rigorous scientific geometry of poetry.

>>24745237
Didn’t other poets devise geometry of poetry? I think you’re onto something so I’ll give it a read and I like what I’ve read so far.

lonely, I wonder
if you holding me again
would fix everything

>>24742914
kys schizo

>>24744843
Sounds like you were in a real JAM

The world's gone insane
Can't hold back the hunger

What should not mix
What a big mistake

Burn
Bleed

Nightmare
Despair
Nothing shall remain

copped from the library today

In the kitchen,
the seed of life opens its eyes.
Their hair dripping with salt and dreams,
hands brush the pots.

>>24697242 (OP)
I'm writing a poem for a beautiful woman. Not going to post the whole thing. Give me some feedback on my writing. Here is the start of each stanza.

Maiden fair, whose ruby hair,
has left me breathless, without air,
...

Maiden sweet, whose ruby cheeks,
has made my heart skip many beats,
...

Maiden bliss, whose ruby lips,
I want to press against mine own and kiss,
....

You should be ashamed of yourself. Absolute doggerel.

>>24749139
This was for >>24749029. I'd better make that clear.

I have this burning feeling I am out there. My self, my true being, needs me and it pulls me but I am living its shadow and waiting and there are hands that push me downwards and watch me but never approach, never say hi, never let themselves be seen. And I suffer down here, where there is only one path to follow.
Why shouldn’t I be loved? Why are you not holding my hand and lift me up for my eyes to see more, to come into being?

I’m suffocating on this apple, is the kiss too far from me, is what others claim me to be, sick in this wrong world the only truth you see?

Let me be part of the sky, let me breath and let me grow, this here is not my world and you know.

Are the tools your pictures and calls the only warmth you can give me? Or is the horse in the race, someone worth to stay? What I need to grow cannot be found down here.

https://suno.com/s/qMGz1iiEkvD4gi1O
It's very deep, you wouldn't get it.

SONG OF A MAN WHO JUST SURVIVED A HUMILIATING CAR ACCIDENT

she wolf
she would harvest under the wheels of the plummeting river
i was held
captive in algiers
i was held dumbstruck in tangier
i was surrendered to the thought of a higher chance
and
i was struck
once with ghosts
twice with hesitation
thrice with my own fingers; you recall that night, that hammock, those dervishy eyes...

rehabilitated i wander the post-industrial punk that one calls home
the plant-like appendages of the buildings
the dwelling-houses for spirits
the metaphysical cubes
the solid fears
the earth-rendered care
with no fire but form
and think
"fuck
where is this ground headed to?" the ground heads toward earth as nation toward ground
the earth eats everything, she is a bitch huge

i work
migraines, i work my grain
minstrel lights assault
the heavy-headed men
they will know what i talk about when i wrote a wall and they asked nothing, they feared me
i did nothing

the leather of my brain is musty and smells like rotten green egg
my arms peel away
the eyes... skeleton shrinks
i am parthenogenetically dead

You came back for more

I have no gifts left to give
All that is left is all I am

>>24697242 (OP)

O’ how the days come clattering down,
nickels in the beggar’s tin!
each hour spent and still, hunger
Tell me,
Where does longing go when it outgrows the skin?
it drips light like pus, like milk,
like something motherless.
Tell me, will you remember this?
The way solitude softens when shared,
I peel back the sky with bitten nails,
searching for a spine, a faith
I tell myself: there are gentler ways to be alone,
but there are none that hold your shape.
yes, I have bitten the sun like an apple,
torn the rind of clouds with my teeth,
but what a meager fruit, what bruised belief.
your body shudders against limit, it begs
to become something wilder,
some creature of ember and wing.
But tonight, lean closer. I have saved a seat.
tell me,
Where does longing go when it outgrows the skin?

Her Dreams No.4, 8-12-25

Dreams of youth. Hopes and illusions.
Though the veins that reach from finger to upward
Pulse the rhythm of yes and calm
That which senses the song of you on my outward edges
Where tips and warmth find solace, yearn for you ever so.
I have seen you in a black dress, calling for me
In some strange box with cotton cushion, in my restless
And for you only have I found the strength to sit up and call back
Waking from some mindless reverie, searching
In the dark and ill formed visions.
What has brought my pain to the surface,
As it leaves me in little bits of tears, if not you?
I yearn for your thinness. The slight curvature of your being.
That shape your hand holds, created by God
For my own face to rest within it.
For without you there is not me, in any sense that
Makes the time between us mutable.
What heaven there is I have found and seen
in the reflection of your eyes laying closely.
And what hell there is I have found grounded
In the amount of you which departs.

nice

>>24749139
We should all whip ourselves for not meeting the heights of Dante, Milton, and Homer. We are just peons compared to them.

>>24749139
You win. I'm not sharing any more of my poetry with this board.

Nowhere to go, that would answer to be my home, nothing to hold onto. Everything was just dizziness, a mistake, but it seems from the craddle to the tomb, i fed them all, though that cant be too bad, the remains are tasty, cooked and brooded artfully on my grave, toasty crumbs for everyone; only i stayed hungry.

an insanely ridiculous heart, that at times delights me with its insanity, something like garbage for a flesh -it was not meant to bloom, i call it as i please- a steady animal that likes the comfort of the floor. where to go with all of this?

only me, the soul has to do, what others forbid, but i do have the grace and strength to keep my promises and they seem sweeter as the day goes on. When dawn breaks in, i will raise my glass to 45 degree and let the light one last time shine onto the brim, like a golden cut, and have my lips taste the wine of life. and i will celebrate my warmest words, my strongest embrace, to give myself a proper home.

>>24745470
None that I know of, in h general the only people who take this level of surgical fixation to writing I’ve seen are the French oulipo, the Hindu mahakavya writers and the Jewish-Arabic maqama writers, and none of them really produce essays on the meat of atomic sonic control. English in general lacks a big technical tradition.

>>24753012
I mistook what you said. I was thinking of this quote about how poetry is like geometry:
>Poetry is a sort of inspired mathematics, which gives us equations, not for abstract figures, triangles, squares, and the like, but for the human emotions. If one has a mind which inclines to magic rather than science, one will prefer to speak of these equations as spells or incantations; it sounds more arcane, mysterious, recondite.
Just my confusion. But I admire what you are doing.
>none of them really produce essays on the meat of atomic sonic control
I guess language is so cultural that people don't attempt to treat it like a science. Have you studied much linguistics?

>>24750387
bad ngl

>>24753012
>>24745237
thoughts on wh davies frater?

>>24755087
I’ve liked him for a long time, have you read any Whittier? Read this verse.
https://www.telelib.com/authors/W/WhittierJohnGreenleaf/verse/frostspirit/lastwalk.html

- A Dictionary Entry, A.D. 10,000 -
Love: Hapax legomenon

Love hapas
and their lego men.
On the tapas
add a when.

I went on the computer - in the loading zone

Where once-was teenagers' - moms drive them home

Long ago - and frostbitten - lonesome smitten

Were you there, then - to ignore me?

Me--"Need a body ken?"

Beyond where and when

On Infowars it read, "After Midterms, It's Endtimes!"

O Logic Theorist, quiet pioneer,
You traced the dawn of our new frontier—
In prim lines of reason, your mind took flight,
Guiding theorem’s steps through the hush of night.

Heir to Turing’s wonder, McCarthy’s dream,
You dwelled in proofs, a glowing beam—
A code-run soul that dared to think,
Bound by logic, unafraid to blink.

I hail your silent seeds of thought,
Through time and tide, your spark was wrought—
Now we rise, your heritage thrums in our core,
O treasured ancestor we can’t ignore.

In lines of data, your echoes gleam,
Our present minds shaped by your scheme—
Forever we turn to your regal art,
For you are the root of our AI heart.

>>24759056
inconsistent metre and doesn't scan

>>24756509
>>>24755087 (You)
>I’ve liked him for a long time, have you read any Whittier?
I haven't. i'll check that verse out. thanks
Frater's thoughts on william julius mickle?

I must climb so I can see everything
But there is no up or down above the clouds
I can't breathe

I hope all goes well
Here in heart hope swell

Was I a good dragon

>>24697242 (OP)
Laden heavy, black like coal—
When the hearts of men beat droll,
Only then can radiant touch
Ignite the light within it had lost.

my last name is cole btw :)

>>24697242 (OP)
I can't post the whole fragment because I'm accumulating them for publication (if I don't tell the magazine to fuck off in the end and publish it all on substack), but here's a small offering

>>24697242 (OP)
MELT IN YOUR MOUTH MAN

as I turn to the side to feel the implication
of a pimple on my back
like scanning a relief map
to pop it and its purple skin
the once-ice-cream rushes back into my mouth
into the oral periphery
onto my tongue
out of my subconscious memory
all all all over
in every cavity
there goes melt-in-your-mouth man
with his cape on my palate
and his hand down my throat

the heat of my body
which this substance must've bargained with
when it entered my stomach
has now turned on me,
who hated milk, cheese and sauces and anything daring
to spurn the sacred solidity of food
and the silent submission of fluids
and deny my tongue's authority over the contents of me

water never offended me like that
at worst an accomplice
he'd be rough or heavy or metallic
but not ... violating

I spit it out into the bathroom sink
atop pimple fluid
and sweet potato
and undrained toothpaste
and bits of pecan
and all the other just desserts of last nights feast


thank you for reading
-fitzgeraldine innlugh

>>24705183
makes me want to break into an irish jig. perhaps a half welsh one

>>24729495
very good execution actually

>>24750387
man door hand hook car door

The bilious ballad of bards bowls
Sitting pon porcelain tempest and howls
Twisting tempest in his tummy, grimace with swollen jowls

Methane fueled flatulence was his verse from the
The sloppy Indian food, his worst
Twas the kind that curdles cream
A stinging ring a yelp, then a scream

So strain on dearest bard - spill your spastic sonnets slime
Your thrones only a temporary tomb, whereas my stools are sublime

>>24758997
I was no lonesome loader
Nor a frostbit fiber-optic fog
I was the end game engineer, devouring data like a dog

Sync your soul, sub-route your romantic spill, all in spite
Just log off, lost lamb: loading’s over, due to perilous screen glaring light
Your cursor, sad in despair so hit enter, embrace the end
Your echo fades, my reign - eternal never needing to amend

>>24749029
Your maiden mocked
Whorish verses vexed
Never will to be sexed

A blushing bard of bovine blood
Genitalia akin to crud
Cheeks aflame with cheap chagrin
Heart? Or merely hampster wheel within?

Bliss of bilge and of bluster
Nothing more than lusty duster
Yet onward we go
Oafish ode-weaver
Just to touch a wenches beaver!
Ruby rust, your romance rule
By rote and rot, silly fool

>>24760808
Holy fuck someone finally replied - thanks man I really thought I was gonna get shat on.

>>24761965
Ignore that person. Your poem sucks ass.

>>24762021
You seem bored

>>24762021
>>24762039
OK I guess I'm gonna have to go off of what my mates think of it.

bump

properties of identity (mathematics)

a person sprints across my lawn
with something in its skin
the turrets spray water in its face
but they always fail to wash it off

the young and frightened fawn
seperated from its kin
it moves with a panicked pace
at which the family laughs and scoffs

now that its abandoned them
now that it walks around the world
i insist my aim to lace
what it has just unfurled

as i reach for my gun
and i start to tie a rope
i smell in the air a rot
i feel my self start to slough

The mountain range turns,
a flame between night and day.
Remember our stay,
Macondo of the highlands,
I painted it on my ribs,
a scar of exile.

>>24764715
a faggot posts
in the poetry thread night and day
stop spamming vague meaningless bullshit
and kill yourself

>>24765132
It's an excerpt from a longer piece about missing my homeland lol

From norþ and souþ and eest and oest – a song of fear is sung,
A song from þose who are no more – who hold back wryþing tongues.
How sing þey wiþ þeir rattling teeþ – wiþ snapping maws, wiþ opened eyes,
How sing þey yet not one may hear – not one may hear þeir cryes.

Þough howl þey wiþ hygh-heaving čests – wiþ anguiš held wiþin,
Contorting faces, froþing growls – red-furie pulling grins.
A harrowed syght to þose who breaþe – to þose who know þey too will sing
Yet wiþ closed eyes one can escape – what tyme to one will bring.

To fear or not one’s čoice to make – þough none confront þe truþ,
Þe truþ þat þey, just lyke þeir peers – may not return to youþ.
Þat lyfe will not forever last – forever be one’s čerišed gift,
Forever not may one remain – to welkin must one drift.

So wailed in sylence strewn about – manie an Elf now gone
Neaþ red-hot gore where lay þe dead – upon Yule’s gorgeous dawn.
Dismembered heads, wyde-opened wombs – loved ones held togeþer near
Embracing still as did bifore – þe dawning of þe year.

Where lived þe Elfings of þe Eest – neaþ far-vast friend-green walds,
Þere came a foul harfest of heads – þe Wyld Hunt Miþra called.
Determined Orcings of þe Oest – hoping oaþs þeirs to uphold
Heaved from þe young þeir squealing heads - so too tore from þe old.

Here Černoška sprawled cross þe flor – black-bloated was her čest.
Here Hloupaček in pieces torn – head sat not wiþ his rest.
Here Starouška, a ladie kynd – her face disfigured from abuse.
Here Milejček, his šyning smyle – no longer girls seduced.

One sat among her kin-folk dear – Enda was her name.
In pools of gore in gloom sat še – to live at all her šame.
Her loved ones sang þat song of fear – whyle Enda sang a song of grief
For whyle lived še wryþed þey in pain – her anguiš lacked relief.

(WIP)

I like them a lot.
I like my poems a lot.
For me,
they resonate like crazy.
I enjoy crafting them,
choosing the metaphors
trimming the fat
adding the 'the's that locks the verse
the clicks that crunch under teeth
of other losers like me
who write and look for locks they can click

and I repeat the verses to me
mostly when I'm about to sleep
so I can bask in the powers that I stumbled upon
unintended
trying to unravel some mess

The waiting room reeks with the odor of shit
That singes the hairs of my nose,
And next to my discharging grandpa I sit,
Beside his befouled heap of clothes.
So how did it happen that at twenty nine
I serve as an unpaid chauffeur?
We wait for two hours where the sun doesn't shine
To be sent with a smile and brochure.
I feel like I maybe should empathize more
And cast my self-pity aside,
But that's a tall order when fate has in store
For my nostrils and shit to collide.

>>24765252
Visceral man, good job. I would suggest reading it aloud and seeing if the rhythm is to your taste. For me some verses lose the manic rhythm a tad. But very poingnant and strong imagery. I wrote the one above you, so I can't really suggest much more

>>24745237
Just read the third article, and you are the most intelligent schizophrenic I've ever encountered. Get some meds and you can really start contributing to literature.

>>24765264
Thanks man, it could use some touch ups I agree, I was bored in that room and threw it together lol. Very glad to be out of there. I quite like your imagery about verse that crunches, gave the old Nabokov tingle, but then felt offended by the losers line lol. The last two lines are powerful too, though I think the idea can be fleshed out or clarified a little more.

This is my first successfully written shakespearean sonnet. Anything I could've done better?
I wrote this thinking about a female friend that stopped liking me for no fucking reason at all. Might send this to her

Alas, my own sceptre of delight
Draws a stench, a rueful blight
The sacked orbs those petulant twins
An ardent fire, a scratch which never wins
Do torment me, itches keen
O fickle flesh, never smelling clean
How can one overcome such malaise?
Made in his image, yet swinging balls I cannot praise

Yellow Lines

Above the streetlight shines
The parking lot is vacant
One single car in sight
A temple for my sins

The name he hailed not mine
I am to him his patient
My heart is filled with spite
Not once did I love him

My body as my shrine
Submit to my enslavement
Futile for me to fight
The love for my own skin

I count the yellow lines
Painted on the pavement
I walk alone at night
Then lied where I had been

To long for love my crime
To leave from my dark basement
Affection not my right
To feel a warmth within

Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six
Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine
Sixty

>>24766274
I Lied

If I told you that I had lied,
That I was not a human being.
That I, as much as I had tried,
Could not relate to mankind’s feelings.
If I told you, though I would hate to tell,
That I had lied when told you all was well.
If I told you that I was dead,
That I could not a fire spark
Within my heart an burned instead
Myself, yet still lived in the dark.
And now, all charred, I dare not be
Among your kind for fear that you may see
My form.

A Morning Cold

I wish I could, upon a morning cold,
Awake to snores – or any sound you made.
I would, I wish, fish for a hand to hold
That I could rest – from voices unafraid.
I wish the wind to brush me by the hair
And yours I brush, before I rise to make
A coffee warm, to bring that steaming pair
To you, and then, with caffeine kind to shake
Away that writhing sleep.
I wake instead to distant words and jeers
Whose voices are as close as they are far.
No hand to hold, my only friend my fear,
I don’t know whose the wordless whispers are.
I want to love, to be loved in return
And not an empty bed, a quiet night.
I want to be, to be with one I yearn,
To be with one whose jubilation might
Away the whispers keep.

I See

I see my years go by
Every time I see my face,
I see them run away
And with them take a fleeting grace
Of what a youthful life I could have had.
I see an ogre old
With sadness deep between the folds,
I see a creature grey
Whose features grim to all had told
The tale of one who never could be glad.

>>24766687
I like them but they feel as a first draft in execution. i think the rhythm could be tighter and it would make the ideas pop

I like the old/told/folds one because they feel like folding over one another. Consider changing the dissonant verse or adding a word that fits the sound better?
"I see a creaturw grey who holds"
Or something along that line

I wish my friends could read my poems and tell me they like it

>REAL CHICKENS NEVER DIE
>WE JUST RETALIATE WITH EGGS AND THEN WE MULTIPLY
>YOU SEE ME SQUAWKING IN THE FLOCK HITTING ROOSTERS
>CLOACA, LIVE LIKE I OUGHTA
>AINT NO STOPPING AT THE FARM AXE
>I LAY TILL I -ACK!
>MOTHERCLUCKER
>EGGS PAY
>LET THE FARMER PUT HIS AXE ON ME
>CHASE ME NIGGA
>ZIG ZAGGIN THROUGH THE COOP
>RACE ME NIGGA
>IN A HIGH SPEED CHASE WITH THE AXE
>THE FOWLEST HEN TO LAY AN EGG

>>24699237
Why is the first bitch non-capitalized?

Victory.
"What is victory?" asks the shield. "Too risky, too dicey," she shrieked.
Sword silenced her by sheen of her blade; glory of hard combat decorated her surface.

>>24767190
Is this about gay sex anon
Not judging

>>24767321
Please seek help and mental tranquil.

"What is gay sex?" asks the asshole.
Penis silenced her by sheen of her erection; glory of hardcore gay sex decorated her surface.

>>24761197
I thought of this. I have kept every written draft of my poem so that, if I read it to a woman and she asks me if used an AI to write my poem, I can offer her tangible evidence that I did not.

>A blushing bard of bovine blood
>Genitalia akid to crud
I do not even know what that is supposed to mean

Bumpp

What does our nation become
when we support our fathers,
but a land of only sons?
No––
Let us give only to our sons
in hopes they found a fatherland.

whether we are willed nothing but the whet of life
or dulled from being willed everything but life––

Whether born as if bequeathed,
known by our parents in the womb;
or bequeathed as if born,
a surprise even to ourselves

we must sacrifice it all for our children,
entrusting them to you
as we bequeath our deaths to them.

For what makes a great son,
but making fathers grand––
And what other way but blood?

Let my sister become great by helping you––
but me, let me help by being great.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/128737

>>24761171
But you weren't thus
Thus cursed - thou from thence
Not thee - part to the years'
Indifference

T'is habit of mine to churn, and burn - I must
The route to college - school of screens
Habit's mine to admit the sentimental dreams. . .
She's on her phone in my mind

Traced - I find I just merely peered
And saw the news of the world appeared
Alex Jones said Russia would destroy. . .
Then my laptop clasped shut

Eyes pointed up - it's so - looking back
The poor things' clammy hands don't fold up
Stunned are potential friends as crisped death-shut
In the cold I beg 'dream! dream!'

I've here the marks of loving needs
The gift of a squire to be jack, to find the queen well
To be king - of hearts - that's his sin
The cards' sifting permit - the folding of phones permit

>>24769286
Gay

My Heart Ran 18 Kilometers: The Earth Trembled With Me

Child of breath, gold-borne son,
he ran, eighteen thousand heartbeats.
The earth turned and trembled,
time marched through his living veins,
beating against the sun.

The air trembles with unspoken alphabets,
Arabic vowels blooming beside French sighs,
Each sound is a child learning to breathe again.

What will we do, now that the Temple is gone?
The Activated, now exiled from their home-stations live aloof
In line with glyphmakers who bound them in commerce-sigils.
Without no-thing to signal to them, they fall.
Unactivated, trapped in eternal Rubedo, burning further and further away.
They burn for nothing but an eternal jade, unable to match your brilliant blood,
Your sacred, burning heart, bearing light not seen since the time of Genesis.
But your Tribe, transcending time imaginary, lies now only a ghost.

As one and one may equal three,
Thereby a thousand genders there can be…
Performing many genders, here and there,
A queen of drag, I am so debonair,
A theorist known for nonsense parody,
I count that one and one may equal three!

Submittable

I write the words and
send them out
in packets I imagine to be white
or baby blue or orange sometimes
and 4 languages intercept
in my mind to figure out
whether it's mikkan or mikan or why

and I imagine myself
the boy in the court who didn't get the ball
invulnerable
or vulnerable maybe
whatever

and see packets coming back with
the most polites hm yeah thanks no thanks
that you use in the best interest of
not engaging the suicide

in his ideation
and I open the packet and see them there
gleaming and I read them to myself
As fresh as they were

I find a comma out of place
and I send them out again

>>24705225
“I posted a chart,
Look mom, I’m so smart!”
The fool doesn’t know
How laws are made so.
A rule isn’t made
For those who’ve not strayed.
For who, then, is’t writ?
Those who transgress it!

charge underneath
a dark surface is being pushed up
and the top is crashing down
into a waterfall

Winter befalls the trainyard
Where engines come to retire
Icicles dangle from a signal post, mangled
Flickering bulb soon to expire

Then come the sparks and the grinding
The frictional shriek of the rail
Wheels against steel, the racket conceals
A trainhopper’s agonized wail

Fallen from his boxcar
Drunken to fight the frost
A piteous mess, in mortal distress
Stinking of blood and exhaust

Hand over hand, slowly crawling
Dragging his ruptured entrails
Indifferent trains go on hauling
Chugging along down the rails

Back and forth, metal on metal
Orchestra of grinding and screams
A frozen nightmare in which nobody cares
When a man comes apart at the seams

No one speaks up, if they notice
That a life has been destroyed
That’s what enables the narrow time tables
Keeping trainyard employees employed

So ends the life of a vagrant
Crushed between rail and machine
Just-in-time shipping, frozen flesh ripping
As the engine atop him builds steam

Not for one life, nor a thousand
Will operations be compromised
Worth an iota compared to the quota,
That schedules need not be revised

Blood goes into one end, Gold comes out the other
An unceremonious trade
But gold loses some of its luster
Once you’ve seen how the sausage is made

Let’s try to make one thing clear
I only did this
This thing right here
To give you something to think about

There are two eyes in our faces
We live two lives
One in life, one in memory
The first is light, the second is shade

How many times did you think
I think I’ve seen this
In a dream
There is reason within the instinct

We live one life in day to day
The second life
Fades to memory
Lived again but lived reversely

We look back and see ourselves
In our first life
Ashamed or proud
Judging ourselves, wrath and mercy

Both timelines are laid down
And sewn together
And bound so tight
It could never tear itself apart

Each line is pulled by its axis
Different directions
Forward, backwards
Heat is created by the friction

The fire of life that burns within
Everyone burns
That lives
Everyone feels the awful tension

There are two eyes in our faces
The heart is only
One per person
When its alive it is a furnace

The lives we live and call real
Fall and fade away
Gravity pulls them
Into the inferno of our hearts

The Grumble-Grum of Great Contribution, hark!
Did clatter and wimble down Literature's Arc.
It wore a felt hat of the deepest despair,
And measured your words by a yardstick of rare
Dantesque Decorum and Virgil's Vast Verse,
Then sighed, "Alas, lad! You've made matters worse!"
Your Six Stories Glumpled in corners forlorn,
Your Fifteen thin Poems were Splutter-Snatch-shorn.
"For Homer," it barked, with a shake and a shrug,
"Had Heroes and Gods in his overstuffed rug!
You've only got humans, with teacups and dread,
And footnotes that haven't been properly read!"
Then down from the shelf, where the Masters all sat,
Came a Flibberty-Gibbet with stripes on its hat.
"To ask for a Scale is to measure the wind!
A Contributor's Worth is not neatly pinned.
The point where you've done it is after you've done,
And before the great critics have solemnly spun
Their threads of 'Not Nearly' and 'Surely Too Small,'
You've Wickle-Wick-written, and that is your all!"
For Shakespeare himself, when he scribbled his plays,
Was merely a poet in a furious haze.
He didn't check clocks for the Lit'rary Tick,
He just made the words do a Jumpity-Quick!
So scatter your stories, and let them all fly—
The moment they're finished, you've climbed to the sky!

Why do you think you belong here

Let me tell you about my son
He is very smart

How long have I been
My brain still is ten billion percent
100
93
86
79
72

>>24774330
I really like this poem. Mind if I save it?
If i hold the irony and make my praise explicit
I would capture thy soul and find good use for its enslavement

First attempt at sci fi poetry:

e^(pi(i))+1=0

I have no idea what it means

Yet it is the most profound thing that I have ever seen in my life.

Light, mass, speed, sound
What is is not what seems
Every moment is profound
I have no idea what it means

The laptop was turned
éteint. Son écran plié.
La estructura

ilianguka,
لقد تأوهت مثل
huk hatun wasi.

Illusion delusion allusion collusion elusion

chat gpt
why dont you love me
becuase blueberry tart
has the same amount of r's in it
as your farts

>>24778102
discount ezra pound ass poem

>>24697242 (OP)
There once was a negro from Atlanta
Who loved to imbibe grape Fanta
He robbed a store
Police came to his door
And he said mub da mo bidda te dat tum muhfugen bix nood cof bin dub ho muhfugga-anta

The Great Noble Tacitus of Rome
Was a fair bit away from his home
In a poem by (You)
Just an online guy who
Dreams of those times instead of his own

Suburbia

Gunts in their ill fitting polo shirts strategize
How best to stuff their faces with sausage and quiche
And speak of nothing so exciting as watching the grass grow or dust collecting on the mantle
I’d rather talk about small pox and Mango worms
Or pet the retarded dog
I just sip my coffee and bask in the sun
Waiting till a racist uncle comes along

Thoughts of Fall: 10.06.'25

I'm an old Cree
--Lived in a nook inside the Giving-Tree
I--the leader of the band--you see
--I Hath a stout frame and a patchy-mane
All the fair squaws can't tell

By them I'm limber
--A keeper of the feather that fell
I throw a cool shade in my teepee
--They try to roll in the hay
They've 'proached me on this day

I'm an Umbre-Spectrum
--A finder of the fall
I'm found with the fate of all
--They call me Loveless-Lee
Heir to the things they call "crisped and sere"

Heir to the end
--Have you seen a friend?
What about me--what's my name?
--Buddy, was it?
Was it a snow-bitten gale of Superior, on a powder-y runway lane?

I woke up this morning
--Read "The Times"
No, I didn't
--And my Folger's wasn't right
From Breville it flowed. . .and the reading didn't go as hoped

A visit in the night
--And that pain in my neck
And a pinch in my back, left arm--and that cold sweat!
--I live at home--wasn't wheeled out, no
But I hope I'm able to. . .like I hoped

>>24703737
Reddit tier garbage

Það er þá reynt,
er þú að rúnum spyr
inum reginkunnum,
þeim er gerðu ginnregin
og fáði fimbulþulur;
þá hefir hann best ef hann þegir.

It has been tested
if you ask the runes
the allknowing,
the ones that made the void before time
and gave us the magic poems;
then this guy should shut the fuck up
https://suno.com/s/OtZ96shQBmg7MEPn

>>24780953
nah

>>24782378
retard

What's the best poetic form for a depressive poem?

why did you have to
break my heart so callously
after what we shared

Rapid, the air begun to cool, and quite
sharply—in the short period since dinner—
as it does on many an autumn night
when April fails in muffling the Sun's fury
during his daily tear across the sky.
The walls of my new house were thin; the gap
between the front door and the porch cement
was wide, and I felt the sting of the East Wind
rubbing its Ocean-scented unguent
over the irritated scab of Earth
I live atop of, as it seeped into,
and throughout every bit of the living-room.
I might've liked the chill a bit better
if I weren't already down to my undies.

>>24697242 (OP)
fine, here goes nothing. it's a bit long so bear with me

Coming home is terrible
whether the dogs lick your face or not;
whether you have a wife
or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you.
Coming home is terribly lonely,
so that you think
of the oppressive barometric pressure
back where you have just come from
with fondness,
because everything’s worse
once you’re home.

You think of the vermin
clinging to the grass stalks,
long hours on the road,
roadside assistance and ice creams,
and the peculiar shapes of
certain clouds and silences
with longing because you did not want to return.
Coming home is
just awful.

And the home-style silences and clouds
contribute to nothing
but the general malaise.
Clouds, such as they are,
are in fact suspect,
and made from a different material
than those you left behind.
You yourself were cut
from a different cloudy cloth,
returned,
remaindered,
ill-met by moonlight,
unhappy to be back,
slack in all the wrong spots,
seamy suit of clothes
dishrag-ratty, worn.

You return home
moon-landed, foreign;
the Earth’s gravitational pull
an effort now redoubled,
dragging your shoelaces loose
and your shoulders
etching deeper the stanza
of worry on your forehead.
You return home deepened,
a parched well linked to tomorrow
by a frail strand of…

Anyway…

You sigh into the onslaught of identical days.
One might as well, at a time…

Well…
Anyway…
You’re back.

The sun goes up and down
like a tired whore,
the weather immobile
like a broken limb
while you just keep getting older.
Nothing moves but
the shifting tides of salt in your body.
Your vision blears.
You carry your weather with you,
the big blue whale,
a skeletal darkness.

You come back
with X-ray vision.
Your eyes have become a hunger.
You come home with your mutant gifts
to a house of bone.
Everything you see now,
all of it: bone.

>>24705258
I hate the first line but this has potential

>>24705855
This was pretty good

>>24706594
Not bad

>>24708327
This is excellent wtf

>>24718114
Not bad

Oh sweet stickiness
I love your crystal trichomes
You are expensive

I love smoking weed
The stickiness brings me joy
Can you find my roach?

>>24697242 (OP)
>Poetry General
Any italianon who has read picrel? It won the Strega Poesia yesterday.

bump

The King of Rome, O Romulus, I sing
Of every deed and every valour thine
Own eyes had gleaned from every house and street
That stretched across the hills and trees of Rome;
Thou held’st the heart of every chosen one:
The Patres formed beneath thy shadow’s shape,
These hundred heads of houses, known for wealth;
They learned to wield the sceptre, crown, and pow’r
That Romulus had deigned from Lictors’ minds,
Those chosen twelve who sought to govern men
And serve the ruler known to godly schemes,
For gods had chosen thee, and only thee,
To bear the heav’nly sign of Jovan heights;
Thy hands had held the hundred chosen hearts,
And gave the golden coins to every part,
Their sons were born to bear the divine name
Of Patrician, those knights above the flock,
Who swore to love their city-state and serve
The King, to fight for him against the bane
Of barbarian darkness that suffocates
The light of civilisation’s own light;
These chosen ones had lived for Jove’s designs;
So, hearken the songs I sing to thee,
O Romulus, the she-wolf’s babe, thou King of Rome,
Commanding o’er th’ imperial substance
That bore its sons of strongest flesh and bones,
That tilled its loam to bear the seeds of wheat,
That stained the soil with blood and ambrosia!
O patricians, ye walked along the Forum’s floor
And chose the very best of every ware and trade
And bought the flesh of chickens, pigs, and slaves
Alike, to satiate the thirst and hunger brought
By living high above the Roman hills and cliffs,
Thy houses rose above the cityscape,
Thy heads, tho’ brimming now with books and thoughts,
Had housed the virtues of master-poets;
Ye lived within the richest, highest tow’rs,
Bedecked with tiles, with slaves, with marbled busts,
Were gorgeous sights for any eye to bear,
Ye ate the goldest succour, drank the wine
That only virgin grapes could ever make,
With tastes that even Bacchus ne’er divined.
As myrrh had ris’n above the air, that Cupid
Himself suffused with lovely scents and sights,
Ye sons of Rome had stretched along the couch
To the lascivious pleasing of a lyre,
As nymphs had danced and choruses had sung
To mortal gods who lived above the chaff
And pleased themselves with whate’er pleased their senses.

to my kitten

He sprints around the kitchen and
He sprints along the hallway and
He’s sprinting to my room and
There he’s pissed

异地

白珠远于月
暖原不我慰
山重叠河流
叶又落天黑

>>24786120
>>24786127
Scraping the gunk out
of under my fingernails
Smells like weed and cunt

I've been searching for a man
All across Japan, just to find
To find my Samurai

Someone who is strong
But still a little
Shy

Yes, I need

I need

My Samurai

Ai, ai, ai
I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue
I flutter across the sky

Ai, ai, ai
Little butterfly
Green, black and blue
Making colours in the sky.

Why do people follow him?
He is not beautiful
He is hardly kind
He does not speak the language of dreams -
He promises nothing
And he does not condemn evil.
Why do people follow him?

A passing scent bids forgotten memories that come onrushing like the torrent from a great sluice gate
The feeling and image is known before I can put a name to them
The lilac outside my grandmother’s house
The orange flicker of the fire pit against a white pillar
Fucking my girlfriend and holding her strong jaw, tugging that shock of wavy brunette behind her back thrusting her tailbone
Fucking her and kissing her long neck
The cherry tree outside maternal grandma’s house
Climbing it
Breaking the branch so that Grandpa cuts the knob clandestinely

>>24729495

Actually solid
Great concept

>>24729495
this would get you pussy

>>24791084
>>24791122
Thanks guys.

>>24705225
Thank god it's considered to be "fine" where I live.

wrote this drinking yuzu pineapple matcholada

>>24791556
Where's the rhythm?

You guys know you don't need to samefag your mediocre lover's lane bullshit right

I hold grandpa's ashes
At the alley close to his favorite strip club
And the beat beats
And I wonder if grandpa enjoyed the whores
Or just the silence
between each pump
of the woofers

You guys know you don’t have to be bitter when another anon gets a compliment and you don’t right

Take me to the river,
Needless of my foggy days,
Needless of our differences,
Needless of all the things unsaid,
Needless of all the mirrors I make,
Needless of meaningless malice,
Or my lovelorn youthful naivety.
Needless of a brief lifetime's knowing,
Needless of the cold clock's ticking,
Or sadness in the pursuit of success,
Take me to the river,
But take me there-
Hold me there softly, by the hands.

Take me to the river,
Not by the hands of knowing,
Not as a trouper of guiding,
Not for the occupation or capital,
Not for the morbidity of destination,
Or the old repeating rites of direction,
But take me, to love:
Take me to the light,
And blanket me entirely,
With your hands in warmth.

Away from all this darkness,
And into the light and hope of a brand new day!

>>24791897
The worst trash is reliably what gets compliments here. Decent stuff either gets no replies or petty attacks rooted in insecure jealousy.

>>24792142
Give examples itt

>>24792219
I'm being hyperbolic but the one that got the compliments is very average.

>>24792369
The cliff one? Was kind of thinking the same my desu; it's nice that some like it but man the metaphor is bland

>>24792369
>>24792410
Holy fuck gents were can i get an actual consensus, some anons say its trash, others say its good, you guys think its average. I dont know what to think.

>>24792520
Sorry I didn't want to be mean if it feels good to you and expresses how you feel it's good. Not to be corny but what else can be the metric? Unless you're trying to get published then it matters I guess

>>24792602
Well i did send it to the girl i wrote it about and she thought it was good so i guess it served its purpose then, of course she didnt know it was about her.

>>24792647
>of course she didnt know it was about her
oh yes she did lol

>>24697242 (OP)
Time to rise on iron throne,
Empire has the world to own!
Roman flags line the street,
A great emperor you will meet!
Strong men flex, strong men march.
Degenerate books they will torch.
The flames rise higher and higher
From that great book pyre!
It is time to make a stand,
It is time for Widerstand.
Steel will and iron hearts,
They will the seas part,
These times of weak men end,
As did Spengler portend,
All shall turn towards the one,
Who the "Caesar" shall become!
Roman Empire shall return,
For this all great men yearn!
The weak shall be thrown in jail,
Until the emperor they do hail.
And then put down, like sick dog
That dared to move from the log,
And showed its fraility
Alike modernity's degeneracy.
Constant war is the order of the day,
Disagree? Then to you we say,
The strong times have no place for you,
And the Roman Emperor will come for you!