Fairly drunk and ready to give advice to you shitty poets (with some talent sprinkled within). Rather you want a poem judged or general advice, let this thread be your home.
I frequent this board, so those who tend to post poems, try and keep them fresh. will personally disregard poems I've seen often enough.
heart in a condition that needs conditioning
stuck inside a system with global positioning
speakers so cheap i guarantee people listening
beaker of serendipity see what i'm envisioning
What in the fuck does a heart in condition look like/feel like? What/how in hell is it being conditioned?
What the fuck is a beaker of serendipity?
Go to mu and write song lyrics, and from the quality of your meter, write at best NAS tier rap
the first line is a play on words. heart conditions are bad and that is reflected by the "needs conditioning" part
beaker of serendipity was shoehorned in, i'll give you that. It's supposed to be an allusion to lsd
I hope your prose is better than your poetry.
Under her brow the snowy wing-case
delivers truly the surprise
of days which slide under sunlight
past loose glass in the door
into the reflection of honour spread
through the incomplete, the trusted. So
darkly the stain skips as a livery
of your pause like an apple pip,
the baltic loved one who sleeps.
Or as syrup in a cloud, down below in
the cup, you excuse each folded
cry of the finch's wit, this flush
scattered over our slant of the
day rocked in water, you say
this much. A waver of attention at
the surface, shews the arch there and
the purpose we really cut;
an ounce down by the water, which
in cross-fire from injustice too large
to hold he lets slither
from starry fingers
noting the herbal jolt of cordite
and its echo: is this our screen, on some
street we hardly guessed could mark
an idea bred to idiocy by the clear
sight-lines ahead. You come in
by the same door, you carry
what cannot be left for its own
sweet shimmer of reason, its false blood;
the same tint I hear with the pulse it touches
and will not melt. Such shading
of the rose to its stock tips the bolt
from the sky, rising in its effect of what
motto we call peace talks. And yes the
quiet turn of your page is the day
tilting so, faded in the light.
I'm just saying that while I understand lyric is a form a poetry, it, in the form you've presented, is in the lower tier. I didn't even touch on line three man, it's, and I mean the whole stanza itself as well, not very quality.
My heart goes out to you,
and I hope yours does so to me,
for I thought I would go poop
but turned out that it was pee.
>lyric is a form a poetry
why did i ask you for english advice
Nothing like browsing Veeky Forums at night
searching for a recommendation thread.
But there is none in my sight,
I'll have a poetry one instead.
user says he is fairly drunk,
At a Friday night, what a punk!
He wants so offer good advice
when a single complement would suffice.
And here I am doing my best
hoping user will be impressed.
Will my poem be good enough?
This guy might be a bit rough!
But what is this thing that I just frame?
Unchecked quads! What a shame!
The only thing that must be done,
one one one one, nice quads, I check'em on.
If you don't think you wrote in anything other than poor quality lyric then you are fucking clueless.
This is technically sound. The meter stays consistent and relatively smooth. Wing-case is one if the choppier segments of meter yet it helps that it is early. There is some decent imagery, though at times it tends to get a little convoluted in that you attempt to tie the imagery together out of fairly random jumps. You go to water with no location or containment out of nowhere in stanza two and then by stanza three we're back to a street with no real transition besides your whim. I feel this embodies reading a book, and on the whole it captures it well enough if it is your intention. But I am not reading many times over to fully grasp what you are sharing, I'm simply assessing from at most a few reads to grade on technique and initial impression
Good enough for on the spot, copy-paste formatting. Recommendation is, and quite literally as well, a stretch though.
I meant if you think*, not don't think
so you're mad that you had to have someone explain such a basic verse to you, i get that.
don't lash out at me though, you have only yourself and the budweiser boys to blame
>someone
>why did I ask
lmao go and write more 2deep4me poetry and ask your mom or reddit about it if you don't want real advice
Plant a tree in the courtyard of the ruins
Clouds follow the television static
I plunge my hand into the television screen
pull out the transmitter
and the static went straight to me
an unknown program
project the signal, this channel says too much
i never said my shit was 2deep4u
you asked for an explanation and when I gave you one you got mad that you were too stupid to realize the point the first read through.
my shit is not that deep, i am aware. at least I can visit Veeky Forums without making an ass of myself
I'm flying through the air
Am I fast, or is everyone slow?
People scrambling to avoid me
I'm rushing dead ahead
The man's face begins to contort
Folding, opening, stretching
I reach out and embrace his softness
Settling inside the warmth
At least now I can rest
follow me to a moonlit stream
and let me tell you my dream
i was old and alone,
fighting a cold and drafting
a letter when i dropped dead
an angel came and took me
to a whimsical pageant of me.
i laughed and cried and cried,
unpacked the spent time and
yearned for yesterday's glory.
i awoke and now i speak to you.
my friend, Now is the time to use.
collect the pebbles of your fancy
and trust life's fitful eddies.
Is this about Vore, Anal Vore, or both (aka full tour vore)?
This might genuinely be one of the funniest things I've read on this board.
Plant a tree in the courtyard of ruins
Clouds follow television static--
I plunge my hand into the screen,
pull out the transmitter,
and the static went straight to me.
an unknown program;
project the signal, this channel says too much
Note the effect the changes I made had on the meter and improved the fluidity but removing filler words and tightening punc.
This is all around really bad, worse than fpwp. Contrived, cliche, abstractions out the ass (which still doesn't get), rhythmically incoherent, no impact, and (in all forms) unimpressive.
Hurtful.
nice one kanye
you're trash
this is really nice
please keep writing
Ignore your ego and then it becomes honest
>This is all around really bad
Yet your own "poetry" is just as godawful. Shit dude maybe learn something before you critique.
Tf you on man I haven't posted shit in this thread, I said I'm just critiquing
This thread is pretty carcinogenic to be perfectly honest to my family
...
technically sound.
but dangerously verging on cliché
Is this thread dead? Was going to drop a few poetic lines.
Beneath the Garden
Bury me beneath the garden,
On a grey Winter’s morning,
And you can come visit next Spring.
You'll see; I'm not done with you yet.
I may become a rose’s petals:
Crimson, sweet, and proudly blooming.
Or maybe God will see more fit
And turn me, rather, into a thorn
That pricks the hand that ignores it
In favor of the proud and crimson petals.
Or might I bloom a brighter flower;
Like daises, buttercups, or lilies.
Something that in April showers
Glistens in the dew drop after,
And only serves you to remind
Of how much has passed the time
Since they buried me
Beneath the garden.
Or better yet, I’ll spawn a weed,
So I may come again to lead
a life I had already led before;
To lead a life that’s nothing but a chore.
Tear my roots up from the ground
I don’t belong here anymore now,
than I did when I was here before.
I don’t belong here, buried
Beneath the garden.
Toss me in with the compost,
Where my second life can end
The way my first was meant to close:
Swallowed in earth-
Devoured by worms.
This is all I ever deserved.
To end up rotting,
Underneath the garden.
Life Is -
Then;
It Isn't
Life is pain
Ought to be, the inescapable, existential kind,
Very rarely self inflicted.
Everyone said:
"Avoid the pain"
Long enough, and
Lo, what remains?
The folly wasn't that, you see,
I believed in shortcuts,
Formally exchanging the gears,
Forging a kinder fate.
And we said:
Never a knife, Never a verse, for
Your family cursed
Plenty Peruvian Voodoo,
Ultimately,
Love, a heroine, archetypes bloom.
Lower, I'm told.
Inevitably delaying the gratification,
Is, and always will be
Normality. So:
First the Acid,
Then the Base,
"Christ..."
Pouring the bleach,
Your ankle snapped.
I pick up a needle
And some thread,
Stitching roses,
around her forehead.
"That sounds like a couplet."
So maybe,
I can't bear the pain.
But she can
Bear mine.
On Ascension
Why do you carry the rag?
To remind me where I come from
Why is the rag silk?
To remind me where I'm going
Sounds like good rap ie shitty poetry
Shitty reply doug
hey poets what's your opinion on translations is it possible should it be verse should it be reinterpretation I just want to read Schiller and Novalis
agreed
I'm street yo
but i'm also
educated. adjective order matters. otherwise?
ya headed 4 disaster.
Y'all feel me?
liberal arts niggas represent
peace
Any feedback is appreciated thanks. I'm still new to this and don't particularly understand the fundamentals and so on.
The man stands
before a drop.
Knocking down cans
and crushing them up,
with legs hidden behind
a blue curtain they vanish.
---
Drops of fragrance drip
past her brow and mesh with
the tears that cascade toward the ground.
She weeps and tries
to contain her cries,
but in hindsight
she could suffer all she liked
for there is no one to hear them.
She dwells deep inside his brain.
He stares and then sighs.
Acknowledging her Self,
her pain and questions why
does she continue to exist when
her flower cannot bloom?
Perhaps it isn’t a choice, but fate
that drew them to this room that reeks
of misery and solitude.
50 cents to play.
A cheap price, perhaps, but compounded, a mountain.
Coins drop into the machine,
rolling into rusted coffers,
In a frantic attempt to fill its metal innards
Busybody employees take what’s been given.
It goes on like this for many years.
Eventually, the machine begins to fall apart,
Until it ceases to function altogether.
Open up its jaw,
Push coins between its lips,
Pray for one more game.
I really enjoy the repetition, and, unlike a lot of the other stuff posted here, it's not overtly pretentious. My only issue is that the concept is a bit of a spent platitude, but you worked fairly well
...
dude cherry blossoms
we blossom, we fall, we die
we get high
beauty's cereal
i mean cerebral
beauty isn't beauty
shortlivedness is beauty
my man
for a moment only
to appear and disappear
falling cherry blossoms
op here, dudes gotta sleep. I'll be dropping more crits when I get my coffee
When stars align and seers parlay,
When omens govern love and hate,
The world goes on its merry way.
There are no gods, there is no fate.
The innards of birds and hexagrams,
Games of children, broken slates,
Advice from priests, from charlatans,
The world is cruel; there is no fate.
Poetry and translation is very finicky because it so heavily emphasizes the literal natural of the words being used and their very specific use within the meter as well. I'd recommend both forms of translation for one will stay truest to the ideas whereas one will stay truest to the form. But it is highly unlikely you nay find a translation which preserves both, so don't worry too much about it and accept that it will always be degraded or altered
*the literal nature
Always to me beloved was this lonely hillside
And the hedgerow creeping over and always hiding
The distances, the horizon's furthest reaches.
But as I sit and gaze, there is an endless
Space still beyond, there is a more than mortal
Silence spread out to the last depth of peace,
Which in my thought I shape until my heart
Scarcely can hide a fear. And as the wind
Comes through the copses sighing to my ears,
The infinite silence and the passing voice
I must compare: remembering the seasons,
Quiet in dead eternity, and the present,
Living and sounding still. And into this
Immensity my thought sinks ever drowning,
And it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea.
yo dog stop playing
you're the one who's paying
paying the price
of tons of rice
you can't even eat
you can't even store it properly you damn fool
god is cool
time to smoke some weed
While it's nice enough and simple with a good connotation, like the other guy said, it's also cliche. A very typical beginner step in poetry and you should keep practicing, reading established poets, and studying various poetic devices and technicalities.
Again, this is nice, and simple enough to grasp, but as well isn't outstanding. You have enjoyable images and sentiments but what the other user before said stands true. You also have moments where your meter loses its strength such as L2 in S3. Might you try their singular forms instead:
>like a daisy, buttercup, or lily
or in L4 in S3, same instance:
>glistens in a few drop after
A little more consistency in your line breaks could benefit your flow, and I mist admit by S5 the poem begins to feel a little drug through the mud rather than pure inspiration. Then by L2 S8 you outright state the entirety of the purpose of the poem and images leading up to it, which is a poor choice in my book, and really shows to me that the poem should've ended before then. Keep working at this piece and keep at poetry in general.
Life isn't;
Then--
It isn't.
>Life is pain
Stopped there my fambalam
Oddly enough I quite like this; but I can only say because of personal choice. There's nothing technically outstanding about it. It's just well contained and impressive (in it's literal sense).
You're relying too heavily on your rhyme over your meter. I'm just going to alter a few of your lines from the start of S2 and I want you to notice the effect it has on reading them:
>Drops of fragrance drip
>beyond her brow and mesh with
>tears cascading to the ground.
Normally it's not sound advice to suggest ing words but I wanted to keep it as close to your idea while still establishing a sense of meter, which is the point of my changes. You've got a sense of imagery and keeping time, but now you should focus on how to construct a sensible meter which plays into the piece and draws the reader in. Rhyme poetry is good when done well, but metrically sound poetry divides the good from the established.
Really the same advice as I have given in the reply just above yours in the post. Small filler words are flexible in their use or lack thereof. In L5 simply removing 'a' greatly improves the established meter from the lines before. Busybody is one syllable to many and causes a fissure in meter when following with employee, try reading the line with 'busy-ish' instead. Little changes make a world of difference in poetry. The poem itself isn't bad, but you still have much to grow and learn. Keep at it.
I can't say I like dude in your first line, but I also can't say I hate the poem. You've got something here, yet the whole thing is lackluster in form (even considering it is intended).
Structurally sound. A little contrived, and unoriginal. But it's by no means 'bad'. I just wouldn't say it's good either. It's simply a poem.
Really fantastic, there's a lack of grammar and consistent meter here, but it's only a minor detraction from the very impressive imagery. Highly evocative. Like I said with meter, maybe switch around scarcely and can to improve the flow there; little things such as. Though I understand the gravity of the imagery, words like infinite and eternity should be used with great consideration and is not exactly commendable. But the poem is very consistent and draws the reader along nicely with very little static and inconsistency.
A veces (o casi siempre)
tras haber reptado mucho
hasta tres tardes enteras
deponía los motetes
los sonetos cervantinos
y las láminas de arte manierista
entonces prefería
inclinarme estirarme despidiendo
los yambos los trágicos yambos los negros
sobre diamantes de sangre
Luego seguía reptando
>negros
that's racist bruh
No, I'm kidding. I don't speak Spanish/Portuguese though, and I'm afraid of running it through any sort of translator and loosing quality. Hopefully someone else can give you some respectable advice.
I like the way it sounds, but can't decipher what it means. Could you please tell me?
For example, could you tell me what the "snowy wing-case" under her brow refers to? Or the "days which slide under sunlight"?
I'm new to poetry and can't interpret content very well.
Like I said in my crit, I'm fairly sure it's about a book. Think of holding open a hardcover by each cover. The cover would be the brow and the pages spread open would be the wing case. The days sliding under sunlight could be the turn of pages beneath the light for you need light to see and read them.
Just my interpretation, like I said, I didn't write it