Sonnets, haiku, triolets, couplets, freeform, go crazy.
Post your own, post your favourites from others.
BUT
No critiquing without posting a poem as well.
I’ll start with some Cordwainer Smith:
“I eat my rage.
I swallow my grief.
There's no relief
From pain or age.
Our time comes.
I work my life.
I breathe my breath.
I face my death
Without a wife.
Our time comes.
We undermen
Shove, crush and crash.
There'll be a clash
And thunder when
Our time comes.”
>Linebarger's identity as "Cordwainer Smith" was secret until his death.[12]
>Smith's stories are unusual, sometimes being written in narrative styles closer to traditional Chinese stories than to most English-language fiction, as well as reminiscent of the Genji tales of Lady Murasaki. The total volume of his science fiction output is relatively small, because of his time-consuming profession and his early death.
>Smith's works consist of: One novel, originally published in two volumes in edited form as The Planet Buyer, also known as The Boy Who Bought Old Earth (1964) and The Underpeople (1968), and later restored to its original form as Norstrilia (1975); and 32 short stories (collected in The Rediscovery of Man (1993), including two versions of the short story "War No. 81-Q").
imagine the c'mell
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
On a dark mountain
Alone in the cloud
The eagle paused
And the wind shrieked aloud
The thunder rolled
And the mist of the cloud
Formed the eagle's shroud
As it fell to the ground
Wings battered and torn.
And the surf
At the foot
Of the cliff
Was white
That night,
And bright
The wings
Of the falling
Bird.
I heard
The cry.
Cordwainer also invented the pentapaul:
> Slim Jim.
> Dim him.
> Grim.
And the brutal
> Try. Vie.
> Cry. Die.
> Bye.
I am small
I am stupid
I am completely useless
Completely clueless
Life: I can't do this
You've beaten me down
I give up
I won't get back up!
I stare deeply and intently at my phone
I intensely drone on alone
My phone resting on my pinkey bone
Where there's a dent
I use technology to keep in touch with my parents
I would use philosophy but I daren't
For the economy I caren't
As long as I can pay my rent
Taxman gets 20%
PENIS
DUM DUM DUM
Ending is beautiful
If I should live another life, my goal
Will be to stay a man of little talk.
Words were once my friends; they were my rock,
The resonant harp on which I strung my soul.
Words nailed me to a wall. Those prison bars
Of thought! Those endless circles I paced dreaming,
Pondering and wondering, reasoning, scheming,
A convict trudging in their narrow yards.
I thought that language gave to life its song!
Signs, symbols, sigils: those were my eyes,
My tongue, my fingers. And when it mattered most... surprise!
They let down my cause, and everything went wrong.
If language will not serve my heart, goddamn!
Fuck words. I’ll be a silent man.
nice rhyme scheme and metre, but 'goddamn' feels out of character with the rest of the piece, almost an anachronism. Though that may be intentional. Effective ending regardless.
mostly worthless but 'taxman gets 20%' is a nice little phrase
this is a public service announcement, please don't don't rhyme 'cloud' with 'cloud'. Or maybe just vary up the rhymes a bit, I don't know. second stanza is interesting if a little clunky and lacking in pauses for emphasis.
Poem about Writing
I write to be written,
I read to be well-read.
I like to wipe my arse
until I’ve bloody left it red.
I love to be smitten,
I fuck to be well-bred,
Sometimes I hose the urine off
some old geezer's hospital bed.
I watch TV to be placated,
and I watch porn just to protest.
I want to be a girl sometimes,
if it weren’t for the hairy chest.
I can’t stand to be humiliated,
But I won’t sit to hide the shame.
Oh, would you look at that,
Tom's gone and pissed himself again!
Though, despite the smell,
it doesn’t (that badly) stain.
What is plucked will grow again,
What is slain lives on,
What is stolen will remain
What is gone is gone...
What is sea-born dies on land,
Soft is trod upon.
What is given burns the hand -
What is gone is gone...
Here is there, and high is low;
All may be undone.
What is true, no two men know -
What is gone is gone...
Who has choices need not choose.
We must, who have none.
We can love but what we lose -
What is gone is gone.
Here I sit, broken hearted
Tried to shit, only farted
Incredible
Questo è un cazzo papal; se tu lo vuoi,
Faustina, o in potta o in cul, dimmelo pure,
perché rare a venir son le venture.
- Lo terrò in potta se volete voi.
- In culo tel porrei, ma dacché vuoi
così, stenditi bene e mena pure,
che non avrà di queste fatte cure
donna che bella sia, qual sol fra noi.
Spingi, ben mio, e fà che la siringa
del mio bel cazzo formi un bel poema;
spingi, cor mio, ancor rispingi e spingi.
Ponmi una mano al cul, con l'altra stringi
e abbraccia stretto, e porgimi la lingua,
mena, mio ben; oh! che dolcezza estrema!
Ohimè! che già non scema
il piacer! ma saria maggior all'otta
se il cazzo entrasse in cul, non men ch'in potta!
You should’ve said no sharing poems without offering critique, this thread is stagnant because people are too self indulgent to read anyone else’s work
English isn't my native language, but let's give this a go.
O! I will tear the clouds apart
For what they are is not what you art
-Sun, as you play a gentler part
Than a mere pillow of a sky could dream.
O as among fires you gleam
The star closest to my heart.
How long ago was I pierced by your dart?
Still my blood towards you streams!
And OP learns an important lesson about Yea Forums
I enjoy it a lot, it made me realize the bounding of thought by language. Though all ideas are symbols, so perhaps staying silent is futile?
I like the words more than the message, though it is also beautiful in some sense. The repetition of the line makes for a nice end, is especially like “soft is trodden on”. I can’t give much in the way of critique
Love it, but barely understood it. At least not consciously. (Not the fault of your english)
First 5 verses and the conclusion, rhythm is really nice there. I would add a verse that ends with ''eye'' to the last stanza, this might connect the whole thing more. Great!
Jump, dear people, and I'll howl for you.
Jump and howl and I'll weep for you.
I weep because I'm a weeping man.
I'm a weeping man because I weep.
I weep because the day is done,
Sun is gone,
Home is lost.
Time killed dad.
I killed time.
World is round.
Day is run,
Clouds are shot.
Stars are out.
Mountain's fire.
Rain is hot.
Hot is blue.
I am done.
So are you.
Jump, dear people, for the howling man.
Leap, dear people, for the weeping man.
I'm a weeping man because I weep for you!