Poetry thread

Oh, I see. You do manage to convey that... uncomfortable intimacy?, and the metaphores do serve that purpose well. My only suggestion then would be to add more phonetic devices, and maybe metrify it a little bit. Props for posting and interacting, keep writing!

I'm trying to improve my poetry but all the guides and articles I find keep telling me
> Don't rhyme
> Don't adhere to meter
> Don't use archaic or odd grammar
> Don't use esoteric words
Many of the videos I see on poetry that talks about these kinds of things have really condescending attitudes about it too.
But these are all the things that I think make poetry fun and beautiful to read and fun to write. One phrase I keep hearing is "you don't want your poetry to sound sing-songy", but, like, why don't I? Shouldn't I want my poetry to have a rhythm and movement to it? All of the poetry I like to read has all of the above in it. I wouldn't care but I can't seem to find advice that doesn't revolve around those or related points or obvious shit like, use metaphors.
Am I really so much of a bad poet because I really like to rhyme and read poetry that rhymes? Because I think it's fun?
I like thee's and thou's and I don't care what anyone says, I'll use them if I want to. Hell, when they were used in the King James bible they were already archaic but the poetry in there is considered some of the most beautiful put into english so archaicisms can't be that bad.
I like weird grammar and weird words. I like strict and rhythmic metrical structures.
Am I missing something here? Because if I jettison all of the above aren't I just writing vertical prose?

Am I retarded?

Nah mate, you got it right. Don't listen to these bozos who stretch a sentence into multiple lines. They're not even poetasters

There aren't any rules. Poetry sucks anyway.

the common taste against the personal,
to which conforms your desire to write?
laurels are not encrown’d upon the head,
nor does the devil mammon bless these men.
i would write personally for my soul,
and heed not the human diversity,
better the taste of self internally,
than momentary sightings of the whole,
anachronism is a lying term,
you are the dweller bound in timeless ways,
each day you play the game of being firm
within the days of grey and mazy daze.
kill then your sleep, make new your time-bound mind,
reborn from furnace flames of secret signs,
user awaken, stain the sea of lime,
stain by your heart to deep incarnadine.

Just do what you want.
There shouldn't be any restrictions to poetry because it derives from the same creative genius as religion and music. The truly creative genius is not constricted by rules, it sets its own measures.

My cock
Weight ten pounds
When you are near
My dear

It penetrates
And baby you hate
When it’s in your ass
Cuz you have class

Can’t last for long
If you use your tongue
Or ride me fast
I just can’t last

>more phonetic devices, and maybe metrify it a little bit

I don't understand what you mean by these, would you please elaborate?

Thank you for your insight user

It's your poetry, if you want to stick by the traditional methods then do it

I hate the postmodern takes on art like that, there's no use in giving someone a laundry list on things not to do. The techniques become traditionalized and passed on because they work. Artwork isn't better just because someone shit all over the page and avoided rhythm/meter/grammar/archaic words

excerpt from The Incel's Opera
(setting: pastoral)

>Coomer
Behold the pretty hole yonder
Amid the grass where crawlers creep
Over each curve my eyes wander
Tonight I'll mow her in my sleep

>Chud
You're a thinker not a doer
She's a tinker and a who'er
She smells like fresh manure
And her mouth's an open sewer

>Simp
Before thinking how you'd do'er
Love you must first shew 'er!

>Coomer
Speak of love? I barely know 'er!
On the grassy bed I'd throw 'er
There I'd plough my pecker sore
And not a penny would I owe 'er

>Simp
She can take each penny that I'm paid
I grudge not coin to any maid
Why worketh hard and get not laid?
A goddess she? Are my eyes betrayed?
That beauty yonder by the bridge...

>Chud
That roastie's built just like a fridge

>Simp
(yelling at girl)
For you my love! I'd give all I can
I pray that I'm your only fan

>Chud
I'm sorry fren but that's a man

>Bridge girl
(to audience)
Chud wastes no time on roastie sluts
Whose online posts are mostly butts
Each evening spends he lifting weights
And seething over chicks he hates

>Chud
Give me a girl who's gigabased
With big ol' tits, no butterface
She must, oh lord, be trad and chaste
Redpilled on ZOG and love her race

>Coomer
(weeping):
I have not sucked a twat in ages
I swear these girls are naught but mages

>Chud
Such thots ought rot in rusty cages
Give them no more than sneeds and sages
Plug your ears, pluck out your eyes
Then you'll learn where virtue lies

>Coomer
In the hole between her thighs!

>Chud
Long explored by other guys...

Attached: 937ffd88d0f82fce6f17a6fd82a20220cd702064.jpg (1920x1040, 405.68K)

Truly piss-poor stuff

Eat shit

Attached: f3rd.png (2518x1024, 168.16K)

First person is more honest to yourself. Third person is just first person for people who are afraid to be introspective

It's more honest but it's more self-absorbed too

Use sparingly

Niceee

April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain
May, she will stay
Resting in my arms again

June, she'll change her tune
In restless walks she'll prowl the night
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight

August, die she must
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold
September, I'll remember
A love once new has now grown old

You are not Paul Simon

Good opening line for a poem.

Quick grammar check on this pls

If you’re a layman
on the subject of Damon,
this you should try
to keep in mind:

If he promised to
-at some point-get back to you
tis but a lie
he told, you’ll find.

Every word/technique has its specific connotations, and anachronisms are hard to execute correctly because new layers of meaning pile onto them as the years go by, and some of those layers are unwanted. There is also the issue of internal cohesion. There are styles that just don’t blend well with older ones.

No one should take the advice about not rhyming or being rhythmical seriously but archaic adjectives, anastrophies in the wrong hands can scream “I wanna play poet like the big boys”

Godlike glitters vivid blue
Once a dreamy rythmic hue
Now matters not
I do lament
For new perception I have got
A part despair, a part inclined
Focus up my precious time
I will confide within this line

If a time were I am blue
I thank no one for what I do
Does it offer malcontent
When ignorance is spent?

The woodpecker pecks
At willow bark it nests
The copper crested one
Will bare my only son
I'll build within a time and think
The prose of vision makes succinct
All the matters thank and think
Eyes are met with eyes
Under visionary skies

Walking through the rain
Bells and laughter echoing away
Your touch and warm goodbyes fill my mind
And fade with the dark

Warm blood dripping fast
Faces questioning me for my past
Oh how I love you so much my babe
Even cold and pale

A poor one was tied
But aren’t the poor in heaven with Christ
Joining hands and smirking at us men
Who are dead by ten

I don't see anything grammatically wrong but Pythias is the one who returned for Damon.

I like this one. What was you inspiration for it?

A Paul Simon song.

Wrote this sometime last winter.

It's cold.
I stand below the edifice,
With my head tilted back,
I observe
The light ever-present
In windows
Of wealthy districts.
I wonder,
Who are these people,
Living up there?
Who have everything,
Of worldly grief unaware,
Among the decorated walls,
Walking upon the heated floors,
Never hearing necessity calls,
Drinking champagne,
Or some shit.

But don't tell me, I know,
If I would
Succumb to the office turmoil,
I eventually could
Live among the ivory walls
That bear canvases
Caressed with oil.
But my spirit,
You see,
It does not allow me to yield,
It still lives in a fantasy,
It still is quite naive.
So I write down few scant stanzas
With my frozen fingers
That I can barely move
And I head for my dwelling —
In the district of solitude.

Soon enters the key where it goes,
But I stand stand still for a second,
A minute,
The door is still closed.
"Well, come on now." — say I.
"Welcome home" —
Says the the doorstep of mine,
Breath echoes through darkness,
It's here
Where the scariest shadows lose all of their starkness,
And dust makes it hard to breathe,
It's cold in here as well,
This is where loneliness breeds,
Where water gives off a sulfurous smell,
And all food has a stale taste,
The place where days pass in vain
In a life with tragedy laced.

Give thanks unto the Universal Sire,
Who revealed Himself in the Flame of Fire,
Whose nature is as a pitcher of wine
That pours its wine into glasses of three
Yet despite the pouring is ne’er empty,
Who is as a gryphon of natures twine,
Who is far above where the Sun doth shine,
Who inspires love as though Cupid’s bow bends
To correct those errors Man’s nature tends
And by Mercy’s pow’r make enemies make amends.

Bump

Wrote this one this morning in a few minutes, very fun, very sweet.

As bushes grow, as people meet
As you find something good to eat
All the while I'm waiting here
Waiting eager. From you, to hear
I starve all day, I laugh all night
In here with you, I find delight
The darkest day can be made bright
By your smile, your laugh, your sight

unassumed power pt. 1

never underestimate
the power with which
i strive towards stupidity

through blunt brute force
i fight to be retarded
like really really retarded

this idea of feigning
no

to truly simply be
actually retarded

by any means necessary
short of killing me
i still want to be able to talk and stuff
but like
to such a poor degree
people wonder
like
where's this dudes caretaker or
fuck this guys retarded but also like
weirdly charming

and then i want to fuck your girl
and have you sit there wondering
how tf did this retarded guy steal my girl
like
cant this bitch tell hes mentally disabled
how tf does he even have a mini cooper
i dont even have a bike

fuck these are bad bois, like real amorphous flatulent itshay

Post yours then

my accountant killed himself
by accident filing my taxes
burdensome on the family sure
but we attended the funeral considering
he did get the job done

part of me wonders if I'm to blame
for burning down the local library
I did drench the shelves in gasoline
and light the match that sparked
but Hume suggested in one of the books burned
that causality can't be proven
especially with fire and its followups

Safe to say in the court of absolute reason
I'm safe
more importantly my alibi states
whatever i will it to state
as I run the mob
and suspect most people enjoy living

Those who seem to not
I do not employ

I've yet to mistake make
very aware of graecian tales
and certain episodes
of survivor

bc i would never post a poem with even a 5% chance of considered submission here's a poem titled:
tailored user just for user

I don’t run
For fitness purposes, I run
To accelerate the inevitable

Heat death of the universe

The same goes for running
The drier

Full of sad,
Sad underwear

I posted the prayer in pastiche of Donne, not the free verse one. As for submission, I'd just self-publish if I wanted to

self-publishing rarely gets you anywhere nor any audience

if you want your poetry to be read or appreciated, you need to submit to journals, competitions, and publications with work that at least loosely aligns with the kind you write

else you'll likely gain zero traction as a published poet

an mfa helps, for sure, if you can afford it, but honestly just if you just submit your work to as many (preferably free first) outlets as possible and manage to get a few published, then you can gain traction and the begetting begins to beget more begetting

the more you're published, the lower risk a publisher feels theyre taking in publishing your work; self-published work doesnt carry that cache

check out "the grinder"

it's a good aggregating sit for open submissions

Take this user's advice. You won't get anywhere without publication credits unless you're writing some refugee memoir shit these days.

Still sounds like I'd gain little traction, and that's assuming I'd even get published. I feel that if I just memed and advertised it enough I'd be more likely to gain some traction, even if it means the enterprise is riskier. But then again, stories like Mike Ma or F. Gardner are hard to come by for a reason, so I'll take your advice since I haven't reached that point yet

Thanks, I'll check it out

>avoid arbitrary enjambment of what otherwise is prose
Stay musical. Form has its place, but sing-song end rhyme may as well be Dr. Seuss tier. It's a mnemonic device first and primarily, and its retention in the age of print has to justify itself.

is this one autist?

Attached: FNWS-JwXIAIFAlQ.png (612x498, 155.66K)

the body without organs floats as a cloud over a neighbourhood
a ghost, I know it by its wind, its sign
it escaped itself to reveal the good news
to yesterdays children
sleeping on playgrounds
as they dissolve into the cloud
to descend upon the earth as lightnings
of poems, shitposts and sacred laughter
these are the unconditional gifts
of faith.

> bc i would never post a poem with even a 5% chance of considered submission

You are afraid of being associated with a particular literary place because you think your works will be denied publishing if publisher finds out you posted them here?
So much for artistic integrity, ay.
Fuck that's soulless. Makes me think your "real" works are some glossy instagram garbage.

you tell em frater

I haven't written much but I have a 100% success rate when it comes to poetry submissions... all published on a literary site with one of the biggest audiences too, not some crappy wordpress.

Attached: 4646.jpg (656x679, 55.6K)

As soulless as it gets

The joke is that all my poems are published on Yea Forums.

Attached: 8454518.png (425x412, 152.97K)

punchline doesn't play along with the initial post

Attached: 345678765439877890.jpg (811x558, 30.18K)

bump

are you retarded

you understand this isn't me, right

you also understand that not posting potentially publishable poems here has nothing to do with association and all to do with the fact that *a not insubstantial percentage* of publications ask for unpublished works and will outright reject a piece if it has shown up anywhere online, even an anonymous image board

c'mon dawg, catch up