Bring out your Poetry

Show us your very own poetry and discuss it's meaning with each other.

I'll start it off


O beautiful sparkling ridge which bathed in light

blessed by serenity of the sun’s early wane

Brings an orange hue to that distant sight.

as it sets behind the field, lighting it aflame.

along comes the moon, passing through the sky.

And a blanket of stars follow suit in frame.

abridged by the sweet sound of the cricket’s cry.

As if saying goodbye to their bright dame.

the ridge, now shined with that small glossy orb

who’s pale healing light, the fields absorb

waiting for the cricket to sing once more

which cries blazon the glorious morn.

A life of a soul which passes through time.

and sees the blaze of its youth at its height

then comes wisdom of that dreary night that chimes

until it gives way to another bright day of light.

And as the moon come and go, the sun sets and rise.

And as the fields wither and die to once again arise

The cricket stands ready to sing about the ridge’s life.

We raid your fucking communes
We take your fucking drugs
We rape your hairy women
And set fire to your bongo drums

hahahahah, awesome poem. Is it about an african tribe?

I call it Hippie Blood Stains My Steel

I would love to see you recite that in those underground poetry slam bars especially those who has a person playing a bongo drum to signify an end to a stanza

Imagine all of their faces. one can only dream.

his feels like an overwrought attempt at appropriating old-school pastoral, missing the forest for the trees of an aped style. Which sounds pretty rude but perhaps others won't perceive it to be so lifeless.

Sounded more like THE MAN attacking hippy communes to me, and
supports my concept, hooray


seconded it totally sounded like an inversion of shitty slam poetry

Bite the sun it bursts like an orange
bleeding out on robin egg sky
clouds scrambled fried overeasy
RA is dead, star maggots reign for now

hahahahha, fucking kek.

It is you, they say, that sings on marriage-beds,
born of a Muse, sacred bond of the gods,
linking the battling atoms by arcane chains,
fostering discrepant webs by a holy embrace:
For you link the elements, you marry the world,
and you join the wind of the mind to our bodies,
under the happy pact of a coupled Nature,
uniting the sexes, and faith under love -
O seemly Hymenaeus, most dear to Cyprus
(for here Cupid flashes with ardent gaze),
whether father Bacchus made you love dances,
or it is from your mother, to sing at marriage-beds,
or your sister Graces gave to you to deck
flowering thresholds with blooming wreathes:
Calliopea, composing a wedding of gods,
desires you to approve the start of our song.

Stippled rain on the window fades now and then
And fluting beaks sing themselves never more
Until tomorrow comes and ends it over again-
The sun is here, still.

Samite-ringed fingers come and go,
Plucked or eaten and trampled and so on.
The bees that love them, they go, too, somewhat forever-
The grass is here, still.

The gentle good-mornings of hibiscus and honeysuckle may scent tomorrow,
But today it does not, and it won't ever again for some time-
Yet the wind is here.

She's a problem of yesterdays and tomorrows,
Infinite almost.

This is wonderful, user.

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.

Present echos the future's reply.

Dreams reflecting allusion's cry.

City night sky, off the gloss I spy.

Borrowing the time of time's maker

Tinker my mind when I waver.

Help me savor the moment when it comes.

The truly dead are still alive

The reaper said he's lost his pride.

The tide of time means nothing more

Than a piece of trash brought to shore.

The pillars of will are collapsed

The plastic strife was their tax.

Shattered remnants do remain

To repair them would be vain.

Easy on the lazy eye

No need to look up to the sky.

Men's mouths stay light and quiet.

The suit has sought out to buy it.

Of all that's been said and done

Our fears still blot out the sun.

I'm in the process of writing a dozen or so apocalyptically-minded sonnets, each with wildly varying settings and tones, from science fiction to biblical. Here are the two I feel are reasonable enough to be looked over by other people:

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."


- - -

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 daffodil man with his soft coat and tie
With his glorious hands and his eyes to the sky
As we watched in redemption and left him to die
And we cleansed ourselves silly and suckled the lie
But we were just sheep
At the end of the day
We were just people and god was to blame

>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

damn man, what happened?

The ruler of a kingdom nestled into a high mountain valley chose to weather the siege when beset upon by colluding neighboring nations, rather than march out against the aggressors. His court mage (the setting of this disaster is pretty high fantasy, something I usually don't delve into), a friend since adolescence, couldn't bear to see his people and country suffer in the long term because of this passive approach, and tore out his king's heart, using it as the seed to create an unthinkable living engine of war to bring ruin on their enemies. The leaders of the besieging countries, being skilled magicians as well, collaborated in a last-ditch ritual to contain the monster, sacrificing themselves and placing the kingdom they were attacking into an irreversible lifeless stasis. Their efforts failed to affect the beast, and it laid waste to their armies and countries, with nobody to keep it in check.

And so, this kingdom sits still, surrounded by desolate and shredded cities, all for nothing. I'm planning to write a short story or novella to which the poem will be either a prologue or epilogue.

This put a big stupid grin on my face, thank you.

Here's some elementary shit, I wrote in the woods, least it's short>

Alike.
Man, in all his places
Lost in a crowd
The spilled thoughts of strangers around
Delicately finding foot between bouncing knees
As in a throng of trees
atop a thousand matted carpets lain,
shadow-thin lace swaying in step with a breathing wood

These, so much as the stick poking embers
to reinvigorate
or to pull into dust.

cock

balls

fuck

>tdlr
poetry is for faggots

>he's on Veeky Forums and he's calling anyone a faggot

beautiful.....

I feel like the first four lines could benefit from being condensed as such-

>Man alike, in all his places
>Lost among strangers' spilled thoughts

You don't actually need to make specific mention of a crowd, as lines 5 and 6 get this point across effectively without blunt description.

Control:

I've been listening to Joy Division lately,
And I watched that Ian Curtis biopic.
I think it's crazy how much Sam Riley can look like Ian Curtis and also be a good actor.

I've also been listening to that Courtney Barnett song that goes:
"I don't know why it affects me like this
When you're not even mine to consider."
I think that's how I feel about
You.

The thing is,
I don't feel very strongly about you
In a good or in a bad way.
I've just kinda resigned to my fate,
And I think you have too.

And I know that one day
I'll replace you with someone else
And feel bad about it initially
But quickly move on
And then feel bad about that
But only briefly.

I know,
Because it happens all the time.

We go through cycles I guess.

Like how I always want to watch
End of Evangelion
But I don't like the idea of sitting through the whole movie again.

And like,
Whenever I get high
I can never concentrate on the things I want to concentrate on.

And when I'm sober too.

I lack self control, I guess.

Good input, I agree. Cheers user.

like a people growing
like a serpent twining
like a pecan open
like a fish winded

behold all joy and torment
blind men founding time

sewing reapers on snipers peepers
flagging despots touching escort
foul intent turbulent arrow
persuing sweet and narrow
touch lost to poke and follow
hope dreads tomorrow's wallow
haste likes a people glowing
back-stead outcast caretaker
know nothing about the snowbound
fire back, outlast houses tarnished
roll eyes at soup or markets
metal bending twine
deaf men funding rhyme

Not entirely sure what it's about, but "persuing" needs the 'e' swapped for a 'u' unless that's intentional for some reason.

This is just a post-breakup email with line breaks inserted, or a series of texts mashed together.

It doesn't have the bearing of a poem, really. For fun, I edited it into paragraphs with appropriate punctuation as implied by the line breaks, and it gets across the exact same feeling.

I feel like the flow of the poem would be improved by removing 'we' from line 4. I would also break line 7 into two, like so-

>We were just people
>And God was to blame

This creates a pattern in the (post-change) last four lines which calls back to the first four, in that you have three lines establishing a concept, followed by a fourth explanatory/denouementory line beginning with 'and'. This lends the poem a more solid underlying structure without detracting from its meaning.

plenty more where this came from...

...

I made a thread here
but I suppose I should have just posted in this thread.
Hail holy High-King of hallowed heavenly hosts,
You may of bequething a beutiful Bosniak make Boasts,
Whose absence alters the air to be arctic,
whose coming creates a calm thats cathartic.
Nothing witheld by the Welkin whips her waxed wit,
Nor satisfies the soul such as to with her sit,
Nor,even the vaunted violin, with her voice vies,
Nor exceeds in enrapturing her emerald eyes.
into your sanctified scolls of salvation set,
this prized perpetual payer of Pizza-debt.
To this laughing, lively lass so lovely,
and her clement creator praise be

Grauhesch is very good (as I've told you before), the first one is not nearly as good and struggles throughout. The line "those scribes, they hunch, over parchment gone to dust" is very good. The lines "Scribes, it has... A king, it had,... Tables, there are..." stand out to me as the weakest .

I can see why those three lines stand out as weak, now that you point it out. I suppose I was trying to build a rhythm, but it peters out too quickly.

I'll work on it, thank you.

alliteration is overdone, this passage could work in a longer description as a brief remark on a certain person's beauty or something, by itself it's dull. The rhythm is clumsy and there are polysyllabics that jar its pace. Also what is a pizza-debt?

refers to

you bet, cool idea for a set of poems btw.

check out Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell for some cool bizarro-descriptions of ineffable, transcendent experience, or the Book of Isaiah for incredible apocalyptic destruction imagery.

I'll be sure to look those over, thanks for the suggestions

I am meaning to present it to the subject of the poem for her birthday. The poem is primarily meant to be alliterative. How can I fix the rhythm, just by cutting down on polysyllabics or just by fixing the meter? Also pizza debt is a bit of an inside joke, about forcing people to buy each other food for past favours. I considered leaving it out when posting here but it would ruin the line above it.

Just read through the lines or read them out loud and try and pick out what sounds clunky, then revise it so it flows (the right punctuation can help with this too).

(and between you and me I wouldn't write a poem to a girl I had a romantic interest in unless we were sexually involved but that's enough about that)

Thanks for the help.

That was really great critique thanks.

Equally great critique

penis
pen is
benis
caw- caw-
cock
gracias..

How about a prose poem?

I am a fey stunt run in a half mad day, walk down the wake haggling teat for tat. Now's way the moon high and, life's yolk fried, spills sin like milk by the gutter-slide. Ah, it's too cold for what dirt's worth I pay but, said on again, nothing's wrong with that. This, climbing without aim at a high hill, all of this is the loneliest blue I look back onto the city with. All that is strung is cut silent, winds scatter sky-up to no swift Harmony. Messenger clouds march into a sad adjective above and elsewhere the stars I do not know. The workings are so shallow under the sun that I may see wet feet from beyond men's rough image in the night's river. Let it engulf me at home, I say, just as well as it whelms the world over, and so I spear in it, out, down by Cocytus.

like it a lot

I drop from your cheeks into the water
and float about while the muscles relax.
You look at the nice picture next to a box of tissue
as more turds join the dance. We spin around
until gobbled down with a sucking sound.

poo in loo

Look. I'm going to be blunt here, I've always enjoyed poetry but never got too invested into it for one reason or another, and I know its unsavory to ask, but I'm having some trouble remembering a poem I read that I saw a couple of years ago. I know this isn't the right place to ask; but I figured people who appreciate poetry might be able to help me.

What I remember is a man, possibly a drunk or a man simply bleeding out on the street who everyone simply ignores except for the person whos perspective its written in, and when he goes to help the person he helps him up and helps him walk, and they walk endlessly into eternity.

If this is quite well known and i'm simply not able to find it I apologize. I rarely post and moreso rarely ask for help because I can usually find my own resources.

Wow wow wow dude this is really very good !!! I really like the last part, and the idea that something can be -almost- infinite.

I wrote some garbage lyrics the other day someone tell me how to improve them:

I remember
when vibrance spilled from your pores
A trail that lead me right to your door

And we lay in your double bed
And painted the sheets red
"Ive got nowhere else to be,
I guess your arms are good enough for me"

I remember
The last cruel exchange of words
Following a myriad of hollow thoughts

And we sat at the edge of my bed
And watched all colour drain from it
"Were both going nowhere
And getting old and tired fast"

I AM LIT

fuckin' marry me
we didn't even talk at that gig
not even a word exchanged
but yeah marry me

please just marry me
there's more to this life than rockin out
like hanging on the line with your socks out
guuuuuh marry me

we're fully married now
a signifier that time's passed
a little reminder time goes fast
shouldn't've married me

these aren't sonnets. also your meter is fucked

literally all of these are trash

Tell us how to improve then instead of being a jerk tell us why they are bad its in everyones best interest come on

No no user, what he's done is perfectly okay. If you put your poem on the internet, you must be prepared for this.

Most poetry is trash.

i fucked ur mom lol

benis lol

burp

I return to the grass and sigh

it's cold and the dry wind strips it of its life force

green turned brown forevermore

Waiting for that dark cloud to drizzle its lake drops onto you - the dry sponge of grass

vibrant green gone - wanting to live and staying firmly planted with your roots so burnt

Millions of you not thinking, just living day to day for the sake of it - there is nothing better to do after all you suppose

Absorbing the downpour into your brittle arms reaching for the sun - How high do you intend to go?

The thrill when
Wandering the streets
In the dark
And passing another,
A walking shadow,
In total silence -
Both thinking the same thought

Bump

All around cliche and clunky and you hammered it way in at the end

This reminded me of something I wrote on the bus once. I like your thought.

The subtlety of a human charge. I shudder as a touch glances mine on the subway. And I'm never quite sure if I'm repulsed or comforted as the tiny tendrils of warmth and immediate security drift past the borders of the surrounding reality and into my soul

LITTLE NOTES, FROM YOUR MISSING SAILOR

As the wind from the sea carrys this sail
And the seaguls make the mock
My heart left ashore, dragged, like velvet chalk
Dear love at first sight
Follow the track to meet tonight

Find me on the water, and its raging winds
Carry your lamp, and compass
For the light it bends
No remorse will come as
No regret will be shot
From the arrows of cupids bow

Come to the water tonight
Watch the blue, and bright lights
Stare into the dark
Hold my hand for luck
Jump into the sea
Like swimming dreams, and stars
Our youth as too long till it rusts

Dear my dear
Listen to these words
Ear to ear
Heart to heart
Mouth to mouth
Tongue to tongue
No lie will be told

Our frame made diamond
For all the years to pass
It'll never break
These moments, I share with you
We're made to neverend
We're made to always last

tell me the specific weak points. I feel like it has so much potential but it's not there

Relax your jaw, open wide

Release your moan into the sky

hawt

I figured I'd ask here before giving up and making anew thread, can anyone recommend me some poems specifically about hunting/predators/predatory animals? I don't know jack shit about poetry and I'm looking for something classic or well known. (inb4 tyger tyger)

Thanks in advance

I get you, I didn't realise the "Millions" line looked so much like I was talking about people, I really just wanted to talk about grass. Here's another one I wrote recently, is it any better?

Screaming
clouds of mosquitoes
as I look up -
I see a cloud moving
and screaming at the top
of its lungs --
Raining into my ears
Occasionally I swat
at these pesky vamps
who try to penetrate
my skin leaving
a red bump as evidence
of being violated

Not really. You get so caught up in simplicity that its just painfully cliche.
>screaming
>screaming at the top of is lungs

Also it just isn't about anything. I mean it's about mosquitos... It sounds like you're hunting at something with the last line because you use >violated but it just feels like words you thought looked good together

Hop up out my car (swag)
Then I drop my roof
Wet like wonton soup
That's just how I do (swag)
Then I park my car
Then I fuck your bitch
Eat that wonton soup
Swag like wonton soup

lookit that PUP

The Windhover by Gerard Hopkins
The Eagle by Tennyson
The Panther by Rilke
It's Dark in Here by Shel Silverstein
Dalliance of Eagles by Whitman
Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll
Prometheus on his Crag by Ted Hughes

Lots about birds of prey. I dunno... hope this helps.

The Badger by John Clare

Well damn, thanks for the comments. Going to work on it.

thanks guys.