went to the supermarket today
saw the melons, the mushrooms,
the grapes gone sour
clinging to the check-out, a costumed man
stares at the self-service register
through a long and empty lane
man wasn't meant to mindlessly
shift in eight-hour sessions
between loving and living life
Other urls found in this thread:
bad
keep working
Man wasn't meant to work ?
I wrote this in another thread a few days ago more or less by accident trying to express a sentiment to another user while drunk and like how it came out. It's more prose than poetry though.
And so the child cloaks themselves in armor of gold and declares themselves ruler, master of their domain and ruler of the lands. Upon a vaulted throne she sits issuing decrees to her subjects, her power undisputed. But always the sun sets and the time for sleep comes. The cardboard castle is broken down, the stuffed animals kissed godnight, and a lonely girl dreams of friends with whom she might play.
No we really were not, as surprising as that may come in the "profit above all" society
Through the glass I watch
The years do not pass me by
No tinderina will ever match
with me, and let none say:
"the chair cannot be detached!
It's a part of him, let us pray!
Oh father, let him be switched;
His soul lost to the glass, now they lay,
In crust, in dust, under tissues, stripped
all jizz covered, oh God you may,
see the devil's assist!"
None shall allow to coexist,
Near a deviant whom's clay
body is not to be missed.
In the glass I live all day.
With all my glass friends dismissed
by life, its dwellers that grey,
as grey their outlives.
Through the glass we say:
Nay be world, nay.
Through the glass we cry:
Normies out, reee, die!
In the glass we stay,
and say goodnight.
>unironically posting a picture of a socialist on a pol colony board
kys you retarded faggot poetry is for fags
Three dancing stars and a moon*
On a cold and truly bold night,
in a lacking shack lay a whore -
made body ripe for men's sought.
Dad and mum - die so so early -
you took up burden and wore.
You had mouths to feed,
and you did try so eagerly
but alas! Times are hard.
You turned to back doors;
Ha! they paid so for that bleed
of first right of yours.
Those howling winds
blow so cold at that wretch
of an entrance. Mountain's breath
is blowing harshly tonight.
Only omens to more ominous
things to come this night.
You are not even 17 , yet
I can make a sure and prudent bet -
you have bedded many a-man.
Those pretty church girls mocked
you so and made your heart shocked.
Unlit is your small and filthy room ...
The darkness of night's gaze,
encircles , closes , and comes like doom -
littered around are heaps of things;
toys , clothes , pots and a blanket with
a pretty sun on it , in full blaze.
Four mouths to feed.
And you did the deed.
But at the cost of health
and your sanity. Yet, scoff
did you not but suffer -
Yes, you did.
Continue...
Your four small little brothers
lay next to each others,
their small bodies combined
to keep the cold winds away under
the blaze of their sun blanket.
You , my dear , wanted
to study and be more than this
_.abomination....
but your dreams are now blunted.
You lay their so whitened by sickness-
you have that virus which you begot
by wickedness and playing to man's
lustfulness but you did what you had to
and you need what you got.
You , dear , will not awake
from tonight's slumber.
But , before you close your eyes:
you will say simple prayer -
never to awake.
"Lord, I know not you.
But on my death bed I turn to you. I fear not death but I fear for my brothers on this earth. But now my life is at an end. I pray to you , I have no one else to turn too , that you might save my brothers from hunger and heart break...
I care not what you want to do with me but please save them. Amen."
With those simple words uttered
and a tear dropped.
She would never awake again.
As the light of dawn's embrace
four little faces , huddle and weep.
Over watching their sister.
That morning three stars danced
but a moon mourned.
*Concerning the title: It is taken out of Zulu mythology and personal recollections. The three stars , implying heavenly bodies; mars , venus and the moon , are "dancing" as the sun is coming up - it is pun. It is something that usually happens in mid winter. The moon and two planets almost line up to form a row and it looks so beautiful. It always makes me think. It always greeted me each morning when I went out during those cold winter days. Anyway it makes you think and that was the whole idea of the poem. It really hasn't any specific meaning and that is why I chose it. Make up your minds and choose your own meaning...
1234567789
Kill yourself, oh fag
Just like Stalin his comrades.
Hide your brain in a bag,
Like the marxists and their charades.
Suck a dick you dirty pig,
Like normie that sucks banks'.
Kill yourself, oh, fag;
Let the world be cleansed of your brains.
Poems are not to be written in a manner of a story but reflection. Unless you're writing an epic, which clearly you're not, given the chaotic noun distribution, you have to make a dance out of words.
Starting with a "on a night" makes it a story right off the bat.
The rhymes can be made anywhere, but must be categorized.
Verses must contain same amount of words, rhymes or syllabes for a piece to become a poem, a coherent and clearly seen one.
Poems are entertainment for your brain. The less it needs to focus on finding rhymes or coherence in a piece and only focus on its meaning, the better.
So, learn a few things and practice more.
Would you suggest any book I can read to give me more load down on the basics, especially something like music theory and rhyme scheme?
Music theory is easy as pie. Find basics on youtube.
Intervals, passages, cords, understanding of harmony.
For poems, just read different authors. Understanding comes from reflection and your own literacy.
For structure just read and learn on wikipedia, or buy a book describing often made mistakes in literature.
Thanks user, will improve and practice more.
Piss off Sartre.
Yeah what he said. Bad, but keep working on it.
>schizo poem about psychosis.
>schizobots might enjoy:
everyone knows, everything bows, only to you, because you are the true, the only son, eternal one, infinite you.
now I see, the end of all misery, everyone will agree, gone is reality, only through me, united as we. finally clarity, gone all the fog, though, these thoughts strike me as odd, are those mine or those of God? Is there a difference, I think there's not.
how can this be? why is it me? just became CEO of my own company, absolute being in this subjective reality.
the world an open book, for me to read and write in, here's the hook, only I can comprehend, decipher, win, this rigged game we're all trapped in, this simulation, I was told in a vision, to ask the last question, to solve all paradox, everything speaks to me, even the birds, plants, flowers, rocks.
If only I would understand this thing, what does it mean and why is it happening? Angels and demons are watching me, betting on outcomes probability, behind very causality, beyond cause and effect they live eternally, try to ground me, calm me, drain me, trap me. ecstatic me, awesome me, made for all eternity, seeing through synchronicity, growing through infinity,
if you happen to fall, dive deep, if you want to rule over the all, be weak, thoughts are racing, but where to? I lack all pacing, there's no more you, only I but where am I, who am I, what am I in my core?
only know that I know nothing at all anymore, feel like a fool and am once more, no wiser than I was before.
the old Jesus bug bit you too, huh? great poem, user.
cobalt colossus on creamy canvas of orange pink slivers down the old and pasty coast with the gold globe dipping under the waves
and the cars roll in and out back home and home again with little neon bulbs bursting back with the new moon, goodnight
yeah, shit happens.
there are some nice lines in this thread. i'm happy that there are anons here who express themselves creatively. even if it's not beautiful and perfect in every turn of phrase i lovey ouanonym ous
bump while i write
the lines of night are read to closure;
morning's fog obscures from view
the nearby hill, dotted with houses.
though not as far as i might guess,
the mist-touched oaken doors
(upraised by steady hand)
lie beyond the reach of heart and eye.
a few audacious drops of rain
make their presence known-
an advance force, they softly herald
another day of grey.
my senses dull with overuse,
but still i hear the teasing
of rain in distant gutters,
echoing my own.
the penis plopped merrily down the way
merrily oh merrily, verily, oh sherry, baby
he gazed upon a grazing mare, and under there a hare did stare
angrily, but verily, sherry, you bitch, merrily
two of a kind, lovers entwined, the hare and the mare did share
verily, merrily, it surely was, sherry
hare and mare, penis did stare, horror nightmare
verily, not merrily, sherry, you cunt, bury me
an orgious delight, not a sight, but a fright
sherry, oh sherry, verily, berry, Larry
orgasmic juice flows, under a cold moon grows, phallic objects strike blows
merrily, sherry, my darling cherry, you bitch don't stare at me, verily
What I desired a while ago
Were things small in thought and scale
I believed they would be able to soothe my soul
Like the song of the lovely nightinggale
You walked with me with big brown eyes
Bouncing your step and holding hands
You stood above me, unable to rise
And I held you down in dragging lands
I am nowhere now
You have moved beyond
Took your soul and bowed
Where from I let you down
In nowhere silence remains loud
The riches of the world lay folly
Gold and silver be but a hollow prize
For no riches will forgive my sorry
In the mornings now, I choose to rise
Lord Gothic called upon me
He wanted his tithe and our levy
I had fought before but not without ye.
And so he took it steady.
Is this what those poets who penned felt?
The song writers and bards singing from heart?
This awful feeling, the sinking gut, tightening like noose or belt?
I have become them now, alone in trying art.
It remains a spectacle, of my miserable.
I a bright star with eminence of great light
But you may only see me on the brightest nights.
When the skys above laid dark as ink
Your eyes glided over me and from there they sinked.
Alive on the ground you stepped about
Children we were back then
Hollow I strided through the house
Did you know I was not in?
My coil pattered on floorboards bare
But my soul wandered far from there.
Generic, I know, but I'm going to keep trying.
pastebin.com
One of my first sonnets, I don't like it at all.
Surrounded by wood and plaster
I would toil locked to my silver screen
But no one's here tasks
Absent too
So I browse hell from the comfort of my loo
>The booze got stale
>The cigaretes became pure cancer
>My lust for her is like a screwdiver being stabbed in my stomach
>The night became distant
>The cold embrace of the moon became a punishment
>In my room i sit and wait for her message in pure agony
>Why should i care?
>Why should she?
>I'm just a lowlife scum, even worse than a neet
>And while i wait and my mind drifts
>I remember myself as an innocent and cute kid
>I remember the climbing, the fun all the treats
>How did my life end up likes this?
>Oh god please
>Give me a sign, a second chance
>Dear god i beg of you give me anything
>In my own jail i await and rot like an old forgotten tree