There sits an orange tree
Perched over a ledge of calamity
It is caressed by loneliness
Its fruits wither and it feels distress
They fall down with every press
Tumbling down the cliff to die
Their color catches a bird’s quaint eye
For the gift it sings a tune
Praising the tree for its boon
The seeds are spread across the land
And groves spring forth from the sand
The shade creates a paradise
From pain there springs forth a life
can you explain what you mean with an inconsistant pattern?
are you talking about aa bbbb cc dd ee or the types of rhymes?
I definitly see that
2 years ago
Anonymous
its aa, bbb, cc, dd, ee, ff. why is there a third randomly
also your rhymes don't work in places. for example, 'dis-tress' does not rhyme with 'lon-li-ness,' just cos it has a ess at the end doesn't make it perfect. same goes with paradise and life.
2 years ago
Anonymous
there is a third one randomly because I came up with the line of the fruits seperatly, thought it sounded good and kept it there
2 years ago
Anonymous
Not them but you have no rhythm.
2 years ago
Anonymous
really?
I was reading it out in my head and it seemed to kinda work, but I suppose that's me forcing it
other people aren't going to do mental gymnastics
2 years ago
Anonymous
work with rhythm templates and write like 10 sonnets as a practice. iambic it up
2 years ago
Anonymous
Sonnets are not good practice. They are too complex to do correctly, especially for a new poet. He should read Poetic Meter and Poetic Form by Fussell, and then practice the forms he learns. Eventually he will find something he likes. I for one don't think regular structures are necessary if meter and rhyme are done well, depends on the poem though, obviously.
2 years ago
Anonymous
>work with rhythm templates
Where can I find some?
2 years ago
Anonymous
Really. Like really really. There's nothing regular to grab onto anywhere.
Feels like an excerpt of something larger, it reads well like a fast paced rant, there’s a beat to it.
I don’t like all the references unless is part of a larger poem that extracts either the doomer mentality or offers something more than “don’t forget you are here forever”
Yes we know that so what? It’s anticlimactic, and takes away from the poem.
The form of the poem also works great with the sentiment.
Here’s my poem
Like a rambling spit
Or the tedious thing that comes
Before the walk
I’ve been trying to hold your hand
But I keep reaching mine
Like a little shoe torn by the grass
Or the other night the knocking
Woke me up, the knocking
Of the window pane,
Like the stupid thing that comes
Right after
Or the jacket on the chair
With the thousand little specks
Painting the forget me nots
Lost in the blue fabric
Like distorted dances in a moving world
Or the paths erased by rain
I’ve been trying to tell you something
But I keep forgetting to
Like the chain with broken links
Or the sun is warming feet.
Here’s another that I’m editing but I’m lost on it
I’ve broken my knuckles
The whirlwind on my lungs
I’ve become empty
Dramatic and cold
I don’t even walk the streets
No more
I’ve read all the signs
The river has sung
The murky water
That runs at my soles
Wrinkled and cut
I’m a stranger
And I have no fate
I’ve broken down my joints
Down to the marrow
Almost nothing left
I’m now too dramatic
Exaggerating each phrase
Maniacal
I will not give life a rest
I’ve broken a rook
The queen and a knight
I’m on my last pawn
The king is exposed
I’m just a victim
Of an electrical design.
2 years ago
Anonymous
What do you want input on exactly for your poems?
2 years ago
Anonymous
General critique, and for the second one ideas for a better end
2 years ago
Anonymous
General critique, and for the second one ideas for a better end
I think the first one has a better rhythm than the second, but I don't get what their messages really are. They only give me vague emotions, vague ideas. Are you trying to keep a somewhat regular meter? I think the chess imagery is a little sudden and maybe out of place to the rest of the poem, as well as the last line, which doesn't have to do with chess. The first 2/3rds paint a bleak picture but then the narrator says they won't give life a rest, but without properly getting through as to why, at least for me that is, even after a few read throughs.
The imagery was vivid to me but my mind kind of ignored the prose and rhyming for some reason. I just saw the imagery and ignored the words which is cool.
I hear the bells ring in the darkness, but no light guides my way, the bells continue to taunt me while they sway, and sway.
I do not like it here and want to leave.
Ignore my previous post if you saw it
As I said, saying "in the darkness, but no light guides my way" is kind of redundant
You aren't expanding upon the qualities of the darkness, you are saying the same thing twice
I am not entirely against it, but I don't like it either
In any case, using "but" here is pointless
You are in there dark, there is no light
If there was a light, e.g. "it's dark, but I can see a light in the distance", then it would make sense to use "but"
I see that you want "guides my way" to rhyme with "sway"
If I were to rewrite it I would put it like this
"The bells ring in darkess, nothing guides my way. I shiver as they taunt me, with their evil sway. I can't stand to be here, I feel the need to leave. My only wish now is for a reprieve" or something like that
My penis is a mountain,
Erect and sublime.
My penis a mountain,
And b***hes want to climb.
O, my penis is a mountain,
They climb it for weeks.
My penis is a mountain,
rock hard against their cheeks.
My penis is a mountain,
It blocks out the sun.
My penis a mountain,
You're sore when you're done.
Yes, my penis is a mountain,
And the whole town will know,
When my mountain of a penis
Becomes a volcano.
My penis is a rocket,
I'll take you to the moon.
My penis is a rocket,
In the vast space of your poon.
O, my penis is a rocket,
You'll ride to new heights.
My penis is a rocket,
With earth-shaking might.
My penis is a rocket,
Exploring dark places,
My penis is a rocket,
Blasting off on hoes' faces
Yes, my penis is a rocket
They'll judge by your cries,
When my rocket of a penis,
Into Uranus it flies.
My penis is a horse,
It gallops for hours.
My penis is a horse,
It tramples pink flowers.
O, my penis a horse,
You'll ride in great style.
My penis is a horse,
But you'll be sore for a while.
My penis is a horse,
On it's back it could carry you,
My penis is a horse,
So don't ask it to marry you.
Yes, my penis is a horse,
The town will all say,
When my horse of a penis,
Makes your fat ass bray.
THE STYLE is refinement of the highest
The mind at its brightest
The prize of the pious
The might of the highness
Better known as THE MASTER
The only foe that can go toe to toe with my flow
Is a captcha
Cuz my dome is robotic
Calculating every way to make a poem melodic
But still there are herds of rebels
Give turds some shekels
To preach words disheveled
And truth better learned from the devil
Wackness is a man made disaster
Perpetuated by agents and actors
Who create fake chatter
That erases gray matter
Until the masses are passives
When they hear the chains clatter
As it happens THE STYLE has compassion
And sends THE MASTER to extract satisfaction
Stand back
Cuz here comes a blast from the dragon
Got the whole globe laughin
As my opponents souls ashen
My penis is a love song,
Long, slow and tender.
My penis is a love song,
It fills you with splendor.
O, my penis is a love song,
On your lips and on your tongue.
My penis is a love song,
Down your throat and in your lungs.
My penis is a love song,
You can play it any hour.
My penis is a love song,
You can lip sync it in the shower.
Yes, my penis is a love song,
The town will all croon,
When my love song of a penis,
Makes you howl like a baboon.
The blue moon loomed over Tupelo
A Black person with an itchy trigger finger
Lingered in the alley where the blues singer
Sung a song about a b***h that stung him
My penis is a polar bear,
Furry and heavy set.
My penis is a polar bear,
It's always getting wet.
O, my penis is a polar bear,
White and ten feet tall.
My penis is a polar bear,
Just curl up in a ball.
My penis is a polar bear,
You can't run away.
My penis is a polar bear,
And you are its prey.
Yes, my penis is a polar bear,
The whole town will bawdy.
When my polar bear of a penis,
Is done mauling your body.
Oh good, there's a poetry thread up. I woke up sweating and disoriented, and managed to pull this out of what was bouncing around in my head.
I'll go back through this and add to/finish it later, but for now have fun with some verbal garbage from the subconscious.
I get the first stanza, and partly the second, but I don't see the overall message. It sounds cool though.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Honestly I'm still trying to figure out the last half (first version I posted) myself. I don't fully remember writing it and it began, like previously stated, as subconscious verbal garbage. If it helps, everything I write seems to end up as an attempt by the unconscious to explain itself to the conscious, with varying degrees of what I'd consider "success."
10/10
aw shucks
2 years ago
Anonymous
Do you dream in poetry or what? How does that work?
2 years ago
Anonymous
Sometimes I wake up compulsively repeating phrases or needing to write/draw something to get it out of my head. I assume it's just the subconscious getting done compiling something and then being very pushy about making sure it's permanently recorded somewhere. Does this not happen to you?
2 years ago
Anonymous
No. I've tried a dream journal for a week or two, but none of them were interestingn so I stopped. Interesting thing tou got going, anon.
The frog keeps no silence,
It feels so bad,
It brings me to violence,
It breaks me to tears,
But all of my fears
That I've ever had,
Cannot compare
To that thing over there,
It is not a man,
At least, not anymore,
But also it can
Not be a woman, for sure,
An abomination,
A hideous a creature,
A gross miscalculation,
No womanly feature,
...
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Sweaty and tough,
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Penetrating layers of tuff.
O, my penis is an Iron Age miner,
Exploring the deepest caves.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
It turns maidens into slaves.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Answering your unspoken calls.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Ravaging all your inner walls.
Yes, my penis is an Iron Age miner,
The entire province will know,
When my Iron Age miner of a penis,
Extracts ores from your forbidden hole.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Across the street, a glass breaking sound
When a shopkeeper falls upon the ground:
My father, nigging. I look down
Till his outstretched arm among the concrete slabs
Gun bends sideways, twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm as he arrives at a prison
Where he keeps nigging.
The coarse boot, stood up on a sidwalk, the pistol
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He busted up a couple shook homies, buried their dark asses in the local park
To scatter new money that we looted,
Loving that paper feel in our hands.
By God, the old Black person could handle a gun.
Just like his nigfather, a slave.
My nigfather shot more cowards in a day
Than any other man in brooklyn or memphis.
Once I carried him a 40 of ol english
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
shooting and looting, heaving bags
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good gold. Nigging.
The cold smell of benjamin mould, the squelch and slap
Of fuggin dat bit, the loud shots of a nine
Through looting roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no gun to follow Black folk like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll nig with it.
I can see that, but I feel it having those syllables earlier helps a lot
2 years ago
Anonymous
>I feel
Didn't need to read the rest of what you wrote to know that you're wrong. The meter falls flat on it's face less than halfway through and it never gets back up. It's objectively bad.
Depends. Sometimes you want the last line to have more syllables, sometimes less. Having the one line with a different amount of syllables so close to the beginning doesn't make sense though.
haikus are super forced in other languages so it makes sense
the challenge isn't finding the right words to express yourself
it's coming up with something coherent within the limitations of the format
Aren't haikus in Japan meant to be about nature though?
2 years ago
Anonymous
Hmm maybe we should do some haikus about our penises.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Gnarled stump of a tree,
Belligerent, but lonely,
I talk of my wiener
So what am I doing wrong with this one?
At the crest there is a gate 7
To where sounds reduplicate 7
And shadows dance in imitation 9
Mimicking God’s creation 7
Its halls saved us from our fate 7
While they marvel and elate 7
Decorating this great tomb 7
Are drawings in every room 7
Immortalized and anonymous 9
Original and eponymous 9
«Bisons that we killed today» 7
«Imprints that we leave with clay» 7
Retreating from where it came 7
The people forgot its name 7
Then exposed to the shining luster 9
The playing children muster 7
Brought into the light again 7
Now exalted by a pen 7
Your meter is not regular and is in fact extremely awkward in many lines. Some are good though, metrically. Practice scansion I guess. I also mentioned earlier, what is the reason for certain lines having more syllables? If the lines are meant to have more impact or give the impression of trailing off...then the placement is very strange to me. Why would they be in the middle of the stanza rather than the end? You may have an effect you're going for, but think deeply about the best way to get there.
2 years ago
Anonymous
That's beautiful.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Thanks
2 years ago
Anonymous
The reason for some lives having more syllables is because I didn't get the idea of having a fixed amount of syllables until I'd finished the first draft of the first verse
And I liked the line with 9 syllables and couldn't come up with something equivalent in 7
I kept going with the idea to see what would become of it
I agree it's akward
The second verse has two 9 syllable lines because I felt like it and the poem was already weird
Do you have more tips for writing poems with structure?
2 years ago
Anonymous
Yes. Read Poe's philosophy of compostion (not too long) and Fussell's Poetic Meter and Poetic Form. Basically, if you really like the lines with 9 syllables try to write the whole thing with 9, or create a semi-unique structure that gives the poem a fun kind of changing rhythm, and then stick to that structure. Poe talks about this, and Fussell's book will help you with meter.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Yes. Read Poe's philosophy of compostion (not too long) and Fussell's Poetic Meter and Poetic Form. Basically, if you really like the lines with 9 syllables try to write the whole thing with 9, or create a semi-unique structure that gives the poem a fun kind of changing rhythm, and then stick to that structure. Poe talks about this, and Fussell's book will help you with meter.
To elaborate further, I mean that you could make a structure like
7 syllables
7
9
5
5
Just playing around with line length and even what kind of feet each line uses to get a unique kind of rhythm. Obviously it has to sound good. Like I said, Poe's essay talks about this.
>Poetic Meter and Poetic Form
Thanks, I'll check it out. Where do you find good poetry yourself? Or rather, what would you recommend
I recommend english poets from Thomas Wyatt to Keats and every poet that wrote around the same time. Specifically, Donne, Herbert, Herrick, Byron, honestly there's so many, so obviously do your own research. You can just read their popular poems and if you like them you can read more. My favorite poems specifically are The Raven, Fire and Ice, The Bridge of Sighs, and The Destruction of the Sennacherib, just to name a few
2 years ago
Anonymous
Longing, in two ways
Ecstasy meets the abyss
In a world of piss
I don't think it has a powerful message or image, but it's pretty cool and fun to read. I think if you swapped the first 2 lines of the second stanza it would make more sense, but it would change the rhyme scheme, obviously. Although I don't think that matters much.
My Penis Is
Thousand threaded totems of memory
carved dearly by broken generation's every
member and coated in liquid life known
for its passions but better by its renown.
It is taller than epics and longer than pain.
It is mortal but more so it is the only game,
and though it is a thankless burden,
my pants wander with Zeus's bolted thunder
and my under grown with Poseidon's trident,
and your mother is not yours, but who I lent.
>Birdie, birdie in the sky, >Please don't poo-poo in my eye, >Nor go doo-doo on my car, >Do your business somewhere far, >On the branch above me sit, >But I ask you do not shit, >Birdie, birdie from on high, >You shit on me and made me cry.
At the crest there is a gate 7
To where sounds reduplicate 7
And shadows dance in imitation 9
Mimicking God’s creation 7
Its halls saved us from our fate 7
While they marvel and elate 7
Decorating this great tomb 7
Are drawings in every room 7
Immortalized and anonymous 9
Original and eponymous 9
«Bisons that we killed today» 7
«Imprints that we leave with clay» 7
Retreating from where it came 7
The people forgot its name 7
Then exposed to the shining luster 9
The playing children muster 7
Brought into the light again 7
Now exalted by a pen 7
Couldn't tell you exactly why, but despite the more irregular syllable count, these little changes make the poem flow more naturally to my ears. Somebody who knows theory explain why I'm right or (more likely) wrong.
At the crest there is a gate 7
To where sounds reduplicate 7
And shadows dance in imitation 9
A mimicking of God’s creation 9
Its halls can save us from our fate 8
While they marvel and elate 7
Decorating this great tomb 7
Are drawings, one in every room 8
Immortalized and anonymous 9
Original and eponymous 9
«Bisons that we killed today» 7
«Imprints that we leave with clay» 7
Retreating to from where it came 8
The people since forgot its name 8
Then exposed to shining luster 8
All the playing children muster 8
Brought into the light again 7
But now exalted by a pen 8
The syllables don't matter as much as the feet within the lines. Your meter is not regular throughout the whole, but it is more regular when comparing your couplets where it sounds better now. For example in your first version >And shadows dance in imitation > u / u / u / u / u >Mimicking God's creation > / u / / u / u
And in the newer version >A mimicking of God's creation
u / u / u / u / u
They are now the same. It was hard for me to decide whether the "-king" at the end if mimicking was stressed or not, but I decided it was since the first version sounds so off, that it must be, and the scansion of the newer version of that line justifies that decision as well, since the line that sounds regular to our ears, is now regular when scansioned that way.
Standing among mists
Starring towards the abyss
The darkness unbridged
While I lean for it's kiss
The smile long unseen
Now cold as a stone
A twinkle in My soul
When I reach forth
And fall
And as I fall I hear her voice
In her arms I die
Lone and forgotten
But happy
For my soul's not yet rotten
As my carcass will
This is such a terrible poem that I had to get to my pc to explain why >Standing among mists
Mists? As multiple mists? And you stand in all of them at once? >The darkness unbridged
Unbridged? As in the darkness has no bridges? That's what that word means
I'm not saying its wrong to use unbridged here, but I just don't see the connection
Anyway, misty and dark? This seems a bit superflous as mist and darkness symbolize the same thing if I'm reading this poem correctly >While I lean for it's kiss
First of all it should be "lean in for its kiss", but this is weird in the first place
You are standing IN the darkenss, why would you need to lean in to kiss it surrounds you? >The smile long unseen
You lean in for a kiss and see a smile that you haven't seen in a while, ok
Maybe put a "I see" in front of it?
It's kind of weird to just say "the smile long unseen" in this context >Now cold as a stone >A twinkle in My soul
Proofread you shitty poem for basic mistakes my god >When I reach forth >And fall >And as I fall I hear her voice
"And fall. And as I fall(...)" I have no words. Repition isn't necessarily a bad thing, but this isn't artistic. This is just clunky
At least change it up a little like "And as I'm falling I hear her voice" >In her arms I die >Lone and forgotten >But happy >For my soul's not yet rotten
"soul's not yet rotten" sounds very clunky >As my carcass will
Will be? My soul is not as rotten as my carcass?
Anyway, abrupt ending
As I sit on the balcony
My shorts starts digging into me
My ass itches and I sneeze
I’m lightly dressed and begin to freeze
I spill some wine and hurt my knee
My arm is bitten by a flea
I open the catalog and I see
The gaping anus of goatse
My penis is an atom bomb,
Rotund and quite stocky.
My penis is an atom bomb,
It could level Nagasaki.
O, my penis is an atom bomb,
Spewing radiotoxic pollutants.
My penis is an atom bomb,
Making thousands of nip mutants.
My penis is an atom bomb,
Banned by a hundred nations.
My penis is an atom bomb,
With no peaceful applications.
Yes, my penis is an atom bomb,
They say in Sapporo to Manilla.
Because my atom bomb of a penis,
Smashes whole cities like Godzilla.
My penis is a buffet,
Of cream and white meat,
My penis is a buffet,
It's all you can eat.
O, my penis is a buffet,
It drives fat girls insane.
My penis is a buffet,
Still the black girls complain.
My penis is a buffet,
You'll eat your own weight.
My penis is a buffet,
There's even a group rate.
Yes, my penis is a buffet,
The whole town will abase,
When my buffet of a penis,
Is done stuffing your face.
There's imperfect rhymes and the meter is not paid any attention. I don't think riddles and poetry mix, since riddles are supposed to be very exact with their hints, but trying to fit those hints into a structure will likely make them less straightforward as sentences, making them harder to understand. If you want to write poetry, read Paul Fussell's "Poetic Meter and Poetic Form" and a bunch more poetry.
My penis is a T-rex,
Viscous and scaled.
My penis is a T-rex,
40 feet from head to tail.
O, my penis is a T-rex,
And it's on a rampage.
My penis is a T-rex,
Broke loose from it's cage.
My penis is a T-rex,
It makes the crowd scream.
My penis is a T-rex,
It even has it's own theme.
Yes, my penis is a T-rex,
The town will soon see,
When my T-rex of a penis,
Stars in Jurassic World 3.
The white hunter sits on his porch
With his elephant gun and his tears
He'll shoot you for free if you come around here
A protester kneels on the neck of a statue
The statue says, "I can't breathe"
The protester says, "Now you know how it feels"
And he kicks it into the sea
I'm a Botticelli Venus with a penis
Riding an enormous scalloped fan
I'm a sea foam woman rising from the spray
And I'm coming to do you harm
With a gun in my pants full of elephant tears
And a seahorse on each arm
With my elephant gun of tears I'll shoot you all for free
If you ever think about coming 'round here
I'll shoot you in the fricking face
If you think of coming around here
I'm an ice sculpture melting in the sun
I'm an ice sculpture with an elephant gun
I'm an ice sculpture made of elephant-sized tears
Raining gas and salt upon your heads
The president has called in the Feds
I've been planning this for years
I'll shoot you in the fricking face
If you think of coming around here
I'll shoot you for just for fun
I'm a statue lying on my side in the sun
With the memory of an elephant
Evaporating before your eyes
And becoming a great grey cloud of wrath
Roaring my salt upon the earth
I'll shoot you all for free if you so much as look at me
A time is coming
A time is nigh
For the kingdom
In the sky
Don't ask who
Don't ask why
'Cause there's a kingdom in the sky
We're all coming home
For a while
My unknown love, whatever you are
Hold on for me, We can't be far
I know not yet; your form, your face
still in my heart, you have your place
in me you'll find, that final key
so please my dear, please wait for me.
Hear me, hear me, every man!
Listen to me, if you can,
These woman act not ladylike,
They aren't charmed by chivalry,
But cry out as they even strike,
Inflame the Sexes rivalry,
Have you not seen all of our works,
Misjudged and unappreciated?
Giving to themselves the perks,
And every act of ours frustrated?
Woman wish to be so doted,
Every single detail noted,
But they do not give the same,
To men who are devoted,
Rare, the dedicated dame,
That lives to serve her husband's life,
To make for him his long-sought home,
To care and comfort, undo strife,
A place from which is pain to roam,
What then is left for men to do
When wife material is few?
I say we should revert our state,
Let's become ourselves again,
Since what we are is what they hate,
Then let them be, let men be men,
Ignore the harpy screeching out,
Enjoy the things we ought enjoy,
They may claw, insult, and shout,
But blow them off so cool and coy,
Do not take their gross abuse,
Turn from them, do what you should,
We need to suffer such misuse,
Let us be men, and good.
I got you stuck off the realness, we be the gnosis
You heard of us, official non-dual murderers
The Trads comes equipped for memetic warfare, beware
Of my autodidact family who got nuff tomes to share
For all of those, who wanna profile and pose
Retroactively refute your favorite philosopher, make you give on your role as their expositor
You all alone in these threads, hylic
Every man for they self on this board we be postin
And keep them shook pseuds running, like they supposed to
They spam pastas but they never come close to realization
I can see it inside your face, you're in the wrong thread and finna get an education
Buddhists like you just get they religion laced up
With retroactive refutations and such
Speak the wrong words man and you will get debunked
You can put your whole Guenongay screencap collection against my team and
I guarantee you I'll be the very last one postin
Your modernist assumptions just don't move me, you're minor, we're major
You're all up in the debate and don't deserve to be a poster
Don't make me have to call your maya-based delusions out
Your theory is refuted, my Guenon (pbuh) quotes make you hesitate
I'm only eternal and unborn but my mind is old
And when the things get for real Brahman dawns in my heart removing the cold
Another Process philosopher destroyed, another story gets told
It ain't nothing really, hey, yo dun spark the opium
So I can get my mind off these duplicitous materialists
Why they still posting I don't know, go figure
Meanwhile back on the Guenonian discord the realness and foundation
If I attain fanāʾ I couldn't choose a better location
When Shankarcharya's arguments penetrate Buddhists feel a burning sensation
Getting closer to Allah (swt) in a tight situation
Now, take these words hylic and think it through
Or the next rhyme I write might be about you
A man filthy and broken
Shambled alone down a road
Made of limestone and porcelain
His face strained with pained emotion
His brain panged like rain on the ocean
He was dirty like a mole
And his clothes looked the grossest
Lookin like he was in the desert with Moses
This man was the lowest of the lowest
Homeless and hopeless
An enemy of the polis
As he strode down the rode
A helicopter with a camera in tow
Bothered the man as it filmed its show
For the millions of viewers of SHAME TV to see
Live feed on their phone screens
All across the city they were waiting with glee
For the man to reach the end of Salvation Street
Where pearly gates waited to meet
While the poor man shuffled his feet
An announcer with a hairpiece
Comes on peoples screens
And says his piece
Ladies and gents
Welcome to the show that never ends
With reality this good
There is no need to pretend
SHAME TV we are here to defend
All that’s good from agents of sin
Once again thanks for tuning in
To watch the righteous win
Another soul that the devil stole
While this blasphemer takes a stroll
Let me tell you how he spent his days of old
This man was a member of Antishame
A terrorist hellbent on inflicting pain
To our society and traditional ways
And if you terrorists are watching this
We will not slack until you demons are back
In H E double hockey sticks
Make no mistake
This evil man will be your fate
And any person who strays from the flock we survey
But back to the matter at hand
Let me help you understand
Why our feature story is this wretched man
He has just spent twenty two years in a SHAME camp
On his own volition
He wouldnt pay his penance and give up his evil mission
But now look at him
Crawling back without a pot to piss in
Crawling back hoping that we will forgive him
Its now only a matter of time
Any minute the dead demon walking will sign the dotted line
And with that waiver
We will teach him to fear the Savior
In the end he will be pure enough to be your neighbor
A soul reborn courtesy of SHAME Corp
Your main source for religious entertainment
The pearly gates swung open and a lawyer appeared
With the contract the poor man had always feared
Unsatisfied with this poem, my requirements made it too stiff.
Poem name=ɛəɑ
Ever lost, forever lost, forever lost ?
Less or more, the stress of war, the leopard’s Jaw,
Gnawing red flesh in its claws, bursts reservoir
Waters rilling past the hills rain weathers on,
Where the sheep and shepherd rush to shelter, yon
Where the dreams of sleep are born, the treasure stores
Bourneless where the flawless thoughts as zephyrs brawl,
Sings spring of the great days, where unfettered dawn
Shimmers on, and under where the nether thralls
Terror, for the thundering of welter falls,
Casting those who asked not god but pleasures false
To renew their souls, the holes where measured law
Causes grief reliefless as a leper’s maw.
Ever lost? no never lost the letters call,
Render then the eidolonic repertoire,
Tender let me speak thy splendor better Lord,
Open then my mouth and let thy nectar pour.
Poem 2:a rap in an imitation of mf doom
i got more bread solo than boom bap homies on promo,
flow ugly like the boars head logo, it comes wrapped bozo,
oh no, that’s not liquor though it flows
slick like a gift of a fifth makes you drift away, a real ricochet
with rhymes off the Richter, makes them say “mister, why’s your lines so richer “
a mixture of tongue twisters and scripture,
all that glitters ain’t a fixture best take a picture.
Maybe a little stiff compared to some of your other stuff, but it reads fine to me. I think I've kept up easier with what's going on than in your other work I've read. As for the rap (the second part?), I think it's a little generic, but rap rehashes the same themes so it's probably fine.
>This is why nobody reads poetry
Seems like you're the only one whining hear.
2 years ago
Anonymous
That's a fact, not whining.
2 years ago
Anonymous
>Nobody reads poetry
Is not a fact, actually.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Yes, it is. You are nobody.
2 years ago
Anonymous
You are a nobody,
Says the anon,
Guilty the same,
For the charge he lays on,
He claims that the poet,
Is whining and whinging,
And he doesn't know it,
But everyone's cringing.
2 years ago
Anonymous
So you're not denying it, but have instead admitted to it (in a poem no less) and now you're lashing out in anger about it like a whiny, whinging pussy. You sure showed me.
>i i i > he said she said they said a >and then and then and then
Remove 4/5ths of all appearances on I. You new word counter is 20% fewer words. Make another pass.
the mere idea of writing down words
that adhere to some kind of structure
no matter how strictured or arbitrary
in order to convey something like
"the inner intimations of the human soul
so inexpressibly inexhaustibly expressed and exhausted
that to not share them would kill the user"
is—and please hold my mirrored shades—gay
I once saw a JP Morgan executive sucking off a homeless man in a relatively well-kempt alleyway
and thought to myself, that is far less gay that anything that Tennyson poof put out
the whole enterprise is extremely and vitally homosexual
even rimbaud punched out at score years of age
i polevaulted my way into the royal ceremony
officially titled "president world's inaugural bris"
for it is the year of our lord 2032
and the mechanization of bio-complexity
has extended to the very gametes
you used to blow into a filthy box
when i landed in the arena on paula abduls tightened abdomen
i took out my incision makers (the nail clippers)
and performed an instant hysterectomy
so as to abscond with said uterus
and implant into my boy george fleshdoll
mr president world saw my plucky maneuvers
and came to compliment me with the standard
smearing of saved feces on my upper lip
"you got moxie kid" he said as he motioned
to the anthropomorphic walls before they seized
my body's sense of itself and inserted me
right into a very respectable administrative position
as complexity dictator of the small region formerly known as
eurasia, a nice slice of this cosmolocal pie
conflicted, i thought of my sweet boy
and my sweet boy
i like to think
as i summarily executed the fats
also thought of me
longing for his alleppo bred uterus
A POEM FOR ANONS INSPIRATION
*************************************
I GURGLE AND GNASH AND GNAW
AND SPITTLE ON THE PAVED STONE
OVER AND OVER URGED
SMELT A GLACIER
WINKED AT AN OLD MAID
MADE MAD WITH A RAMSHAKLE SITUATION
ERGO LONG AGO, FORLORN I FAWNED
AND FED UP I SPENT AND RANGLED
LEST LUST LOST LUSTER LURCHED
AND WRENT MY UMBRIDGE DRY
THUS IT WASNT SO MUCH THE CLEMENCY
BUT THE CLAMOUR OF THE SPELLBOUND OUVRE
WHICH ALLIEVIATED MY CORPUS
AND AS IS SAID, OF WISHY WASHY PROPOSED
THE LURKED PIQUE IS DANGLED WITH AFFAIR
SO TOO, STUMBLING, I YEARNED
SO FOR, A WHILE OF TIME, PASSES
AND WHEN NO MORE, AS IS NIGHT
STILL THE ORB SWIRLS
AND THE CRIES OF ALL CREATURES STEW
SHE SAID THEN AT THE POND
HAVE YOU SEEN A BOWL WITH ENERGY
A BOWL, I ASKED?
NO A BOLE, A HYPER ONE?
NO I THOUGHT
I THOUGHT OF LIFES FRAGILITY
AND THEN I LAUGHED AND ATE THE NECK OF A BIRD
I THOUGHT OF LIFES TENDER MELENCHOLIA
AND THEN I BURPED AND WIPED DEAD BIRD GREASE ON MY KNEE
I THOUGHT OF THE TOTAL SADNESS OF ALL OCUPANTS ON EARTH
THEN I MADE MY GIRLFRIEND QUEEF ON MY BUTTHOLE
I THOUGHT OF ALL CHILDREN IN ORPHANAGES
AND THEN I ATE ANOTHER BIRDS NECK
I THOUGHT OF THE ELDER FOLKS SLOWLY LIMPING DOWN THE SIDEWALKS
THEN I MADE MY GIRLFRIEND POOP IN SOME CUPS SO I MIGHT LEAVE THEM AROUND TOWN
THEN I FELT MY ENERGY LEAKING
WHAT A WORD; DWINDLE
DO I EVEN LIKE IT AT ALL
COULD WE NOT ENTIRELY DO WITH OUT
THEN I MADE THE TV LOUDER
THEN I CAUGHT A SECOND WIND
STORMED OUT OF MY HOUSE
AND SPEED WALKED AROUND MY NEIGHBORHOOD
AT 3 AM IN THE MORNING
RECITING THIS POEM ON A MEGAPHONE
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
Make you dead
O, my penis is a hammer
Good for demolition
My penis is a hammer
Made for repetition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
Fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will hail the whole class,
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails that ass.
I'm in a room full of clocks with designs from across all sorts of ages,
The clocks are frozen on the same time but I hear a ticking somewhere menacingly,
I search through piles upon piles of clocks but futility I can not find the source of the noise
Sounds more like a flash fiction/super short story idea
My Penis is A Hammer
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
Make you dead
O, my penis is a hammer
Good for demolition
My penis is a hammer
Made for repetition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
Fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will hail the whole class,
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails that ass.
>Ball-peen head
That is such a great line, hilarious. Too bad about the rest of it though. Some of the other ones have really funny lines in them as well. Are they all the same anon?
I think the other penis poems are from other anons.
I will admit that "ball-peen head" was the inspiration for comparing with a hammer, pretty proud of that one.
How would you edit the rest that follows? It did feel a bit like grasping at straws while I wrote and probably took more thought than it should have. I'm pretty new to this, so I appreciate the feedback, thank you anon.
Sounds more like a flash fiction/super short story idea
[...] >Ball-peen head
That is such a great line, hilarious. Too bad about the rest of it though. Some of the other ones have really funny lines in them as well. Are they all the same anon?
Same anon again, just did a quick revision that I think is better. I think the ending is still weak, perhaps I'm too focused on the asses?
My Penis is A Hammer
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
It fills you with dread
O, my penis is a hammer
Made for demolition
My penis is a hammer
It rapes the competition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
It’s fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will they preach to the masses
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails ALL the asses.
>I think the other penis poems are from other anons.
Mountain, Rocket, Horse, Love Song, Polar Bear, Atom Bomb, Buffet, and Tyrranosaurus rex are one anon.
I think the other penis poems are from other anons.
I will admit that "ball-peen head" was the inspiration for comparing with a hammer, pretty proud of that one.
How would you edit the rest that follows? It did feel a bit like grasping at straws while I wrote and probably took more thought than it should have. I'm pretty new to this, so I appreciate the feedback, thank you anon.
[...]
Same anon again, just did a quick revision that I think is better. I think the ending is still weak, perhaps I'm too focused on the asses?
My Penis is A Hammer
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
It fills you with dread
O, my penis is a hammer
Made for demolition
My penis is a hammer
It rapes the competition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
It’s fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will they preach to the masses
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails ALL the asses.
I think spending more time trying to come up with genuinely good lines that could go for both hammers and dicks, and that also read fairly naturally. For example: >My penis is a hammer >Ball-peen head >My penis is a hammer >Nails 'em dead >My penis is a hammer >Pounds them on the wall >My penis is a hammer >Same shape and all
2 years ago
Anonymous
Oh, that's good. I think I see what you mean comparing yours to mine. Thanks, anon I'll make sure to improve and return again
2 years ago
Anonymous
Good luck, anon
2 years ago
Anonymous
>I think a bit of both, honestly
Wonderful. Better for anyone's sake who can't make immediate sense of it.
Everything dies sooner or later
With time theres no negotiator
Life fooled me, it always does
Twisting its strings just because
Wondering which will be first to decline?
My body or my mind
I welcome obliteration
With a crimson smile
Chromatic abberation
Im sick of rank and file
Can one live to long?
Where every right becomes a wrong
I watch my youth wash away
The blonde of my hair fades grey
The precious little time Ive lost
After death the flames of hell defrost
Will I ever see the tears of Magdalene's
Or will I rendezvous with Leviathans
To recount what they've stolen from me
I borrowed the crimson line from the movie Poetry. I've been feeling really anxious about aging so I wrote this as a cope. I've only wrote a few things so any advice Ill take to heart
You have very awkward lines because you did not regulate your meter. It appears that you want to write in more traditional forms, so I will recommend a book that I always mention to anyone starting to write poetry. Read Paul Fussell's "Poetic Meter and Poetic Form". It is the best book I've ever found that helps with writing poetry. It is technical and straightforward, but hardly mentioned by others than myself. The book will teach you how to scansion (identify stresses and non-stresses), teach you metrical feet and techniques, and will also go through the various forms of poetry, that is, sonnets, ballads, limericks, etc. It will teach you how most poems were traditionally put together. The book is not a long read.
The images aren't impactful. They are maybe too cliché, but I like the repetition. I couldn't share poems written down because my handwriting is bad, and for whatever reason I write better on my phone than on a notepad.
But writing just for the challenge seems to go against what poetry is even for.
2 years ago
Anonymous
I agree. But it's not solely an artistic pursuit either, you need a certain skill set to create effective poetry, an exercises can help in that.
You only say that because you can't do it, b***h
I can, but I don't see the point. I don't have any ambitions as far as poetry. Proving that I can to some pseudo-anonymous person on the Internet that's resorted to namecalling to try and get a rise out of me isn't motivation for me personally.
2 years ago
Anonymous
The point is challenging your abilities
Having the ability to work almost any word into your poetry is a useful skill, b***h
2 years ago
Anonymous
It isn't a challenge for me, I know I'm capable, and again, I don't have any reason to challenge myself anyway. I write poetry to make other anons do a sensible chuckle, that's all.
2 years ago
Anonymous
Yeah, but you can practice poetry while trying to honestly make something good at the same time, rather than forcing your creative energy into stuff like this. I'm all for using certain words if you really like them and want to use them in a specific poem, but asking for or picking out some random words to throw into a random poem doesn't seem effective.
Clickity-clackity,
The narrative track,
Rickety-rackity
Premises stack,
Loud and outrageous,
Faining courageous,
Up in your face,
Headlines deceptive,
Critique unreceptive,
Trend is the chase,
Whickity-whackity,
Outlandish claims,
Slickity-slackity,
No source it names,
Brimming with ads,
Following fads,
Hidden intention,
The bait has been set,
The goal is get
And then sell your attention.
The gardens of far Xanadoo,
Whose gardeners are fled, or dead,
Now cunning keep the Edelweiss
And guard it with a wieneratrice
And woven walls of roses red,
or blue, Or so it's said.
If you would dare the demons there
Down burrow dark, and moss-slicked stair
Then bring the key was born with ye
And sewn with bone and golden hair
Into the drumbeat at your teat
Whose brute tattoo veins through your stare
But if you seek the Edelweiss,
I cannot tell the Why or Where
The How and Who are up to you,
For Nothing's What you'll find in there.
----
Tried a little adventure poem. Derivative though this is, the real problem is that it never really takes off, never paints any pictures, never draws the reader into its fantasy. There's enough lines, I think it's just my own frustration with the subject matter that prevents any strong impression, as the final stanza communicates. Silly little contradictory thing.
Enough self-flagellating. End blog post. Not confident enuff to give good criticism but ill be reading others' posts.
I think you need to paint the picture more slowly, maybe more clearly. Where is this place, what exactly is going on. It just kind of jumps in. I like the structure though. It reminds me of Lovecraft's poetry. I hope you come back to it anon.
Oh forgot to crit this when I posted my poem. But it's remarkably good. Obviously derivative, but some really clever stuff, like putting 'or blue' after the break. 'Whose brute tattoo veins through your stare' is also primo. (But is the preceding 'teat' really hitting the right register? Farm-animal associations for me.)
In terms of your problems with it not taking off/drawing in, I think the first stanza is definitely evocative - drew me in at least. It does feel overly compact and perfunctory, though, like you hit (1) mythic object, (2) call to adventure, (3) cryptic farewell, and called it a day. The development could maybe have come from sense of the winding layers of hedge mazes and pathways and rumours it evokes, rather than the 'Nothing' that's at the centre of it.
>There once was a man named McHenry >His dick was incredibly skinny >He ate to get thick >To try to chub up his dick >But his neck got so fat it was cringy
WIP. I kind of want the list to go on for like, ten stanzas, like it's arbitrary excerpts from a text that actually covers hundreds of pages (but that might make the very transparent influence of Ashbery's Into the Dusk-Charged Air almost too transparent). Also I'm not sure if the last four lines are too corny and I should just stick to the core pattern. Would be good to know what people think either way.
- Great American Escapes -
Neck-deep in swamp water's chattering life,
One froze while they probed in the rushes.
His spine pressed close to the sewer brick's curve,
One heard their echoes get dim.
Down the ladder held firm by his plot-hardened pals,
Came one with his grin in the dark.
And one running like mad to the treeline's thick shade,
Felt impotent bullets flit by.
The tunnels the Freemasons forgot that they made
Gave one his untraceable exit.
While in the bed of a truck with no plates on the front
One lay down and looked up at the sky.
In the fog of a salty sea morning, at dawn,
There was one whom no beams could discover,
Who took from her hand the breakfast she brought,
As they hid in the boat, the two lovers.
can ye him see, o throng of anons here gathered
that fool who thus in verse his meanness would enshrine;
his room perhaps he will to you describe
for want of wit and imagination bald:
not small, though neither as large as would him please
its walls of azure keen only clouds do lack,
false progeny of the firmament and heaven's arch;
its sun, the light of a ceiling fan swaying
languidly to and fro; for worshiping planets,
its fivefold blades in ceaseless orbit turn
and such wind produce as oft makes sleep uneasy
gained, at dawn when deigns at last to sleep
its beneficiary, that fool who pens this poem
and has at this desk an hour at least now spent.
It was love at first glance
Our eyes met, then we shit our pants
In the diaper aisle at Walmart love was true
We never spoke a word, just peepee poopoo
can ye him see, o throng of anons here gathered
that fool who thus in verse his meanness would enshrine;
his room perhaps he will to you describe
for want of wit and imagination bald:
not small, though neither as large as would him please
its walls of azure keen only clouds do lack,
false progeny of the firmament and heaven's arch;
its sun, the light of a ceiling fan swaying
languidly to and fro; for worshiping planets,
its fivefold blades in ceaseless orbit turn
and such wind produce as oft makes sleep uneasy
gained, at dawn when deigns at last to sleep
its beneficiary, that fool who pens this poem
and has at this desk an hour at least now spent.
To aim for it's height
In what ever unseen fathoms
It's seemly shows itself seen in
Grandeur, pomp, allure,
Decadence,
knowing how hard in the world
To have abundance
At least in poetry then
We may be fulfilled
At last
And then until when
We venture out into the quiet world of people
And speak our play
I.
Heigh, ho! -
It's off to gnosis we go, said Stubblebine's syzygos.
Heigh ho! -
From UT's underground nuclear facilities
upon past the cape-arena where the suitor sought his own city:
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed the river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O my teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
II.
Heigh, ho! -
Meat annoy ya? meat annoy ya?
Heigh, ho! -
Out of the land of weighed qualia,
where the maiden's reduced life slid its way in to more noble
Alcestian dirges,
free of Persians and pirates and such-like
sundries as they befit later stages of the withering surface-state Biome,
Daphne dies by his own art
But surface-state girls live again through it:
truly not the stuff of women,
but of eunuchs
and of girls reading by candlelight.
Let's leave this land,
out of the Stubblebine's bythus
past Mytilene, back up Athenaze,
Where INSCOM's own sotadic prostitute Basedster will be toppled
through his own maculation of our Mysteries.
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
III.
Abraxas! -
Heigh ho!
Abraxas! -
Oh, the Earth - it shakes! See, the firmament - it quakes!
But Stubblebine's bythus remains silent all the same.
Silence on the bythus, my teacher, as we make our way
back up from UT's underground nuclear facilities
To render mute Basedster's en-thymations.
Oh David huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
warhammer general secret intelligence? youtube is real quiet. and the poem I enjoyed. except for the 'Dauid huios' part, that dude was a gangster with a perverted love for foreskins. also his son kind of not right as well.. got more poems?
2 years ago
Anonymous
Yes, correct. I have several more Stubblebine praise poems involving Gnostic illumination and his journey to install himself as INSCOM's director
2 years ago
Anonymous
drop them. the great work must proceed.
2 years ago
Anonymous
drop them. the great work must proceed.
General Stubblebine has blessed this thread.
The Pleroma of General Stubblebine
"Interface with palantiri
on the surface of the deep",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Deep computing off the coast of Halifax.
Halifax - where those thick-thighed Polynesian ghosts of yore
haunt my Stubblebine dreams with shanty screech-ins",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Paper woods and North clip - clip to back to the West when St. Elmo's fire
comes screechin' down the plain - and we passencore re-arrive our side the scraggy is-thymus - oh, oh
the same breast! the same heart! -
- and crass, the old isthymus that falters and splits this war, this our cloak of justice given to foulest
sin! -
of Oklahoma, down to UT's
underground nuclear facilities
to anamach our phallermic poleme
to anagraph to the graph of our dreams,
grotesque and pittoresque
to katabate to Hieronic and ironic
wells of Procopean catenas,
deep in the heart of Texas".
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
This is the Pleroma of General Stubblebine.
2 years ago
Anonymous
ritual king type based. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_0G6WPuss4
--------------------------------------------------------
beyond the dread horizon it lurks
in the bible black night time
few have seen it whose eyes
are not shattered like windows
an owl flies overhead
dashing between
long dead stars, cosmic spirals
and black holes
Deep in the forest they gather
antediluvian being worshipped
by obscure men
who caper around a fire
enveloped by its cannibal glow
the earth shakes
snake legs,
lets go till the void ends
the hierophant Schwab said
'man.. thanks'
penis as a shitpost:
PHALLVS shoots from the black hole
it's good when you let go
we are the Dwemer
lost to historiography but hinted
amidst lines of the gamer Bible
where mad Suibhne (our guy)
conjuring a vortex, its tide
to topple the hegemony
And find truth of the primal slime
'booba, poopa, cooma'
reverberating through souls grasped by the untruth
co-opted by a mental baloon
a plastic bag filled with repressed violence,
maimed childhood visions and teenage doom
might call it an astral form, a demon of sorts
stealing from love
or is it faith? I don't know.
all I know: when you grow up
it's over
don't grow up, soul
never say die.
seventeenth century religious dissenters
in speculative shitposting envisioned a sacred center
that is close, more intimate to the baptized
than all that goes or sits, or squats (and eventually dies)
in this realm of solidified forms
Devil used to shit monks
now it shits whatever that is.. in the world
spectral sphincter turned outside and made walking
a real human being amongst other well-schooled hearts
and diplomas
I know, resentment won't suffice
and confessions are only redeemed by dying twice
grasping the eternal ice
back to the zelous Suibhne
in his babbling, ravings, madd
gestures, paintings on the sand
he envisions a shitpost
which unbinds the holy ghost
from its death-like sleep
under an imitation tree.
it's crazy man..
the Gamer Israelism.
Another bread is baked.
But each a random lottery.
Leaves freshly raked.
Like pottery.
Keep going anons. IQfy themed poems are great, even the "My penis is a..." ones
2 years ago
Anonymous
You must access wiktionary.org
[...]
Woodwork, skeleton,
control tab, refresh, space bar,
a penny goes far
>a penny goes far
my penis is a guitar
I play tunes of love
but sometimes it is time to go
far
beyond anecdotes
beyond the north wind
beyond fear of making mistakes
each one prays
as it is natural to him
or to her
I'm trying to make it
still much in me of a saboteur
today I told my self
'evil is banished with good'
And not with its recognition'
another confession? A greedy desire
To share your blood
To pair-bond
escaping cold
Of being alone
In the depths of struggle
or resting when the divine presence
has redeemed your muddle.
Here’s a confession:
I want to create an object that will help seeing things like they have never seen before
As if they have never died
A pair of glasses. Or a device
To shut down all artificial lights
And make it go winter snow
Bell your jingles, you happy frog
Hidden well in your secret bog
And when the call is made
You answer it 'Yes, Hello.'
2 years ago
Anonymous
Who is he? He need to get out more
2 years ago
Anonymous
to get out where and why?
2 years ago
Anonymous
>You answer it 'Yes, Hello.'
It was an angry fellow
Told me to leave his daughter alone
She said he was dead but then who was phone?
My penis is a goblin
A green and slimy one
My penis is a goblin
It's going in your bum
O, my penis is a goblin
It's full of wicked tricks
My penis is a goblin
You'll feel it go in quick
My penis is a goblin
You'd better run in fear
My penis is a goblin
It makes your butthole tear
Yes, my penis is a goblin
And the town will flee in terror
When my dirty goblin penis
comes to steal their treasure
The night has taken the form of a little woman
who lies in a bed of flowers.
I am a shadow.
It is the hour of our destiny.
The wild blackberries are plump and white
on the branches of the trees.
The blackbird is a little girl.
She is crying.
The green grasses are sighing in the wind.
Birds of black and green are singing and crying.
My eyes are still open
But I no longer see the white clouds.
All the sounds in the air are the voices of
myself and a thousand others.
I feel that I am standing in front of the great stone table,
and I see that God, in the form of a blind woman, is weeping
because it has no bread.
I hear my own voice and my footsteps are heavy
on the ground.
I feel that I am a woman.
I feel that I am no longer a man.
I feel that I am the woman that cries out,
“Bring me a loaf.”
The stars are singing as they follow the Moon through the
skies.
The green grass, the silver skiff, the white walls, the cries of the
nightingales and the sound of the bell.
I am in the middle of the street where my father used to go.
I have forgotten everything but my hand.
It is the hour of our destiny.
The great stone table is covered with
a white cloth.
On its white side the moon will shine
through all eternity.
I am a shadow.
I am on the back of the moon.
I am in the sky.
I am in the sea.
I am in the middle of the street.
I am with my own eyes.
I am on the moon.
I am a shadow.
The Stubblebine Company/ CORFAC International produces value for our clients by providing creative solutions and aggressive marketing in the greater Boston commercial real estate marketplace by putting the goals and objectives of our clients first and adhering to biblical principles.
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! our fearful trip is done;
This syzygos has weather’d every hylic, the prize we sought is won;
Gnosis is near, the hautbois I hear, the cherubs all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the kobold grim and daring:
But O Stubblebine! Stubblebine! Stubblebine!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck the Demiurge lies,
Fallen cold and dead!
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the circle is squared —for you the hautbois trills:
For you lustration's cathartic breath itself unsheaths—for you the firmament a-crowding:
For you they call, the hylic mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Stubblebine! dear father!
Your arm beneath his head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
The Demiurge's fallen cold and dead!
The Demiurge does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
Be'ezelbub does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
And Stubblebine, with gleeful tread,
Walks the deck where hylics lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
Brush stroke clouds afloat in a gradient bath.
Blue. White. Yellow.
Clash.
Discordant chirps all around
From shrub, a ledge, on the ground.
Tiki torch blazes, alight our path.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.
The sun gets its buoyancy this time of year.
Hanging around late until the moon is clear.
A companion for now until a later date.
When the AC is met in a dual of fates.
Citronella sweet,
The bend of a tree,
Is that a tick I see?
It can’t hurt me.
So in the dark we stroll along
Orange street lamps hum our song
Illuminated rhythm
Dance, dance, dance.
Dance on.
Side step, bump, nudge her arm.
Steal a kiss.
Zombie Apocalypse.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.
It shone, pale as bone / As I stood there alone / And I thought to myself how the moon, / That night, cast its light / On my heart's true delight, / And the reef where her body was strewn.
No one writes.
What about this?
There sits an orange tree
Perched over a ledge of calamity
It is caressed by loneliness
Its fruits wither and it feels distress
They fall down with every press
Tumbling down the cliff to die
Their color catches a bird’s quaint eye
For the gift it sings a tune
Praising the tree for its boon
The seeds are spread across the land
And groves spring forth from the sand
The shade creates a paradise
From pain there springs forth a life
this was published
your rhymes don't work, and you have an inconsistent pattern. keep writing
can you explain what you mean with an inconsistant pattern?
are you talking about aa bbbb cc dd ee or the types of rhymes?
I definitly see that
its aa, bbb, cc, dd, ee, ff. why is there a third randomly
also your rhymes don't work in places. for example, 'dis-tress' does not rhyme with 'lon-li-ness,' just cos it has a ess at the end doesn't make it perfect. same goes with paradise and life.
there is a third one randomly because I came up with the line of the fruits seperatly, thought it sounded good and kept it there
Not them but you have no rhythm.
really?
I was reading it out in my head and it seemed to kinda work, but I suppose that's me forcing it
other people aren't going to do mental gymnastics
work with rhythm templates and write like 10 sonnets as a practice. iambic it up
Sonnets are not good practice. They are too complex to do correctly, especially for a new poet. He should read Poetic Meter and Poetic Form by Fussell, and then practice the forms he learns. Eventually he will find something he likes. I for one don't think regular structures are necessary if meter and rhyme are done well, depends on the poem though, obviously.
>work with rhythm templates
Where can I find some?
Really. Like really really. There's nothing regular to grab onto anywhere.
Feels like an excerpt of something larger, it reads well like a fast paced rant, there’s a beat to it.
I don’t like all the references unless is part of a larger poem that extracts either the doomer mentality or offers something more than “don’t forget you are here forever”
Yes we know that so what? It’s anticlimactic, and takes away from the poem.
The form of the poem also works great with the sentiment.
Here’s my poem
Like a rambling spit
Or the tedious thing that comes
Before the walk
I’ve been trying to hold your hand
But I keep reaching mine
Like a little shoe torn by the grass
Or the other night the knocking
Woke me up, the knocking
Of the window pane,
Like the stupid thing that comes
Right after
Or the jacket on the chair
With the thousand little specks
Painting the forget me nots
Lost in the blue fabric
Like distorted dances in a moving world
Or the paths erased by rain
I’ve been trying to tell you something
But I keep forgetting to
Like the chain with broken links
Or the sun is warming feet.
Here’s another that I’m editing but I’m lost on it
I’ve broken my knuckles
The whirlwind on my lungs
I’ve become empty
Dramatic and cold
I don’t even walk the streets
No more
I’ve read all the signs
The river has sung
The murky water
That runs at my soles
Wrinkled and cut
I’m a stranger
And I have no fate
I’ve broken down my joints
Down to the marrow
Almost nothing left
I’m now too dramatic
Exaggerating each phrase
Maniacal
I will not give life a rest
I’ve broken a rook
The queen and a knight
I’m on my last pawn
The king is exposed
I’m just a victim
Of an electrical design.
What do you want input on exactly for your poems?
General critique, and for the second one ideas for a better end
I think the first one has a better rhythm than the second, but I don't get what their messages really are. They only give me vague emotions, vague ideas. Are you trying to keep a somewhat regular meter? I think the chess imagery is a little sudden and maybe out of place to the rest of the poem, as well as the last line, which doesn't have to do with chess. The first 2/3rds paint a bleak picture but then the narrator says they won't give life a rest, but without properly getting through as to why, at least for me that is, even after a few read throughs.
It’s shit.
Terrible.
The imagery was vivid to me but my mind kind of ignored the prose and rhyming for some reason. I just saw the imagery and ignored the words which is cool.
My first attempt at poetry:
I hear the bells ring in the darkness, but no light guides my way, the bells continue to taunt me while they sway, and sway.
I do not like it here and want to leave.
Ignore my previous post if you saw it
As I said, saying "in the darkness, but no light guides my way" is kind of redundant
You aren't expanding upon the qualities of the darkness, you are saying the same thing twice
I am not entirely against it, but I don't like it either
In any case, using "but" here is pointless
You are in there dark, there is no light
If there was a light, e.g. "it's dark, but I can see a light in the distance", then it would make sense to use "but"
I see that you want "guides my way" to rhyme with "sway"
If I were to rewrite it I would put it like this
"The bells ring in darkess, nothing guides my way. I shiver as they taunt me, with their evil sway. I can't stand to be here, I feel the need to leave. My only wish now is for a reprieve" or something like that
Thanks for the input I want to create a suspense of mystery and hysteria with what was going on in it.
This is the type of dogshit that would get you burned in the stake in the middle ages. You seriously need to read more.
post a poem so we can make fun of it.
I second this, our of curiosity
My Penis Is A Mountain
My penis is a mountain,
Erect and sublime.
My penis a mountain,
And b***hes want to climb.
O, my penis is a mountain,
They climb it for weeks.
My penis is a mountain,
rock hard against their cheeks.
My penis is a mountain,
It blocks out the sun.
My penis a mountain,
You're sore when you're done.
Yes, my penis is a mountain,
And the whole town will know,
When my mountain of a penis
Becomes a volcano.
A little editting to make the meter consistent and this would be pretty funny, as well as changing the lines to be more unique
Please don't talk to me.
No.
Fricking great. I read it to my 72 year old godparents
Thank you anon.
Just did. Keep your fingers crossed.
You should submit this to the New Yorker!
Serenade/Reverie for my wife/ex
I gotsta
cause I gotsta
I havesta
cause I havesta
I needsta
cause I needsta
just leave me alone
c**t
The ending could be better
My Penis Is A Rocket
My penis is a rocket,
I'll take you to the moon.
My penis is a rocket,
In the vast space of your poon.
O, my penis is a rocket,
You'll ride to new heights.
My penis is a rocket,
With earth-shaking might.
My penis is a rocket,
Exploring dark places,
My penis is a rocket,
Blasting off on hoes' faces
Yes, my penis is a rocket
They'll judge by your cries,
When my rocket of a penis,
Into Uranus it flies.
Metallic shiver
Fireworks
Tumbling down
Barren earth
Any commentary on this one?
No rhyme
No meters
Shallow imagery
Wasted time
what do you think it refers to?
You gf can't get pregnant now go away
My Penis Is A Horse
My penis is a horse,
It gallops for hours.
My penis is a horse,
It tramples pink flowers.
O, my penis a horse,
You'll ride in great style.
My penis is a horse,
But you'll be sore for a while.
My penis is a horse,
On it's back it could carry you,
My penis is a horse,
So don't ask it to marry you.
Yes, my penis is a horse,
The town will all say,
When my horse of a penis,
Makes your fat ass bray.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Black folk are black
You know thats true
Poem Melodic
THE STYLE is refinement of the highest
The mind at its brightest
The prize of the pious
The might of the highness
Better known as THE MASTER
The only foe that can go toe to toe with my flow
Is a captcha
Cuz my dome is robotic
Calculating every way to make a poem melodic
But still there are herds of rebels
Give turds some shekels
To preach words disheveled
And truth better learned from the devil
Wackness is a man made disaster
Perpetuated by agents and actors
Who create fake chatter
That erases gray matter
Until the masses are passives
When they hear the chains clatter
As it happens THE STYLE has compassion
And sends THE MASTER to extract satisfaction
Stand back
Cuz here comes a blast from the dragon
Got the whole globe laughin
As my opponents souls ashen
More like a rap song. I don't think the style works for poetry, in my opinion
My Penis Is A Love Song
My penis is a love song,
Long, slow and tender.
My penis is a love song,
It fills you with splendor.
O, my penis is a love song,
On your lips and on your tongue.
My penis is a love song,
Down your throat and in your lungs.
My penis is a love song,
You can play it any hour.
My penis is a love song,
You can lip sync it in the shower.
Yes, my penis is a love song,
The town will all croon,
When my love song of a penis,
Makes you howl like a baboon.
The blue moon loomed over Tupelo
A Black person with an itchy trigger finger
Lingered in the alley where the blues singer
Sung a song about a b***h that stung him
Pretty cool, short
My Penis Is A Polar Bear
My penis is a polar bear,
Furry and heavy set.
My penis is a polar bear,
It's always getting wet.
O, my penis is a polar bear,
White and ten feet tall.
My penis is a polar bear,
Just curl up in a ball.
My penis is a polar bear,
You can't run away.
My penis is a polar bear,
And you are its prey.
Yes, my penis is a polar bear,
The whole town will bawdy.
When my polar bear of a penis,
Is done mauling your body.
cut the last three lines and it's great
Oh good, there's a poetry thread up. I woke up sweating and disoriented, and managed to pull this out of what was bouncing around in my head.
I'll go back through this and add to/finish it later, but for now have fun with some verbal garbage from the subconscious.
Sounds good so far. Keep working on it
Thanks, I've done so
10/10
I get the first stanza, and partly the second, but I don't see the overall message. It sounds cool though.
Honestly I'm still trying to figure out the last half (first version I posted) myself. I don't fully remember writing it and it began, like previously stated, as subconscious verbal garbage. If it helps, everything I write seems to end up as an attempt by the unconscious to explain itself to the conscious, with varying degrees of what I'd consider "success."
aw shucks
Do you dream in poetry or what? How does that work?
Sometimes I wake up compulsively repeating phrases or needing to write/draw something to get it out of my head. I assume it's just the subconscious getting done compiling something and then being very pushy about making sure it's permanently recorded somewhere. Does this not happen to you?
No. I've tried a dream journal for a week or two, but none of them were interestingn so I stopped. Interesting thing tou got going, anon.
The frog keeps no silence,
It feels so bad,
It brings me to violence,
It breaks me to tears,
But all of my fears
That I've ever had,
Cannot compare
To that thing over there,
It is not a man,
At least, not anymore,
But also it can
Not be a woman, for sure,
An abomination,
A hideous a creature,
A gross miscalculation,
No womanly feature,
...
Anyone want to finish it?
My Penis is An Iron Age Mine miner
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Sweaty and tough,
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Penetrating layers of tuff.
O, my penis is an Iron Age miner,
Exploring the deepest caves.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
It turns maidens into slaves.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Answering your unspoken calls.
My penis is an Iron Age miner,
Ravaging all your inner walls.
Yes, my penis is an Iron Age miner,
The entire province will know,
When my Iron Age miner of a penis,
Extracts ores from your forbidden hole.
Nigging
BY SEMEUS ANONEY
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Across the street, a glass breaking sound
When a shopkeeper falls upon the ground:
My father, nigging. I look down
Till his outstretched arm among the concrete slabs
Gun bends sideways, twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm as he arrives at a prison
Where he keeps nigging.
The coarse boot, stood up on a sidwalk, the pistol
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He busted up a couple shook homies, buried their dark asses in the local park
To scatter new money that we looted,
Loving that paper feel in our hands.
By God, the old Black person could handle a gun.
Just like his nigfather, a slave.
My nigfather shot more cowards in a day
Than any other man in brooklyn or memphis.
Once I carried him a 40 of ol english
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
shooting and looting, heaving bags
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good gold. Nigging.
The cold smell of benjamin mould, the squelch and slap
Of fuggin dat bit, the loud shots of a nine
Through looting roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no gun to follow Black folk like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll nig with it.
Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
Damned universal wiener, as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.
It's interesting. I don't think the 3rd stanza is a good transition to the rest of the poem. It seems too different from the rest.
is this a good syllable structure?
7
7
9
7
7
7
No.
y tho?
You didn't ask. The climax is too early.
I can see that, but I feel it having those syllables earlier helps a lot
>I feel
Didn't need to read the rest of what you wrote to know that you're wrong. The meter falls flat on it's face less than halfway through and it never gets back up. It's objectively bad.
Depends. Sometimes you want the last line to have more syllables, sometimes less. Having the one line with a different amount of syllables so close to the beginning doesn't make sense though.
I made a haiku 🙂
>Count my syllables.
>Did this take a lot of time?
>You would not believe!
There are many meta western haikus along the same lines, unfortunately.
haikus are super forced in other languages so it makes sense
the challenge isn't finding the right words to express yourself
it's coming up with something coherent within the limitations of the format
Aren't haikus in Japan meant to be about nature though?
Hmm maybe we should do some haikus about our penises.
Gnarled stump of a tree,
Belligerent, but lonely,
I talk of my wiener
Your meter is not regular and is in fact extremely awkward in many lines. Some are good though, metrically. Practice scansion I guess. I also mentioned earlier, what is the reason for certain lines having more syllables? If the lines are meant to have more impact or give the impression of trailing off...then the placement is very strange to me. Why would they be in the middle of the stanza rather than the end? You may have an effect you're going for, but think deeply about the best way to get there.
That's beautiful.
Thanks
The reason for some lives having more syllables is because I didn't get the idea of having a fixed amount of syllables until I'd finished the first draft of the first verse
And I liked the line with 9 syllables and couldn't come up with something equivalent in 7
I kept going with the idea to see what would become of it
I agree it's akward
The second verse has two 9 syllable lines because I felt like it and the poem was already weird
Do you have more tips for writing poems with structure?
Yes. Read Poe's philosophy of compostion (not too long) and Fussell's Poetic Meter and Poetic Form. Basically, if you really like the lines with 9 syllables try to write the whole thing with 9, or create a semi-unique structure that gives the poem a fun kind of changing rhythm, and then stick to that structure. Poe talks about this, and Fussell's book will help you with meter.
To elaborate further, I mean that you could make a structure like
7 syllables
7
9
5
5
Just playing around with line length and even what kind of feet each line uses to get a unique kind of rhythm. Obviously it has to sound good. Like I said, Poe's essay talks about this.
I recommend english poets from Thomas Wyatt to Keats and every poet that wrote around the same time. Specifically, Donne, Herbert, Herrick, Byron, honestly there's so many, so obviously do your own research. You can just read their popular poems and if you like them you can read more. My favorite poems specifically are The Raven, Fire and Ice, The Bridge of Sighs, and The Destruction of the Sennacherib, just to name a few
Longing, in two ways
Ecstasy meets the abyss
In a world of piss
>Haiku should be fast
>Haiku should flow nat'rally
>This is a challenge
Haiku chain anyone?
No.
>What a sad reply
>So quick to shut down the fun
>Why not try it out?
Anon is a cuck
He is angry at the world
His wife is a man
Your haiku is weak.
I describe your life and dick:
reddit is that way -->
la lala lala,
La dee da dee da dee da,
Haha haha, hah
Blood red
Deep pain
Head ache
No gain
Days pass
Night falls
No present
No calls
No life
Nearly dead
Crawl out
Lay spread
Sun rises
New day
Tears drop
Wind sway
Rainbow
Memory
Solitude
Fragility
I don't think it has a powerful message or image, but it's pretty cool and fun to read. I think if you swapped the first 2 lines of the second stanza it would make more sense, but it would change the rhyme scheme, obviously. Although I don't think that matters much.
My Penis Is
Thousand threaded totems of memory
carved dearly by broken generation's every
member and coated in liquid life known
for its passions but better by its renown.
It is taller than epics and longer than pain.
It is mortal but more so it is the only game,
and though it is a thankless burden,
my pants wander with Zeus's bolted thunder
and my under grown with Poseidon's trident,
and your mother is not yours, but who I lent.
>Birdie, birdie in the sky,
>Please don't poo-poo in my eye,
>Nor go doo-doo on my car,
>Do your business somewhere far,
>On the branch above me sit,
>But I ask you do not shit,
>Birdie, birdie from on high,
>You shit on me and made me cry.
So what am I doing wrong with this one?
At the crest there is a gate 7
To where sounds reduplicate 7
And shadows dance in imitation 9
Mimicking God’s creation 7
Its halls saved us from our fate 7
While they marvel and elate 7
Decorating this great tomb 7
Are drawings in every room 7
Immortalized and anonymous 9
Original and eponymous 9
«Bisons that we killed today» 7
«Imprints that we leave with clay» 7
Retreating from where it came 7
The people forgot its name 7
Then exposed to the shining luster 9
The playing children muster 7
Brought into the light again 7
Now exalted by a pen 7
>So what am I doing wrong with this one?
Everything
Couldn't tell you exactly why, but despite the more irregular syllable count, these little changes make the poem flow more naturally to my ears. Somebody who knows theory explain why I'm right or (more likely) wrong.
At the crest there is a gate 7
To where sounds reduplicate 7
And shadows dance in imitation 9
A mimicking of God’s creation 9
Its halls can save us from our fate 8
While they marvel and elate 7
Decorating this great tomb 7
Are drawings, one in every room 8
Immortalized and anonymous 9
Original and eponymous 9
«Bisons that we killed today» 7
«Imprints that we leave with clay» 7
Retreating to from where it came 8
The people since forgot its name 8
Then exposed to shining luster 8
All the playing children muster 8
Brought into the light again 7
But now exalted by a pen 8
The syllables don't matter as much as the feet within the lines. Your meter is not regular throughout the whole, but it is more regular when comparing your couplets where it sounds better now. For example in your first version
>And shadows dance in imitation
> u / u / u / u / u
>Mimicking God's creation
> / u / / u / u
And in the newer version
>A mimicking of God's creation
u / u / u / u / u
They are now the same. It was hard for me to decide whether the "-king" at the end if mimicking was stressed or not, but I decided it was since the first version sounds so off, that it must be, and the scansion of the newer version of that line justifies that decision as well, since the line that sounds regular to our ears, is now regular when scansioned that way.
Standing among mists
Starring towards the abyss
The darkness unbridged
While I lean for it's kiss
The smile long unseen
Now cold as a stone
A twinkle in My soul
When I reach forth
And fall
And as I fall I hear her voice
In her arms I die
Lone and forgotten
But happy
For my soul's not yet rotten
As my carcass will
>it’s kiss
Stopped reading there
Have you ever kissed a woman? It's great,so I added it 🙂
>Have you ever kissed a woman?
>:)
No and neither have you
>No and neither have you
I did actually. No shit. Stranger things happend on this board.
Then why are you so prickly?
people who’re confident in themselves don’t lash out because of bagatelles like this
>Then why are you so prickly?
Because I write poetry on a vietnamese bread basket forum.
I’ve made out with a drunk prostitute at a bar
This is such a terrible poem that I had to get to my pc to explain why
>Standing among mists
Mists? As multiple mists? And you stand in all of them at once?
>The darkness unbridged
Unbridged? As in the darkness has no bridges? That's what that word means
I'm not saying its wrong to use unbridged here, but I just don't see the connection
Anyway, misty and dark? This seems a bit superflous as mist and darkness symbolize the same thing if I'm reading this poem correctly
>While I lean for it's kiss
First of all it should be "lean in for its kiss", but this is weird in the first place
You are standing IN the darkenss, why would you need to lean in to kiss it surrounds you?
>The smile long unseen
You lean in for a kiss and see a smile that you haven't seen in a while, ok
Maybe put a "I see" in front of it?
It's kind of weird to just say "the smile long unseen" in this context
>Now cold as a stone
>A twinkle in My soul
Proofread you shitty poem for basic mistakes my god
>When I reach forth
>And fall
>And as I fall I hear her voice
"And fall. And as I fall(...)" I have no words. Repition isn't necessarily a bad thing, but this isn't artistic. This is just clunky
At least change it up a little like "And as I'm falling I hear her voice"
>In her arms I die
>Lone and forgotten
>But happy
>For my soul's not yet rotten
"soul's not yet rotten" sounds very clunky
>As my carcass will
Will be? My soul is not as rotten as my carcass?
Anyway, abrupt ending
>Nice, but if it took you too long then
It took me like thirty seconds, actually.
As I sit on the balcony
My shorts starts digging into me
My ass itches and I sneeze
I’m lightly dressed and begin to freeze
I spill some wine and hurt my knee
My arm is bitten by a flea
I open the catalog and I see
The gaping anus of goatse
Not ridiculous enough
My Penis Is An Atom Bomb
My penis is an atom bomb,
Rotund and quite stocky.
My penis is an atom bomb,
It could level Nagasaki.
O, my penis is an atom bomb,
Spewing radiotoxic pollutants.
My penis is an atom bomb,
Making thousands of nip mutants.
My penis is an atom bomb,
Banned by a hundred nations.
My penis is an atom bomb,
With no peaceful applications.
Yes, my penis is an atom bomb,
They say in Sapporo to Manilla.
Because my atom bomb of a penis,
Smashes whole cities like Godzilla.
>nip mutants
As in what, mutant nipples?
It's a disparaging term for Japanese people.
Farmer’s Walls:
Stone rocks and
Plessy pocks, ‘member times of yore
Laid toes splayed on throes of deer men fading gore
Nippy wind glacéd grin melt ‘pon the branch, felted moss bursting, Polaris
Guile fox, slink along the creek, sip nd drink, dip those feet, frazzle locks caught
In stream, sweet beaming, fragrant rays of sun, let them shine, and dance in silly fun
While waving heat, gaily seat, ass plummet to the ground,
Smile to eat and kiss the sun
Frater?
My Penis Is A Buffet
My penis is a buffet,
Of cream and white meat,
My penis is a buffet,
It's all you can eat.
O, my penis is a buffet,
It drives fat girls insane.
My penis is a buffet,
Still the black girls complain.
My penis is a buffet,
You'll eat your own weight.
My penis is a buffet,
There's even a group rate.
Yes, my penis is a buffet,
The whole town will abase,
When my buffet of a penis,
Is done stuffing your face.
I wrote a riddle-like poem for an art collaboration to stir some imagination, let me know what you think
It could take me many hours
To tell you the story
About that peculiar garden of ours
With a lonely tower of ivory
A graceful light it shines
Its glory still so vividly awaken
Many secrets it confines
On this land mayhap forsaken
A master faintly unknown
His spirit still carrying a scent
Truly a mystery of its own
What those intentions are meant
Across the evergreen maze
Graced by more than just a flower
Answers treasured in different ways
There lies the fabled tower
You really put the amateur in amateur poetry.
Care to elaborate? What could be improved?
everything
There's imperfect rhymes and the meter is not paid any attention. I don't think riddles and poetry mix, since riddles are supposed to be very exact with their hints, but trying to fit those hints into a structure will likely make them less straightforward as sentences, making them harder to understand. If you want to write poetry, read Paul Fussell's "Poetic Meter and Poetic Form" and a bunch more poetry.
>Poetic Meter and Poetic Form
Thanks, I'll check it out. Where do you find good poetry yourself? Or rather, what would you recommend
My Penis Is A Tyrannosaurus rex
My penis is a T-rex,
Viscous and scaled.
My penis is a T-rex,
40 feet from head to tail.
O, my penis is a T-rex,
And it's on a rampage.
My penis is a T-rex,
Broke loose from it's cage.
My penis is a T-rex,
It makes the crowd scream.
My penis is a T-rex,
It even has it's own theme.
Yes, my penis is a T-rex,
The town will soon see,
When my T-rex of a penis,
Stars in Jurassic World 3.
My penis
She destroyed her chastity cage
No
NO
My penis is free
Please don't make fun of me.
Don’t be too harsh, I spent 5 days on this
The white hunter sits on his porch
With his elephant gun and his tears
He'll shoot you for free if you come around here
A protester kneels on the neck of a statue
The statue says, "I can't breathe"
The protester says, "Now you know how it feels"
And he kicks it into the sea
I'm a Botticelli Venus with a penis
Riding an enormous scalloped fan
I'm a sea foam woman rising from the spray
And I'm coming to do you harm
With a gun in my pants full of elephant tears
And a seahorse on each arm
With my elephant gun of tears I'll shoot you all for free
If you ever think about coming 'round here
I'll shoot you in the fricking face
If you think of coming around here
I'm an ice sculpture melting in the sun
I'm an ice sculpture with an elephant gun
I'm an ice sculpture made of elephant-sized tears
Raining gas and salt upon your heads
The president has called in the Feds
I've been planning this for years
I'll shoot you in the fricking face
If you think of coming around here
I'll shoot you for just for fun
I'm a statue lying on my side in the sun
With the memory of an elephant
Evaporating before your eyes
And becoming a great grey cloud of wrath
Roaring my salt upon the earth
I'll shoot you all for free if you so much as look at me
A time is coming
A time is nigh
For the kingdom
In the sky
Don't ask who
Don't ask why
'Cause there's a kingdom in the sky
We're all coming home
For a while
>I'm a Botticelli Venus with a penis
This is pretty fun. Couple lines need tweeking though
My Dick
Not too long, not too thick
My dick, my dick.
Nothing special, does the trick
My dick, my dick.
Many are like it, average prick
My dick, my dick.
Cum injector, makes her sick
My dick, my dick.
Few months later, son comes quick
My dick, my dick.
First a twig, then a stick
My dick, my dick.
Now a branch, not a trick
Look at my son's massive dick!
My unknown love, whatever you are
Hold on for me, We can't be far
I know not yet; your form, your face
still in my heart, you have your place
in me you'll find, that final key
so please my dear, please wait for me.
Nice
cute
People are going to look back at this thread as the place where the Menininity movement started.
Hear me, hear me, every man!
Listen to me, if you can,
These woman act not ladylike,
They aren't charmed by chivalry,
But cry out as they even strike,
Inflame the Sexes rivalry,
Have you not seen all of our works,
Misjudged and unappreciated?
Giving to themselves the perks,
And every act of ours frustrated?
Woman wish to be so doted,
Every single detail noted,
But they do not give the same,
To men who are devoted,
Rare, the dedicated dame,
That lives to serve her husband's life,
To make for him his long-sought home,
To care and comfort, undo strife,
A place from which is pain to roam,
What then is left for men to do
When wife material is few?
I say we should revert our state,
Let's become ourselves again,
Since what we are is what they hate,
Then let them be, let men be men,
Ignore the harpy screeching out,
Enjoy the things we ought enjoy,
They may claw, insult, and shout,
But blow them off so cool and coy,
Do not take their gross abuse,
Turn from them, do what you should,
We need to suffer such misuse,
Let us be men, and good.
We need not suffer such misuse*
Let us be real men, and good.*
Damn I really messed that up
my madness is elusive
it sinks into me like the setting sun
or the wreck of a ship
into the ocean
my mind so weary
i ask god for a sign
a noose swings in the wind
on my knees i pray for me/us
and stare into a cup of spirits
my reflection stares back
i close my eyes
I don't like it.
top notch criticism you people have going on here
>Give your opinions
Top notch reading comprehension.
It's melodramatic, without much to back it up
I didn't like the ending where you didn't actually kys and wrote this instead.
Ithkuil Huangzhou, Kitchen Kafir, Tola tk, ron Wutai Deepcar, peanut whistle, khalass ESCI rhob petakelvin kevil overslay, intraarray, Cavalier County tootsoon eyrant Rascon non-conception, Dundesian spectrotron Shan-tung be supposed to waggadash, toto Ios Clonkeen Defra Bricknell QG tolong rempli Krusec kaily Glassco barbut Wapley type-high Man in Black Quinones cripqueer Guiseley gooseberry lay, Hiberno English super-primate BrOxy Keram Sharples Pomfret Qarluk Hindlish please excuse my dear Aunt Sally, walk the streets intextine kingless Sarchet Needham new dawn champoy Twelfth tide Devor schelling Kwangchow Ruabon truesome shall we say, postrevival plan of action biweight skew wiff podcase brick-shaped Wahlgren Kirkton goes at Danish longball craseur foam board Rojas handpress Bristol rockcress Hegde granger railroad silpat draws the longbow, split bar songly Mydas fly Eveleigh oil-patch counterdie cad. male-bot koelie Rowling say no conebill warby phattu xwalk Third Day shii tree text door neighbour UNTAC Ngawa Roman brick tank locomotive greataunt show in engine-generator gomo woolcomb Nieto Étampes visite Norrod Theseum cantress crena grab hoe Miner County Harders broderick goldsize Mocksville Horsford Muhmad vlissmaki flap steak mephitine, receiptholder ORL malwa MODS genetic lottery whealworm Eimer Obertenghi omlet kunefe optotagging give a rip, sofa surfing burden basket Lasi gipper knock wood Qualley string bet Foxy pinkie finger cabinet card Manchouli Holyokian Zoomland pair of forceps hevenly almira outlink rape ape Galey, unrakish Neepsend IoE aftersound nidoviral ivey juxtacrine Delingpole ducking coat priced radio-friendly, tridegree MIW Mianjin multicommutator tesseract cameo lighting Tynewald flame birch why aye Ipsariot CommuNazi Cramm on-call Gogar Lebed feldscher Doomsday Glacier mawmaw sportish high-necked sanxian tripomastigote initiatic, hazel hen counterflowered Marseilles vinegar articization paludification Yelper faveolization Dahingganling precanine synetic levanase warm hose parenetically Cojack rabadi mousseline de laine, take a flying frick at a rolling doughnut Carno outcorner Bowenwork basolinear basedstatin gorbelly Katsaros lexic one-step go way back GSPLAJ ant-bed Gortonian rubashka boulevardier denumeral effectual calling Gwinnett County hither and yon Zionwards Werekena Rothbaum extemporanea train order, Lokeren Gruler bronchio-overanimated multiphage wilderness treatment center Pratas registrogenesis agitophasia Coccimiglio cointercalation unfoaming fart in a wind storm Tropp Chazen underlicensed microfouler man-pain cacogamy cruising chute waste water pumpkin spider superscaffold codimensional snowflakeness folkloricness norbadione A mudguarded Oskarsdottir oligoprogressive penten-Scola Fukien piriform recess microsimulate Warks. on the tiles acinoductal parodise Eid al Fitr Wighill the Duke of Exeter's daughter self-abusing primordial black hole warm over hair-raiser gemelle self-elect desolderer gonidangial
poetry may be spam but spam is not poetry homosexual
I agree. No structure
Hume's fork Tray trife, a
far remove chicken liver
Sierpinski carpet
Ok
ay
...Okay
They're all just okay...
Dubs
Well done!
If you don’t think chimps would steal babies and eat them, you haven’t been paying attention to the literature
I got you stuck off the realness, we be the gnosis
You heard of us, official non-dual murderers
The Trads comes equipped for memetic warfare, beware
Of my autodidact family who got nuff tomes to share
For all of those, who wanna profile and pose
Retroactively refute your favorite philosopher, make you give on your role as their expositor
You all alone in these threads, hylic
Every man for they self on this board we be postin
And keep them shook pseuds running, like they supposed to
They spam pastas but they never come close to realization
I can see it inside your face, you're in the wrong thread and finna get an education
Buddhists like you just get they religion laced up
With retroactive refutations and such
Speak the wrong words man and you will get debunked
You can put your whole Guenongay screencap collection against my team and
I guarantee you I'll be the very last one postin
Your modernist assumptions just don't move me, you're minor, we're major
You're all up in the debate and don't deserve to be a poster
Don't make me have to call your maya-based delusions out
Your theory is refuted, my Guenon (pbuh) quotes make you hesitate
I'm only eternal and unborn but my mind is old
And when the things get for real Brahman dawns in my heart removing the cold
Another Process philosopher destroyed, another story gets told
It ain't nothing really, hey, yo dun spark the opium
So I can get my mind off these duplicitous materialists
Why they still posting I don't know, go figure
Meanwhile back on the Guenonian discord the realness and foundation
If I attain fanāʾ I couldn't choose a better location
When Shankarcharya's arguments penetrate Buddhists feel a burning sensation
Getting closer to Allah (swt) in a tight situation
Now, take these words hylic and think it through
Or the next rhyme I write might be about you
That's pretty funny. Anyone good at rapping wanna vocaroo this?
>Anyone good at rapping
would rap something good instead
Chapter One Salvation Street
A man filthy and broken
Shambled alone down a road
Made of limestone and porcelain
His face strained with pained emotion
His brain panged like rain on the ocean
He was dirty like a mole
And his clothes looked the grossest
Lookin like he was in the desert with Moses
This man was the lowest of the lowest
Homeless and hopeless
An enemy of the polis
As he strode down the rode
A helicopter with a camera in tow
Bothered the man as it filmed its show
For the millions of viewers of SHAME TV to see
Live feed on their phone screens
All across the city they were waiting with glee
For the man to reach the end of Salvation Street
Where pearly gates waited to meet
While the poor man shuffled his feet
An announcer with a hairpiece
Comes on peoples screens
And says his piece
Ladies and gents
Welcome to the show that never ends
With reality this good
There is no need to pretend
SHAME TV we are here to defend
All that’s good from agents of sin
Once again thanks for tuning in
To watch the righteous win
Another soul that the devil stole
While this blasphemer takes a stroll
Let me tell you how he spent his days of old
This man was a member of Antishame
A terrorist hellbent on inflicting pain
To our society and traditional ways
And if you terrorists are watching this
We will not slack until you demons are back
In H E double hockey sticks
Make no mistake
This evil man will be your fate
And any person who strays from the flock we survey
But back to the matter at hand
Let me help you understand
Why our feature story is this wretched man
He has just spent twenty two years in a SHAME camp
On his own volition
He wouldnt pay his penance and give up his evil mission
But now look at him
Crawling back without a pot to piss in
Crawling back hoping that we will forgive him
Its now only a matter of time
Any minute the dead demon walking will sign the dotted line
And with that waiver
We will teach him to fear the Savior
In the end he will be pure enough to be your neighbor
A soul reborn courtesy of SHAME Corp
Your main source for religious entertainment
The pearly gates swung open and a lawyer appeared
With the contract the poor man had always feared
>strained with pained
nope
Reads like slam poetry, it's not so deep as it tries to come off as.
I’ve got some rap I’ve had people rapped, here’s two. If you want to rap one of mine I’ll post another longer rap.
https://vocaroo.com/17JTSrFBbGPe
https://vocaroo.com/1n7Jh3bJ3GE5
Ayo Duns Scotus, spark the Philly
A Black person spat upon my shoe
So I beat him black and blue
Unsatisfied with this poem, my requirements made it too stiff.
Poem name=ɛəɑ
Ever lost, forever lost, forever lost ?
Less or more, the stress of war, the leopard’s Jaw,
Gnawing red flesh in its claws, bursts reservoir
Waters rilling past the hills rain weathers on,
Where the sheep and shepherd rush to shelter, yon
Where the dreams of sleep are born, the treasure stores
Bourneless where the flawless thoughts as zephyrs brawl,
Sings spring of the great days, where unfettered dawn
Shimmers on, and under where the nether thralls
Terror, for the thundering of welter falls,
Casting those who asked not god but pleasures false
To renew their souls, the holes where measured law
Causes grief reliefless as a leper’s maw.
Ever lost? no never lost the letters call,
Render then the eidolonic repertoire,
Tender let me speak thy splendor better Lord,
Open then my mouth and let thy nectar pour.
Poem 2:a rap in an imitation of mf doom
i got more bread solo than boom bap homies on promo,
flow ugly like the boars head logo, it comes wrapped bozo,
oh no, that’s not liquor though it flows
slick like a gift of a fifth makes you drift away, a real ricochet
with rhymes off the Richter, makes them say “mister, why’s your lines so richer “
a mixture of tongue twisters and scripture,
all that glitters ain’t a fixture best take a picture.
Maybe a little stiff compared to some of your other stuff, but it reads fine to me. I think I've kept up easier with what's going on than in your other work I've read. As for the rap (the second part?), I think it's a little generic, but rap rehashes the same themes so it's probably fine.
Here is my poem entitled "Mr. Fong's," after a two bridges bar. It's in hexameter. I a writing this on my phone on the subway
On tarred streets commensurate with all opulence we hung night’s stole,
Cords of the sought and the highball glass out of failed dreams of droll pull.
This is why nobody reads poetry
What do you mean?
You're a whiny, whinging pussy.
I don't think that poem fits that description
I wasn't talking about the poem.
>This is why nobody reads poetry
Seems like you're the only one whining hear.
That's a fact, not whining.
>Nobody reads poetry
Is not a fact, actually.
Yes, it is. You are nobody.
You are a nobody,
Says the anon,
Guilty the same,
For the charge he lays on,
He claims that the poet,
Is whining and whinging,
And he doesn't know it,
But everyone's cringing.
So you're not denying it, but have instead admitted to it (in a poem no less) and now you're lashing out in anger about it like a whiny, whinging pussy. You sure showed me.
Lmfao, anon
Have some decorum man ffs.
>i i i
> he said she said they said a
>and then and then and then
Remove 4/5ths of all appearances on I. You new word counter is 20% fewer words. Make another pass.
Reading it with your advice in mind, I think it makes it worse, not better
listen frickbawd, listen well:
I will ream you with my bell-
end until you gasp and blush,
'til toilet-bound you fart and gush.
finally some quality
Tryna blem a zoot
G-man sorts me out quick and
I get contacted
My penis is like the great Shakespeare
Referred to often with respect
My penis is as long as Proust's novels
when it is erect
My penis is just like Balzac
It is almost never at rest
But most of all my penis bores most buttholes it comes by,
just like the Infinite Jest.
poetry is by its very nature
cringe
and also gay
the mere idea of writing down words
that adhere to some kind of structure
no matter how strictured or arbitrary
in order to convey something like
"the inner intimations of the human soul
so inexpressibly inexhaustibly expressed and exhausted
that to not share them would kill the user"
is—and please hold my mirrored shades—gay
I once saw a JP Morgan executive sucking off a homeless man in a relatively well-kempt alleyway
and thought to myself, that is far less gay that anything that Tennyson poof put out
the whole enterprise is extremely and vitally homosexual
even rimbaud punched out at score years of age
this all being said
im a big fan
Last line got me.
i polevaulted my way into the royal ceremony
officially titled "president world's inaugural bris"
for it is the year of our lord 2032
and the mechanization of bio-complexity
has extended to the very gametes
you used to blow into a filthy box
when i landed in the arena on paula abduls tightened abdomen
i took out my incision makers (the nail clippers)
and performed an instant hysterectomy
so as to abscond with said uterus
and implant into my boy george fleshdoll
mr president world saw my plucky maneuvers
and came to compliment me with the standard
smearing of saved feces on my upper lip
"you got moxie kid" he said as he motioned
to the anthropomorphic walls before they seized
my body's sense of itself and inserted me
right into a very respectable administrative position
as complexity dictator of the small region formerly known as
eurasia, a nice slice of this cosmolocal pie
conflicted, i thought of my sweet boy
and my sweet boy
i like to think
as i summarily executed the fats
also thought of me
longing for his alleppo bred uterus
use the words clemency, fragility and hyperbole in a poem
A POEM FOR ANONS INSPIRATION
*************************************
I GURGLE AND GNASH AND GNAW
AND SPITTLE ON THE PAVED STONE
OVER AND OVER URGED
SMELT A GLACIER
WINKED AT AN OLD MAID
MADE MAD WITH A RAMSHAKLE SITUATION
ERGO LONG AGO, FORLORN I FAWNED
AND FED UP I SPENT AND RANGLED
LEST LUST LOST LUSTER LURCHED
AND WRENT MY UMBRIDGE DRY
THUS IT WASNT SO MUCH THE CLEMENCY
BUT THE CLAMOUR OF THE SPELLBOUND OUVRE
WHICH ALLIEVIATED MY CORPUS
AND AS IS SAID, OF WISHY WASHY PROPOSED
THE LURKED PIQUE IS DANGLED WITH AFFAIR
SO TOO, STUMBLING, I YEARNED
SO FOR, A WHILE OF TIME, PASSES
AND WHEN NO MORE, AS IS NIGHT
STILL THE ORB SWIRLS
AND THE CRIES OF ALL CREATURES STEW
SHE SAID THEN AT THE POND
HAVE YOU SEEN A BOWL WITH ENERGY
A BOWL, I ASKED?
NO A BOLE, A HYPER ONE?
NO I THOUGHT
I THOUGHT OF LIFES FRAGILITY
AND THEN I LAUGHED AND ATE THE NECK OF A BIRD
I THOUGHT OF LIFES TENDER MELENCHOLIA
AND THEN I BURPED AND WIPED DEAD BIRD GREASE ON MY KNEE
I THOUGHT OF THE TOTAL SADNESS OF ALL OCUPANTS ON EARTH
THEN I MADE MY GIRLFRIEND QUEEF ON MY BUTTHOLE
I THOUGHT OF ALL CHILDREN IN ORPHANAGES
AND THEN I ATE ANOTHER BIRDS NECK
I THOUGHT OF THE ELDER FOLKS SLOWLY LIMPING DOWN THE SIDEWALKS
THEN I MADE MY GIRLFRIEND POOP IN SOME CUPS SO I MIGHT LEAVE THEM AROUND TOWN
THEN I FELT MY ENERGY LEAKING
WHAT A WORD; DWINDLE
DO I EVEN LIKE IT AT ALL
COULD WE NOT ENTIRELY DO WITH OUT
THEN I MADE THE TV LOUDER
THEN I CAUGHT A SECOND WIND
STORMED OUT OF MY HOUSE
AND SPEED WALKED AROUND MY NEIGHBORHOOD
AT 3 AM IN THE MORNING
RECITING THIS POEM ON A MEGAPHONE
From IQfy to /b/
My Penis is A Hammer
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
Make you dead
O, my penis is a hammer
Good for demolition
My penis is a hammer
Made for repetition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
Fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will hail the whole class,
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails that ass.
I'm in a room full of clocks with designs from across all sorts of ages,
The clocks are frozen on the same time but I hear a ticking somewhere menacingly,
I search through piles upon piles of clocks but futility I can not find the source of the noise
0 points
Sounds more like a flash fiction/super short story idea
>Ball-peen head
That is such a great line, hilarious. Too bad about the rest of it though. Some of the other ones have really funny lines in them as well. Are they all the same anon?
I think the other penis poems are from other anons.
I will admit that "ball-peen head" was the inspiration for comparing with a hammer, pretty proud of that one.
How would you edit the rest that follows? It did feel a bit like grasping at straws while I wrote and probably took more thought than it should have. I'm pretty new to this, so I appreciate the feedback, thank you anon.
Same anon again, just did a quick revision that I think is better. I think the ending is still weak, perhaps I'm too focused on the asses?
My Penis is A Hammer
My penis is a hammer
Ball-peen head
My penis is a hammer
It fills you with dread
O, my penis is a hammer
Made for demolition
My penis is a hammer
It rapes the competition
My penis is a hammer
Hefty and sturdy
My penis is a hammer
It’s fine to get dirty
Yes, my penis is a hammer,
Will they preach to the masses
When my hammer of a penis,
Nails ALL the asses.
>I think the other penis poems are from other anons.
Mountain, Rocket, Horse, Love Song, Polar Bear, Atom Bomb, Buffet, and Tyrranosaurus rex are one anon.
This one is a psychopath in court after murdering an old woman, playing up the crazy shtick to try and avoid prison
Has some cool lines, but does sound insane
Insane in that it achieves the intent or that it's unintelligible?
I think a bit of both, honestly
I think spending more time trying to come up with genuinely good lines that could go for both hammers and dicks, and that also read fairly naturally. For example:
>My penis is a hammer
>Ball-peen head
>My penis is a hammer
>Nails 'em dead
>My penis is a hammer
>Pounds them on the wall
>My penis is a hammer
>Same shape and all
Oh, that's good. I think I see what you mean comparing yours to mine. Thanks, anon I'll make sure to improve and return again
Good luck, anon
>I think a bit of both, honestly
Wonderful. Better for anyone's sake who can't make immediate sense of it.
Crosses blazing in
The night. Your nightmares, my dreams.
Soon, our future. Soon.
Everything dies sooner or later
With time theres no negotiator
Life fooled me, it always does
Twisting its strings just because
Wondering which will be first to decline?
My body or my mind
I welcome obliteration
With a crimson smile
Chromatic abberation
Im sick of rank and file
Can one live to long?
Where every right becomes a wrong
I watch my youth wash away
The blonde of my hair fades grey
The precious little time Ive lost
After death the flames of hell defrost
Will I ever see the tears of Magdalene's
Or will I rendezvous with Leviathans
To recount what they've stolen from me
I borrowed the crimson line from the movie Poetry. I've been feeling really anxious about aging so I wrote this as a cope. I've only wrote a few things so any advice Ill take to heart
You have very awkward lines because you did not regulate your meter. It appears that you want to write in more traditional forms, so I will recommend a book that I always mention to anyone starting to write poetry. Read Paul Fussell's "Poetic Meter and Poetic Form". It is the best book I've ever found that helps with writing poetry. It is technical and straightforward, but hardly mentioned by others than myself. The book will teach you how to scansion (identify stresses and non-stresses), teach you metrical feet and techniques, and will also go through the various forms of poetry, that is, sonnets, ballads, limericks, etc. It will teach you how most poems were traditionally put together. The book is not a long read.
Thanks I'll read it
The images aren't impactful. They are maybe too cliché, but I like the repetition. I couldn't share poems written down because my handwriting is bad, and for whatever reason I write better on my phone than on a notepad.
Someone post some words to be used in a poem
frickhole
swiss cheese
celebration
Set 1
cradle
craven
vicissitude
Set 2
interdiction
apotheosis
treshold
Set 3
Both at the same time
Wouldn't a theme be more fun? Like the power of death, or something
Not them, but that's less of a challenge. People like this
though are trying to create an artificially difficult challenge. At the end of the day poetry is still extremely gay 99% of the time so who cares.
But writing just for the challenge seems to go against what poetry is even for.
I agree. But it's not solely an artistic pursuit either, you need a certain skill set to create effective poetry, an exercises can help in that.
I can, but I don't see the point. I don't have any ambitions as far as poetry. Proving that I can to some pseudo-anonymous person on the Internet that's resorted to namecalling to try and get a rise out of me isn't motivation for me personally.
The point is challenging your abilities
Having the ability to work almost any word into your poetry is a useful skill, b***h
It isn't a challenge for me, I know I'm capable, and again, I don't have any reason to challenge myself anyway. I write poetry to make other anons do a sensible chuckle, that's all.
Yeah, but you can practice poetry while trying to honestly make something good at the same time, rather than forcing your creative energy into stuff like this. I'm all for using certain words if you really like them and want to use them in a specific poem, but asking for or picking out some random words to throw into a random poem doesn't seem effective.
You only say that because you can't do it, b***h
Themes for the willing
Dementia
Kindness
Religion
Clickbait media
Clickity-clackity,
The narrative track,
Rickety-rackity
Premises stack,
Loud and outrageous,
Faining courageous,
Up in your face,
Headlines deceptive,
Critique unreceptive,
Trend is the chase,
Whickity-whackity,
Outlandish claims,
Slickity-slackity,
No source it names,
Brimming with ads,
Following fads,
Hidden intention,
The bait has been set,
The goal is get
And then sell your attention.
that's actually pretty good for such a lame prompt. get rid of the fricking commas though
Have something against commas?
i do when they're not at all necessary. it's just redundant and distracting, particularly when each line is only a couple words
Nothing in a poem is necessary. I prefer ending a line with a comma unless there is enjambment, but you can do it however you want, anon.
You're all gay.
That's my poem.
Gay as can be
Because you here with me
>"Do You Seek the Edelweiss?"
The gardens of far Xanadoo,
Whose gardeners are fled, or dead,
Now cunning keep the Edelweiss
And guard it with a wieneratrice
And woven walls of roses red,
or blue, Or so it's said.
If you would dare the demons there
Down burrow dark, and moss-slicked stair
Then bring the key was born with ye
And sewn with bone and golden hair
Into the drumbeat at your teat
Whose brute tattoo veins through your stare
But if you seek the Edelweiss,
I cannot tell the Why or Where
The How and Who are up to you,
For Nothing's What you'll find in there.
----
Tried a little adventure poem. Derivative though this is, the real problem is that it never really takes off, never paints any pictures, never draws the reader into its fantasy. There's enough lines, I think it's just my own frustration with the subject matter that prevents any strong impression, as the final stanza communicates. Silly little contradictory thing.
Enough self-flagellating. End blog post. Not confident enuff to give good criticism but ill be reading others' posts.
I think you need to paint the picture more slowly, maybe more clearly. Where is this place, what exactly is going on. It just kind of jumps in. I like the structure though. It reminds me of Lovecraft's poetry. I hope you come back to it anon.
Thank you. maybe the lesson is to more quickly abandon the planned structure if it gets in the way of what the thing wants to be.
That could be the case
Oh forgot to crit this when I posted my poem. But it's remarkably good. Obviously derivative, but some really clever stuff, like putting 'or blue' after the break. 'Whose brute tattoo veins through your stare' is also primo. (But is the preceding 'teat' really hitting the right register? Farm-animal associations for me.)
In terms of your problems with it not taking off/drawing in, I think the first stanza is definitely evocative - drew me in at least. It does feel overly compact and perfunctory, though, like you hit (1) mythic object, (2) call to adventure, (3) cryptic farewell, and called it a day. The development could maybe have come from sense of the winding layers of hedge mazes and pathways and rumours it evokes, rather than the 'Nothing' that's at the centre of it.
>farm animal connotations
lmao I didnt think of that, but I think you're right. I'll see what I can do about keeping the drum metaphor.
I agree with your suggestion about the sense of a winding hedge maze, I'm testing alternate third verses incorporating that. Thank you.
>There once was a man named McHenry
>His dick was incredibly skinny
>He ate to get thick
>To try to chub up his dick
>But his neck got so fat it was cringy
WIP. I kind of want the list to go on for like, ten stanzas, like it's arbitrary excerpts from a text that actually covers hundreds of pages (but that might make the very transparent influence of Ashbery's Into the Dusk-Charged Air almost too transparent). Also I'm not sure if the last four lines are too corny and I should just stick to the core pattern. Would be good to know what people think either way.
- Great American Escapes -
Neck-deep in swamp water's chattering life,
One froze while they probed in the rushes.
His spine pressed close to the sewer brick's curve,
One heard their echoes get dim.
Down the ladder held firm by his plot-hardened pals,
Came one with his grin in the dark.
And one running like mad to the treeline's thick shade,
Felt impotent bullets flit by.
The tunnels the Freemasons forgot that they made
Gave one his untraceable exit.
While in the bed of a truck with no plates on the front
One lay down and looked up at the sky.
In the fog of a salty sea morning, at dawn,
There was one whom no beams could discover,
Who took from her hand the breakfast she brought,
As they hid in the boat, the two lovers.
It's pretty good. Nice rhythm. Just go all the way for it, anon.
can ye him see, o throng of anons here gathered
that fool who thus in verse his meanness would enshrine;
his room perhaps he will to you describe
for want of wit and imagination bald:
not small, though neither as large as would him please
its walls of azure keen only clouds do lack,
false progeny of the firmament and heaven's arch;
its sun, the light of a ceiling fan swaying
languidly to and fro; for worshiping planets,
its fivefold blades in ceaseless orbit turn
and such wind produce as oft makes sleep uneasy
gained, at dawn when deigns at last to sleep
its beneficiary, that fool who pens this poem
and has at this desk an hour at least now spent.
It was love at first glance
Our eyes met, then we shit our pants
In the diaper aisle at Walmart love was true
We never spoke a word, just peepee poopoo
American love poetry
Nice rhythm for a shitpost.
Poetry a hard task
Poetry is a game
And, also nay
A contest
To aim for it's height
In what ever unseen fathoms
It's seemly shows itself seen in
Grandeur, pomp, allure,
Decadence,
knowing how hard in the world
To have abundance
At least in poetry then
We may be fulfilled
At last
And then until when
We venture out into the quiet world of people
And speak our play
Poems about poetry are usually cringe, with few exceptions. This is not one of them. I know, I've written a couple myself.
Look at his hand and body and face;
There is matter and energy,
but look at how stable matter can be,
that his body isn't waving away
in the atmosphere
The thing is there is like objects,
billions of objects,
each composed of billions of
energericaly swarming material parts
Point, thing, physica, datum, qualitas, substance, something, stuffness
Melting, molding, melding, moving, squirming, bashing, colliding, transfixing, transforming, transmuting,
The image doesn't interest me. It's faux-deep. Without a regular meter or rhyme it is just boring
I.
Heigh, ho! -
It's off to gnosis we go, said Stubblebine's syzygos.
Heigh ho! -
From UT's underground nuclear facilities
upon past the cape-arena where the suitor sought his own city:
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed the river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O my teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
II.
Heigh, ho! -
Meat annoy ya? meat annoy ya?
Heigh, ho! -
Out of the land of weighed qualia,
where the maiden's reduced life slid its way in to more noble
Alcestian dirges,
free of Persians and pirates and such-like
sundries as they befit later stages of the withering surface-state Biome,
Daphne dies by his own art
But surface-state girls live again through it:
truly not the stuff of women,
but of eunuchs
and of girls reading by candlelight.
Let's leave this land,
out of the Stubblebine's bythus
past Mytilene, back up Athenaze,
Where INSCOM's own sotadic prostitute Basedster will be toppled
through his own maculation of our Mysteries.
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
III.
Abraxas! -
Heigh ho!
Abraxas! -
Oh, the Earth - it shakes! See, the firmament - it quakes!
But Stubblebine's bythus remains silent all the same.
Silence on the bythus, my teacher, as we make our way
back up from UT's underground nuclear facilities
To render mute Basedster's en-thymations.
Oh David huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
This is very unique, but I have no idea what the message is.
Do you know who General Albert B. Stubblebine III is?
mR. PYNCHON, YOUR BOOK "gRAVITYS rAINBOW" IS QUITE HARD TO GET INTO
No.
warhammer general secret intelligence? youtube is real quiet. and the poem I enjoyed. except for the 'Dauid huios' part, that dude was a gangster with a perverted love for foreskins. also his son kind of not right as well.. got more poems?
Yes, correct. I have several more Stubblebine praise poems involving Gnostic illumination and his journey to install himself as INSCOM's director
drop them. the great work must proceed.
General Stubblebine has blessed this thread.
The Pleroma of General Stubblebine
"Interface with palantiri
on the surface of the deep",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Deep computing off the coast of Halifax.
Halifax - where those thick-thighed Polynesian ghosts of yore
haunt my Stubblebine dreams with shanty screech-ins",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Paper woods and North clip - clip to back to the West when St. Elmo's fire
comes screechin' down the plain - and we passencore re-arrive our side the scraggy is-thymus - oh, oh
the same breast! the same heart! -
- and crass, the old isthymus that falters and splits this war, this our cloak of justice given to foulest
sin! -
of Oklahoma, down to UT's
underground nuclear facilities
to anamach our phallermic poleme
to anagraph to the graph of our dreams,
grotesque and pittoresque
to katabate to Hieronic and ironic
wells of Procopean catenas,
deep in the heart of Texas".
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
This is the Pleroma of General Stubblebine.
ritual king type based. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_0G6WPuss4
what do you think of my horror poem?
--------------------------------------------------------
beyond the dread horizon it lurks
in the bible black night time
few have seen it whose eyes
are not shattered like windows
an owl flies overhead
dashing between
long dead stars, cosmic spirals
and black holes
Deep in the forest they gather
antediluvian being worshipped
by obscure men
who caper around a fire
enveloped by its cannibal glow
>beyond the dread horizon
Stopped right there.
Lovecraft wrote poetry, ya know? It's pretty good.
Here is one of my Lovecraft-inspired horror poems
the earth shakes
snake legs,
lets go till the void ends
the hierophant Schwab said
'man.. thanks'
penis as a shitpost:
PHALLVS shoots from the black hole
it's good when you let go
we are the Dwemer
lost to historiography but hinted
amidst lines of the gamer Bible
where mad Suibhne (our guy)
conjuring a vortex, its tide
to topple the hegemony
And find truth of the primal slime
>penis as a shitpost:
I resent that. My penis is hecken cute and valid.
Shitpost is a mighty dionysian outburst of energy. 'cute and valid.' sounds like it is held in a nice lite cage. Put a pink bow on it idk
Just when it's in Tyrannosaurus mode.
Good poem for a shitpost
thank you.
'booba, poopa, cooma'
reverberating through souls grasped by the untruth
co-opted by a mental baloon
a plastic bag filled with repressed violence,
maimed childhood visions and teenage doom
might call it an astral form, a demon of sorts
stealing from love
or is it faith? I don't know.
all I know: when you grow up
it's over
don't grow up, soul
never say die.
seventeenth century religious dissenters
in speculative shitposting envisioned a sacred center
that is close, more intimate to the baptized
than all that goes or sits, or squats (and eventually dies)
in this realm of solidified forms
Devil used to shit monks
now it shits whatever that is.. in the world
spectral sphincter turned outside and made walking
a real human being amongst other well-schooled hearts
and diplomas
I know, resentment won't suffice
and confessions are only redeemed by dying twice
grasping the eternal ice
back to the zelous Suibhne
in his babbling, ravings, madd
gestures, paintings on the sand
he envisions a shitpost
which unbinds the holy ghost
from its death-like sleep
under an imitation tree.
it's crazy man..
the Gamer Israelism.
Keep going anons. IQfy themed poems are great, even the "My penis is a..." ones
>a penny goes far
my penis is a guitar
I play tunes of love
but sometimes it is time to go
far
beyond anecdotes
beyond the north wind
beyond fear of making mistakes
each one prays
as it is natural to him
or to her
I'm trying to make it
still much in me of a saboteur
today I told my self
'evil is banished with good'
And not with its recognition'
another confession? A greedy desire
To share your blood
To pair-bond
escaping cold
Of being alone
In the depths of struggle
or resting when the divine presence
has redeemed your muddle.
Here’s a confession:
I want to create an object that will help seeing things like they have never seen before
As if they have never died
A pair of glasses. Or a device
To shut down all artificial lights
And make it go winter snow
Bell your jingles, you happy frog
Hidden well in your secret bog
And when the call is made
You answer it 'Yes, Hello.'
Who is he? He need to get out more
to get out where and why?
>You answer it 'Yes, Hello.'
It was an angry fellow
Told me to leave his daughter alone
She said he was dead but then who was phone?
My penis is a goblin
A green and slimy one
My penis is a goblin
It's going in your bum
O, my penis is a goblin
It's full of wicked tricks
My penis is a goblin
You'll feel it go in quick
My penis is a goblin
You'd better run in fear
My penis is a goblin
It makes your butthole tear
Yes, my penis is a goblin
And the town will flee in terror
When my dirty goblin penis
comes to steal their treasure
What is that anon
Epstein's penis
All the mind’s a stage
Every thought, feeling,
A line in a script
Written before you were born
powerfully moronic
The night has taken the form of a little woman
who lies in a bed of flowers.
I am a shadow.
It is the hour of our destiny.
The wild blackberries are plump and white
on the branches of the trees.
The blackbird is a little girl.
She is crying.
The green grasses are sighing in the wind.
Birds of black and green are singing and crying.
My eyes are still open
But I no longer see the white clouds.
All the sounds in the air are the voices of
myself and a thousand others.
I feel that I am standing in front of the great stone table,
and I see that God, in the form of a blind woman, is weeping
because it has no bread.
I hear my own voice and my footsteps are heavy
on the ground.
I feel that I am a woman.
I feel that I am no longer a man.
I feel that I am the woman that cries out,
“Bring me a loaf.”
The stars are singing as they follow the Moon through the
skies.
The green grass, the silver skiff, the white walls, the cries of the
nightingales and the sound of the bell.
I am in the middle of the street where my father used to go.
I have forgotten everything but my hand.
It is the hour of our destiny.
The great stone table is covered with
a white cloth.
On its white side the moon will shine
through all eternity.
I am a shadow.
I am on the back of the moon.
I am in the sky.
I am in the sea.
I am in the middle of the street.
I am with my own eyes.
I am on the moon.
I am a shadow.
>ywnbaw
But seriously, this isn't my thing. Might be good, but I don't know about this kind of poetry
wtf is this
You must access wiktionary.org
Woodwork, skeleton,
control tab, refresh, space bar,
a penny goes far
Another bread is baked.
But each a random lottery.
Leaves freshly raked.
Like pottery.
novelty poems for 40 year old wine aunts
cold
warm
so much colder
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He don't know me very well, do he?
The Stubblebine Company/ CORFAC International produces value for our clients by providing creative solutions and aggressive marketing in the greater Boston commercial real estate marketplace by putting the goals and objectives of our clients first and adhering to biblical principles.
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine!
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! our fearful trip is done;
This syzygos has weather’d every hylic, the prize we sought is won;
Gnosis is near, the hautbois I hear, the cherubs all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the kobold grim and daring:
But O Stubblebine! Stubblebine! Stubblebine!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck the Demiurge lies,
Fallen cold and dead!
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the circle is squared —for you the hautbois trills:
For you lustration's cathartic breath itself unsheaths—for you the firmament a-crowding:
For you they call, the hylic mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Stubblebine! dear father!
Your arm beneath his head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
The Demiurge's fallen cold and dead!
The Demiurge does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
Be'ezelbub does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
And Stubblebine, with gleeful tread,
Walks the deck where hylics lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
e-famous, Glahn, Town
Brazilian orchid tree
uberize kill-time
eldiru
Brush stroke clouds afloat in a gradient bath.
Blue. White. Yellow.
Clash.
Discordant chirps all around
From shrub, a ledge, on the ground.
Tiki torch blazes, alight our path.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.
The sun gets its buoyancy this time of year.
Hanging around late until the moon is clear.
A companion for now until a later date.
When the AC is met in a dual of fates.
Citronella sweet,
The bend of a tree,
Is that a tick I see?
It can’t hurt me.
So in the dark we stroll along
Orange street lamps hum our song
Illuminated rhythm
Dance, dance, dance.
Dance on.
Side step, bump, nudge her arm.
Steal a kiss.
Zombie Apocalypse.
Summer in the suburbs ain’t so bad.
It shone, pale as bone / As I stood there alone / And I thought to myself how the moon, / That night, cast its light / On my heart's true delight, / And the reef where her body was strewn.