Critique thread

critique thread. post prose and poetry, and make sure to give a rating if you do.

>paean to the solar skyfather


Concept is lordly over,

Body struck by far.

Matter, matter, matter-

What matters to the stars?

Conscious, and aware,

Spinning, and breathing;

Tossing and turning in the half sleep of dreaming.
It's no wonder that Sol has not spoken to us in years.

When was the last time you spoke words of kindness to an ant?

When was the last time you heaped benedictions onto the field mice?

When was the last time you chanted incantations over the lives of larval flies?

It's no wonder that Sol has not spoken to us in years-

When was the last time you spoke beauty to your tears?
Concept is high and mighty,

Bearing a heavy cross.

It's hard to step so lightly

When you're blinded by the gloss

Of yourself.
Torsos and chariots, look upon yourself!

It is something that can be seen in no twice polished mirrors of varnished silver,

It is something that can be seen in no clear puddles of water after a summer rain.

Whatever despair Phaeton knew

Is forever lost to you.

The love known between Re and Apophis

Lingers only in the annals of Time's cold abyss,

And the minds of the faithful, and the hearts of the pious.
Concept is symbolism,

Gifted to mankind.

Refracted through the prism

That we call the mind

Might these things be known once more

And all might be as it was before.

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youtube.com/watch?v=F6Dm5hldI-k
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bumping this

this reeks of pseud
stop trying so hard

Dare you promise me loyalty,
Flesh, most hateful thing?
The daily toil shreds our bark
And exposes your inherent will
For deep within you, a crucifix that marks
"host of sorrows, betrayer's sin"

Dare you promise me guidance,
Mind, you lowly beast?
A moment of compliance,
It strays back into instinct's mist
If it's discipline all you understand
Promise me not your cowardly hand.

Dare you promise me resilience,
Soul, frailest among the three?
Your light dawns ever closer to horizon
Until it becomes charred by and idle sea
Your reflection trapped on the surface
A mirage of patience and reason.

If man is to be vexed
In both body and spirit in kind
Is it not righteously desired
it's war against nature's cruel design?
Or is this thesis I state
fill with rancor, in bad faith?

For those who seek a virtuous way, I say
To know but pleasure, we were not made,
An anthem of worship, a word of praise,
Impaled worm, the feast, the bait
Heroes folly, the gorgon's gaze.

Cast a sword with molten iron,
Quell it's thirst with wellspring tears,
Glory and struggle, left forgone,
Soon it crumbles, prey of years.

Once again, crude sizzling iron,
Its sole respite a gust of wind
Hardened steel, you'll come upon,
Resolve and strength, they lie within.

Cosmic and mythological themes and callbacks is a good combo and it certainly tickles my fancy, that said, at times it becomes pretty stagnant.

>When you're blinded by the gloss
>Of yourself.
>Torsos and chariots, look upon yourself!

Musicality is certainly not your strong suit. The ending also trails off and dips in quality. Not trying to be an asshole, just my honest opinion.

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>wrote down some poetry without rhyme
>okay this is kinda cool
>start rhyming a few words here and there
>now I can't stop searching for a rhyme

>swore to never write love poetry in the style of romantics
>now I'm writing rhyming poetry in the style of the romantics

well, at least I'm discovering my inner homosexual

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I'm not finished with this but I could use some critique

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desu I'd forego the rhyming lines / structure and just go full modern poetry. There's some good content here, albeit a bit immature in the usage of exclamation points, rhyme, and some purple language ("heaped benedictions", "annals of Times cold abyss"). A bit of thematic continuity issues between "When was the last time you spoke beauty to your tears / Concept is high and mighty"

"Is it not righteously desired / its war against natures cruel design" is an awkward coupling. The fifth stanza could serve better as a last stanza; it seems to sum the poem well. The last two stanzas seem accessory.

post it

Not terrible prose, I just think you need better content. Yes its a bit edgy-dark, but for what it is I'd say it just needs to attach to something more concrete to be anything but aimless prose. As long as its not a part of something, it wont be really effective or attractive.

Of objects, of silly things,
Of gold in my back pocket,
Desire be a willingness,
A carousel, a coaster

Sweet asymptote to ecstasy
Like cola with beads of sweat
On days of relentless heat

A hill to climb,
Under sun or second sun,
Run up fervently
Towards objects,
Towards silly things,
Towards gold in my back pocket

Towards woman, towards man,
Towards mother-father-child,
Desire abjectly objects no object
Caught yet
Though never held;
Jouissance

What is erotic about
Being cut a thousand times
Or the tears of saints or
Arrows through Teresa's heart?
What is erotic about agony?

The ego is its name
Superseded by my fathers hand
Were I to return blows
I would seek subconscious validation

Desire be
A mad circuitry made to repeat itself
Ascent, descent,
Roundabout,
Ascent, Descent,
Towards objects, towards silly things,
Towards gold in my back pocket.

We used up the world
and we drank and ate
and snorted and laughed

We borrowed money that had no meaning
In states that were fractured,
In systems that were collapsing

The broken bones of
Our Father Who Art Civilization
Still raftering a body,
Hungry and thirsty and bottomless

Unslacked, we swallowed oceans.
Famished, we ate up Eden
Up and out of house and home
Till the tumbleweeds rolled into our mouths

We now cough up black bile
In a cambium of end-times
And in great global indigestion
Execrate the cravings
Which filled Ceaser and left the earth wanting

youtube.com/watch?v=F6Dm5hldI-k

A thousand eyes
flicker calmly,

a million tiny flames
tell a story of no words,

countless freckles
spread upon a dark blue sea,

infinite points of light
shimmer in frozen movement

under the accompaniment
of crickets in ecstasy.

As the music of the spheres
unfolds before you,

beyond the stride of light,
it is heard all within you -

the whisper of belonging,
of an immortal soul,

sleeping in a temple untouched
that only silence can build.

Dance the Harmonices Mundi
within the unseen halls,

so that when their doors open
and your steps begin to twinkle

you will be
what you once could only see.

She came across as cold and distant, but oh, how wrong were they.

You could tell, by her clenched fist, that there were things that were dear to her.

Things that she held close to her heart, to warm herself up at night.

No, she was not cool or cold or distant: She was merely introspective, cozy in her own thoughts, blurred by vodka into a pleasant porridge.

remember to crit as well as post...or thread is dead

purple cliches

idk what you expected from this bub. Its barely even a poem

>post prose and poetry
Just thought it was a nice bit of prose.

I think my neighbor is a cricket. Or has been replaced by one.

All I hear through the wall anymore is the soft tinkling sound of busy cricket legs.

These walls are so thin
I have to check under my bed to make sure they aren’t living with me; the crickets, that is.
But no, it’s my neighbor who’s the cricket.

Day in and day out all she does is rub and rub. Some days I’ll wake up around noon when it’s hottest out and be met with silence.

But sure as rain, sure as shine— when daylight dies the chirping begins. Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.


I can’t tell you how long the chirping’s been going because I honestly don’t know myself.

I didn't think much of it at first
afterall the crickets always come out in the summertime to great the spiders by the river.

But soon I noticed something else.
The sound of her heavy legs stomping around in the dull morning hours
The creaking shower pipes 'round dinnertime.

Even the soft whimper of sex that I used to excuse because what are strangers for.


All gone.
Only chirping now.

Good except for "Same as it ever was" lines. Nix that and you've got a nice little poem

What differentiates pseudness and actual nice writing?

Flowing, flowing again
The stream by the Copper Man's den,
The river fills with the scent of iron
Hearts flooded with selfish desire

Desperate hearts seek the flow
Of where the Copper Man will go
And the knowledge he surely knows
They say he follows close
By the waters edge, not on boat

You’ll see him if you try
However stay far from those eyes
They seek to connive
Not to provide

However if you stay from his look
He’ll let you peek inside his book
Read the secret your heart desires
Light the flames of your inner fire

Once you’ve read
Don’t stand in dread
Don't look at the others he put in his den
Those who looked into his eyes of sin
Run away from the man of dead
Until your clear from the water's edge
And away from the Copper Man

Many will say this man is a legend
A simple tale to keep within
I know this to be not true
For I’ve peaked in His book, and read to the end

I know things I wish I could hide
Things that i can't clear from my mind
The things he taught me knows no end
Stay away from that stream of iron
Stay away from that Copper Man

~J.S.

Everyone wrote hoping for a reply
Never did they think of helping another
Because of this the thread did die
Until the weight of narcissism did it smother

>19 replies
>12 posters
It's mostly just OP spamming.
Let this thread die.
This is a drawback of being anonymous.

What the fuck is the matter with you people? Post your fucking shit in a screencap or a link, for god's sake. Maybe I just have OCD, but I can't stand seeing huge walls of poetry with Reddit spacing clogging up the whole fucking thread. Seriously, off yourself if you do that.