Poetry Thread:

Post your work and critique others
please be specific with your hatred

wrote this at 3 am. hit me with all you've got
(1/2)

i swallow and
swallow and
there is no air
in my mouth

no air
at all

i am a cave that is
flooding with
water
and my own sister
is the flood;
she pushes my
head down
until i am face to
face with the
ceramic bottom
of the bathtub
and squeezes my
hair tight in her
fist and i
vomit a little
in the back
of my throat

my vision begins to
colour with faded yellow
and speckled black;
a bee in my face
a bee in my eye
a bee stinging my lips shut and
refusing to let
an aching
gallon of
water outside
leaking through my body
bursting at the seams
where all of my skin
closes and
sews itself up

i swallow and
swallow and kick and
curl and
swallow the infinite
water before me
because i
am in
the ocean and she is
a giant ship
without lifeboats and
i try to
beg but
i am only
talking into the
water
speaking into my
mouth and
yelling at
my teeth

the words
have nowhere to
go but

(2/2)

i could
beg for death;
i could get on my
knees and
lay down in the empty
bathtub and ask her to fill it up
i could ask her to
hold my head down and
never let me up
i could tell her to
call me every
dirty word she can
think of while she slowly
dyes the white water red and
i would tell her to
never let go
even when i close my eyes
and stop struggling

i could
ask her to hold
me underwater by the
throat and scream into my
ears until i bleed
i could turn the faucet and
fill the bathtub
until it is
drowning in itself
until the water is
spilling over the edges
and i would get in and say
please, rosa
please
fill this with your
tears and watch me.
make sure i don't get up
as you drown me and
watch me turn from
white to red to blue
to lifeless

i could beg her for my death
i could ask her
for it
i could ask her
to kill me

she would say yes
she would do it
for me
god knows i would have
done it for her.

There is no reason for your line breaks. You might as well have kept the whole thing as a paragraph.

cool piece but your line breaks could use some work

I'm workingon my meter, tell me how i did

Playing with William Blake

Repay the ten as ten, tenfold
With glory forc’d by christian hand
Bring me my bow of burning gold

Upon the deadly rock, a pyre
Will burn and burn at my command
Bring me my arrows of desire:

As wroth as rain no pain controlled
A bloody drake to flood the land
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!

The gushing heavens whet my ire
Unleash the cherub of desert sand
Bring me my chariot of fire.

The satellites’ circumference is not important but it is windy up here
So windy
Very windy
So windy
Very windy
It is – the satellite – revolving
Mostly white – the satellite – with bits of slightly off-white beige / plastic looking but not plastic
And there are no noises I think
If you were in the satellite I bet you could see so much sky.

I kind of like it but excluding the mention of the sister it feels like it could just be another abstract I AM DROWNING IN MY OWN BAD FEELZ poem, some good images though.

Do me

>I swallow and swallow and there is no air
That's because your throat is filled with cum. Grow up, stop expressing yourself in the most boring way possible, especially when writing poetry.
Tune up your imagination, rewrite that first part, and we can keep going.

do me

Two poems in one post, so that I'm not crowding the thread unnecessarily.

- - -

Grauhesch leers from his chamber, unbidden,
as we slink the shade of his view, unseen.
Grey king abed in his prison, unchained—
as our fear far stricter bids us silent.
That courtly mock: a wrinkled brow in thought,
repeated in bulbous and reaching flesh,
scornful wet facsimile of our own.
What hubris took hold and drove us here—
to cower before the insensate?
Long severed and silenced and bound but still,
the echo remains and shackles in turn.
Foul prophet those mouthless lines to lay,
not in mist and shadow but statute and stone.
What fault is this but ours, and ours alone?

- - -

The Faceless rose, spoke, and so came forth this:
"There lies a land, near, past reach nonetheless,
where mournful peaks glance to ley below,
and roads no feet have tread nor builders kept
in memory of page or scribe. Yet said,
’tis no empty land, though stirs naught within.
Scribes, it has, and builders and fathers and sons.
A King, it had, and courtiers and pipers and drums.
Tables, there are, set beneath still faces,
and no food, though untouched by creature or beast,
but mouldered and rotted to stain.
Those scribes, they hunch, over parchment gone to dust,
their hands stayed, in monument unwilling,
of those deepest crimes for greatest cause
wrought in vain, and none left to lament."

Creeping the Rubicon he holds his breath,
Unsure if at the mouth stands life or death,
White hooves advance in gallant strides,
Nearing with sword and pen held high,
Waves scatter, bend and take a knee,
They know their king is not the sea,
Blue legion swifts through water red
Wet leather on the riverbed,
They wait for Caesar tall and dry,
To finally say he’s cast the die!

The piece is called 'revisionism'


The stench of piss soaks the walls,
the s’s broken up on every corner,
torn and twisted beyond recognition
empty cups lined up against the surface
of a desk that once had legs.

Three bottles roll among the breeze
that blows through six glassless windows.
Swollen books tower below the crack on the ceiling.
Drop, drop, drops tick tick tick
R I
O C
P K
S
a wet hole through the paper
wroingdoing words wasted on water
that no roots fed,
that no leaves grew,
that manages somehow to stench of piss and broken bottles
blowing eerie whistlings through the rubble
among which you can see a little arm
and you pray,
you pray that’s just a doll under debris.

You move the bricks and dig in
and the blood stains your fingers.
You pick up the purple, swollen body of a baby,
swollen like books, broken like bricks,
purple like curtains in postmodern tales,
and you cry,
(first a sob, then a heaving, then a whimper,
then the tears and the wail and the limpness of knees)
because this,
all this destruction
was not really necessary.

This used to be a house.
Now, it isn’t.

>modern poetry.jpg

You will outlive this pthos-full writing still if you're lucky enough to have some brains to store above your heart. Otherwise, keep it up and go to slam sessions and try to be as pathetic as possible, you'll be lauded for minutes.

I liked it. Not specially the rhythm or the cadence, or the rhyme, which is appropriate for what you're doing, but for the images and feelings you're evoking. Would save/10

well thanks!
>Not especially the rhythm
any particular problems with the it or does it just not affect the poem much to you?

This was a different type of poetry than I'm used to writing, it's more of a black humor poem
It feels somewhat incomplete, so feel free to advise me on weak points and lines

A JOYFUL DAY, A JOYFUL DAY

Oh how giddy I am
Like daisies in may
Oh how happy I am
Like a jew with pay

Look at how talented I am
Admire me as I wheel and fray
Look at all the people
So beautiful in Jay
Look at how smooth I am
Like rastas with jane

And we are appointed!
By a god we say
And we are damned!
if we hang it today
And we are spooked!
By working for pay

And we are sinless!
Like dead infants from the clinic
And we are soulful!
Like epileptics on the dancefloor
And we will die!
Like depressions jumping Golden Gates Bridge

I appreciate the actual use of meter, so rare in these threads.

>as ten, tenfold
the 'ten' in the last foot sounds sort of jarring/awkward, since it's the same word twice, stressed and then unstressed

>Bring me my bow of burning gold
>Bring me
Words like 'me,' or 'he' or 'she' are usually unstressed, so that first foot might sound better if you had 'Bring' as the stressed syllable, it would sound stronger. Like: 'And Bring my bow of burning gold,' idk.

>Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Same with this one, :And Bring my spear, O clouds unfold:"
Also, just personal taste, but explanation points seem cheesy and necessary

>Unleash the cherub of desert sand
Something sounds wrong with the meter here, unless you slipped in an anapest i'm not seeing


Overall I liked it, the imagery is creative, and again I appreciate someone actually using meter for once.

Here is my most recent:
I live within this basket-weaving dream;
a life of spinning looms, to thread the seam
of present, past, and future, joined in threes,
midway between these twin eternities;
to suture here this flowing present-tense,
into some sort of semblance, making sense
of all of this, of life thus far I’ve seen—
and what are we, but moments in between:

The time it takes a flower to unfold,
we find ourselves already growing old;
as life were but a flutter flouting death,
the breadth of time in pause between a breath;
as life were but the flicker of a flame,
a light extinguished quickly as it came;
the candle-light of life, the time it takes,
the waver of a wave before it breaks.
Between our fingers sift what time is left,
when suddenly in death our life is reft.

This is absolutely fucking terrible and expresses nothing original
Do me

do me

It doesnt matter if the hills will sway
up the mountain to the dirt of river
cheap taste in the grain and the fragile adjust came to face
and bleeding out the howling winds; they fray
if there was no point in this
why would the trees sing for the morning rain
they sing something more like
"try and stop this pity I have made and heal the roots, let me grow
in grace" oh how the leaves danced and the bushes always hoorayed
Just loving the risk we take
always holding on to dear life but never being afraid
keep raining and shine on you broken fencepost
keep running away from yesterday

Not very creative, its okay.
I don't know what I feel, I gues nothing because that's exactly what this poem expressed "nothing"

His anger:

The night is sad and long and darkness
Envelops the horizon like those bottles with ships in them
And every passing sign of laughter shrinks
The bottle till all that's left is me

And you'd drink from it at times
When you felt like a dime
But when a cent you'd descend to madness and cry
And I'd paint from your tears lullabies
Like how the horizon was twisted to make you smile
Or the curve of the earth was to replicate your smile
Because you hated your lips and the gloomy face you wore
Was armor and artifice but angelic inside
Like marionettes that hide Faberge eggs
And I'd reckon you thought it nothing special
And I'd reckon I thought for me you'd fall
Like snowflakes but instead I got the devil
And hell out of failure and now I crawl
To every excuse to make you a lightning in summer
Or thunder in a cloudless sky and white
Molasses or water out of wine
So I can sober up and say
Fuck you and your lies.

Her reply:

The day is dark because it rains terror
And the reins of my heart are too light to bear it
Every message you'd send sent me to fervor
Which I'd sew and stitch till I could wear it
But I couldn't bear how you thought me your angel
Yet acted the same to every girl you'd attract
And sincere you said you were but I could sense danger
Because you lacked tenderness and never were tact
And intact though I was I'd still seen murder
Of the heart and hearth and I could foresee
How'd it end but I didn't want it to be so
So I swallowed my feelings and aimed to be
The one whom you'd want to turn to in troubles
Instead of scratching your stubble and pretending to laugh
But all I did was prolong the inevitable
Yes, you really do lack tact.

I don't think the cave image flows well into the bath tub one. And really have we all just given up on rhythm

Like a swirling shit fest of words that say nothing try again

FOUR WALL BREAK TO DIRTY STUDS

As the wind ravishes so does my heart
Dragged on the stone, like velvet chalk
My arms fludder, like winding rock
As the barrier breaks so does my luck

All the ash, slithered up the rut
As it falls to stirred erupt
And the piano plays its silent note
As the barrier breaks so does my luck

The horns in the sky
Made its harp
And the peace came and went to strut
Marks the last time, we wasted blood

Golden veil, peak your love
Show yourself, your face in the door
And inbetween it so
Dont waste time, it's getting old

As the sky breaks, the earth down to block
Lets riddle to rip its sails to cuts
Lets sail away to setting sun
As the barrier breaks so does my luck

Heres poem I wrote for you babe, it reminds me of your eyes.... and it expresses great meaning completely original done by your favorite

So I was browsing Veeky Forums when something hit
I knew I got a critique because my ass began to itch
I scratched my bum, and searched the thread
When I saw the post I knew my dick would erect
My favorite user and his satilite poem
Oh I cummed I cummed and moaned
The sticky white all over the screen
To the thought of his sticky feces and flees
I grabbed a tissue, and picked up the phone
Called the user and told'em what I done
He was interested oh so intrigued
We fucked all night and made great poetry

Soooooo lameeeeeeeeeeee

im unsure about the word choice here so eh

go to bed mira

I sort of feel like I know what you're trying to do here, but it's confused. Too many distinct analogies. I can't figure out your argument. And some parts in particular that don't make sense grammatically or aesthetically ("the horns in the sky/made its harp")

this is the gayest thing I've ever read

thanks mate i was going for a hippie shit vibe

I see it now, thanks!

I was going much more for a surrealist/aesthetic vibe, but I don't want to confuse.

Thanks! for some reason I never saw the Trochee-then-Iamb thing going on in the original lines (The final line of each stanza is a line in a William Blake poem [they're normally italicized]) but I knew it sounded off. I'll be sure to fix it

>ten,tenfold
probs gonna keep that because of how odd it sounds

Meter is fun and I'm enjoying adding it to my toolbelt

this is great
consider changing the last word to something like ripped
if you read it aloud the change is jarring in a way I would consider an improvement

I know what Im doing
The serfs are losing
Stay behind me
Follow your lord
I can help you find an accord

Are you cold?
I can make you warm
Your problems sustain me
That does sound bold

but a modern human,
seeks to solve things others havent
taking on the madness
looking for its cause
well maybe thats the cause.

dude, this is fun
take up the pen
even if its shit
at least one of 6 bill
thinks its a ten

sorry for a lack of coherence
im sure you can figure it out
decipher what i leave you as inheritance

I can only be honest
this may be of low effort
but it is personally truest
the first brick in the wall of my head fort.

disregard, this is one word better

I know what Im doing
The losers will lose
Stay behind me
Follow your lord
I can help you find an accord

Are you cold?
I can make you warm
Your problems sustain me
That does sound bold

but a modern human,
seeks to solve things others havent
taking on the madness
looking for its cause
well maybe thats the cause.

dude, this is fun
take up the pen
even if its shit
at least one of 6 bill
thinks its a ten

sorry for a lack of coherence
im sure you can figure it out
decipher what i leave you as inheritance

I can only be honest
this may be of low effort
but it is personally truest
the first brick in the wall of my head fort.

silence silence silence
silence silence silence
silence silence
silence silence silence
silence silence silence

>that implied silence
I heard it without it even being there

what are you trying to express, user? I'm not feeling it currently.

Not recognizing the most famous concrete poem ever.

I think they didnt recognize because its wrong. The blank space is in the middle of the poem.

Alternative rock-tier

>fludder
Anyway, your images don't mean anything, don't evoke anything. "All the ash, slithered up the rut / as it falls to stirred erupt" is just word salad, as is most of the rest of this poem.

cringe-tier