Thread 24824368

Post your own work and critique others.

Self-Improvement


and always with the new day the threefold name
i see and slope toward the sun by threat
of refreshment and what's the cycle of falling
and rewaxing and rising up to melt again against
the bright yellow heat of rays sent down by god
to humble me again, to clip me again
so like a boy with an ant to push him down
to base of hill and see him scramble up again
amused by the alacrity of the climb, what better
entertainment for a god but this? i don't blame him
nor do i feel angry, he lets me climb, he doesn't
squash me or fill my home with molten bauxite
like they did that poor termite kingdom down the way
i am familiar with the horrors of those who shake their
fist at him, the fist doesn't last long, nor do they
and what's the room for pride when i barely know
what i am or where i'm from or what day is it again?

I once tried to make a couplet of spoonerisms
Harder than I thought and flightly soolish.

>>24824368 (OP)
Is this a painting of Vladimir Stroitel? Amazing life story. Since childhood he had a dream to weld his own rocketship using the scrap iron from tank factories near where he grew up. And even though he burst into flames on the launchpad and became a quadruple amputee, he still inspires us.

>>24824368 (OP)
Forgotten god of Roman dead
Thine dog doth watch in blackest night
The boatman circles closely hence
His river borders thy domain
Your wealth could not suffice to halt
Those living souls as hand from glove
For writing far away they’ve set
Your clan apart from theirs above

If there are an infinite number of natural numbers, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two natural numbers, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and an infinite number of fractions in between any two of those fractions, and… then that must mean that there are not only infinite infinities, but an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities. and an infinite number of those infinities, and… (infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and that infinitely times. and…) continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and that continues forever. and…..(…)…

>>24824368 (OP)
Revised this "sonnet" I posted in the last thread

Rapid, the air’d begun to cool, and quite
a sharp drop-off in temperature as well—
as breezes do 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
below the front door wasn't guarded by
a thing, and I felt the sting of the East Wind
rubbing its Ocean-scented unguent
over this irritated scab of Earth
I live atop, as it seeped in—intent
on salving every bit of my living-room.
I might've born the chill a bit better
were I not already down to my undies.

...and added a few bonus lines. (Basically, the guy is standing in front of the TV in the front room while waiting for his bath to fill, and getting undressed in the interim)

I took them off as well, if you don't mind,
while I was standing by for my bath-time;
my mammalian paraphernalia
were stiff enough to fashion diamonds with,
whereas the one that turtles1 have went hiding…

Me makey poopy.
Big poopy.
Wa wa ga ga goo goo

when I heard you speak
it brought back all sorts of things
I’d like to forget

>>24824851
2deep4me

gungnir savages the creamy pure
needlestrike through threaded fate

old prickeye

I hear that sweet old melody
To others I seem just as jubel
In the backseat of my memory
I only taste salt and gravel
From the juden filth in Germany

First poem ever I don't even know the rules. I tried to justify using jubel for rhyming purpose (I'm not even German)

>>24824916
Trash

>>24824947
One man's trash is another man's treasure

Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po
Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong
Ying tong tiddle-i-po

I am the space you inhabit,
the dead leaves you trample upon
while walking to your faculty.

I am that stone that nearly trips you,
that fit a decade ago, but now
is just a passing annoyance.

i am the still-looking air that
expands and contracts to your
voice, like water waves.

i am the walls of lecture halls
that absorb those sounds eternally -
though you have left for years.

you pay no mind to me,
but somehow i know,
dead leaves are not dead, but live eternally.

Loyal to my hated master
A wolf made a mouse
He left to the hereafter
His dog now in your house

You were a diseased drunk
I chewed through your chains
You stumbled, I struck
A wolf made king again

I think I saw and felt
The last spark of my youth
The moment I stepped out of the
Opera Metro station
In Madrid

For a brief few seconds it flickered
The smallness of everything on Spanish streets
The smell of cigarettes smoked indoors
The tiny elevator, so foreign
The ecstasy of new folds on fresh spirit
Pure experience before it becomes decrepit memory

I was 21 again
When I saw cervecerías
Closed for their afternoon siesta
It has been so long
I felt the anticipation of a first drink
A flash of my former self
Less jaded, less bitter
I was going to be a doctor
I had friends again
And this was before they just became drinking buddies
True friends
By the time I entered the apartment i was me again
I sat on the balcony and hoped the feeling would come back
A pathetic starving fisherman
Throwing his line into the long polluted sea
We can never go back, and even if we could
We shouldn’t
we might get glimpses of how we were
The glimpse is what’s good for us
To live in it would make us too soft
I wonder if all memories, good and bad
Are painted in divine rays of light when looked on from afar
A neurobiological trick
To make a sterile hospital deathbed
Or a gory end on the steppe
A tolerable finale
so long as we can think of youth and home

the last lick of flame
Before the smoke comes
Bleeding out like a severed artery

I think this may just be what I tell myself
The times really were that good.

>>24824951
Bars

bump

>>24825535
Inserting random
Line breaks into banal
Content

Loyal to my hated master
A wolf made a mouse
He left to the hereafter
His dog now in your house

You were a diseased drunk
I chewed through your chains
You stumbled, I struck
A wolf made king again

In our youth I looked up to you
You could never die
As you faded so I grew
As I ate your flesh I cried

You forgot yourself but I remember
Eyes of glowing ember
Sun to my dark December
When will it be dawn
(When will it be dawn)

I'm king to a corpse in hell
Like a dog I run
From the darkness that fell
When the wolf ate the sun

A thousand years pass
A wolf made a seal
With eyes made of glass
And no knees to kneel

Thought I heard your voice
A mirage or a ghost
Offering a choice
I ferry for the Lord of hosts

You forgot yourself but I remember
Eyes of glowing ember
Sun to my dark December
When will it be dawn
(When will it be dawn)
https://suno.com/song/c4b4fdb2-40f0-4ba0-8240-635a388f627e
The Heruli (warwolves) tribe were mercenaries that served under the Huns, then the Romans, then participated in the fall of western Rome and the kingdom of Lombardy. As a culture they didn't survive there but some returned north to their origins around Denmark where they eventually Christianized under the Roman church.

My fair Pomona owns an apple grove,
And from a cord around her throat its key
Hangs tempting me.

For when we pledged ourselves in mutual love,
'That grove,' she said, 'this key of yellowed bone,
Be mine alone.'

And I, half-dazzled by the winter light,
Said—Yes. It seemed so pure and quaint a vow.
It's autumn now.

And what beyond that gate keeps her all night,
How come those rotted apples stain her dress,
I cannot guess.

Are you guys able to recite poetry from memory?

>>24829010
the two poems i know by heart are Keats's To Autumn and (for some inexplicable reason) 'Upon the Late Storm, and the Death off the Late Usurper Oliver Cromwel', by Edmund Waller

>>24829010
the two poems i know by heart are Keats's To Autumn and (for some inexplicable reason) Upon the Late Storm, and the Death of the Late Usurper Oliver Cromwel, by Edmund Waller

a pastiche of 18thC pastoral poetry, which i've posted here before but has since been somewhat tweaked:

When Applepip, fresh from the hunt, slid down
The smooth green slope which waving poplars crown,
And on the dewy grasses draped the deer,
She saw Mirtazapine approaching near:
A long-forgotten friend! Mirtazapine
Himself addressed, while she remained unseen:
'Three summers now, innumerable nights,
Alone I've spurned all pastoral delights,
Forsaken groves where shepherdesses dance
And swains their honour and their virtue chance;
So have I hidden on this mountainside
Since cruel Phillillys my suit denied.'
Just then, Phillillys, couched within a fold
Where thistles bloomed, and fleecy she-goats strolled,
Woke up. Drunk gods their summer sunlight shed;
Deep she had slept upon her natural bed;
The empty wineskin in her one hand clasped,
The other o'er her aching eyes she cast.
Why feels she so amiss beneath this vale?
Its tufts of thistle and its she-goats pale,
The morning sun which gods above provide,
Nor pleased her sight, nor eased the dread inside.
For she had dreamt (and goatherds trust such signs),
As she stepped slowly through those unknown pines,
Across her path a mangled goat-corpse lay;
A bloody head it raised, and seemed to say:
'Goatherd, attend. The primal powers bid
That I inform you what the Fates have hid.
See my red fur; my downy throat cut through
Will look like mercy when they're through with you.'

>>24824952
What is this about?

>>24829544
being ignored by a woman probably

>>24829544
being alive on the page, probably

>>24829544
NTA but it reminds me of two things I sometimes think:
1.) The past and places inaccessible to anyone are indelible in a way beyond us, even without observers.
2.) That the world exists "beyond human influence" in this essential way is comforting despite it suggesting an underlying disunity between us and things.

Usually it's the night sky and imagining other planets and stars that renders these thoughts in me, though.

As a counterpoint to this glad "fullness" and ineradicability of the world independent from us (from "its perspective), I wrote something (bad) last year around this time that seems relevant to this interpretation I made up of that anon's poem:

"This green apple's bleeding autumn
as teeth strip the departing orchards;
accomplice to every ciderhue eating summer green,
and kin to what chisels mountains: the gnawing stream.

Time would die before the same stealing.
Our sentence: never again will things be whole or healing."

I didn't figure out how to express my full thoughts and sentiment about the subject in a way I found poetically satisfying.

>>24829010
yes.

>>24829010
yeah.

slow heat rising from the pavement
couple of stray dogs at the world’s far end
silhouettes walking across the soft summer sun
they vanished into the white blur

void filled with scant verdant fields
gravel roads and abandoned trailer houses
sound of a sparrows trill, a crickets pulse,
time burnt out slowly like embers of a dying flame

Years on, I wonder if she’d pause,
squint at my voice, my worn out face.
She’s married now, kids, they say.
the screen door creaked and i started dinner

bump

>>24830263
sounds like black metal lyrics

I never wanted
things between the two of us
to end up like this

Impressively expensive shoes
Chariots of high repute
This is not a a boast or ruse
I'm going hard on the lute

>>24832289
Why would it be a boast or ruse…

>>24832314
He is "keeping it real".

>>24832372
The line just seems jarringly out of place.

the smell of wet smoke and hot breath
birds that nest on a barren tree
in the forest the sunset is breaking
soon to be twilight
where i'm supposed to be.

>>24832289
I grant your minstrelsy and pointed shoes
Might, for a while, some courtly dames amuse;
Perhaps the pages will, with jealous eye,
Regard your stylish chariot roll by.
But know, O dandy, that a dandy's power
Fades like the waning of an evening hour.
Your lute-string breaks, the mud your horse enmires,
The dame grows bored, and to her bed retires,
Black night descends, and now, with sharpened blades,
The jealous pages lurk among the shades.
Boast all you want; nay, prove your boasts are true;
The grave, the patient grave, still waits for you.

>>24833097
bathetic

>>24832433
You just don't understand rap culture like I do.
>>24833142
What's your problem?

>>24824851
Be careful, Rupi Kapoor will take this and stretch it across 3 separate pages

>>24833676
Let me live, man. I was in my feelings. Also, I doubt Rupi is capable of writing anything that long.

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

>>24833770
I get his point, but his satirical poem is actually kind of cool. Anyway

My memories are maladies; I cannot seem to breathe
It's clear that my companion is caught between my teeth
Companion? Compost! She's left me here to die!
And yet there doesn't seem to be a single way to cry -
Well, maybe one;
One single salty tear;
If I dwell upon the feelings of having had you near,
If I turn this shredded mind to make the smoothness of your skin -
If I think upon the fact that you are fucking him -
Ah, there it is!
Could you be happy now?
To see me writhe in agony, while you are freshly plowed?
And rooted with his seed?
Is this what you want from me?
Is this why you still call me when your heart starts to bleed?
Why is it I still answer?
Is this what you mean to me?
Ah. But again,
It drains away - suddenly
My well-practiced numbness drives away the pain,
And drags it down below to await my touch again,
So that I can function.
My memories are maladies, but they don't mean much to me.
I keep them in a box, a locked box,
Far away.
So that I can breathe.

Two plus two equals four
I have no idea what it means
My ex wife is a whore
I know math in my dreams

Have some short garbage.

Silver and gold - riches untold!
Bring in the men from out of the cold!
O, worthy sons, wrapped in your furs,
To your militia all else must defer!
We go for their women, their houses, their gold,
We'll take able bodies - scrubbed and then sold!
We'll cut out their bellies to see the sweet steam,
We'll cut off their heads and slurp up their dreams!
Inshallah!

the trees are bleeding again
i just wanted to go for a walk
but you're being fresh with me, aren't you?
yes, yes, i can hear you
no, no, it's not a problem anymore
but thanks for asking
you horrid bitch
call again soon!

willing to accept it now that i have no other choice i suppose but
willing to come here every day and talk and let them talk and
willing to drive five miles out of my way every day every day every day and
willing to feel my eyes jiggle in their sockets as they try to get in my head and
willing to hear the same shit again and again and again and again
and again and
and again
willing to tell everyone that i've done it again, i suppose, but

Honey, Daedalus is calling again!
He wants to know if you've found the ground yet.
Should I tell him you're still falling?

>>24824368 (OP)
no

>>24834415
I won't bite.

>>24829010
About three or four Larkin poems, yes.

I will never post my own work
Nor critique others
Even that retarded Turk
Instead I hide under my covers

We matched on Tinder
But never met.
We never talked,
But even yet
I think of you.
You wanna bet?

You unmatched me
For no reason
Like an act
Of high treason.
During Fall,
My favorite season.
I'll never meet you
In real life.
You'll never be
My wetted wife.
I hope you're happy now,
But I really don't.
I said: I do.
But you said:
I won't.

I did not realize you were there
until, say, fifteen minutes passed.
and when I did, I looked away
and tried to keep my gaze downcast.
and when you spoke, I tried to feign
composure—what else could I do?
I left because I could not stay—
it made me sad to look at you.

i wasn't meant for poetry
for the clever casting of words
but i did once have an interest -
borne mainly from the Greeks -
and i began to wonder where, exactly, it came from
i went so far as to go around the world for it - as i am quite a wealthy man -
oh, the things i found!
from the rainy streets of Rome, which ran black with oil, as though absolving of their sins,
to the
moonlit hills of Ireland, which glistened with soft, cold dew,
to glittering, vibrant orchards, where Bacchanalian fruits practically burst with luscious juice as soon as they grazed my fingers;
wasn't there
and i loved, of course, and lost, a number of women,
snd thought maybe to find poetry there,
for each was a fractal, their complexities ranging, spiralling through an infinitude of
parent-guided childhood bakings
first makeup applications
previous beaus (each worst than the last) -
i kissed their pearl-white fingertips, saw diamonds glitter in their eyes,
bade tearful goodwells and
threw the occasional lamp against a bedroom wall...
i felt the wrenching pains of their presences and absences;
i learned more than i could comfortably relate,
and i found a wealth of
humanity
that still sets me to reflect, on occasion,
but
no poetry
exhausted, i went to talk to the poets,
to ask where, exactly, they had got it from
and, i got the same answer from each one;
from men much less traveled,
and virgins, even,
and one even blind,
had all pulled it out, like viscera, to smear it on the page
i needed only what i had inside!
elated, i tried it myself, but found,
to my great dismay,
that there was nothing in there at all.

no maybe the weird shit is rushed through mumbled speech
jammed in hysterical incomprehension: hermetic
jar patched to stop leaking down
syndromed over this traffic beyond / keeping it in
merely eavesdropping on podcasters babble
it arrives: digging deep into rabble
to unearth a space shuttle
boarding in
out the stiff pause.

I go Zizek on this pussy capital reaching anti-socialist depths of aristocratic gnosis
un-equalized through coherence disintegration
as she smells my pneuma and wants to comprehend
eternal means that need no end
now she's a river once it was sand
I swim those waters masked like batman

cloaked in leather human flesh
beneath — a pulsing fury (fresh)

while I compose a poem (hymns)
you won't hear 'em elsewhere (like films)

saturn day morning deep cartoons
[guess which word does rhyme with cartoons?]
I do not drive nor have car tools
what saves the wise, redeems the fools.

>>24824572
What was your inspiration?

I paid the ticket at the gate to watch the beetle race.
As I entered I could still feel the rain upon my face
Climbing stands; within my stomach I ached with anticipation.
As the people there began to cheer for the occasion
I took my seat and fixed my eyes upon the beetle's shine.
Within my eyes: the beetle made me glad that he was mine.
Mine alone, the people there could never understand.
To have that shining beetle nestled in my shining hand.
The rain did cease and as if at once, the sun began to rise.
The moment that the light had hit the beetles eyes.
He started fast upon his race straight to the finish line.
Before my eyes could focus: he had left his smoky trail.
His opponent, me alone, inside his smoky gaol.
I awoke, slowly, then the sun began to set.
The beetle was now gone, I sat alone and wept.
In his place was but a stain, a shadow on the ground.
A pile of hollow soot; within an ashen mound.
To watch the beetle race again, one must pay a toll.
To feel his light upon my face I'd give away my soul.
I never felt again the way I felt that day
But when it's dark and I'm alone I watch him run away.
The beetle's race it lights me up, when my whole world is dark.
Till I weep and lo' I see, alone the Beetle's mark.

>>24835658
>she smells my pneuma and wants to comprehend
>eternal means that need no end
>now she's a river once it was sand
>I swim those waters masked like batman
Goes hard

This is a poem I wrote for my love eternal, Ms. Hayley Williams. Someone on /mu/ told me it's shit. I want a second opinion.

When sunlight comes, your hair
reflects the dawn. A bleeding wisp,
a cherry kiss – abundant but rare.
As thick as your laugh, as thin as your wrists.

When moonlight comes, your hair
reflects the stars. The brightest pale,
a comet’s tail – familiar and bare.
As faint as your frown, as firm as your shell.

How much am I missing out by reading poetry in translation?

There's an opportunity if you ask it
If I risk it will end in a casket

>>24835813
You like it?

My inspiration was Pluto the planet

I'm tired

>>24837316
I do, actually. Of course Pluto/Hades makes sense and underrated as a choice of topic which makes it better. Very nice.

>>24837335
Thanks, it's always nice to hear positive feedback

>>24837176
I think it's probably grossly exaggerated how much is lost in translation. A truly great poem imo is great on the strength of its images, not the sounds of its words (though the latter obviously helps aid the former.)

For example, I recently read an English translation of A Cloud in Trousers. The meter and rhymes are completely lost, but it was still a supremely powerful and beautiful poem based on its images alone and I feel that it gave me the exact emotional impression Mayakovsky intended for it to give.

>>24836151
good

this should -just- fit into my poetry collection. thanks for all the hard work, anons!

A man dies, yet his
laughter wakes the sleeping boat.
Maize, dust, and smoke, the
tobacco that dreams of him.
Time, confused, forgot his name.

>>24838278
Thank you, it's about my heroin addiction. The beetle is what we call the black oil that the heroin turns into when heat is applied underneath the foil. The beetle runs along the foil until eventually it frazzles and turns to ash.

>>24837169
Its actually not terrible, but I think the repeating of "your hair" is a bit redundant , you've already said something about her hair, say something about another feature. A woman's hair is a piece of her beauty, but it is not the totality of it. Also the fact you're writing it for a celebrity sucks all the soul out of it. If you had written this for your girlfriend or even a lover that you lost it would be nice, but it's about a pop-star you have never met so it's pathetic.

>>24838518
Dogshit, as usual. Fuck off.

>>24837169
This is a poem I wrote too for my love eternal, Ms. Hayley Williams

When someone cums, your hair
reflects the spawn. A breeding wisp,
a mushroom kiss – abundant with pair.
As thick as your laugh, as thick as your wrists.

When someone cums, your hair
reflects the scars. The closest male,
'atozoa’s tail – familiar and bare.
As fun as your frown, more sperm on your shell.

>>24837176
Depends on the culture and era. A Swedish poet from 1890 is mostly using the same conceptual vocabulary as a Dane or an Anglo and they're mostly thinking about similar things from a shared "zeitgeist" so it's relatively easy to translate.
Words and concepts gather different baggage, in one culture invoking a concept may imply connections to ideas that never occurred to you, maybe with severe negative connotations.
We will never fully grasp the full context of ancient texts but the more we understand about the wider culture the more meaning we can gleam. Not even knowing the language is enough and obviously translations are even worse.

>>24838695
Thank you for the feedback friend. I knew that guy on /mu/ was full of shit.
>>24839190
Don't you dare fucking mock my true love you worthless, scumsucking neanderthal.
>>24838518
Don't listen to that other anon, this is quite good. It's very vivid and imagist in style. Almost feels like a psalm or parable.

>>24837248
What does this mean?

>>24837169
Terrible

Do trees speak?
No, they don't.
Is the sky infinite?
No, it isn't.
Are squirrels in love with life?
No, they aren't.
Will the leader take a stand?
No, he won't.
Are the people strong?
No, they aren't.
Is the moon as bright as it has ever been?
No, it isn't.
Has anything changed in the last two hundred thousand years?
No, it hasn't.
Are there any gods?
No, there aren't.
Can a metaphor be a metaphor for everything?
No, it can't.
Will people listen to me if I speak?
No, they won't.
Is a man free to choose his profession?
No, he isn't.
Are the histories true?
No, they aren't.
Is the verdict just?
No, it isn't.
Are the animals coming back?
No, they aren't.
Can you live off the wild plants and trees?
No, you can't.
Is the music inspired?
No, it isn't.
Can I laugh and dance without shame?
No, you can't.
Are the rituals potent?
No, they aren't.
Have I seen my own nature?
No, you haven't.
Is this world a dream?
No, it isn't.
Is there a cure for every disease?
No, there isn't.

Have I seen the world as it is?
Yes, you have.
Is the number of numbers infinite?
Yes, it is.
Will the ocean become calm?
Yes, it will.
Are the people resilient?
Yes, they are.
Can the mind learn?
Yes, it can.
Are the squirrels going to survive the winter?
Yes, they are.
Can I eat the flower of the dandelion?
Yes, you can.
Will the monarch be overthrown?
Yes, he will.
Is there a way to calm the mind?
Yes, there is.
Is it wrong to condemn others?
Yes, it is.
Will I fade away at the end?
Yes, you will.
Can I jump up and down and walk back and forth?
Yes, you can.
Will the rain come?
Yes, it will.
Are there more stars than grains of sand in the world?
Yes, there are.
Is ash fertile ground?
Yes, it is.
Can a man refuse to act?
Yes, he can.
Will the leader lead his people?
Yes, he will.
Are the birds still singing?
Yes, they are.
Has mankind learned anything?
Yes, they have.
Are there enough garments to keep everyone warm?
Yes, there are.

>>24824632
The number of fractions is countable, the same number as the natural number. If you want to get another infinity you have to take the power set of the natural numbers, not just find rational numbers between them.

Son of man
I took my wings from another G

With wings not my own
I fly to the sky
Like a dragon Sky High

In the light there's darkness
In the darkness there is light

Pandora's box
Its ying and yang
I'm just an orangutang

Thus he spoke
In the heavens
I still could not see everything

He loved to hate
and still has to
love what he hates

Old alchemists gathered life,
like children born for war,
a slaughter recounted by eyes thereafter
paroxysmal shutter; god's chisel,
their hand — now
each witness, then, different angle
one, held by many, decays nevertheless
oh little friction that turns mountain to sand,
ineffable sand

The parched, catch rain's mist,
droplets pool into drink,
dressed up in foreign flavours
now —
glitching whore

where do you place the emphasis in 'ancestor'? i would say it's an-CEST-or, but webster indicates that it's AN-cest-or.

>>24842492
Probably depends on accent desu. I put the stress on the first syllable but I wouldn't find it jarring if someone put the stress on the second.

>>24842492
What made you think THIS was the place to post your inane fucking question? Retard.

>>24842501
Let me guess: You posted a poem you were really proud of in one of these threads and someone insulted it so now you spend your days getting your imagined "revenge" by calling everyone's poems shit and calling random people names.

>>24842512
Let me guess: you're a retarded fucking faggot who asks stupid question that he could have literally just googled.

>>24842522
Chill out anon. I'm not even the anon who asked. All this anger can't be good for your heart.

>>24842501
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scansion

These threads give me secondhand embarrassment.

>>24842582
Post your own work or shut the fuck up. A cringy amateur poet is infinitely more respectable than a sniveling coward who just makes fun of others because he's too afraid to offer his own creations' up for critique.

>>24842590
>creations'
How are you this retarded? Kys.

>>24842602
Oh no I made....a TYPO? On a 4CHAN post????? How will I ever recover from the humiliation...

>>24842640
It's that same clown in the McCarthy threads who calls everyone a retard for not understanding his books and then offering no explanation beyond googled master's for what they're really about.

>>24842590
>cringy amateur poet is infinitely more respectable
Lol you keep telling yourself that. You are too dumb to realize you are devoid of any literary talent (and taste), and lack any modicum of respect for the craft by presenting these cringeworthy abominations that is your """"""work"""""". I bet you think the shits you take are pieces of art too, imbecile.

>>24842730
Post work

>>24842764
He never will. Probably because he hasn't actually made a sincere attempt to write anything worth reading. And even if he has, he's far too much of a coward to open his soul up to attack like that.

>>24842730
i see a lot of weak stuff here, but i've seen some real art as well. i challenge you to show me something of yours that's better than this.

>>24842793
Kwab

>>24842835
They ate him?

>>24842913
i was not present

>>24842931
Ya but the last stanza means they were intending on it?

My cock
Nay
My fucking dick
Throbbing
Empurpled
4
U

>>24835439
Good Shit Anon

the smartwatch hums with our
every beat we believed vanished.
counting the ghosts within,
recording mountains where forgotten
hands rust into silence,
seeking what the machines cradle:
warmth alive with echoes.

I like simple words
Salt of the earth
Singing birds
And sandwiches

>>24843991
Dogshit, as usual. Stop posting your abysmal trash here. I’m sick of seeing you in every thread.

On the phone with the guy; we talk numbers
names, dates
I close my eyes and conjure beautiful pale horses
racing away in a field of pastel green.
Guy is going on and on telling me reasons to care.
I offer my yeses but all I can think about is
the irony of looking at the marvellous stars
while they're long dead.
Guy mutters about market volatility and potential risks
Says there's good consultation firms downtown.
I know, I know, but what I really want right now
is to enter the Bosch canvas and ask the inquisitor
about the violin up his arse.
If it hurts, if it can still be played, and if such fate
awaits us all.

the pain in my dark soul
a dark passenger torturing me (like dexter)
a wolf stalking prey
I'm smart and original
like the guy in that movie

>>24844788
Will you please just fuck off already. Nobody in this thread cares that you're assblasted one of your poems got criticized, go take it out on your therapist instead of us

>>24845105
I haven't posted my poetry in this thread, faggot. I'm here to critique people who actually deserve it. Your awful garbage deserves nothing but derision and scorn.

>>24845112
>I haven't posted my poetry in this thread, faggot
Then you're even more of a worthless pussy than I imagined. Promptly kys

>>24845116
No. You kill yourself, you cowardly sack of shit. Telling me to post my work when you won't even say which poems are yours is massive cope.

>>24845133
I'm the Hayley William poem poster, you already told me mine was trash but feel free to do it again if it makes you feel better. IN FACT, I'll help you out and give you 11 short poems of mine to insult and hopefully then you'll get it out of your system and leave everyone else in the thread alone:

https://pastebin.com/58BevRE4

>>24845133
Nta but he posted at least one while you haven't presented any and therefore are the coward in this situation

>>24845137
Kill yourself, faggot. Simping over some mid ran-through aging celeb slut who doesn't know you exist is the most embarrassing shit I can think of. Your poem was terrible and there's no point in me reading any of the others because they'll just be equally bad. Fucking incel loser.

>>24845151
No anon, I demand you read and critique each one. Otherwise you are just going to keep spitting your indiscriminate bile at other anons and making people afraid to post their work.

>>24845166
No, faggot. Fuck off back to /mu/ or kill yourself.

Trapped in cages so vast
they look like freedom
We never walk about for long
before returning home
What is home, and what is freedom
Half an hour on the train
between bed and
the workplace
each one of us digging his hole
and forgetting to look up.
You think you found your bottom
and then you're swallowed
How can there be dreams
in a city that never sleeps
Where nobody forgives you
for not playing

>>24842492
The main stress is on an and theres a secondary stress on cest. You could even say it’s a spondee.

>>24845137
these aren't too bad, but you should obsess yourself over a woman you actually know instead well

Be sure to read anything by the Earl of Rochester or Gerard Manley Hopkins

>>24845494
You're probably right, but I'm a hermit and don't have any friends or close contacts. And also writing poems about a celebrity feels less creepy to me than writing poems about an everyday crush since celebrities are used to people obsessing over them. Like, I'd feel really bad if I got a crush on a girl and she found out I was writing poems about her and got scared.

>>24834732
This cant be serious kek

>>24842764
Posting here counts as publications. It would therefore be rejected by any mag worth anything. Here is where poems come and die. That's why all of then suck

>>24845751
I don't need more money or recognition, I need you to read my shitty 2 minute poems. The best result is when someone is inspired to write something with similar themes.

>>24845137
Not the guy you were addressing, to be clear, just a random passer-by. But here is a poem I have written on the basis of your 7th.

Glory! I sing. To what? Who knows?
Your face! Your gait! Your Heav'nly toes!
Glory! Unto their skin (so pale!),
And unto every ingrown nail!
And, as I raise my roving eyes
To yours, and lesser organs rise,
My fancy starts to swim. A sense of dread

And glory! To your gaping hole,
Your feet again shall I extol!
More glory! To your tongue, whose song
Entrances me, enslaves my schlong!
And glory! Glory! To your ears
(I'd whisper there my deepest fears).
And fears I have. You're only in my head.

>>24845998
I love it, anon. Despite the occasional crassness. I don't like to be crass in my poems about Hayley because it feels disrespectful. But I'm just glad my work could inspire someone else to write of unrequited love and heavenly beauty. Here, have a Hayley pic to reward a job well done.

>>24845810
Well sorry but I aint

Wo bald das Firmament gefriert
Dunkel nicht der Sonne wartet
Grün schon mit dem Braun liiert
Abwärts fallnde Schwingen schlagend

Wo jetzt noch Gold den Abend grüßt
Flügelkeil zur Sonne startet
Kahles Feld vom Wind geküsst
Himmelseis aus Wolken hartet

>>24824952
>dead leaves are not dead, but live eternally.
Explain this line.

>>24846403
You already did. It's too late for you, the memetic spells have taken hold and there's no way to unread a poem.

>>24845191
There's dirt on my feet
It is a combination of
Ashes
Cat hair
Dust
Pollen
Dog hair...
We don't even have a dog.
Well,
Not anymore,
Anyway.

"We,"
As if there were anything but
Isolation
To be found here.
I laugh,
A hollow sound in an empty room.
And then I put on some socks.

Gabapentin dreams!
I'm unclean.
Unclean!

All is given to dirt.

Entropy.

My memories are filthy -
I cannot get clean!

My guts fell out.

God left me here to die!
Impossible to force
a single tear
from my eye -

Stranded and abandoned.

I know that I could
make it, but
I cannot seem to try.

Screaming, sprawling,
Suspending all feeling,

Wounded, bleeding,
Incapable of healing -

A pig in its filth.

She left me here to die.

I wonder if she
took the time to
fake she hadn't cried.

Before she went back -
There were tears in my eyes -

All I had to give her was
a smile and
a sigh -

I didn't even try.

She left me here to die.
She left me here to cry.
She left me with a lie -

She left me.

>>24847548
>I wonder if she
>took the time to
>fake she hadn't cried.

>Before she went back -
>There were tears in my eyes -

What do you mean by “fake she hadn’t cried?”

>>24847778
It doesn't quite make sense because it's referring to something very specific. I'm not a good enough writer to actually work it into the poem, but I also can't remove it, because it's emotionally important to me. You could read it as "Did she make herself look like she hadn't cried before we broke up?", probably.

The actual event was that my ex girlfriend called me drunk from outside of a party to tell me that she'd slept with her other ex boyfriend. She kept slurring "I'm so sorry, I love you," over and over, while crying. I wondered if she fixed her makeup before she went back to the party. The poem was written for this event, but isn't specifically about it.

Ro
I'm an incel
You became successful
Lucky you
Dodged a bullet
At least one of us made it
Those odds are good

>>24847548
die
eye
try
die
cried
smile
sigh
try
die
cry
lie

aye yaye yaye

>>24847947
aye

>>24847921
The poem sucks lmao

>>24847947
Rhyming is hard. Gomen. Maybe you'll like this one better.

Silver chip.
Go away, silver chip.
Begone from my floor.
I see you watching me,
Judging.
I've read the prayer,
On your plastic surface.
I remember it.
I've gotten texts,
calls,
pleas.
From well meaning people.
I've read the book,
Many,
many times.

What have you done for me?

Silver chip,
I'd throw you away,
It just seems so...
Sacrilegious.
Is He listening?
Watching?
Have you spoken?
I want so terribly
to hear
His voice.

Would that you'd catch him
In your reflection!

All the trees are
Bleeding, discarding
Their furs,
Shedding skin.
A time of changes, but
You're the same,
Aren't you?
Me too.
Just me,
and you,
and Jack.
We'll see who lasts longest.

>>24847982
Yeah.

>>24848019
Don't listen to him anon. He's a faggot who stomps through trashing every poem in this thread, probably because he once posted a poem on this board and was eviscerated and his ego has never recovered. Your technique could definitely use some polishing and you have much room to grow, but you undeniably have talent and don't let him or any other jaded cunt try to convince you otherwise.

At Trompington, not far from Niggervale
Beside the woods, there stands a jail
Whose inmates count, as of today
Thieves, and thugs, and Cho Seung-Hui.

I opened the cellar door
There was a monster there
"These chains make me sore
and tangle my golden hair"

The monster softly spoke
Blue eyes in the dark
Closed the door before I broke
Before she broke my heart

There's beauty, if you'll take it, in a fart.
Just let one rip, and call it art.
Beyond an airless strain, yet not a shart.
God's goldilocks, apart.
Breathe, and be lost, in its enriching dart
From bowels to heart.

>>24848227
Love it

>>24848101
Good