Poetry thread? Original poems?

Poetry thread? Original poems?
I'll start.

stormy seas
relaxing sound
3 hours

Other urls found in this thread:

pastebin.com/raw/mZCzYaKg
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her liquid red, wet
in the slit and warm
around my curved sex, and
moaning for release
punch me
punch me

I'm not so sure about the scansion; maybe it's just the use of a numeral? It's chill though, if a bit clichéd.

I broke my hollow world
And petulant tears dripped down its curved surface;
Tidal waves that didn’t distinguish between
Fake true blue waters
And verdant lands (and the vermillion deserts where plastic vegetation cannot grow).
It had fallen out of its orbit-stand in my bedroom
Solar system shattered, and it fell out of
23-degree-tilt-spinning-round-with-my-magnetic-shove skies
Of countless unstars not glittering like gravel.
And into my small hands. I extended it to my brother’s (he’d already got the whole world in his bigger, calloused hands).

He took the globe and spun it like a Globetrotter
Balanced it on his nose, barking like a seal
He threw it to me and I did the same; my sad hiccoughs turned to gleeful guffaws as we tossed Earth back and forth.

Hurricanes billowing across Beirut; Berlin; the Red Sea and the Dead Sea; Antarctica.
Pissed off pedestrians were smothered underthumb and flocks and herds and shoals of endangered animals got scuffed into extinction when I dropped it.
The Sun sets on our side of our Earth and it goes black but we go on.
Both sides of my own Earth go black
But it gets no rest until we tire of this game and open it up.
A tectonic bisection:
cutting Africa in two with sharp colonial boundaries
rendering a Mexican border wall obsolete
leaving tourists stranded on the wrong hemisphere (with impotent souvenirs).
We found we could hide sweets inside.

rain
phone
autism

I like this one
yeah wasn't sure if the numeral was the best idea. I hardly feel like I can say I wrote it actually cause it's basically just referencing video titles like "Stormy Sea 60mins natural wave sounds".
I use these kinds of videos for studying but always thought the titles were kinda interesting and hilarious

fee fi fo fum
oh wench of garbage
i'll make you cum

A circular fire,
Bursted glassen pyre,
A yellow myth seen by all,
Echoed in an empty hall

An electric starcross,
Blood and sweat embossed
In its broken round curvature glow,
Shattered and blown

Atoms forged and broke
A tired song envoked
Ringings lost in the momentary dull
So ends the ballad of the broken lightbulb

Proiettile nel vuoto
Indefinito moto
L’ebbrezza della velocità

So, as a context for this, I have a gay friend who recently got expelled from my college for a second rape accusation from two people, the more recent one being a baseball player, and this is to be sung to the tune of "Devil went down to Georgia"

Randy went up to Winston, he was looking for a hole to steal.
He was on a find for a good behind, and he was willing to force a squeal.

Came across this young man, looking for a diddle and feeling hot,
Randy jumped on the first good chump, said, "Boy, I'd get in his butt."
Said "Bet you didn't know it, but I'm a baseball player too,
And if you care to make it fair, I'll take a nut from you.
You pitch pretty good ball, boy, but try my pitching too,
I'll let my diddle unfold inside your hole, because I bet it'll pleasure you.

The guy said, "My man's Jesus, and he said it's a sin,
I won't take your nut inside my butt,
No chance I'll let you in."

Randy do a bit of blow and prepare to diddle hard,
'Cause hell's broke loose inside your head and the young man's shown his guard.
And if you win you'll put your happy diddle in his hold,
But if you lose, you'll be disenrolled!

The young man opened up a case and said "let's get drunk bro,"
Pong balls flew from his fingertips as Randy was aglow,
And Randy put a hand upon his ding and tried to lay a kiss,
And his gland of semen started up and it went something like this.

When Randy started, the man said, "now why's your zipper so undone?"
"Lay down on that bed right there and I'll show you some good fun."

Mire on his mountain, run, boy, run!
Randy's gonna dowse and have his fun,
Dickin' poor man and lickin' his toes,
"Randy it's too tight," He smiled, "No."

Randy hid his head because he'd knew that he'd been seen,
And he knew he had to hold his diddle if he's to get out clean,
The court said, "Randy, you ain't coming back, and do no more cocaine,
We done told you once, then another snitched, we find you in disdain."

Mire on his mountain, run, boy, run!
Randy's gonna dowse and have his fun,
Dickin' poor man and lickin' his toes,
"Randy it's too tight," He smiled, "No."

net—guide us to be
comfortable, and not
afraid of bloodsuckers
who linger over hard
work in our fields, so
we might worry, or not
to taste our paralysis
which needs to come
back, without a single
smelly dinner. 'grace'

if you please, place
kindly a memory of
our dress. better if
night conspires to
eat your beauty. no,
you ate enough. you
are full, you can't eat.
so many restrictions.

have you seen your bed?
i don't sleep there, cool
and yet a ghost persists,
why are you still sorry?

i often wonder if you are
alright. did you get the
prayers on those cold
nights? take what you will.

"what's that sound?"
your performance is
not quite yet light for
spirits and the hungry.
i want to recognize you
all over our farm. when
we see our way back
home. i made up my
trip in the mountains.

green—excuse me,
i have never shown
this new creature.

lost, you communicate
against the ones we
heard when we were
young. mate with a
monkey; my hair was
slowly forgotten. my
face is a butcher's
surprise. there are
pictures by myself.

my funeral in this
bright light. isn't it
by our bed? i see
myself come and
i envy them. i just
stay by choice; yes.

how am i stubborn?
with the good you,
you learn my strange
care for my stares
to clean the poor:
full of pests, i must
register with girls, or
you were the real pest:
the white one? hello.

why don't you sleep?
'that's enough'—you
steal some honey, and
there are still so many
bees: the local is both
sweet and sour; chewy
as a wash of come; yes,
and i know you know a
burden, where are you?

hungry? are you still?
good, this is a result
of my intentions—for
a pain in the ass? i
miss the animals you
visit in your carriage.

wow, this was very well written. i haven't heard the song in years, and i could still sing it in my head by dint of your meter and internal rhyme scheme.

on the fourth line, i might change "butt" to "cot", so it would be "...'boy, i'd hop in his cot';" most of the language is pretty overt anyways. on the 8th line, change it to "my diddle'll unfold inside your hole" to fit the rhythm.

those are the only two things i can think of, and they're just nitpicking. good job on this, user

well, i'm just flooding the thread at this point, but i've never taken a poetry class or received critique before.

his was a difficult birth
he was vulnerable and liable
he would respond coarsely or
defend the weak, those smaller than himself, and
his mother and sister
he did not seek medical attention
he became more nervous and
unable to tolerate sudden loud noises
he threw a grenade into the stove
he would not sit still
he might strike those who had died
and of their graves, he wept
they had not seen him
hurl ashtrays at them
none of his comrades changed beyond recognition
it was impossible to tell friend from foe

There lived a man whom none could stump
He ran for office, Mr. Donald Trump
"Racist!" they cried
"Bernie!" they sighed
But no-one liked that commie chump

Im stupid and straight so the only thing I seem to ever want to right about is my ~feelings~ like love or rather, lack-thereof

this is just all over the place rhythmically

you can't expect to write anything decent if you don't study meter, i mean even hack frauds like ginsberg knew what they were doing from a technical standpoint

fantastic!

>right
write

She was on a three for three tinder spree
racking up more kills by the week
and if you took a close look at her pussy
still tite as drum believe me

What motivates you guys?
Or inspires you?
Whats your process?

is this a poem or a question

A question but I wanted to be cheeky

I'm legitimately asking if you're being sarcastic. That exclamation point makes me a little paranoid.

man, I love your enthusiasm. You just put your brain to it in the same way that I did without wondering why the hell I made it, the same way I did. I will take your advice for sure.

it was something i wrote for lols during a class to stir up my communist friends

it was the only poem i had readily available for this thread

oh rip. i thought you were commenting on my poem. no, i wasn't being sarcastic with the exclamation point.

i really really liked your poem

i think you replied to the wrong person. This is and

Oh thanks man. Sorry, which one is yours?

Free verse is trash. Please stop.

free verse isn't trash, people just don't understand it and think it's a license to write carelessly/lazily

if you read pound's free verse for example you see that it's essentially "flexible verse", there are a lot of repeating patterns and the rhythm is still very strict even though it's not consistent

A visual journey through my suffering

grey white black gradient velvet expanse,
strips of light grey tickle the dark grey black,
furious gushes fade to little almost nothings,
breeze blows hitting up knocking down the ripples,
skitterings of spiders scurrying across the top,
pulling the fabric with their sticky treading,
revealing unleashing unveiling the tangle,
the twining twisting jumbled festering mess,
of darkness anxiety doom and unrest,
hurricane unleashing swarm unceasing stress increasing,
gashes widening darkness unlightening tangles mangling,
patterns forming trends unfolding darkness entering,
concrete pours down from the sky setting the spiders still,
the gashes settle and the screams of the wind die down,
quiet consumes the dark grey black,
grey no gradient messy rough mess,
trappings of hope held still,
legs twitching,
setting,
grey

Tattoo
Nick Flynn, 1960

You do know, right,
that between the no-

longer & the still-
to-come

you are being continually
tattooed, inked

with the skulls of
everyone

you’ve ever loved—the you
& the you

& the you & the you—you don’t
sit in a chair, thumb

through a binder, pick a
design, it simply

happens each time you
bring your fingers to your face

to inhale him back into you . . .
tiny skulls, some of us are

covered. You, love, could

simply tattoo an open
door, light

pouring in from somewhere
outside, you

could make your body a door
so it appears you

(let her fill you) are made
of light.

This one

unique and fun to read

thanks
I'm actually surprised that you're not criticizing my use of "messy rough mess". I was very concerned about using that one, but I think that it fits perfectly because it is a messy way to call something messy in of itself and so has extra potency.

There's an evil virus that's threatening mankind
It's not state of the art, it's a serious state of the mind

The muggers, the backstabbers, the two faced elite
A menace to society, a social disease

To brainwash the mind is a social disorder
The cynics, the apathy one-upmanship order

Watching beginnings of social decay
Gloating and sneering at life's disarray

Eating away at your own self esteem
Pouncing on every word that you might be saying

To attack someone's mind is a social disorder
The constitution, the government, martial law order

Superficially smiling a shake of the hand
As soon as your back is turned treason is planned

When every good thing's laid to rest
By the governments hate, by the constitution and their lies

And every time you think you're safe
And when you go to turn away

You know they're sharpening all their knives

All in your mind
All in your head
Try to relate it

All in your mind
All in your head
Try to escape it

Without a conscience they destroy
And that's a thing that they enjoy

They're a sickness that's in all of our minds
They want to sink the ship and leave

The way they laugh at you and me
You know it happens all the time

But it only happens in your mind
The rats in the cellar you know who you are...
Or do you?

Gybe song

Simple yet powerful little tune, and a strong message, but I think it's very lacking in the feel it dont state it department

The devil went to Georgia and I sucked your mother's dick
The devil went somewhere but he doesn't even exist
The devil went to Georgia even though he has supernatural powers
That would act from whatever distance, he decided to go to Georgia anyways,
The devil went to Georgia as i sucked on your mother's tits,
He said it wouldn't matter as he was knowledgeable in this
I asked what 'this' refered to and he appointed me to a dermatologíst,
The devil went to Georgia, but he doesn't even exist.

The "messy rough mess" is the only thing that's good about it. Can't believe you were praised for using the most facile imagery and examples. Try a little harder, would be my advice.

Stranded fortunes, wishy-washy BIM BAM BO,
A flower made out of flower tattoos, strands airless ground,
Desertic Islands where Oasis Found,
drained by cockroachitic Humans that are now pain bound.
Thirt anger and horizons in lovely gazes
As tattoo artist walk in nomadic groups each to their own,
The groups riskey behaviour with booze up to nine and thirty o'clock had grown,
A group of grown ups now violating on fair law
corrupt the system and a Desert's Claw
waiting to strike as stricken as Dirty Underwear
to de-elect the former and strike the few,
and the sorrowful chants that are stricken by you

Midnight Sorrow was wasted in a neverending fight of Kung-Fu.

Worst poem to ever touch this planet

iron maiden lyrics/10

I'm hopelessly devoted to a heartless bitch
I'm a sucker for a stupid cooze
My heartstrings tug for a two timing slut
My goddess is a gutless liar

Dog Butt Dog Butt,
In Cannot Fit A Foot;
Maybe a toe or maybe two,
Out they come stinky like poo;
Dog Butts Dog Butts,
Dog butt opens and shuts;
Hound laying eggs in the garden, Happy Easter,
What sticks out like a sore thumb, their keister!

Why do dogs never butt wipe!
Out their butts come all stinky tripe!

LOL

pastebin.com/raw/mZCzYaKg

Cool, soft summer's breeze
Carries whispers through the trees
Singing so gently

I actually like this but I just got off a binge of ancient greek comedies that are full of dick and poop jokes so that's the place I'm in at the moment.

On Donald Trump:

From the heart sprang songs of laden cheer
That stretched for miles from ear to ear
Carrying joy and carrying woe
The obedient crowd they wept in fear.

On the eve of shouting oppression
Rose fourth a splendid mess
To cut the root of mans attention
That we all on earth will one day rest.

The bombs, the bells, the thunders will start
From fear they come and from fear they stay
To pierce the innocent child's heart,
Never to hear the words that they say.

A cloud has formed above me; cast
Upon a world of sweetened sky.
The darkest night, this cloud to last
Ash layers the pedals to die.

So upon natures gravestone rests
Suffocation scattered and messed,
A shadow soothes the dying cries
There on the tomb where nature lies.

In the distant view,
On the shores of green and blue
Echoed the muses feign and few,
Along these shores of green and blue.

A dot to my eye,
And their soft broken cry
Bled through the lightened sand to my
Desperate soft and broken cry.

Fading entities,
Once burning for centuries,
May stretch their fading hand to me
To glimpse on their infinity.

I shouldn't have expected better from Veeky Forums.

Transubstantiation

You have to wait your turn
Before the bong reaches you again.
Watch as the light goes around,
Following the glass seraphim,
Longing for the unattainable truth.
The purifying water
Cleanses the soul more
Than any love could.
Confess your sins.
Put the bong to your lips
Take and smoke;
This is my body.
Let the water heal;
This is my blood.
Lean back. The soul is free
To wander, to reflect, to be alive.
Think no longer about death.
Everyone goes to heaven anyways.
Wave hello to grandma.
To your uncle.
To Julius Caesar.
To Ted Bundy.
So is the world. So it will always be.
Just wait your turn.

This little pedal came to me
Living in the land of depth,
Begging me to someday see,
The beauty of its breath .

Little pedal please forgive!
I hear my call to duty,
It is to show the life you live,
The life of eternal beauty.

But little pedal can't you see,
The earthly world in which I'm trapped?
Could you ever pity me?
My human well is tapped.

In what pallid view of mine
Can be a garden sweet as thee?
And can your faithful hue or vine;
Plant a seed to spring in me?

Some roses where my eyes once were,
Body of wooden towers.
Some ivy on my head for fur,
Heart a bouquet of flowers.

My blossoms in day or night show,
The view, that I've grown to be.
One day a child I might know,
Will love the flowers in me.

I am the bone of my board
Sage is my body, and tripcodes are my blood
I have created over a thousand threads
Unknown to bans
Nor known to replies
Have withstood flame to get many (You)s
>implying I'll ever be quoted
Solve the Captcha
Unlimited Shitpost Works

When you take your clothes off
An atom bomb blossoms through my mind
-and I'm sorry
I can't stop thinking about every perfect war

Birds a'e flyin'--birds a'e feedin'
Birds that pipe with glee.
Birds a'e aerie--birds a'e merry
A bird I wish to be!

Us, from the temperate region
of hell, have yellow shadows
and they look happier than us.

At dusk, the sky has
cursed colours,
it's not God's monition
but the poisons
that help us live better.

Our tropical Cocytus
is clear and beautiful;
it has little demons
swimming inside
causing premature births.

Us, the damned in luxury
of the Boreal Demonosphere,
wander around cities
burned down since centuries,
looking at the flames
of the inhospital regions
and envying them,

Can someone take a look at this please

I don't get,
Poetry.
Seems like,
You,
Tap,
Enter ,
Whenever the fuck,
And people think
You're "deep."

It's bad, man.

it's pretty good, a bit dry
it's a slow board and you have to wait to get properly evaluated.

drawing my nails across my arm
grazing my skin like coins
it's dark here
itching for a cigarette
Exhaust!
These fumes
Scratching the surface
mumbo jumbo string of words
I hate myself
for hurting you

Don't think I quite understand it, but it makes me feel something, especially the thought of a "perfect war" and how you said "Im sorry" it brings this violence associated with war to a place of some vulnerability, some real deep emotional honesty. And talking about perfection, gives it the sense that the poem is scraping on the edge of some universal truth. I would like to talk to you about it more, maybe give me your email or something.

We need less poems and more critique in this thread now

>free verse

we all abot dat self expression dawg nigga g 100

love this

Boo hoo.
A baby cries.
Mother's milk has gone sour.
A baby cries.
Boo hoo.
>note the significance of the shape of this poem. Take it to heart.

it has a shape of a funnel

Middle finger brah.

i know i was jjust being a sikkunt brah

man this is sick bro u just need a beat to go with this bro

thank you, that means a lot to me

most welcomed

My brahs, bro. You bros are all right.
>light
>bright
>NIGHT?!?!
>right?
>write
>tite
>despite
>night
>light

I mainly just write lyrics so my attempts at poetry are free verse and terrible. As for feedback just tell me what you hate the most.

Temple of the elementals
Blows, Burns, Bogs
Facet of first fundamentals
Slow turn of the cogs

Innate their purpose
Powerful Primordial
Socratic on the very surface
Only oratorical

To yell or chant or market too
Lava wind and water spew
Persuasive their single mights might be
Under one roof in unity

Utterly in matrimony
Most strength exists in harmony
An element of all of us
Pervades the world entirely

Holy shit. Someone screencap this.

Just take some notes, jr:
>Sweet
>feet
>beat
>meat
>treat

I love you
Amy Reid
I'm sorry
I didn't
Recognize
your ass
my friends
showed me
for a second.

I still masturbate
on your videos
on a daily basis
I watched them
lots of times
especially
the one where
you take it all.

When will you
take all of me?

(daddy Elite
>neat
>sheet
>heat

My analysis of your presented works

A man masturbates to feet and then is either "treated" by an orgasm, enjoying the flavors of his spew, or eating some sort of candy. I wonder if the 3rd interpretation is the protagonist enacting Pavlov's dog experiment. Maybe he is tired of not being able to fully enjoy 90% of macro content, and is forging a fetish sort of speak by rewarding his progress with his favorite treat.

Thank you so much as an amateur it really means a lot to me and I would love to talk to you about it

the ass wuz fat

>tfw i actually got over 50 (you)s in a /mu/ thread

kek

I'm so proud of you man. I've been on Veeky Forums forever and I'm not even good at making friends on here.

Hey, guys. I thought it would be best to ask in--rather than make a--thread:

I'm writing a story, and I'm going into great detail about a song and more specifically, the musical character of the song. I'm using several musical terms which are, naturally, Italian, and I'd just like some opinions on this.

When they're used in music, they are in a present (non-conjugated?) tense.

I feel very strongly that I SHOULD conjugate these musical terms to fit with my writing, but I have doubts that they'll still be musical terms and not just Italian.

(Gonna post this in two or three other threads; cut me some slack mods)

I saw a coiled rope,
And thought to end my life.
Upon a closer look
I stared into its eye.
Then it bit me.

i'll be your friend if you post your RYM/goodreads/last.fm/myanimelist

I am the leaves,
The trees, the breeze.
I am the green,
The brown and blue;
Shimmering shades of hue,
Drawn forward by invisible strings,
And yellow dragonfly wings.
I am scattered sunlight
Puncturing treetop,
Painting the path
In golden-gilded beams.
Dry dirt echoing through
Swelling air, surging now,
Nearly still;
Raindrops on the windowsill.
Trickling along the path,
A leaf in the stream;
Sown into seams,
The threaded wind blows.
I do not wonder where the path goes.
I am caught and carried along,
A single note in a polyrhythmic song.
I am the rain, ready to fall;
Walking the path, absorbing it all.

i dont want just one friend dude I want 50 like that other guy

BRILLIANCE

Ill never speak a word
Just keep living in me
Just keep circulating the thoughts in my brain
All my love,
how I love it more with pain
The pain of knowing ill never hold your hand or kiss you on the face

But thats alright cause I love it more
An existentialist crisis as brought me this far
Ill keep pretending youll be here just to listen with me
Youre sore from living
and your head is exploding into all of your giftedness
Your beauty shapes of frame
that if I closed my eyes your face would to come back to appear only in a dream
its extroadinary how in your own mind your just a ordinary
Individual with all these traits to make one want more
I keep thinking out the miles
youre always there but always so far away
your smile holds a rich gesture just in every other day
oh how I long for to be remain
so snow white
so deligate
so rich and remain
so pale in skin, like a cold drop of rain
such a wicked sick crooked smile that falls on your face
couldnt have guessed it faints

oh my god how your eyes burst
into a goddess like-blur
oh my heart how it hurt
when I hear your voice from a-far
Just keep living in me

10 monkeys
jumping
pumping

dumping

There's a familiarity in sadness
when you've felt it for as long
as you can remember.

Like the company of a longtime friend,
who you know is a negative influence,
but you stay anyway.

Or the comfort of living in a hometown
when you know you should have left
a long time ago.

A depression which has left such a deep
impression, the only time you notice it
is when it goes away.
And it always comes back.

It's' all slipping away
I let it go
Please don't come back
It's nice alone.

I'm wondering if I should change the lines:
>A secular
>sight, never seen
But I'm not sure what to. I like how the following two lines feel and sound like what they are describing happen to the lines stated here. But being that they're jarring, I worry that they feel forced, and I don't want that.
>Also, any other tips welcome; I've done a few critiques now.

This is structured fine and there's lexical cognition here; but it's just not interesting. There's no story- no picture being painted, just a description of living with depression.
5/10 for fundamentals.

Sorry. There's some recognition for trying and having some structure. But this just feels like a starting piece for a teenager. Keep practicing, studying, reading more. Never give up if writing is what you feel you love.

just some syllable practice
16 rows of 7 flowers

december, i loved you, though
you were cold and quite angry-
it's spring now. i beg you; please,
understand why i'm leaving.

when the frost hits in mid-may
and the day freezes my bones
i'm still happy you're not here
because you've never been warm.

at least it will be june, soon
the moon will glow blue for me
she'll hold me close in her waves
i will kiss her thoughtfully.

i never really loved you
i was just used to the snow
and now that it has melted
i have finally let you go.

Just wrote a new stanza while waiting for Game of Thrones.

A million years ago (or even more)—
I see a barrage of uncounted years
congesting in their endless file the course
of history, pages of the almanac,
extending to the furthest reaches of
recorded time, where paper frays and frames
the forms of kings, and mounds of plebeian dust
ride the backwards-floating wind of time—in

the primal bush in golden sunshine robed,
perspiring blackened topsoil underneath
to cool the crib, the little feet of lizards
now long returned to loam and dirt would drag
their little bellies through the oozing mud
and scrawl across the land in scurried streaks
a city in relief embossed in dirt,
winding its ways through the swaying tallgrass,

until the primal simian learned that if
he tucked his throbbing thumb against the rock
cupped in his foregathered dactyls, it would
repel the haul of gravity and taste
the glassy higher air unsullied still
by smoke and breath, and fly to where it pleased
him that it fly, to hammer muck from meat,
and speckle red his ragged face through art of

slaughter. The blood of grassland peasantry
made flush the lining of the arteries
that plotted lines awry about his face,
and on his temple set a bony crown,
and fed the marrows of his kingly bones;
the bulbous mouth, the downy cheeks, the squat
phallus resting in its matted nest, like
the monkey-king upon his fleshly throne.

Of morbid curiosity I chase
with eyes the lives of my progenitor,
and deep within my chest begins the drum
to beat at sight of savagery to match
the savagery forever etched upon
my cardiac wall. What in me is human,
whatever masculine, testosterone-
infernos, descended the lines from him.

(+)nice imagery
(+)good flow
(+)good structure
(+)grammar is fairly tight and fits the mood well (stanza three holds strong here)

(-)language could be a little stronger, for that much more depth and finesse
(-)typical subject matter; I didn't gain anything from reading this
(-)there's a picture here, but it's spotty. You could use more seasonal imagery or months to help show more details of why the relationship was bad- not just 'it was cold, and then it wasn't'

Not inherently bad, but not good. Keep at it, and don't be afraid or too lazy to tell a little story hidden in scenery and metaphors.
6/10