Poetry critique thread

When I was a child,
My mother laid me on my bed.
Now that I am a man,
I lay down my body of my own accord.
The time has changed.
The place has changed.
The bed has changed.
The body has changed.
Every atom that was in my childhood body,
Has been replaced by a different atom.

Yet, I still remain.

When I am old at last,
My body will lay down of its own accord,
Its bed will be the ground,
All its atoms will scatter and dissolve.

Yet, I will remain.

The sun's ray is colourless,
Containing all colours.
Shining through the living flowers,
Each separate colour is revealed.
Out of one Being, comes many.
The many reflects the glory of the One.

nice ideas but you express them in a very dry way

It was a summer of heaven and a winter of hell-Alex Jones

As a fool,
I mistake beauty's fragments,
For Beauty herself.

As wise,
I perceive Beauty,
In each of her fragments.

The greatest sadness is to fall in love,
The greatest happiness is to rise to it:
To love what is above before what is below.

this fucking guy replying to everything with the same picture

O stars, I look up at you,
And something greater looks back at me.
If my soul was not born up there,
Then why does it feel such homesickness?
I look at these children of eternity,
My mind undergoes a double trembling:
For above this mystery, there is a greater mystery.

Deep in the ocean there is a pearl,
So deep no child of man has touched it.
Deep in the ground a treasure chest,
Buried long ago and held never since.
Deep in the sky there is a star,
So far away no eye has seen it.
Therefore, I have hid the memory
Of your beauty deep within me.
I tell you this, so when you are old,
And your beauty is lost to the world,
You might find it deep within me.

where the sea stretched out into oblivion,
where the sea lengthened itself into eternity,
where the sea touched the horizon,
where the sea curved around the globe and became the worlds edge;
where there was no horizon, just a wash of space air and water. all melded together.
__

crumbled up bronze stuffed between the cracks in your ribs. all choking out the beat of your heart. all like, making it hard to speak & face the crowd. it's tough? you're not tougher.

A young boy, barely a man,
Lays sunken in his bed,
With nobody to pity him,
Though he deserves to be pitied.
He speaks to his older self:
"If you see out of this suffering,
Promise me, you will not
Try to describe it to anyone.
When you are past it, you will not
Be able to remember what it was like."
Then he weeps over himself,
As if he is his own son.

Don't worry, brother,
Your suffering is necessary for now,
But it will not last forever, and
. . . I have kept my promise.

Ecce, manus; imprinted on a sogged mattress
Logged on the side of the street
There sits a four-legged rag encased in bones
Applying lipstick with a bottle.
When, who, and why?
He will march someday against the wind
Of dollars and cabs;
To a Newer York.

Drunken poetry; all of it is shit. Sharing for posterity.

—
Here I sit with
Hand 'tween my knee
Scraping shit where
Her mouth should be

—
I don't hardly know your name
but I
Give myself to you—
But I
Think it's all an act even though
I give it my all and isn't that almost...

the same as love?

—
The lesser of her poets tell me
"write what you hear or see
among your drunken life" but I—
Who truely lives—looks at pool balls
and sees the flesh which calls
us off to our bed:

"Love me,
Please?"

—

But in the end there's only you
Among the earth that you had watered
and hoping that a seed of pain
begins to grow poetic dread

The style of this poem was an unfamiliar one to write in.
____

Threading to needle cloths a frock coat
a breath that expands and same fuels its expansion
a breath that takes itself just for you
and unravels with each pass through your lips
the weaving of you and the sinew.

Yet your own sips remain invisible;
the hollows 'neath the bars that form the cage
impress so easily; the blade therein discovered
compresses '.gainst a ruined carpus' pry
and serrati slips slip passively by.

The eyes dream an overcast sky.
Neither can be told the colour
of the destroyed under-shirt
to the coat discarded aside.
The prize of bruises is yet due.
The blows perhaps were one too few:
Down ticks the wrath five, four, three, two,
and with one, fractures off a tok-
en obal for the ferryman.

And then once I am empty-handed,
relieved, I linger with a pen
that wonders - if by the brok-
en rib it was - that your heart lived
again.

I enjoyed the rhythm, desufam. Good syncopation if that's the right word.

Very beautiful.

This is commendable. Ackbar as the Mohammedans would say.

Good relate-able content.

It was supposed to be a sonnet, but I ended up needing two more verses. So a sonnet + 2 Original is in Portuguese (sorry for bad english in the translation)

The Loneliness of Time

His loneliness is a sea, the others are only bubbles.
He, who has in his breath a cosmic shroud,
Who blinds eagles and suns, dries souls and leaves,
Castrates mating-heats and volcanoes, silences the wind and the canary,

Gnaws the pans and the pyramids, muzzles the waltz
Of the clock and the galaxy, sour wine and veins,
He, Time, is a tyrant of false wickedness
That, without hate or pleasure, unravel our webs.

He loves creation, from the simple to the complex,
However his biography is a book of extinctions
That will ultimately make the cosmos a mirror without a reflection
Since Death rides upon his pulsations.

But when Death at last devours itself
Alone, surrounded by darkness, Time shall sit down
Without even Death withhim to hold his hand:
His is the most sad of all incarnations of solitude.

The original

A Solidão do Tempo

Sua solidão é um mar, as outras são só bolhas.
Ele, que tem no alento um cósmico sudário,
Que cega águias e sóis, resseca almas e folhas,
Castra cios e vulcões, cala vento e canário,

Rói panela e pirâmide, amordaça a valsa
De relógio e galáxia, azeda vinho e veias,
Ele, o Tempo, é um tirano de maldade falsa
Que, sem ódio ou prazer, desmancha nossas teias.

Ele ama a criação, do simples ao complexo,
Porém sua biografia é um livro de extinções
Que enfim fará do cosmo espelho sem reflexo
Já que a Morte cavalga as suas pulsações.

Mas quanto a Morte por fim auto devorar-se
Sozinho, em meio ao breu, o Tempo há de sentar-se
Sem mesmo a morte para segurar-lhe a mão:
É a sua a mais triste encarnação da solidão.

Ayrton Senna

Black serpents suffocating his mind
The untamed speedways, hypnotic mermaids
Clamoring for the caresses of the shooting star
Of his car; in his heart the despotic prayers

From the phoenix of conquest that, once hunted,
Disappeared, to be reborn on the horizon, in the distance.
More than lovers, than family and friends, he loved
The craving of going beyond. Like God to the monk

This centaur with metal bowels
Had as his goal the highest peak of the mountain.
There are those who think they are great and open champagne
By climbing hills, he sought what was fatal:

He merged to the summit, made himself one with the victory
In an alchemy of steel, asphalt, blood, and glory.

Ayrton Senna

Negras serpentes sufocando sua mente
As pistas não domadas, sereias hipnóticas
Clamando por carícias da estrela cadente
De seu carro; em seu peito as orações despóticas

Da fênix da conquista que, uma vez caçada,
Sumia, renascendo no horizonte, ao longe.
Mais que amantes, senpaiília e amigos, foi amada
Por ele a ânsia de ir além. Qual Deus ao monge

Esse centauro com entranhas de metal
Tinha por meta o pico mais alto da montanha.
Há aqueles que se creem grandes e abrem champanha
Por subir morros, ele buscou o fatal:

Fundiu-se ao cume, fez-se um só com a vitória
Numa alquimia de aço, asfalto, sangue e glória.

;_;

This is called Paki Uber Driver

Why Paki Uber driver?
Why rate me 2 stars
Tell me to get out
O Paki Uber driver?
Why do you smell so bad?
Why do you pick up drunk passanger
When you are booze free
It moves me, my Paki Uber driver
Help me navigate the world
Just dont touch
That young White girl
Paki
Uber
Driver
That will be a fiver, boss.

Ottoman troops

Dark
The dog is lost
Imagine it!
I was worried about my brother's car.

Phoenix never happened.
She was pregnant and was born again.
They kill friends and friends.
I want to go to a church that God loves.

This part of the iron
The area above
I think these people are open and open.
After City:

He won the tournament.
Blood iron and its name.

Ottoman troops

This is the source of black thinking.
Doona is a species of animal.
Email verification
How do people like your car?

End
Imagine verification. Etc.
Good people, friends and friends
Problems with Progress.

Welcome to Centaur.
This is the best goal.
Enjoy the same situation.
Do you want to die on the road?

Yes
Exit door tips and keywords.

I like it

About Moir

Everything in Mesopotamia.
What types of stars should you ask?
I remember that
Olympic games at night
Why?
Who is your friend?
If you eat alcohol
I like lily lilies.
You can help you read.
Chen Zhong Tong
Kato
United States
Glasses
Suggestions:
You ran.

Rosy waves rose over her knee
only for foam to form and then
gently fade from the shore.
Kissing the ankle of his memory.

As if suddenly aware, the girl lifts
staring before the fool with melancholy.
A yelp stabs the flat land.

The Russian rain is regulated by the bank.
Only rain
Fill the beach.
Get a mailbox.

The little girl stood up.
Start a stupid disk.
Believe the world down.

Pure white surrounded me in dark of night
Falling ashes from up high, heaven's great fire melting upon my face
Burning ice embraces my skin
Memories of the past crossing past my eyes
Ghosts gone to the great goodnight
Haunting but never appearing
Fleeting feelings

Lost in myself
When will the sun rise and give way the wall of night?
Rays of the future pouring onto me.
But all that envelops me is viscous night.

I have lost my way
Will I find my path home again?
No. My footprints erased by snow.
Forward I go, into the darkness.

are some of these by the same user?

I like that somebody wrote this, but I am unsure I like what was written.

No bully pls. I'm a tourist to this board.

The soil thaws
Spring the flowers
A seedling rises
Into a tower
Joyful and content

But what of those
Who never rose?
Choked by weeds
Or not given the sun?
Who sings their lament?

I can't decide whether to laugh or cry. Keep drinking and writing.

Yes, they are mine

nice

could be better

Mediocre

shit

The fan buzzes on the side
Sideward comes the wind
Oh, the wind, the wind-
-I chew slowly, on this squid.

And the squid yells within my mouth:
Your breath, your breath, ever so uncouth!
Fuck thy mother, and saw off your tooth!

Alas, my mother is long gone-
-or rather, was never here.
I must go, for that is the sound of the gong,
The sound of the gong.

they are quite lovely. you've certainly found a voice... nice repetitions and thematic development

What is grass?
Make a knife.
Peace and wind
That's a big deal

Cool cold is warm.
Finally, only fuel.
Come and see your music.

I am very happy.
- Mostly
The surface of the page,
It's a circle

My glasses found a place upon my eyes.
I saw the trees take form to sway in wind
Above my spread of spots across the yard.
But colors seemed to yield to lowly gray
Despite my work to wipe the dust away.

original content do not share

I once have dreamed a dream so fair
Of rosy blooms, and golden hair
An open world the Dragons Lair.
But just like all the dreams that were
It only went downhill from there.

im waiting in line typing on my phone in the wendys

buying my grandma those 4 piece chicken tendies

its busy as fuck

my soul is a muck

humanity deserves a cold death

why do you guys never discuss poems by established poets instead of this bullshit?

I FUCK YOUR MOMMA
YOUR MOMMA FAT
I FUCK YOUR MOMMA
SHE LIKES SEX

this is fire

and all with pearl and ruby glowing
was the fair palace door
through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
and sparkling evermore
a troop of Echoes
whose sweet duty, was but to sing
in voices of surpassing beauty
the wit and wisdom of their king

who are you?
how can i know you?
we pass eachother
do you see me?
i used to tiptoe into my bed late at night
it was like a little game

now i float through the world like a phantom
who can see me?
i fear looking a fool
but who will notice?

Above her head
the stars,
bleary in their watchfulness

Under her feet
black offal,
of metal tang and smoke and char

Contrails unspool like strands of hair in zero G
and the cosmonaut thinks of
earthbound tidepools

little pockets of life
where there should be no life

Of her sweetheart, unclasping
a locket notched at her throat
when she sees a burning line unzip the sky

Of her mother and father, looking
to the strafed horizon
from the empty boardwalk

Am I their Lucifer,
the Heavens lost,
falling down to an embered earth

Or their Icarus,
spine twisting,
fused emptying breath and breezes lack?

The cosmonaut enters the breach
and Earth swings up like a steady sword
from a golden myth

little pockets of life
where there should be no life

I wrote one a while ago for a writing contest and it was my first poem ever, any suggestions to improve it?

Topic: Regret
What is regret but the essence of suffering?
What is this poisonous stream of thought?
This venomous snake that dwelling in the deepest of the valleys
Bites and gently kills he who it faces

For at sunrise you stumble upon your reflections on
The dreadful deeds belonging to your past
Take over your present they will
Your presence
And you see yourself on your knees in front of the deadly regret

Be wary not to fall in its cage
For “to regret is to suffer”
Says the spouse who lost his chance at love
For “to regret is to suffer”
Says the son who lost his chance at life
Regret leaves no one, you see

Regret is what made me who I am now
For I was a man of fortune, love and content
But what content is there in fortune without the loved?
And what content is there in love with regret?

What made me cheat on my angel
I yet don’t know
The loved, the saint, the goddess
And why think about such things
When I never will be free
I never will be awake
“And once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally”
And once you are asleep, you shall remain asleep eternally

And here I am all alone in this atrocious excuse of a room
And here I am wondering if this life merits a living
Yes
A new man I am, a new man I will be
I am awake and
Awake I shall be eternally

Gazing at my shadow on the wall
Writing to him, for he must know me
He must know of my conclusions
“To regret is to suffer”

Bl00p!

Because most people like to write poetry but not read it.

The moonlight sharply blinded me
In darkest times of putrit glee
The music hath the pleasing sound
Of restless souls to madness bound

This wretched flesh! This haunted state!
Much less than perfect were you made
To hide in fears and live in lost
As bitter dreams that so much cost

I constantly make threads about poetry, the only ones that work are when I tease proselets.

the voice here is killer, the repetition dulls it, and comes across as amateurish when otherwise this could feel nearly ready to publish.

not really digging the formatting either

man, this is the worst, most annoying thing, and it's exclusively to writing, people that make movies don't go, "eh, why would i need to watch movies?" video game devs play other videogames, why the fuck can't a would be poet take some time to read Emily Dickinson?

>word order follows English

what the fuck is the point of studying Latin if you're going to act like this?

We cherished nights after burning day
deserted beaches, offal tide
where noctiluca scintillans
put starry bodies on our skin,
making us celestial

The lesser infinite held me
in its belly—left you waiting,
casting reflections in the sea
"The Silent Service", now sinking.

I was so proud of you that day—you kept
your tears from drowning the world
but you couldn't keep quiet when
they gave my flag to our son.

That night I saw you look up at me,
casting pearls from your eyes—Hush, love,
I'm still the same as when we met:
all wrapped up in Heaven.

The contrast between
soft greys and greens
in rainy springs,

The sparkle and sheen
of dukes and queens
on sapling leaves,

These sing to me.

Actors now are overpaid
But it was not always so,
They used to be above the whore,
And not far above to not be thought low.

But now they're on every screen,
they walk through halls of learned men,
we've forgotten they pretend for fame,
we've fallen for their game;
why would they pretend again!

So when actors die and go into the ground,
We pretend our emotive servants might always be around,
On DVD, on Hulu, Netflix and HD Blue Ray,
But all we really want to watch is everyone admit
No one cares what you say,
Fuck off Meryl Streep

>the voice here is killer
well shucks
>the repetition dulls it
thanks, i see what you're saying. yeah I do have some lines in there that doesn't move anything. the first that comes to mind is the "glass of pop" bit.
>formatting
yeah that wasn't meditated. i just fucked around a bit, but it definitely looks like i'm trying and failing to do a "thing"

I tried to tone everything down. I didn't remove the repetition because I have a hard time parting with things but I tried making it less 'obvious'.

or do I need to just get over it and scrap the 'lists'?

So far was she along the path, she could not stop to see;
The burning of her city, home, beneath a burning sea.
Flame, fire, waves did loose in flowing spire,
Were it truly there? The screams those of a liar?
Twist thy neck, confirm with thine eyes,
What your heart knows besides.

He stares ahead, forward; there is no way back upon.
The path to caves is the only to travel along.
But she is descended from the one whom plucked and ate;
It were women who reached forward with the first thirst to sate;
The muscles flex, the head does follow, her mouth begins to say:
Her tongue to salt, her eyes to salt, her world now forced to stay.

Writing books is hard
Getting published is harder
Better kill myself

I'm gonna do a dramatic cut/revision and I want you to talk to me about how it makes you feel.

Title: I'll be Hit by a Well-meaning Semi-truck

I rushed past a doctor, she pushed a spade into my thumb,
hyacinth petals drip from my fingertips -- I'm no jock,
I sneeze pollen like a proud, fat bee twisting in a strong wind.

Watch me dip and swing and burn in the sunlight,
like dust in a movie theater or the bubbles in a glass
of pop. Just stay indoors, dry yourself out in the late September sun.

Your brain is covered in black-purple tar,
the gold honey in your veins has turned.
Fall asleep under any old park bench knowing
it did you no good. Rat on foot, meet cat on chest.
Black dog stayed in bed today, won't leave home.

i won't say its a perfect edit, but i think i at least honed in on what i liked about it

Excellent read. Googled to see if it was published. I like your other stuff to i just wish it was a little more thicc

Another of my Her, the Earth series

nobody even laughs at this
why post?

ME NEXT!!

Nice

I'm stealing it for my punk band that doesn't really exist.

Give me props if you make it big. I've only written two poems in Portland State University. I don't want to do anything too politically incorrect but here's one I think I'm safe with here:

I love runny poo
that comes from my rump
I spread it o'er me
And call myself Trump

I'm sorry my dear Blumpkin
—you'll be gagging on your knees
but hold ye gut until the next—
'twill be my masterpiece

Haven't found a home for this one yet.

not a poem but i've only just got back into writing and was wondering if someone could give me some feedback on this

I could barely breathe.
I could barely see.
My arms had been bound around my chest.
Everything was dark besides the grates inches away from my face.
I wondered if I was dead, or if this was what death felt like. Or perhaps I had been buried alive in some cruel prank that I would never understand. I tried calling for help but my throat was dry and I coughed instead. I tried again and my voice cracked, barely a squeak was released.
I wondered how long I had been here.
I couldn’t recollect anything.
The room within the grave was miniscule but there was enough to move my head. I tried to push the door open but it didn’t move one bit. I tried again and again. Each time was exactly the same as the last. My voice cracked as I let out a scream. I tasted metal in my mouth and felt it dribble down my chin.
I waited. Hoping that someone would find me soon but no one did come. I could have waited minutes or hours, I had no sense of time. The panic began to set in soon after. Possible scenarios were going through my mind, ones of death and ones of torture and even some happier ones where I simply awoke to see Sam lying next to me. I bit my lip, trying to wake myself but I remained in darkness.
Darkness. It’s a terrifying thing. The mind truly plays tricks on you, not just your eyes but your ears and nose. I started to smell something rotting. I hope that was just my mind and I laughed manically as I thought about it.
I heard a creak from metres away and my hand instinctively tried to cover my mouth but it instead caused further noise, crashing into the door in front of me. I cursed in my head but didn’t say anything.
It was my mind. It was my mind. I had to be.
It had to be.
I squinted out but couldn’t see anything. A laugh began in my throat but I choked it down.
Hello.
Just say hello.
Just say that simple word.
My mind and body fought.

continued

A single candle flickered into existence. My eyes began to adjust, the brightness of the candlelight seeming like the sun to my deprived eyes. I shielded my eyes for a short time and then looked back at the light and gasped. The table was set. There was a family sitting around it. A mother and two children.
They made no noise. They sat with hands in their laps. Their faces were too dark to see. How long had they been there? Did they hear me? Questions were running through my mind which ached for a response. Why hadn’t they helped me? Why were they just sitting there? And then one question remained.
Were they alive?
They sat, unmoving, in their chairs. The smell of rotting was more pungent now. I choked back the revulsion I needed to express. I wondered if I should say something but I was terrified if there was someone else nearby. Someone who had caused this family to be so unmoving.
Perhaps they aren’t dead. Perhaps they were only wax figures and this was a museum. That thought scared me even more. It reminded me of that film with Paris Hilton. I used to have nightmares about that. Again, I had to stifle any noise.

Pls rate.

Dawn's impending,
But my sleeps still pending.
Tomorrow's the day I rise,
To find a hope and some meaning
To see bright light,
Like the rest of nature,
Not just man made,
but the light that makes man.

Crying right now. Your first poem has inspired me.

The whore the bitch
The dreadful witch
Once a muse
Until I found it was all a ruse.

My flaps
were shit-slick
and as I slid, slid, slid off
the side of the yellowed plastic toilet seat,
I felt then
what I feel now.
And feel forever.

Shit-slick.

Haha hey my dudes
Can I also do poetry
Is this like haiku

Twenty five days
Til judgement comes
Upon my future
While I am at the present
What do I do
But wait with patience
For now I toil
Without a break.

One pseud here
On this board.
Don't be afraid
I am not judging you .
Look within to find the one
Realize it's not one, but all.

Bl33p!

Your cut took things away that I felt really communicated what I wanted to with the piece. Seeing it without them is making me realize what is and isn't important to me in the poem, so thanks. I'm gonna work on it more and probably post it in a future thread.

More edgar allan poo

Carven, the throat
Of the funeral goat
He festers in the moonlight

Exposed to disease
My phallus seeks
The embrace of his delights

With the will to insert
In this creature, inert
My actions have begat disgust

My only release
In creation deceased
This is necrobestialust

Suburban lights
Dance the Gymnopedie
Ad infinitum

Stars come to Earth
Gods wreathed
In mortal coils

Suburban lights
Shine for your instant
Your false eternity
Your chord has been struck

It rings.
It fades.
And you with it.

Why did you dance?

words words words
bars bars bars
big cow herd
sodom's new car
butts
anal
many dicks in me
sometimes I wonder
what it'd be like to be a tree

Death

One day I woke up,
And found that I was old, very old.
I also found that I was wise.
I got up and walked back & forth,
Stroking my long white beard.

First, I paid my debts and sold off my property.
Second, I let go the debts of my debtors.
Third, I held a feast in thanksgiving.

That night, looked up at the stars,
The stars my ancestors looked at.
Were they any less bright now than in their day?
I had not seen my mother or my father in a while . . .
I laid down, smiled softly, and gently died.

The next morning I woke up,
And found that I was new, very new.
I was a newborn baby, with a big smile.
When I looked to my side,
My mother and my father were stood beside me.

unironically enjoyed this

First time trying to write poetry so here’s my shot at it.

Crawling up a hill
Trying not to spill
Anything I say seems to kill
I reached the top and my eyes are were filled

The dirt molds under my toes
I walk near the window
I hear the wind blow
Sadness fills the lone weirdo

He cry happily in the lust of the day
We all hear the man say
"Let me just be afraid"
He shouted near the bay that day

not bad

Just realized there’s “are” and that’s a typo.

Computer Programmer
--------------------------------

He never hit the headlines as a boy,
Turning an untameable horse towards the sun:
At school he passed unnoticed, finding joy
In games of chess (not all of which he won).
Nor has he wrenched a coastline out to sea
To set the rebel city there ablaze:
In fact, when thousands cheer great oratory
He's probably alone, and somewhere else.

Yet practicing his craft behind closed doors
He daily conquers worlds. Across the sand
Spread out beneath him, polished breastplates flash,
Spear-points are lowered, hoofbeats rise to a roar:
And nothing follows but by his command
As two gigantic swirling armies clash.