OFFICIAL POETRY OF Veeky Forums THREAD
Share your poems Veeky Forums. I'll start.
The king left a swift
The day it was late
He presented a gift
To his then unknown mate
But it was a he
A boy in girl's clothes
Avoiding the fee
So nobody knows
The mate was a peasant
A boy lowborn he
Yet the king kindly lent
The boy his own key
0/10
But don't give up
Thanks for the words of encouragement. I'm still new to poetry. Do you have any poems to share?
No I don't. Tried to write some and it was all shit so I'm taking a break from writing poems.
writing tips
1
suckle on a pen
like it’s muse’s tit
practice your technique
2
kill your family
you need to be free
on christmas eve(s)
3
keep yourself
always about to die
4
do things
reluctantly
5
miss your shot
and lie
about what could have been
6
when you do meet a muse
pretend you’re only into her
for her tits
Berries cherries garland of grapes
Cheery sweet olive-peppered bake
Pizza warming in my oven
Your slices keep me warm tonight
Here I am,
broken hearted,
tried to shit
but only farted.
Take your own advice and don't give up. :)
1)Finger nail tabs on flesh and blood sodas, unveiling the flavors of soft muscled monsters. Hardened cuticle rope swings and resealably fresh.
2)Just more nights of disenfranchised youth
Sucking down the semen of dead hippies, beatniks, looking glass gods.
Praying to the past, and castrating their presence.
The inverse, sub atomic things. Tears welling in the eyes of things with sight. While stabbing themselves for not being handicapped enough and being born again. Blood and tears leaving fluffy pink leather jackets ripped up and buried under telephone wires.
The self is the self is the self is.
The couple, the company, the crowd, the murder, hate in and hate out. They're vomiting into each others mouths in a great orgy of mutual masturbation. Every hand is playing a part. The massive orgasm reaches the Moon. And then comes tumbling down to fires in the Jungle.
They called it moonspeak; they did
At least, when I was young
And full of flowers, the color, and the drive.
A punch meant a punch then,
When tongues could shape the words,
Hewn from the navels of stars,
Into four point diamonds.
A jeweler's dream assembled from delirious fantasy.
We dig the Earth for it now, with great
Pointed tongues we eat the grit and the grime.
Clogged mouths seek the language now lost.
What was abundant is now a lack in these mountainsides.
How bright the memories were
When on sad dark evenings we’d
Recall them. Fluttering like summer,
These daydreams pocketed in passion-fire.
Only on red eye nights does it even
Begin to feel like anything.
Another tired wheeze from the lips.
The blossoming grit that dusts my breath
Spills the shards of words I once knew.
The ruined alphabet that runs down my front
Is the sticky failure, the detritus of failed memory.
I knew the magic once. I thought I knew the magic once.
I like this quit a lot user, you should keep writing and posting it here.
Dialogue 1
[Enter TYCHE, wandering in Elysium]
TYCHE
O Father,
O Son of Kronos
Why do you desert me thus?
You let the fertile country of my heart lie fallow,
You let my youthful eyes turn to ash in their sockets,
You let my spring pass for mild summer.
I was not made to be one of the mortals!
[Enter ZEPHYROS, dancing, adorned with a wreath of hyacinth]
ZEPHYROS
O Tyche
O goddess of the white arms,
Weep not,
For you no longer have eyes with which to weep.
Is this not true?
Take my hand,
And rise with me,
And taste the airy vault of heaven.
TYCHE
O lovely Western child,
You were dear to me in my worldly mornings,
But your words now are mere rain
Against the granite cliffs of my resolve.
Go now,
Yes, go now,
O you who may still be restored!
ZEPHYROS
Words?
Your fear deludes you,
O mistress of all men’s days.
I speak not,
For I have no tongue with which to speak.
Is this not true?
[Exit ZEPHYROS, TYCHE watches as he leaves]
TYCHE
O Zeus,
O my Father,
Why do you tantalize me so?
The fine bracelets you once gave me
Now begin to tarnish.
I must fortify my heart against all things.
It is a good thing to give way to the night-time.
Whose to say?
Certainly,
Not
Me...
But who then?
Say....
Please read poetry before writing some. You will still be shit but you'll stop posting.
Such distance is often travelled,
By many such as me.
Though each time it is unraveled:
Fever’d, near silently.
‘The first was wrong, as first is oft,
The second grew too quick.
The third in time waned itself soft,
Now quarter burns its wick.’
And candles come, as candles go:
Replace’t, the withered light.
Though frozen wax, does burn more slow,
Miss take not lover’s fright.
Frenzies of fervor so corrupt
Me that my breath has flown.
With wings of icar I’ll construct,
To follow flame that’s shone.
O’, such brief passion does appear,
And lay before my eye.
It’s stalken struggles I don’t fear,
Till minutes ‘fore I lie.
But fretful blood runs cold in veins,
My heat: yours, unbounded.
Presence lacking, I’m mad, like Danes,
Present: cherubs sounded.
The days grow cold, as I grow old, and crow for everlasting.
The night grows hot, with you ‘tis naught: to live, to die, t’age laughing.
Quiet little families live in quaint mini houses,
With large backyards and white picket fences
Side by side other mini houses with equal amenities.
Houses on streets, that crisscross, like Sunday crosswords,
Neighborhoods protected by tight-knit communities
From undesirables.
But those don’t exist in our town,
No not ours.
Men who drink their coffee and
Read their paper and
Kiss their wife and
Leave their home to go to their work.
women who raise the kids and
cook the food and
clean the home; and
love the Husband.
Tiny blue-eyed children who go to that school and
Play at that park and
Laugh at that joke and
Study that math and
Love that family.
Every little person,
In little old Crittleton,
Played Their Part, as they should
and,
Every Boy and every girl
Married each other and
Life was good
But that was not in our town
No not ours
Loud, broken-down families in shabby shacks
With shattered glass windows and tattered tarred rooftops,
Timidly hidden from all men and Women fearful from anger and nothing at all.
Littered with refuse the sidewalks they crack,
The drunkards are sheltered by nightfall:
men who crouch on knees and
snicker on wrinkled aluminum and
crawl on fractured bones and
sleep on beds of bullets.
Women who work all weekends and
Feed all mouths and
Fight all ghouls and
Toss and Turn all night,
loathe their beds of bullets.
AND WHEN THE SANGUINARY TRACTS BEGIN TO ROT
children are children no longer than cattle
children are animals that growl and that battle
children are scholars forsaken by knowledge
children are boogeymen, shrouded, under beds of bullets.
And this was in our town
You pray not yours
. . . . .
day-up, and day-drop,
you ponder our death,
agog for the answer how:
the middle of your city, the middle of mine
is equally evil, and also, benign.
So travel to Crittleton for all of it’s green.
And stay out of Crittleton for all of it’s mean.
Though alleys shake and light posts tumble and fracture,
We don’t all see the end.
Aww, come on. It wasn't that bad, was it? Do you have any poems to share?
They sang together for joy
Long before we reached the tarmac
And clapped for things they did not know
No words of meaning, only sound,
For that was what lost but unknown
To any there to share why,
But then it never mattered
Because it is more important
To be seen as clapping then
To have understood the why.
Aeon later
A world charred before dying bleaker
Remnant of it's former glory.
A mystery unfit to have a seeker
For soot and dust can tell no story.
It's not that bad, but you can tell it's inexperienced, I'd say whatever the first rhyme that comes into your head is, don't use it, it'll force you to play around with different words and will improve how you phrase things and put your message across more elegantly
Not OP, but great advice. I'll keep it in mind
stuffed crust
stuffed soul
stuffed whole, nothing matters, suicide, and all that, and also someone is telling me through a note they left on this pizza box that the crust is stuffed with cheese;
maybe someone else, maybe an amalgamation of units of being, wrote a nutrition label, with more precise things, denoted by the serious black/white nature of its design.
The government's aesthetic in one word is 'cubicle-facists'
A wisp in the willows
The mist softly billow
Gathers strength for tomorrow
Knows neither joy or sorrow
But carries it all the same
A messenger none name
Invoked by a shallow sigh
Touched by a lovers cry
Tears stream down a covered face
Slow. Time doesn't race
It lifts and dips as it will
Always anxious never still
Always an evermoving paradox
With hearts beat unorthodox,
Cascading chest it's own Makeshift blessing.
Echoes of its antics on the wind pressing
Ascending sweet until torn asunder
Bombarded by the roaring thunder
Ions ripped and apart split
Carry on they must not quit.
Reach the way hidden within
the darkest parts beyond the skin
Murmurs carried rumours dispelled
Beating parts start to swell
No ink. No spark. No quill
A message carried still.
babies first sounds echoed throught the house of gods
firebreath rose from the sea herds roam
the silver fingers pointed the masks of the exalted ones
the feast of the crimson swan has begun
I said I was a raindrop,
My friend had disagreed.
A snowflake is all you’ll ever really be.
Though you are not special
And though you are not interesting
The thoughts that you do wrestle,
Will come to sink your vessel.
I wanted just an answer,
To why I am this way.
Must I be so solemn and must I seem so gay.
The person who I am
Is all I’ll ever be
Writing with my hand,
Baked like a cut of lamb.
I know I am a snowflake,
Like everyone on earth.
Whether you're down or happy and filled with mirth.
Not everyone is kind
And not everyone is evil
But what I am to find,
It’s best to keep this out of mind.
New as fuck to poetry, thoughts?
Atlas’ Island(& what it was he had in his mind)
Pure crystal
Crystal Castle
Prudent earth
Icicle happiness is
purely intellectual, (his) thought
Dream Imagin
Souls fly
Above the sky
Inside the heart
besides the mind
Bear in tragedy
An island of lonely
A pitcher of raspberry lemonade
A tree (nymphs) shade
Souls fly
Above the sky
Inside the heart
besides the mind
Bear in tragedy
An island of lonely
A pitcher of raspberry lemonade
A tree (nymphs) shade in a noon
Souls fly
Above the sky
Inside the heart
besides the mind
Bear in tragedy
An island of lonely
A pitcher of raspberry lemonade
A tree (nymphs) shade in a noon’s high
Souls fly
Above the sky
Inside the heart
besides the mind
Bear in tragedy
An island of lonely
A pitcher of raspberry lemonade
A tree (nymphs) shade in a noon’s high sky
Imagination.
Souls fly
Above the sky
Inside the heart
besides the mind
Bear in tragedy
An island of lonely
A pitcher of raspberry lemonade
A tree (nymphs) shade in a noon’s high sky
Imagination trees
Christmas trees of green
Christmas trees of green decked out in tinsel
Christmas trees of green decked out in tinsel
in gold
Pirate’s cove
Pirate’s cove above the inlet
Pirate’s cove above the inlet
Parallel rivers
Pirate’s cove above the inlet
Parallel rivers in his heart
Heaven.
Title: Crimes of Compassion & Prose
Above in the sky
Relaxing on high
A chariot pulled
By an unslaved guy
And his mind
And his mind will forebear
The triumph of
And the turning key
To a maxdriven home & forebear
& foresee
Inside the apex
Is a pulp of glory
seeding undiscriminantly
Seeding soundz
Beating ground
Beating ground
The terrible crescendo, the ghost of a apex house in a ghost horse’s whisper
Of a dark dark secret
That may never have occurred
In the minds of the people
In the dark dirty secrets of evil
Engineer
Molecules to matter
In the matters of men
Molecules to wealth
To great minds of
of
something undefined
Molecules to wealth
To great minds of
a
something undefined
Listen up, the sky is a open
The little deaths that stare and scream & fight in the open
The kings that will stare & move with a start
They haven’t seen anything
They haven’t seen anything
They haven’t seen anything
Ballprose like a great bromide
Covering the newspaper’s cover up the inside
Crimes of compassion and fashion
Spitting on a lark: the triumph of the guiltless
You agreed to free the monster
Salvage the body from structures
Rotting away in the gutters
The monsters & men song
Forget what I just said, like
Moorit hut is just red, pike
Icecream cones of cotton swirl
Icecream cones of cotton swirling to the tune of the negative in a cubic
Take the inverse, and never forget
You came from infinity
I’ll c u again
The sky and the stars
The sky and the skylark
Alligator poets
Slamdunk
The sky and the skylark
Alligator galexya
A tiny point in an unending, unending in space
universe
As I grab my wrench
As I grab my cop-wrench
As I grabble
As you muddle, rattled
retchled minion
A YOUNG FIONNAGIN
Indented curvature, a Pulitzer prize
Experiment gone right
An untainted mind
A roof that’s in shambles
A hen playing goot
APHEX IS PRETTY
& turns into moot
like glue
like lying
like minding business
like the cross
(Blue blankets) river runs undoing the snake veneer venom
(Green trinkets) godmother sends his fair warning
(Yellow canvas) of forgotten delights
(Pink t) casual t
(Magenta) Magentil
The hem of a swea
On the inside curve of a swear that you spat
Neither black or white;
Nor feeling or distant.
And I don't belong to you anymore.
Neither black or white
I'm not feeling nor distant
Now I am not yours
I turned your poem into a haiku
Good parts and bad parts.
>Christmas trees of green decked out in tinsel
is good.
>Souls fly
Above the sky
is cliche and bad.
Only got one pair o’ shoes
I’s sold the rest for jars o’ booze
To kids my age who’re out to cruise
And dance the night away
Clank cup girl,
If momma knew
She’d beat this ass
All shades o’ blue
I like the idea. What I did was actually a somewhat liberal translation from a poem in Latvian. Original goes as:
>Ne melns, ne balts, ne vēss, ne kairs.
>Un es jums nepiederu vairs.
Ooo interesting. Do you speak Latvian?
Native speaker.
The full poem is very good, although hard to translate.
Paldies par tavām acīm lielām!
Nāk jaunais gads ar tumšām ielām,
un tikai jumti pilni sniega,
un dvēsele, pakārta pie diega,
re, debess vidū šūpojas.
Nekas man nepieder, nekas!
Es negribu ne kāpt, ne vīties.
Cik viegli nu ir atsacīties
no zābakiem, kas mani nes,
no putekļiem uz palodzes.
Ne sauciena, ne pieskāriena.
Kāds milzīgs miers un klusa diena.
Ak, tas nav ticēt, tas nav - cerēt.
Cik skaisti ir tā - nepiederēt!
Nekam, nekur. Kā palags linu
es lēni sevi izbalinu.
Un saplūstu ar vakarēnām.
I tevi aizmirstu es lēnām.
Ne melns, ne balts, ne vēss, ne kairs.
Un es jums nepiederu vairs.
I've been quite frustrated with the idea that the last two stanzas remain as untranslatable for me as they were a few months ago. I wish I could carry over the elegance and ease those words carry in the original to English.