i feared all i was to be was the guy you dont take seriously i tried to hide it all behind petty jokes that always failed to impress you folks now to some im just that guy that smokes with failed dreams and high hopes but no real ambition cause i failed the high school mission due to shit tuition and by my own admititon a lack of motivation but enough with excuses and explaining the causation enough with that nerdy kid who needs an ego deflation through a summer transformation and some social adaptation i gained the tools to understand the way the world works
opening my eyes hurt but living in ignorance was worse then when id lost hope, my faith in the dirt i saw your face, to me your beauty was a curse reached out, exposed my weakness came in to my life and you cleaned up the mess of my thoughts, my doubts, my feelings then when i felt my mental wounds healing you started pushing drama destroying what we'd built i did believe in karma but you feel no guilt so i felt but am i right? who knows, you might
it all came crumbling faster than i could tell but there's no point mumbling i hope you're doing well you know ill never forget the way that i fell in love with you it really did feel true i really had no clue what went wrong maybe it was me all along or was it you resentment for what you put me though sitting alone in the dark feeling blue i tried to hide it, hoped no one knew viewing memories with that rose coloured hue forget about the bad times00000000 focus on the good being there for each other when we really should so alike we repel yet so different you can tell
is 1 chance is all they'll get? hopefully they dont forget how they felt when they met the way she made him sweat how she played hard to get how they had their hearts set lest they regret
Mason Perry
1
Gather around, for we go in hell We'll make a plan To let this day meet our demand With our hearts intact and Our hands geld high We'll rue the day I know we will
We make it over and down the hills Through shrapnel and led Through echos of yell!
2
Love your brother Carry him in your arms If his blodd washes your face Remember him, by his heart But not by his dare Or by his unfortune But know him respected, know him by good work Know that he died for us, and lived by his word
Brandon Garcia
standing in the bleak darkness in a fuel station at the beginning and the end of everything alone
we are all meat on the highway
jaundiced pig feet meat, cold and lifeless in the drizzle as men look on. the sternum snaps under the pressure like a man breaking a crab claw in half
red all over from a gash staining all red like a warning siren. mouth no longer a mouth but a gash into the meat
covered and hauled away like uncooked pork saved for later
finish filling your car with gasoline and head out into the darkness of eternity once again, a ship of the dead amongst the stars
this is the world of eternal night and we are all living in it alone
Landon White
I wrote you a haiku
I call it "Etiology of an user"
Ahem
"Though your poems suck Its snowing on Mount Fuji Some things never change"
~Fin~
Christian Powell
Definitely not my style, so bear that in mind. First part comes off as pretty Linkin Park-y. Using words like "folks", "nerdy", "causation" makes this seem a lot more amateur to me, as if it was the only thing you could come up with to rhyme; speaking of rhyming, don't do it so much. You looked best when you forgot about rhyme. If you're going to rhyme, I'd suggest a more regular meter. Otherwise, free verse.
Okay, Latvian infantry man. Work on your English some, but mostly, work on developing story in your poems. I mean... there was no reason for this having two parts because there was not more than one thing that happened. No deeper look into the psyche of someone in the military. Keep working.
Cool. I don't like the repetition of words but I'm a little OCD. Good imagery, good switching in concepts. However, quite one-sided. Doesn't achieve the balance of real life.
Ian Miller
And here's something you can critique.
Two of each to make the world, the rest to drown anew; an earthly flood from heaven hurled, a turning of the stew.
The fish are dying at our feet, rats sliding off the boards, the flood is come, and seeking meat, the waves a mongol horde.
The lion jumps out overseas, to lace the graceless deer. They've left all with the bleeding breeze, they've left me alone here.
Jaxson Murphy
Revised
Gather around, for we go in hell We'll make a plan To let this day meet our demand With our hearts intact and Our hands held high We'll rue the day I know we will
We make it over and down the hills Through shrapnel and led Through echos of yell!
Love your brother Carry him in your arms If his blood washes your face Remember him, by his heart But not by his dare Or by his unfortune But know him respected, know him by good work Know that he died for us, and lived by his word
William Nguyen
Time in a pendulum Speed of a Tense split frenulum
Zachary Rivera
Last stanza could use some work with rhythm. "Bleeding breeze" is interesting, but if you're talking about rain and wind a better adjective might work. Other than that I like it.
Logan Russell
>split frenulum actually made me wince
Crush
When the atoms that Make up you touch the Atoms that make up me, My Gift is slipped from my sleeve Like a young calf down a Hard gulch. A pathetic crying thing.
Under it I am crushed By the weight of Expectation and a false reality, Projected infatuations seen shifting through shy glances, an ideal of you too false to keep.
The Gift is yours, I suppose, In all its tetherings, Limits and deficiencies. How humiliating, to give so meager a thing. So I keep it for myself In hopes that it will spring and bloom And maybe, when matured, I can give it back to you.
Dominic Collins
All I could think of when you said "My Gift is slipped from my sleeve" was a piece of poop dropping out of a pant-leg.
Jacob Young
Citadel witness building a tower decorated in gold. Natural quickness, a garden of flowers, creeping vines; they do grow old. I was a builder, a maker of mountains. Slow to partake, eager to behold. I was a destructive, capabilities boundless. A beggar with nothing after all had been sold.
Andrew Kelly
Cool rhyme scheme, needs editing. "They do grow old" sounds like you just needed another beat. "I was a destructive" –– ??. Also, slow to partake/eager to behold is way too much telling and not enough showing.
Lucas Richardson
Quaint. 'Nice'. Worthless.
Julian Butler
This guy's only half passable complaint is about the meter. The rest is something he heard other people say and never thought about. Your poem is lazy, lacking, and clearly the work of a neopyhte, but, you shouldn't listen to this guy.
Lincoln White
I lost my place Now Im somewhere new I miss your face In my head Im in you She doesnt need me She doesnt care But neither do you Now feelings are rare Now feelings are gone Except seldom yearning For a place to belong For a passion burning
Jaxon Thompson
It's not really all that good, I know. I just wrote it after I saw someone die.
Robert Stewart
On Creating the Universe
I was alone in a dark, when I made places.
I took my flesh, and rolling into a ball, I cupped This in my hand.
I pressed us into a stone, and shattered it against the vitelline wall of everything.
The shards shined as stars, bright but feeble.
use imagery when talking about love or it's guaranteed to be horrible.
I found the rhyme scheme to come off as forced, consider putting it in meter to make it 'flow' better.
Why is "the Gift" capitalized?
Blake Ross
i'd consider looking for a different word than stew in your first stanza.
also, maybe ad "all" before alone so your syllables match up. "They've left me all alone here"
Jordan White
Cassandra
I have not heard, Nor have I seen of a sound or a sight so quaint so dear.
I have not seen, nor have I heard of a dream or a song so pure so clear.
but I have seen, and I have heard of a girl or a saint. so brave no fear.
This is for a young pregnant friend of mine. been working on it a lot since the last comments i received in an earlier thread. I'm happy with the first two stanzas, but i'm not certain about the last. I feel i touched on how I think she is pretty and nice in the first two stanzas. trying to work in some admiration of her strength and the good that she is doing. was going for a simple meter. Drawing inspiration from "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "when I hear her I have wings."
Easton Myers
Eyes eyes eyes But whether prisons, or come to the hospital, eyes eyes eyes always in the sun, It is currently at work in late May crops in Antalya side at dawn.
Eyes eyes eyes They cried in front of me several times He stayed naked eyes big eyes and naked six months old baby, but they were not even a sunless day.
Eyes eyes eyes eyes're a mahmurlaşmayag joyful fortunate supremely intelligent and perfect language to be something epic of human love into the world.
Eyes eyes eyes It is here in the autumn chestnut of Bursa and summer leaves after rain and Istanbul every season and every hour.
Eyes eyes eyes I rose the next day, the next day, brother people together Your roses will look with your eyes, They will look through your eyes.
Adrian Foster
Vitvasser floats on this black pool— a curious thing, stained glass monochrome by flesh mediated and blood given.
'Neath hateful eye of Midnight Rock, on the shore-skim of my killer, I kneel to die, and reflect on the walls.
Such white, night-time gleaming arroyo walls— cut by swift water, a man would say, if he were a fool.
Xavier Perry
I'm sorry.
Its not that great, but maybe I was unfair.
Keep working on it user.
Caleb Roberts
I know it's not that great, I just wanted to get it off my chest, y'know?
Nathan Wilson
Moo moo moo what cows do when left to watch a coup who who who what were you seeing two cows you knew slowly grew moo moo moo!
Jacob Sanders
I get it. That's part of why poetry is great. Its meant to be distilled thought and emotion.
Justin Thompson
What wisdom.
Andrew Hill
Doesn't speak to me. Conciseness is key. Please be a little more concrete. If you're writing this for other ppl, they will have no idea what it's going on about. It's sweet and fits the purpose. Doesn't need to be an artistic masterpiece about the purpose of life. I like it, she will too.
My own poem:
Night passed again, on fairies' wings, leaving trails of stars--
I could have sworn I saw a friend just past the door, ajar.
Dreams crawled off the carousel of beasts of broken horn-- the morn stood not so far.
I sputtered bubbles of awake, felt the throaty grass that dwells just past my door, ajar.
Fuck up my poetry.
Noah Lewis
to have crafted what mortal men admire and played better adversary to kismet these are the petty designs of the romantic
i have crafted my model cities, everleering invisible to all eyes but mine own in native pantomime i have attempted to imitate paradise
ever-expanding stages to accompany ever-expanding actors three axes and the dumb flesh of the human flank in contemporary movement to seconds of thirds and thirds of fourths
i have attempted to imitate paradise and the works of its earthly constituents for who could defer Shangri-La but he who gave it symmetry
t. Stephen Dedalus' dad
First two stanzas need fixing to feel more cohesive with the last two
Ryan Walker
cool, thanks. I like your poem.
Revised:
Night crept by while it was dark, I did not feel it pass–– just inklings of the Northern star.
Under the awn, the dawn was born, jumping bleakly like a spark. It inched just past my door, ajar.
Dreams crawled off the carousel of beasts of broken horn–– the morn stood not so far.
I sputtered bubbles of awake, felt the throaty grass that dwells just past my door, ajar.
John Cook
Great, like this new one a lot more "Inklings of the northern star" has a wonderful ring to it
Carter Williams
Good to hear. If you share another, I'll write another and we can critique.
Andrew Russell
Alright
Took a line from Performance and built a poem around it, this is just an improv. Haven't ever done this before so it's pretty shit, sorry
limp fingers along tired surfaces have you not tired of neverending celebrations bohemian atmospheres acerbic humors the names and faces and footsteps that have long since blended into the carpet lost distinction and remained only as a vast stain upon memory have you never looked about the room and wondered what it's like to be born dead to be born for the worn out high places to be born and forever be in between the lines and through the stanzas an intruder on another's own time
America is a blinding place for nightlife and there is no escape from the bright lights
lights neon lights illuminating the faces of new lovers a ballad of modern Prufrock between the parlors and the smoke that obscures the finer details in faces the finer points of modern dialogue the finer grooves that time has worn amongst those who masquerade as the young by God is this what we've become errant treading reminders in the places of the giants that used to walk the earth ghosts flitting about and fro drifting among the Beefeater and the vast expanses of the city have we not raised a spectacle for society and society a spectacle to us and how a howl has arisen quickly quenched by the gaping mouth that was its origin favoring static static for its lot realization of its silent alarm America is a blinding place for nightlife
and there is no escape from the bright lights
Gavin Thomas
Will reply after feeding my need for porn.
Easton Thomas
Okay, cool poem, post-Americana or something. Gatsby extended.
All my stuff tonight is improv. I'll just start with your last line.
and there is no escape from the bright lights dimmed nights barfights universal fucking rights: one million dead in 94 I saw the leg bones stacked in the corner of the catacomb like machetes. One of my friends couldn't stop getting hard fingering the holes in the skulls (he told us later he was impressed). Still hot to the touch. like machinery. The whole world is standing in Tiananmen Square staring death in its metallic face like the orifice of a tank. We smoked something last week behind the grocery store. I told everyone I saw Ginsberg chasing a little boy through the aisles. he was racing michael jackson. and the pope. staring death in its metallic face, I forgot the punchline. I go forth unto undestination: where grey is grey, and lilac grows, and I remember exactly how to get home. I hate that I keep waking up with such an ache in my conscience.
Turned out worse than I would have liked but ––whatever–– I get to sleep. Catch up with you in the morning.
Angel Taylor
Definitely reminds me of Howl. Would take out the part about Ginsberg and the pope and replace it, but I do like the "I forgot the punchline" that follows it so try to keep it in a similar style, just more fitting with the rest of the poem
Yeah, when I say I've never done this, I mean I've never written poetry before. Glad you think the stuff is cool tho
Josiah Allen
got roped into some bet about writing a poem about this girl's feet and came to this thread for inspiration
that one moo cow poem was p good
Noah Fisher
Yo, bro, Zthis a rap tho?
Adrian Davis
i wish people still wrote in meter. poetry is dead
Liam Rodriguez
>The Night Watch I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea. Eternal cold envelops broken ships. Deprived of sleep, escape reality.
My gun is hanging heavy, carelessly, Unlike the belt that binds disjointed hips. I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Assigned to elevator one of three. I pass the time caressing pistol grip. Deprived of sleep, escape reality.
A loud, destructive pounding pesters me. Absorbed by foam with bright accented tips. I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Aware that every second moves slowly. Awake, but fading; eyes about to slip. Deprived of sleep, escape reality.
Atlantic sun develops eagerly. Disarm, debrief, surrender every clip. I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea. Deprived of sleep, escape reality.
Isaac Wilson
slouched by the stove pattering fried eggs med-low flame soaks her buttered melts spring poppy yolk suffocated in white under fractured peach linoleum eggshells
she told herself herself in a parfait of minced words. it read: today I slip through the hummus the self escapes through cracks in the pastry assured on breads while whipping three eggs
Nathan Baker
cheap chip cheeping twit twit its twits twisting and sweeping beceause they beeping beeps being beeps they beep the beeper beeps beating beta' betamax as he baiting beta baits being alpha beat beat alpha bait beta bit by bit he beat-beating betas beat by beat beta losing bits killed to bits beta is no longer close to vasco the guma beep beep he is the jeep
Aiden Nguyen
are you retarded
Christian Roberts
I liked it. It's juvenile, sure, but I dig playfulness in writing.
Landon Garcia
Ok this is good
Jack Reed
I bleed for you the city laughs the streets weep as figures pass outside my window their faces pale They cling to life tooth and nail "please try to remember" we always forget that everyone has blood to let
Parker Gonzalez
This is a period of temporal decay What is beautiful settles at our feet The rays of sun would shine freely Through the trees But there is no sun Only trees And spring is not a bastion of hope For those about to face winter It is coldness robed In a cruel promise