Is originality the essence of good poetry?

love kitten is a scary whore
with beaten face and beaten hole
mad like lions in the jungle
beautiful girl of the pictures
bared her good whitish teeth
with her short hair and soft shirt
kind and lovely as the sun in July
passed the exams tomorrow morning
no steam in the cold air from her mouth
her eyes look like globes, accurately
covered with colored paper
spherical chest of Plato
the nose is like a dam side
strawberry story of love made
she meet the Dajal in her glory
she chase me and run me
oh, think of me babe

poetry is only good if you can convince me it's good

I appreciate the inclusion of a luso poet my lad, but you're comparing three modernists with three classicists. If you want to name Iberian poets to compete with Yeates, Pound and Eliot, try Pessoa, Lorca and Marinetti.

our love
turned sour
like PICKLE RIIIIIIIICK

straight lines turn into circles fuck
always, brother, always, as in 1946
square frequencies turn into stars
always, always, as in November last year
faithful comrades turn into angels
always, brother, always, as in 2016
dab of ranch turns into linear growth
always, always, always, as you do
sweet pieces put you in a trance
smell that faces and hands, bro
cooler than a jokeman as is it can be
shake her hand last time in New Year

Originality is overrated. Maybe even worthless.

The secret to great poetry is familiarity.

And it's not good.

deck is a dick you have to lick
murderer in the house you know
blinked eyes her made in Gaussian
stormy weather wear keep and grow
Pessoak is made by GODS and GUTS
shake shake shake your mind and budy

the world gonna to end
and the devil is a growth
white house is black now
youtubers seeing it

who is she

That was the point. Originality did not make the Cantos better than Os Lusiadas. Most of the Cantos is quite impossible to read. Os Lusiadas is always a great poem, it keeps the quality.

Classicism, though less original, produced better poets than modernism.

my penis is a root
into this earthly domain
functional yet obtuse
like frozen sticke of milk
used to make pvc style windows
in this dolls house
from afghanistan
we are all of us trying to squeeze into
the
same
undersized
shoes

youtu.be/GRq4EAbhheE
op’s muse

Her names August, like the season, frigid with a serene beauty, just like she is

I would call her Augustus, if it was just us, and ask her if she might want to grease me up and roam

Why is it that liberal women are so often intensely beautiful while almost all young liberal men are soft and ugly?

feminine people are attracted to liberalism
feminine woman = cute
feminine man = numale

Women's openness makes them predisposed to the left. They can easily be converted to soft right center though

damn. That sounds right.
I wonder if there is some correlation of testosterone and rationality. The black guy in that video seemed miles above the rest of the protesters in rationality and even headedness.

How any of you spergs find that ugly troll attractive I'll never know.

He's probably just secure in himself

play can be fun can be real maybe

feminine aesthetic is pretty based, though. I rather a numale over a manly man.

Then you're either a butch woman or a timid man.

Wrong
Craft and emotion are separate and complementary, but emotion is the senior partner in this relationship. A piece with an abundance of emotion but a lack of craft is loveable, while a piece with an abundance of craft yet no emotion is wankery

No. Metaphors are the essence of good poetry.

a lust as ephemeral as a summers breeze
as old as time yet groundbreaking
your smile is the ketosis of my mind
Truly the Google Pixel 2 XL of loves

>kurtosis*
One might say I made a mistake as profound as NOT BUYING THE GOOGLE PIXEL 2 XL while it's still hot hot hot!

Form, style, restraint, and passion are the essence of good poetry.

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STAHP

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I have a really hard time with poetry. I think I still haven't really grasped the concept. I feel like I'm just gonna be ebin prose guy forever, but I want to enjoy poetry

last one I promise, enjoy them, these are the essence of good poetry

last one, one of my favs

there is no "essence" of good poetry because good poetry is not a universal concept.

try this if you're really interested in learning
4chanlit.wikia.com/poetry

The perfect balance between familiarity and unfamiliarity, the same as with sexual partners

Also, technique. Actually, technique is most important.

you mean a pretty boy not a nu-male
i 100% agree

these have taken on a new meaning. every time I see them they seem different and representative of something I cant quite express. not sexually, just enigmatically, beyond the physical beauty, there is some unsaid theme, a sadness perhaps. Maybe it's the cold gear, the shadows around her eyes the small diversion outwards of her pupils. This is a troubled soul and we are here ingesting that essence, but why? to what end?

= 1
= 2
= 3
= 4
= 5
= 6
= 7
= 8
= 9
= 0
Roll, last digit is her reaction when she sees your cock

>Marinetti
>Iberian
Wat

ROLL
ING

I will not debase myself to this foolishness

please be 9

Maybe it's also the "GIVE UP" sign behind her.

fpbp

I too will not debase myself to this foolishness

>thin lips
>beautiful

Get a load of this guy.

rowl

Beauty is about the aesthetic relation of parts not the parts having to adhere to some ideal of a part, and even if it were that way, the idea that only one ideal exists per part is ludicrous.

my penis grows
just as my love
for her
but ill never be

with her

It's describing something familiar in an original way imo.

If you write about something unique to your circumstances, it won't resonate with the reader. A good poem grabs the essence of something I've felt or seen in a way I've never heard before.

Btw original doesn't mean Veeky Forums-tier "You have to read it backwards while tilting your head 45 degrees to the left with one eye closed and humming Seven nation army and fingering a Thai prostitute."
Random spacing and pointless words all over the place is original, but it's worthless junk, it has no point but "artistic" masturbation.

Clever use of sounds, metaphors and other poetic tools is where it's at.

You must be:
>aware of history, the theory, and the masters
>creative enough to find new modes of expression for the familiar emotions

Geography is not my strong suit, user. You know that.

Hnngg.

Roll

'No'

Well shit..

originality is gay

Kek

Girlie mad hole of bunny bones
Bears her stolen coat and soviet code
We embrased her shocked, unusually
We capitally try to dry, seriously
Like man standing in white hills
Angels are wrong and write bills
Should I get some stuff here or there
Shall we overcome theae bastards?
Nuclear anus of solar king is fired
Magicians tried to cheat ya bro
Nigger is bothering thunder of gore
We more than objective facts you know
We are one of the ancient dream of animal
We know we so radical like licker of country guitar
Lick chess winner or silicon Valley nigger
Less your whores blew down more you get
Less these ffighting bushes low down more you set
Do it right girl like it plane parade
With elephant of masonic grade
Read twice my message to you
Do not cry into heaven, bye, like you

Science does a better job at finding the ideal than philosophy. Is this because scientists are chats and philosophers are virgins?

Why the fuck are women's faces so much more expressive than men?

Woman are usually more intelligent, thats why liberal is more appealling.
Men just want to fuck those girls, so they follow them, even if that mean change your ideas.

What is "clever?" Is it whatever you like? Is it slam? Is it the cantos?

jj

It s a mad thing, sad thing
Book I tried to reed to difficult
Madness is sunny weather like tits
Angel is too hot to see her
Angel is too strong beaten by yoy
More intellegent us you all
Fuck the faces and decks
Desks and disks, fatal lucid dreams
Lewis and Bims, Hugos and Nimbs

Science cannot find an ideal, that's nonsense.

Nope. That comes from the assumption that art is about originality. Reminds me of a long-haired 15 yr old that plays an out of tune guitar and thinks he's unique for it. (yes I'm projecting)

Good poetry uses good meter.

No but intuition is.

The origin of all good things is Good itself.

You, american people shouldn't even speak about poetry.

post your favorite non america poem/s

...

No

good post

in englis plz

lol

Enter and take the tying of the eyes,
this is the green stamp your dream:
Where wings sirren, Russell suck nectar,
elder in fall light foam
exudes, shall be unto thee the staff the hazel good
and snake prevents as guardian of the hem,
rejuvenated skin, on which the seal flash,
your main, of the dew of the first day to drink.

Go through the green Empire as the name of the encoder
on trips, your dream deeply familiar,
Bemiss milk the wolf, the seasoning the boar,
jewelry your helmet with purple orchid,
Silk Glanzer like the clouds Weber
customs your spell, and on the snake skin
entziffre what the Founder of the collars
in the heart has and what it wishes to preach.

First you will, the glances at the floor
as the pictures stapled, sovereign,
the stalk the hair in the hexen-ei the testicles
in the stem of the deer and the spear erspahn,
where you tempt you with the moss moist Loden,
slip in the rock, the spores changer usan
of light, and floats the swan before thy neck,
do you immune from each cave mouth.

Anyone who is in the calibration forest after the single-leaf bowed,
have also the nests in the tops eight,
whom eagle fern and rosemary entzuckte,
has in its honeycomb rich costume,
and that you have still no hen, which succeeded in creating,
hope you: that thee in the night the unicorn
notes, you entruckend to the source,
the silver sprays on lamb and rams' skins dyed red.

Not only the ore in the cool cave twilight,
not only the depth you are facing,
as a shield at the pond and as schilf-durchkammer
dost thou on pig and otter thy hand,
where you from the Blackbird sang and Specht Geha mber
the clearing sounds, sling your lilies band
to the ring and gilts, oak to climb,
you still always the first in the branches.

Listening to the Hoh, the Adler has cried by
the wind from the earth seduces throw load,
the smooth base with the poor and with knees
clutching, seek you on to the sure AST,
ready to pull you up even further,
the harsh hand claws in the bast,
and from the eyrie liftest you the eagle young
to light with a firm grip and sharp turns.

Snow White in the material, the earliest, his plumage
is able to dazzle your rulers
ahnst view, you that it is not adversely affected your system,
you can see your lot linked to his skill,
you senkst him gently in its cradle is low,
you draw you from the suspension shy back
and come down, transformed and exalted to
prunken white in the office of the eagle boys.

Cries from the forest hem, look in the Ried verschwistert
the garlic rocket with the larks porn,
Pfluck from the grass, inside the leis erknistert occurs
the Wiesels, white The Aron rod in the mandrel
of the bramble listen to what the Wind Dir whispers,
made from fresh sources of supply your born,
that when wild smell the Maien
Verschlug scents, the broom flowering from your hips.

Where once the noise the sceptre of pans you swan rocks,
return the hears and turn thee, thou
of the forest wonders never frugal sangest,
obsessed by swallow Wurz and Mrs shoe,
the southern slope. Through the valley where you rock,
closes behind you scrub the paths to,
and only the most hold the weapon carrier
buzzing before the end you as the Traum-Aufprager.

In the shadow of the oak thou shalt rest
last, wood dove attracts you with Gegurr,
where moth you the cheek gently most beta,
forget you, thread spinning and networks lashing,
the hunter is his Waidwerk The Erblassten,
stag beetles to sojourn in the Brunst-Gesurr,
and that in the grass snake would,
swung you as a crown around the temples.

So put you off with velvet comfort
at the hem of the fire, where with red lips
of the Salamander watch, let horns protrude
in foliage, pour the wine and break the bread,
let your spear the tent of the stars,
as long as the panicle silver Soma loht
and until the monitor his band make attert,
blow in the glut of ash fuzz umflattert.

A Hold Arom of zimmet and lemon
surges on blood heads pink-white,
the goddess opens your lap the sons that
blood and ether him the flame dining,
who experienced this trend, the heischt not hear nor crown,
who here verse Anke, sang the sickle price,
and where the Asch Wurz your polished metals
del eight, let you in their catches cases.

The Huldin Besteh, pass the grove
and messengers that you ram-hauptig draun,
and track the samtnen swing are spread
on the game of owls shalt thou erfreun,
and knowing that the spell that directs you to
the guardian of twelve are and the heads of nine,
let the smell verweh, eh, the night is tilt,
the mussel gluhn, that you are the God dissaving dough.

The god of the forests, ancient-boy,
the bush that burns, einsog he Arom
with poppy in hair and purple on the tongue,
Hinflutend on the moon light cool power,
he settles, lost in the Eagle turns
the runic ripe and before the holders cathedral
in the ash material, in the eagle material, in the gray,
you take the gold of the dream of his claws.

LOL

>obsessed by swollen wurz

when is the poem from

Look guys! I wrote an original American poem! A very erotic one!
Here it goes:

the garlic rocket with the larks porn,
and until the monitor his band make attert,
Verschlug scents, the broom flowering from your hips.
the stalk the hair in the hexen-ei the testicles
obsessed by swallow Wurz and Mrs shoe,
at the hem of the fire, where with red lips
to light with a firm grip and sharp turns
is able to dazzle your rulers
blow in the glut of ash fuzz umflattert
prunken white in the office of the eagle boys
made from fresh sources of supply your born