Hi, Americans.
I googled "modern poetry".
Are you not allowed to rhyme?
levelerpoetry.com
flavorwire.com/217118/10-poems-everyone-needs-to-read
poetrysoup.com/modern_poets
poets.org
loc.gov/poetry/180/p180-list.html
inb4 Pale Fire. Pale Fire is good, yes.
google "poetry" first. its called blank verse
but that poem uses rhymes
Bump
you Americans must know at least one good modern poem
Read this: poemshape.wordpress.com
Yes modern poetry can rhyme. the one in your pic rhymes.
Modern poetry was an attempt to break from the cliches of classical poetry. It worked for a while, but since then, poetry has become something of a slog.
Where classical verse focuses on structure and meter, contemporary focuses on thought and unique structure. Basically, modern poetry attempts to disassemble classical styles and reassemble them in new ways.
Here, Bullet
If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.
I wish you'd specified that you wanted an actual poem.
Here's one of my modern favorites, plus a little history behind it: poemtree.com
what the fuck does that have to do with santa
>written by a 15-year-old boy two years before he committed suicide
sounds like something i would read in a forward from grandma
No need to bump threads this early here on Veeky Forums friend.
Did you read the poem, or are you just a fucking retard?
Its about lost innocence and childhood. Its pretty obvious throughout the piece.
Second to last group is where it comes to head, with the climax in the last group. The meaning is all in the second last though.
>Once,
>On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,
>And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",
>Because that was the name of his grief
>And that’s what it was all about.
>And the professor gave him an "A"
>And a strange and steady look.
>And his mother never hung it on the door
>Because he never let her see it.
>That year he found his sister necking on the back porch
>And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.
>And he forgot how the end of the "Apostle’s Creed" went,
>And Father Tracy died.
>And the girl around the block wore too much make-up
>That made him cough when he kissed her,
>But he kissed her anyway.
You sure are an ungrateful little shit.
doesnt even rhyme
I know. I found it here flavorwire.com/217118/10-poems-everyone-needs-to-read
It's the only good one.
It's not me.
>Are you not allowed to rhyme?
??????????????????????
Just going to take a shot in the dark: is the poem in the op-pic written by a black person?
very bad.
The point is I wanted modern poetry. Preferably writtern in recently years. This is why I googled "modern", see?
My nigga this some real shit
Jesus, here you go.
1
Thank goodness we were able to wipe the Neanderthals out, beastly things,
from our mountains, our tundra—that way we had all the meat we might need.
Thus the butcher can display under our very eyes his hands on the block,
and never refer to the rooms hidden behind where dissections are effected,
where flesh is reduced to its shivering atoms and remade for our delectation
as cubes, cylinders, barely material puddles of admixtured horror and blood.
Rembrandt knew of all this—isn’t his flayed beef carcass really a caveman?
It’s Christ also, of course, but much more a troglodyte such as we no longer are.
Vanished those species—begone!—those tribes, those peoples, those nations—
Myrmidon, Ottoman, Olmec, Huron, and Kush: gone, gone, and goodbye.
2
But back to the chamber of torture, to Rembrandt, who was telling us surely
that hoisted with such cables and hung from such hooks we too would reveal
within us intricate layerings of color and pain: alive the brush is with pain,
aglow with the cruelties of crimson, the cooled, oblivious ivory of our innards.
Fling out the hooves of your hands! Open your breast, pluck out like an Aztec
your heart howling its Cro-Magnon cries that compel to battles of riddance!
Our own planet at last, where purged of wilderness, homesickness, prowling,
we’re no longer compelled to devour our enemies’ brains, thanks to our butcher,
who inhabits this palace, this senate, this sentried, barbed-wire enclosure
where dare enter none but subservient breeze; bent, broken blossom; dry rain.
>good
>that poem
Nothing rhymes anymore. We're so alone.
Well gee fuckin whiz, thanks for pointing that out buddy, I might not have noticed had your superior intellect been there to indicate these obscure facts for me.
Let me put it real simple for you. Poetry in general is about structure. Its about brevity, packing huge ideas into a small or constraint oriented format. Its kind of like weight training. With prose you're free to explicitly express ideas, but with poetry, you purposefully restrict yourself in various ways to make the ideas more transcendent and impactful.
Yes, modern poetry can rhyme. A lot of it doesn't, because contemporary fags confused stream of consciousness with "Oh, I can be a vapid cunt and write anything I want, so long as the lines are short!".
If your really clever, you might use odd rhyming such as slant rhyme or odd meter, like in the first post of this thread.
I don't get what your objective is here. Are you looking for good poetry to read or are you trying to write your own? Pontificate you faggot.
if that's what you wanted, you should have googled contemporary :)
Whoa there buddy, someone might get pissed. It doesn't even rhyme!
Basically this. Modern poetry and contemporary poetry are two different things.
Modern poetry is everything from T.S. Eliot to Robert Frost. Contemporary means post-modern, which basically means shit that has been produced very recently, up til this very year.
that rhymes? or does it matter
I think part of the reason it isn't as popular is because it feels overdone
It is sarcasm. Poem after poem some anti-intellectual shit that doesn't even rhyme. It doesn't have to but I love when it rhymes. Shows author's mastery of language. A lot of blacks with their "social" topics (fuck whitie). Yuk.
i don't understand the guy in this thread, since when did poetry have to rhym?
i thought so by your OP, but this confirms it, shitty troll thread.
this is not /b/.
see this
see
But it is not? I read the whole Pale Fire (999 lines). I love poetry in my own language, which is Russian.
"ok"?
Fuckin troles, get the fuck out you faggot.
Goddammit, i can't believe I took this shit seriously.
I think my blood pressure is spiking. I'm gonna go take an aspirin and then blow my brains out.
So yeah, don't get upset. This is not a troll OP.
Why are you here? I will discuss poetry with those who want it, get lost.
looking for good poetry like the raven with a rhythm and story
Oh suck my cock you ruski fag.
Your understanding and grasp of poetry is elementary at best.
Maybe go read up on some different styles before you say poetry is all about rhyming. Ever hear about haiku? Have a good look at modern rhyming or neo-classical poetry, its almost all 100% garbage.
If all you're really looking for is rhyme and standard structure, stick with the classics. That's why they're classic. True modern is also good for this. Contemporary is what you want to stay away from. Like I said, contemporary rhyme poetry is fucking garbage.
Poetry is dead, and poets killed it.
Good day to you.
at least that fucking santa kid killed himself
Yuk. Why does this creature write to me? Disappear, nigger.
>Maybe go read up on some different styles before you say poetry is all about rhyming.
Lol, it can't even read.
>Poetry is dead, and poets killed it.
Edgy. I bet he wears his hat askew.
...
1/2
Irish Catholic Styrofoams
Pay muted respects to a manikin
No longer moans, no longer drools
Embalmed in tradition
And cheaper preservatives
The next of kin collect from
The fresh fallen bitter news
In ill fitted suits
And dark enough shoes-
Enough pews between us
And the Most Honorable
Elijah Muhammad’s
Restless Jigaboos,
Enough room for
Two hundred years
Of Columbia Avenues
-We're here to
Praise the dead
And gone to
Church to pray
For death.
Shameful blushes
From the front,
Match stunted
Sobs in back,
Mannered how we
Imagine we'd be
Across the oceans
Where our skins
Come from:
I'm from the Eire
Of course I
Love Lager,
Or, Alkebulan
Is my true
Motherland,
Far from
My great, great
Rapefathers.
We weep
In the privacy
Of the church,
Seen by at least
Two gods
And the Anglo
Saxon Saints
Stained on
Glass windows.
2/2
The body
In the casket
Is family
I didn't know,
Pictures of his
Young years
Are shared
With my own,
Pictures of
The rest
Show a life
With all those
Black Muslim
Nurses, wiping
Tears and
Blowing noses.
The house host,
His suit pressed
Ego greased
And collar tight,
Reminds us
That much like
The pagans beyond
The Church's touch,
Creased palms
Can't know much,
Blessed with
Blissless ignorance,
Like the other
Savage innocents-
An aside written in
A quick shift of eyes
Says no wonder
He found refuge
In the hearts
Of dark insolents
-His immortal
Soul saved
By pity drenched
God's grace,
He can't think,
He can't act,
He won't burn,
His soul's safe.
We strut and fret together
Across an earthy stage,
Ashed and reddened knuckles
Carry the corpse of an age.
Tears fall naked
From the gates
Of a blue niqab
Stitched with stars
And crescent moons.
The funeral home we-
We, hands leathered
Thin and stubborn
As our wallets,
We, silent, honest
As life for labor,
We, like pastries baked
Of slanted newspapers
Stuffed with dogshit,
We, hands white with caulk
We, hands black with pitch-
The funeral home we could afford
Printed the wrong date
And the wrong name,
But at least they got it right
On the grave.
No, actually. I browse Veeky Forums frequently. Get the fuck out.
>classical verse focuses on structure and meter
I hope you don't pay any educational institution to have this opinion.
whos the babe
Yes. How did you know?
>needing rhymes for poetry
what are you, fucking plebs?
>captcha has milton in it
wew
Sounds like trap lyrics.
see this
>Wow modern art is bad it was sooooo much better back when people made real art!!!
Fuck off queer.
>Wow modern art is bad it was sooooo much better back when people made real art!!!
Who said that? Get the fuck out.
不言下語
>I only listen to REAL music. Kanye West, FKA Twigs, Kendrick Lamar, Beyonce, Earl Sweatshirt, Flying Lotus, The Weeknd, Drake, DOOM, Beyonce, Deangelo, the list goes on
>I follow pop culture. I watch the grammys. I watch the VMAs. I love live tweeting about both
>I listen to both mainstream music AND indie! I'm a new breed of cultured
>I love tweeting about the NBA. Did you all see the NBA All Star game? Check out this meme of a NBA star! he be like
>Beyonce be like
>Jay-Z be like
>Nicki Minaj be like
>KENDRICKS NEW SINGLE JUST DROPPED FUCK.
>Yeezy season approaching
>ROUNDTABLE ABOUT THE NEW RHIANNA SINGLE. this is everything
>Check out this meme I made, it references Drake and a new movie that just came out
>Bae. Keep calm and smoke a blunt. Emojis. I embrace memes and trends. But post-ironically.
>Ironic 90s nostalgia t-shirts bae. jurassic park t-shirt!
>le smash mouth, nickleback, guy fieri. LMAOOOO. WHITE PEOPLE THO
>um white people fucked up again. like, good job everyone. great job society. baka desu. old white man yells at cloud. *white person sees a cracker* white person "same" desu. literally same. literally me every day of my life bae. um, good job white people. poor little white opressed guy! BOOHOO!
>iggy azelia and robin thicke are literally the most problematic musicians ever
>WOW. I want my girlfriend to hear Deangelos voice while we have sex.
>People of Colour >>>> White People. boohoo white people, youre life is sooo tough. redirect to /pol/
>pitchfork.com, stereogum, tumblr, instagram, jezebel, nba.com, grantland, I'm in the know
>I ALSO LISTEN TO SWANS THO. IM CULTURED THO
>I ironically purchased a Fetty Wap and Rae Sremmurd record. THIS IS EVERYTHING desu
>I EMBRACE THIS GENERATION!!!
>#readyforhillary #orblackcanidate #stopwhitepeople #tbhcrew
>contemporary poetry are two different things.
thanks for the info
Checking the contemporary. buzzfeed.com
Obviously skipping blacks and women. Trust me, I tried.
Number 5. Charles Simic
And... his shit doesn't rhyme. I doubt he even knows what rhythm is.
The more I read of them, the more I convinced they are degenerate.
>I convinced
I'm
Most classical verse does.
Next time I'll be more explicit so i don't cause you to trip and shove your own cock up your ass.
>buzzfeed
Holy shit, he really is trolling.
It doesn't *focus* on it, moron. :)
Is this some bad site? Well, it's first on a google page.
cyкa блядь
Here. You can sign up for a poem-a-day. They send you one poem daily. A mix of modern and classic.
You don't pay them anything, its free. I'm signed up.
Maybe you'll enjoy it.
Whoops, forgot the link: poets.org
Thanks, bud. I already checked this site. It has this poem on a main page. (I'm not a fan)
Hello beautiful talented
dark semi-optimists of June,
from far off I send my hopes
Brooklyn is sunny, and the ghost
of Whitman who loved everyone
is there to see you say what
can never be said, something like
partly I promise my whole life
to try to figure out what it means
to stand facing you under a tree,
and partly no matter how angry
I get I will always remember
we met before we were born,
it was in a village, someone
had just cast a spell, it was
in the park, snow everywhere,
we were slipping and laughing,
at last we knew the green secret,
we were sea turtles swimming
a long time together without
needing to breathe, we were
two hungry owls silently
hunting night, our terrible claws,
I don’t want to sound like I know,
I’m just one who worries all night
about people in a lab watching
a storm in a glass terrarium
perform lethal ubiquity,
tiny black clouds make the final
ideogram above miniature lands
exactly resembling ours, what is
happening happens again,
they cannot stop it, they take off
their white coats, go outside,
look up and wonder, only we
who promise everything despite
everything can tell them
the solution, only we know.
>Sergay
You're all missing the point: lit journals don't publish rhyming verse, that's why you don't see any. It's not even an option anymore.
Care to explain? I'm curious. Because its just not a seller or some shit?
embarrassing post, there are loads that require both metre and rhyme.
yeah man, i'm sure the laymen of the past only read the canon, you fucking ass
Respected lit journals are run by academics, and for whatever reason rhyme has fallen out of favour with them. Many completely refuse to publish it altogether, which goes to show how shitty their standards.
Add to that the majority of writers with a Eng Lit background who are taught by these same academics, and there's your reason most poetry sucks now.
i cannot believe how misinformed a person can get.
also, non-rhyming poetry is goat and has a longer tradition than rhymed.
>also, non-rhyming poetry is goat and has a longer tradition than rhymed.
Do you mean prose poetry? Like epics and Shakespeare? Those are part of a fairly small percentage.
And he's right about modern poetry being trash. Poetry these days is divided into two camps: dumbasses who think classical poetry is king, and dumbasses who think they're post-modern geniuses.
Poetry is dead and poets killed it.
no, i mean poetry that does not rhyme.
also, it's called epic poetry.
Surprised there's been no Philip Larkin in this thread. Poet Laureate of /r9k/
Love Again
Love again: wanking at ten past three
(Surely he's taken her home by now?),
The bedroom hot as a bakery,
The drink gone dead, without showing how
To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
And the usual pain, like dysentery.
Someone else feeling her breasts and cunt,
Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare,
And me supposed to be ignorant,
Or find it funny, or not to care,
Even… but why put it into words?
Isolate rather this element
That spreads through other lives like a tree
And sways them on in a sort of sense
And say why it never worked for me.
Something to do with violence
A long way back, and wrong rewards,
And arrogant eternity.
Made me kek and cringe all at once.
>Poet Laureate of /r9k/
Good one.
It's okay rhythmically.
>that poem
WE
What do you mean by this?
In the past (I mean several hundred years ago) there weren't any trashy publishing houses to print garbage retard.
Yes, instead there were plays songs and oral stories, the best of anything isn't necessarily popular among the masses in all ages.