Honestly I can't get over how good this poem is

he just meant plum. just like nael just meant tiger.

He meant pussy
It's about the first time the kid touched himself. His parents forced him to do it which is why he says it's a tiger. At first he was scared, but later he was enjoying it. Poor kid. He'll grow up traumatised.

I really don't get why this poem is meant to be so good. at all. someone please explain.

I dunno man. Red and wet might be blood. Chickens are white maybe they'll be red once he kills them.

try reading it out loud to yourself. notice how the space and line divisions allow you to pause. just picture it: a bright red wheelbarrow shiny and smooth, and the texture of the white chicken feathers. just allow yourself to exist there.

have you ever felt in your heart a sense of profound comfort and happiness? sometimes my cat and i will look at one another and i feel this swell in my stomach of love. sometimes it just comes from looking at a bird in my garden, or the sound trees make in the wind. thats what this poem is about. and thats all.

i know this is like. the internet or whatever but i think youd be surprised at how much happier youd be if you just opened yourself up to vulnerability. it’s scary a lot of times but also really rewarding. i mean this sincerely. gnight.

...

>10669697
>profound and abiding joy
Gondolas

this is horrifying

I know the feeling you're talking about, and I realise Williams is trying to evoke it, but I just can't get it from this poem.

is he deliberately writing without any apparent style to make us feel an ordinary feeling? is it meant to be a poem that isn't beautiful because it describes something mundane, something that by nature isn't beautiful unless you're in the right mindset? I guess I could understand that at least.

Im an underground gold miner here's my haiku:
You can Paint a turd Gold,

But it's still Shit.

Which is exactly what I think about that poem.

xD Well ironized, my witty friend

Pic related is unironically better then anything Kaur has written

>Look Mom!
>I posted it again!
>Am I cool yet?

this is trivial. The psycopath kid is ecstatic that a tiger runs at large.

>no rhyme
>no metre
>no alliteration
>no proper diction
>"""""""""""poetry""""""""""""

Postmodernism was a mistake

It's unironically a masterpiece. Where was it published, some sort of class poetry book? I want a first edition.

This is fake, right?

Eminem is my favourite poet

>WCW
>postmodern

Not an argument

When I was in middle school I wrote a poem for a competition and it was published. I've been embarrassed by it since. It's not even so bad though.

It forces you to think about the image. What immense and burdensome life requires a wheelbarrow so much? How can it be that "so much depends" upon a wheelbarrow? Farmland imagery. WCW forces you to view this mundane object as immensely important. The farmer's wheelbarrow--your keys in the pocket. Every day objects to which we depend so much upon. The first stanza is great.

an argument would be excessive, if you'd like one you'll have to start it yourself.

...

that's actually kind of hard-hitting
shit

Nah
youtube.com/watch?v=hRFUZBXOWZI

This just reads like someone who pauses every two words

>WCW forces you to view this mundane object as immensely important.
He tries, but it's just a fucking wheelbarrow so it doesn't work.

I agree. Poetry without rhyme or meter is garbage no matter what.

Reminds me of Rimbaud, except not about alcoholism, flings, or whores.

His poems tend not to rhyme because originally they where in french. Though, they keep the same flow.

"
Pale white in private moonlight,
Like round-eyed sores,
Flap your scabby kneecaps apart,
My ugly whores!

We loved each other in those days,
Ugly blue whore!
We ate boiled eggs
And weed.

One night you made me a poet,
Ugly blond whore.
Get between my legs,
I'll whip you.

I puked up your greasy hair,
Ugly black whore;
You tried to unstring
My guitar.

Blah! Some of my dried-up spit,
Ugly red whore,
Still stinks in the cracks
Of your breast.

O my little lovelies,
I hate your guts!
Go stick big blisters
On your ugly tits!

Hope this keeps its formatting.

Beowulf, for example, is utter trash.

Boy it's gonna be a real shock to the academics when they hear about this. Guess it's goodbye to paradise lost

Why the is everybody just skipping over the fact that this retard thinks William Carlos Williams is postmodern?

what the fuck Stefany.

Wow, Rupi strikes again.

step aside

it was just obvious bad satire tbqh

the nigger
He destroyed his cage
Yes
YES
The nigger is out
fuck where's my car?

Love that poem

Sing it in the style of Come Together.

please explain why

Nothing worse than poetryfags. Not even fantasy genre readers. Go fuck yourselves, faggots.

rent free

>tfw poetry is just people jerking off over the pretense of meaning instead of just explaining whatever deep thoughts they might have clearly through normal language or at the very least conveying the emotional cadence through music

just an absolute garbage artform for flaming pseud homos

(you)

Pretty good actually

>sometimes my cat and i will look at one another and i feel this swell in my stomach of love.
Dammit I miss this feel

>explaining whatever deep thoughts they might have clearly through normal language or at the very least conveying the emotional cadence through music

but poetry is both of these at once.

...

5,7,5 Haiku. I fixed it for you.
Painting a turd gold,
Makes it shiny for others,
But it is still shit.

I can't believe people got paid for this shit. This kind of fucking worthless shit is why I hated poetry when taught it in middle school. It's just meaningless, formless garbage when it comes out like this. OP is actually exciting and its structure gives it that energy.

how the fuck can 7 year olds be this genius?

the question is how could we all get so stupid when we grow up?

I swear a woman wrote this post.

I sincerely and unironically hope that I can feel the exact same way I do about my cat with a woman

I was incredibly smart as a kid. My brain development was stunted by complete emotional and social stunting when I hit puberty and stopped doing well in school.
I didn't ask for this feel

the drive for normality is a huge waste of mental resources

i cant tell if you Veeky Forumsards are being facetious or not and im not gonna stick around long enough to find out. all of these "poems" are shit stop praising them

the... exact same way?
like, sex and everything?

why don't you write a better one then

oh shit yeah bad choice of words. Same emotion, but + sex

no, just a fag

>but + sex

user?

You were never that smart.

i pick up a leaf and
Hold it for a long time and
Think about going home
where I can think about the leaf

-charlie

People should not be allowed to write poetry past the age of 12.

can you tell the name of the poem?

WE

I suspect it's called "My Ugly Whores"

BY ZEVGENY ZAMYATIN

Byronian

there's not a good poem ITT written by someone over the age of 10. It's baffling.

My God

...

i dont understand this one, explain it to me

Child abuse?

Unironically reminds me of Joyce

>Mom do you see me?
>Yes, but I don't want to.
>OK

shit

this is a nice interpretation, I think I agree most with the part about transporting yourself there. But in another way I look at it from the perspective of a child in a farm, and how important a wheelbarrow could be in his imagination as a means of a toy or playground, that innocence and carelessness juxtaposed with the chicken feathers maybe in a farm or a lower class home, being the labor and poorness. dunno might delete later.

So simple yet so clever. Only a kid could make this.

How can adult "poets" even compete?

...

Damn, I never knew captain kirk wrote poetry

>not posting the original format

pseud, missing out well important details the poet put thought into

thats not a proper haiku this kid can eat shit

>shit font
>the centered YES
wtf I hate Nael now

Look for the poems of the child-poet Hilda Conkling (1910–1986).

Here is Wikipedia about her:

She was the daughter of Grace Hazard Conkling, a poet in her own right and Assistant Professor of English at Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts. Hilda was born in New York state.[1] Her father died when she was four years old, and she had one sister, Elsa, two years her senior.

Hilda is notable for having composed most of her poetry as a young child, between the ages of four and ten years old. She never wrote them down herself; instead, they came out in conversation with her mother, who would write down Hilda's words either in the moment, or from memory later. If the latter, she would read the lines back to Hilda, who would then correct any deviation from her original words. As Hilda grew up, her mother stopped recording the poems, and Hilda is not known to have written any herself as an adult.

And here an example of her poetry:

"The world turns softly
Not to spill its lakes and rivers.
The water is held in its arms
And the sky is held in the water."

And here:

DANDELION
O little soldier with the golden helmet,
What are you guarding on my lawn?
You with your green gun
And your yellow beard,
Why do you stand so stiff?
There is only the grass to fight!

And here:

FAIRIES AGAIN
Fairies dancing in the woods at night
Make me think of foreign places,
Of places unknown.
Fairies with sparkling crowns and dewy hands,
Sprinkle flowers and mosses to keep them fresh,
Talk to the birds to keep them cheery.
Once a bird came home
And found a fairy asleep in his nest,
Upon his baby eggs,
To keep them warm!

and here:

AUTUMN SONG
I made a ring of leaves
On the autumn grass:
I was a fairy queen all day.
Inside the ring, the wind wore sandals
Not to make a noise of going.
The caterpillars, like little snow men,
Had wound themselves in their winter coats.
The hands of the trees were bare
And their fingers fluttered.
I was a queen of yellow leaves and brown,
And the redness of my fairy ring
Kept me warm.
For the wind blew near,
Though he made no noise of going,
And I hadn't a close-made wrap
Like the caterpillars.
Even a queen of fairies can be cold
When summer has forgotten and gone!
Keep me warm, red leaves;
Don't let the frost tiptoe into my ring
On the magic grass!

You can see more here:

gutenberg.org/files/1612/1612-h/1612-h.htm

damn

explain why you don't like it, first.
besides >lol nigger

Dandelion was very sweet