Post your verses, anons. And don't let the rude anons get to you! Here's mine.
"Love is thy shrine
And war is mine
For what are we but apparitions
Who always pale in comparison
To our real, sacked hearts?
Gates of Ilium breached but was it for war?
Or was it for beauteous Helen?
Perhaps it was for both,
For both are naught but one.
Like Achilles' spear, time travels
But while the great marksman never misses,
The latter isn't so kind
For it too hits the mark, but never on our watch."
Shit on it, enjoy it, or don't do anything.
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Unveiling my meal, excitement takes hold,
Yet sadness unfolds, the order's wrong, I'm told.
Crying as I eat, sandwich soaked and forlorn,
In disappointment's grip, my emotions mourn.
May I give a crack at a revision?
Recieving my meal, excitement takes hold,
But sadness unfolds, "wrong order," I'm told,
I cry and can't eat it, but leave it, forlorn,
Disappointment now grips me, my food I shall mourn.
Though the tide may swell and thrash,
through weight of motion you're held aloft
and your opalescence, bright and brash,
belies your form as calm and soft.
Through every hue of blue you're breathed
between the mouths of two old realms -
the haughty waves have always heaved
where tranquil sky would yearn to whelm.
Yet here you are, born again, though still
I see you cradled by both. Where once you lay,
loved, prostrate, entombed by greater will,
will under your grace forever sway -
and under your gaze I'll always be,
on your image I'll stand, and with it, I'll see.
Aw frick anon, i love this so much
Thank you kindly man, I felt it paled in comparison to the rest of the talent regularly displayed in these threads.
Something I recently wrote
"You’re voice is like a angels kiss
I may write through all my days
And still all your charms could not list
In my heart your beauty stays
Your soul is my most precious gem
My world rests where your head lays
From your words my passion stem
Your mane is like a tranquil sea
And just your eyes can overwhelm
When with you my heart feels free
My love flows like the river Nile
I’ll lay my affection for all to see
What all I love of you cannot be complied
Awkward as it may appear
Just your smile makes life worthwhile.
In your fairness none may compare
You are God’s finest piece
I would not change a single hair
May my feelings for you only increase
No matter the troubles I may bear
You’re voice shall always bring me peace"
Did you write this for a particular person, and did they like it? I especially liked "My world rests where your head lays," and your voice reminds me of my own in some of my own poems.
Thank you for your praise, anon. Someone inspired my poem but the piece itself is more dedicated to the concept of love in general. Have you read lord Byron's poems? My writing style was partially based off of his, and your's reminds me of his as well.
I quite liked the three poems you posted. The second one is my favorite, the rhyme scheme is great and the theme is consistent. The first one is good but I feel like the word bummer is a little awkward. It rhymes and fits the mood but clashes with the general tone. The third one is very impressive considering the length, but it felt closer to a song than a poem
I do love Byron, though I haven't read his complete poetical works. The Destruction of the Sennacherib in particular is an amazing piece. However, I feel like I've been influenced more by Poe than any other poet.
I forgot to say, thank you as well for the praise. The first 2 are meant to appeal to the contemporary incel within us, and as such I felt the words included fit for something less serious. The 3rd poem is one of my personal favorites of my own, and was partially inspired by Poe's For Annie. I've been told some of my poems are sing-songy, but I like that. I enjoy reading Kiplings Barrackroom Ballads and poems in general that have strong metrical currents that sweep the reader up into their flows.
Here's a bump with a poem of mine I've posted a time or two before. I'll respond to anons poems in a bit here.
genuinely love it man, it's great except the last line seems a bit cliche to me and throws the whole effect off, I would end it in some other way
I have an alternate line.
"There's no tears left within me to cry."
How is that? I switch between them sometimes.
To be honest that still seems a bit of a cliche ending line to me but I spent a few minutes trying to come up with a better one and so far haven't been able to come up with one. And I'm not you, your feelings with this poem are probably something that only you can really finish. But do it! You have something here.
I like the first 2 lines alot, but I feel like the rest of the stanza lets them down. I also really liked the 3rd stanza. Comparing time to the spear of Achille's is great.
come with me near the cypress trees
beside my true lover
in all my favorite colors
come, come with me, across the styx we flee
under indfrrent moons and burnt out stars
come with me hand in hand
for life is filled with more troubles
than one can stand
================================
a comet sinks into the earth
and im free
getting drunk on a mattress
while the biosphere collapses
someone blows out a candle
and im dancing in the hospice
the guards are taking aim
im smiling, broken, and lame
on the floor sour and dead
with a halo above my head
empty streets and moving cars,
my body rots under the indifferent stars
========================================
the wine red blood of christ
creates a mark that never washes away
that smears the holy cross of golgotha
into the shape of flowers unfolding
as his eyes start to dim
he rises once again
angels sing sweet melodies and hymns
towards fathers magnificent light he swims
Dishes
I never really liked
doing the dishes,
scrubbing, washing, rinsing
sometimes for ten or even twenty minutes
hands dry,
feet sore,
(why won’t that one spot come off?)
something we have to do until it’s done
I guess I’d rather be
doing things I love,
reading stories, cracking jokes, taking a long walk
maybe for hours at a time
eyes smiling,
glass full,
(now, what were we talking about again?)
i still have things left to learn
But when the film is ending
and I’m watching the names of
directors, actors,
engineers, assistants,
(and assurances that no animals
were harmed in the production
of this motion picture)
I think that if instead of being
at the end of the end
of the film
where names stop,
when it’s all silent,
and the tape ends,
if instead
i could just do the dishes forever
i would
The strange old street is cold and silent
Dead the peaceful, dead the violent
Dark the jasmine, dark the violet
In suburban autopilot
I really like the alliteration and images but have no idea what it means. Cool stuff.
Did you mean
? Sorry, I deleted it and posted a new version because I made a mistake posting the first one.
Yeah, I realized after I replied that it was deleted, but it was still showing up for me.
I'm okay with a bit of cliché as this poem is short and less serious, and meant to appeal to people who are not so well read.
The dreams of gathered minds of men
Slide with the landslide of the world
The rocks are tumbling end on end
The flags are nothing to the sword
The tide is quiet as it nears
The beach where many once saw god
He went away, or did he not?
The moon says nothing to that thought
We knew that all those fire-pit
Wild parties shaking by the night
Were how to reach the mouth of truth
That then would shut with morning's light
We then knew much but now we know
Some things we didn't long ago
We know much now but then we knew
Some things I can't describe to you
Feeling pink, drinking ink, feet tip-toeing round the sink
Like a jar, like a vass, I'm too empty to get high
Just so gloom, in a mood, after all I'm just a toon
And I blep, and I fret, and again listening Duvet
Shining bright oh so white fricking please turn off the light.
Sounds more like a song than a poem
I like the last stanza the most, but I feel like it could generally be tweaked for a more regular metrical rhythm, but thats just to my taste.
Why I like trees:
Trees don't advertise to ya
Power lines don't neither
Only problem is they ain't organic material
I close my eyes
I choose my mind..
And want for nothing
I haven't read Dowson but thank you for the recommendation. Those first two poems I wrote with anons in mind. The third was born when I was lying in bed with my wife in the morning. It is partially inspired by Poe's For Annie and his work in general, as well as Hood's Bridge of Sighs and some of Lovecraft's poetry. It is a unique construction that I worked out as I wrote more and more lines, but it was not necessarily all conscious, as I wrote the whole piece, if I remember correctly, in a single sitting, or at least the vast majority of it. Thank you for the strong praise, it is one of my favorite poems that I've written.
And yes, I would like to read your poem anon. Please share
Okay, I will post the poem. I think I need to do another draft and hammer some things out, but I hope some people enjoy it
Battle of Blythe Road
Now comes the warlock who hexes the night;
Damn his cruel eye, his opprobrious sight!
Here is his demon who tortures his thought,
Mixing up spells from the agony wrought.
Here are his imps who descend in a flood.
Here is his mistress who swallows his blood.
Mark, then, my master. He stands on the road,
Smiting that horde by a power bestowed
Once the sword of the mind, subtly honed,
Learns to be still when the Name is intoned.
Expert is he in this mystical skill:
Holding a form in immovable will.
May you protect me, O good master mine,
From blustering curse and ominous sign,
Banish the imps that descend from the sky,
Drive out the evil he sends with his eye,
Rout the whole nightmare, but leave only this:
The wound of the mage, the vampire's kiss.
This is great. Just a few revisions where the rhythm is interrupted could help, but its already so good. The occult/supernatural stuff is very cool. Here's one in return, inspired by Donne's A Burnt Ship
I beat to wanton and diffuse antipathy.
For each step I pay with a reiteration of truth;
determined insofar as it is vitiated,
free insofar as it is false.
I chew on teeth and peel enamel off my skin.
Profligate rash-result of a violation of means,
my striated mind-lung inhales naturality
thoughtless as to the required release,
each shard an immoral angelic abrasive
rude in its foretold and unexpected intrusion.
I am the autoimmolative essence of existence.
Speaking as to the way language fails man,
the foreboding guzzles truth to a ritual end
while I slowly spawn a tributary to duality.
Given and necessarily anticeremonious,
my regurgitative nature's rite of origin
completes itself for the final time as
not merely an exercise in truth,
but also an absolute violation of will.
in need of revision, would love feedback
What is the message? It's a bit hard to grasp, at least for me. It has a nice rhythm though. Perhaps you could change or add a line towards the end that is more direct to the message. Just my own thoughts though. I like it generally. Reminds me slightly of this horror poem I wrote.
You're creative, anons. Well done
I hope you take prose poems. Here's a short one about love.
A canvas is quite like the person we love the most. They are plain white, untouched, innocuous.
Like paint on the canvas, the things we find beautiful about a person are the things we put on top of them. Our projections and biases, our ideologies.
So the next time you're out on the streets and you see someone strikingly beautiful, a beauty that stuns your soul, realise that it's not their beauty, it's yours.
This goes for everything, every spark of color, beauty and love in your life is you reflecting in this world.
Mary wrote it.
One day I went back to Düsseldorf Church
To see my old fathers I had left behind
The priest welcomed me as he stood on his perch
But the pews there were rotting, their wood was rind
I saw there a painting of a israelite on a hill
He held a stone tablet which read “Thou shalt kill”
I saw a young beardless israelite with a sling
His head bowed down to a philistine king
I saw an old israelite on a roman-made cross
I remembered his name; I remembered him not
I saw his face tighten with hatred and loss
I saw his fist clench and curse at his lot
Where once the statue’s omniscient calm
And mouth pure, and sacrifice balm
Now his cross was a metal rod on a hill
His mouth a curse, his sacrifice nil
I know not where the graceful West Wind blows.
O’er honeyed fields of daffodils half bloomed,
Or wine-dark hyacinths arranged in rows?
Through gelid mountains wherein lie entombed
The bones of ancient cities long interred,
Or far-flung lands above which gleam no star,
Where sable oceans churn beneath rock, stirred
By creatures fearsome, dreadful, vast, bizarre?
For winged Zephyrus still must choose his course,
Though mighty and free-flowing he may be.
I pray he makes his choice without remorse,
And charts his lofty path most merrily,
As Zephyrus lives unburdened by death’s grasp,
While man has but a fleeting blink to clasp.
I like this. Reminds me of some older poems, but can't remember which ones specifically.
Devil's Eyes shed thirteen tears bound for Heaven
Before closing on themselves forever
To gaze into the Hell of the self
Left eye cloaked in wrath, sight milked over with
The consuming cloud of hatred
Right eye the self-appointed Judge of the Earth,
Architect of Doom, glares without mercy
A vision penned by a gentle victim, unknowing self-portrait echoes through time causing strange fascination
The penetrating stare of those eyes Can't help but inspire tears in those who have the will to look back
For how could anyone hold them inside, on such a day
>the ticket
that's the ticket
i hold it in my hand
precious, perferated edges between
my thumbs and forefingers
blue pressed paper
lined in white with black ink:
Admit One
if instead it should say,
Admit Two
I might save a bit of money
giving mine to you
perforated*
“Small Green Towers”
By the white walkway path from my building
A small group of pink flowers do there grow
In the cracked pavement that provides for rain
Relief and some purpose that only god does know
I like to think that though my lease will end
In some coming six months and couple days
New eyes then may scarce look or love to bend
And look thoughtful Towards your children with thoughtful praise
And I should still ponder some more of fate
And what the world has planned for flowers
At end of time when I shall be alone
Save gods response to Babylon in small towers
This is probably the one that comes closest to conveying the textures of the piece of subconscious landscape I drew it from. So, best? Maybe not, but it's my favorite so far.
b u m p
Given the chance
I'll die like a baby
On some far away beach
When the season's over.
Unlikely
I'll be remembered
As the tide brushes sand in my eyes
I'll drift away.
Cast up on a plateau
With only one memory
A single syllable
Oh lie low lie low.
cooo, cooo
im in egypt with you
Egypt at night
I walk upon
A cold stone
Dwarfed by seas
Of black immense
The stars like
Drops of liquid
Glass reflect light
Of distant terra
Also dwarfed by
Arrays of block
A lane of
Figures Kings Of
Kings I pull
Up my hood
The night is cold
my friends
i write poems
for my friends
most of which i have never met
and never will meet
because i
will be dead
by the time they are reading them
but how good it will be
to say, like John Prine
"Hello in there"
and so nice to meet you
anyway
A wisp from another world
Frail messenger falls
Embraced by the mother of wings
Will of the worm that crawls
Dance so new life begins
Brilliance breaks walls
no tongue.
teeth several, but
no tongue. & so
the merriment of
meal-time transmutes
into mush-haze
o b l i v i o n
leaving food in my teeth,
& i swallow,
strangely,
mimicking the gulp of a
land-fish.
they marvel at the gulp of a
girl
with no tongue.
A cat,
He pawed
Me, appalled