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OC poetry thread stopped bumping after 3 years... time for a new one. by The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Fri, 30 Sep 2016 04:08:24 EST ID:FUcwYk7C No.68718 Ignore Report Quick Reply
File: 1475222904843.png -(891886B / 870.98KB, 973x667) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size. 891886
A sailor came from over seas, and asked his lover this.

Do you resent my love, my love? Do you resent my kiss? Do you resent my love, my love? For long have you been missed.

I see the furrow of your brow; exasperated sighs. I see the way you look aloft when my ship passes by.

Does anger beget scorn of me, or something other hid, or ignorance to be pronounced of something that I did?

Do you resent my love, my love? Do you resent my kiss? Do you resent my love, my love? For long have you been missed.

My love, she said, forgive me please, my hate is void of spite. As I resent my love, my love, from bitterness of sight.

I see in every passing wake your love reflected true; the sea mirroring my own love, alas scorns me for you.

So I resent my love, my love. Yet not resent your kiss. So I resent my love, my love, and how long you have been missed.

it was not long before wind turned in favor of the sail. The sailor driven up on-board twist groaning rope and sturdy rail.

The seafoam churned and waves did crash amongst a roaring hiss. The sailor herd the rushing water telling him just this.

Do you resent my love, my love? Do you resent my kiss? Do you resent my love, my love. For long have you been missed.
Nathaniel Turveystock - Fri, 30 Sep 2016 06:40:16 EST ID:DB5l4CJF No.68719 Report Quick Reply
RIP all Yojimbo's shitty poems in the old thread
Eugene Hindlebick - Fri, 30 Sep 2016 09:23:53 EST ID:yUGuriIY No.68721 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Walk in da club wid my glock BOWBOWBOW
reedy 2 suk sum cock
knock knock
whos dere?
my soul is aching wid a tear
ach who?
Eugene Hindlebick - Fri, 30 Sep 2016 09:25:30 EST ID:yUGuriIY No.68722 Ignore Report Quick Reply
read a book
read a look
drop a black man music HOOk
knock knock?
who dat?
boo who?

Esther Lightman - Sat, 15 Oct 2016 10:29:49 EST ID:aSY47qIq No.68782 Ignore Report Quick Reply
I wrote this while reallllly fuckin stoned last night. It all started when I looked at my wrist and I had a mickey mouse clock face in my pebble watch, so I wanted to write a fake gangster rap about it

You got Mickey Mouse on your wrist bitch?
I thought so you fuckin hoe
Now skee my D, B, till you can fuck wit a real G like me
Get the fuck outta here
My black cock will steer your fear
Cower in fright, you bright motherfuck
I'll blow your brains while you blow my cock you stallion
I fuck your women and daughters and sister
Is it sinister? Not if I whisper
Think the cops will help? Open Yelp and kill yourself
You can't hide under your shelf, faggot elf
Here's the gun, pull it or I will son
Are you afraid? I'd shit myself if I were you
C'mon, release that inner Jew
Beg for mercy while I nail you on wood
I'll hang you in the park on display fo the hood
Blue bloods comin by to pick you up
While I release my 47 on all those yups
I can see the terror in your eyes
Now you see it my power so high
I'm so high yet I tower over your eyes
On second thought maybe I'll skin you alive
Maybe your flesh will better my life
Fresh face, pale soul, get me a proper job
No more hustlin no more struggle
Tired of feeling like a fuckin muggle
Fuckin stallion, you think I give a fuck
Just drown in your fuckin starbucks
Caramel Macchiatos for all these basic hoes
I can't buy a pack of smokes a day
Yet you bitches be drinking diabetes all day?
I want all of you to just suffer and perish
Maybe one day we'll all be able to cherish
But who fuck we kiddin, we won miss much
It'll be fine once we stop givin so many fucks
No more lockin up every nigga in spite
Just pure harmony when everyone's not bright
White demons exorcised from the earth
Leaving a beautifully colored world
Not a white in sight

I'm white by the way. I'm still amazed I wrote something this hateful, but I was laughing my ass off at every rhyme I made.
Cornelius Wammerstock - Sun, 16 Oct 2016 18:06:49 EST ID:4me3EgfW No.68783 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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I wanna bang Taylor Swift.
Goddamn, my ejaculation would be so swift.

Her damn legs make my dick lift.
Cause she probably suck it like she Taylor Swift.

That pussy, I would so sniff.
I bet her sweet pink smell like fuckin Taylor Swift.
Molly Nupperlodge - Sun, 16 Oct 2016 20:27:40 EST ID:7aZ+UdAm No.68784 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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Started writing this today while looking at all the orange and red trees of autumn against the gray sky. Didn't finish tho.

Quaking flame! Oh, lick the sky smoke
tumbling down dull violet ridge!
Shivering and turns it's tongue,
to taste the sun the sky smoke hid

As it does there expounds soft sounds-
a scarping both dry and distant
to dress blue, bruised wounds
with a bandage of dissonance
John Pinnerchot - Sun, 16 Oct 2016 21:31:45 EST ID:NnSLnhxt No.68785 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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father smacks the plate out of my hand
food splattering, glass shattering.
i burnt his bacon,
it's my fault

father grabs me by the hair
like horses reins, I am his to control
father pushes my face to the floor
dinner tonight is glass and bacon,

whore, he bellows
my heart is pounding.
he holds me by the reins
filling me with violence.
i am stuffed like a turkey
his meal to savor
Albert Grandstock - Tue, 18 Oct 2016 00:06:08 EST ID:lwvD7tkL No.68789 Ignore Report Quick Reply

Don't post here.
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Tue, 18 Oct 2016 03:37:52 EST ID:FUcwYk7C No.68791 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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Clara Sengerled - Wed, 19 Oct 2016 00:43:48 EST ID:YXNmUX3n No.68793 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Hey, I thought the poem was good
Rebecca Chupperwater - Wed, 19 Oct 2016 09:20:10 EST ID:HIbnPzP1 No.68794 Ignore Report Quick Reply
That was legitimately good.

Which confused me, because poetry on the internet is never good.
Rebecca Dembletadge - Wed, 19 Oct 2016 20:33:42 EST ID:6jJS82By No.68797 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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Beware the kitten
If you pull his tail he'll use
his dangerous claw
Dogshit IV - Fri, 21 Oct 2016 00:09:47 EST ID:XMHdHQWf No.68798 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Are you serious? That's some terrible, cheesy, almost perfectly cliched love poem. It reads like a rough blend of tragic Shakespeare and modern pop lyrics. Twenty-two appearances of the word 'love', in a poem about love, an analogy relating to the sea and captain spunk on his vessel, the "I love you forever" -- that is not what you call 'good'.

It might have some positives to it, and obviously the only way to write good stuff is to write a bunch of shit stuff first, and to learn from it. There's no shame in that. But taking a heap of steaming shit into your hands and holding it to the sun like fucking Simba ain't doing nobody any good.
Lydia Derringbidging - Fri, 21 Oct 2016 03:58:12 EST ID:6jJS82By No.68800 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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If you call a bird
on the phone he won't answer
because birds are jerks
Martin Pimmerfoot - Fri, 21 Oct 2016 18:11:01 EST ID:HmjhVMQd No.68802 Ignore Report Quick Reply
everything that can be writ, exists, and frankly, it is shit
it is the artists bitter struggle, to be a drop among the puddle
do i not think my words are gay? tired, tried and so cliche?
do i not see my rhyme and meter, do not boast original features?
fuck my face, no really
grab it
I am in need of a change.
any notion of form is a chain and nothing more
i want to be bouyed, i want to be bouyant and eventually i want to just bounce
i want to blip into a more favourable existance
a budding one
one wherein my tired, tried and overused cliches can fall on fresh ears
and i can whisper once, that i am youthful and innocent

fuck that was probably utter garbage
Jack Denningville - Fri, 21 Oct 2016 19:51:25 EST ID:twiM+bFp No.68804 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Saddle up partner, lets see something better then
Sophie Goodstock - Sat, 22 Oct 2016 02:38:25 EST ID:UHwd3TMX No.68805 Ignore Report Quick Reply

I saw you in the gardens,
Posturing chrome plates.
You said I seemed far away then
You said you needed to escape,
You said to wait, to pick up
To escalate, you said you needed spare change
To create, the place of
Dreamscapes, I said we'll get there anyway.
You said wait, need up
Gone plane, the need to complicate,
Wait, wait up, O.K.
We will get there anyway...
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Sun, 23 Oct 2016 01:47:45 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68813 Ignore Report Quick Reply
>cheesy, almost perfectly cliched love poem
That's what it was supposed to be. I usually prefer not to use repetition, but I was reading the many "cliched" repetitions in Tennyson recently and decided to experiment with it.

>taking a heap of steaming shit into your hands and holding it to the sun like fucking Simba ain't doing nobody any good.
What possibly makes you think I'm doing that? Because I made a necessary new poetry thread? Logically it makes sense to assume you're projecting hardcore, considering your valiant attempt to combat shit with verse that is void of any discernible meter.

Perhaps you would to prefer to shit on shit actually wielded with pride?...
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Sun, 23 Oct 2016 01:49:52 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68814 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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By this, is known to very few, though
Not by those who think they do.

By this, is taught, to those who want, to
Know what miseries have wrought,
A form transfixed yet not forgot, into infinity.

By this, type juxtaposed, unto diversication shows
Us our hypocrisy, our universe, equality,
Of inverted misogyny that nature doth oppose.

By this, adversity, which once bred those of
Quality, to rise above inequity, attaining such
Supremacy; not parasitic clemency of those who think to know.

By this, of differences, toward what progress
Promises, of self-petuating provinces, now
Smashed, with the equality of concepts from fecundity
Towards a goal of stagnancy, twixt institutions of our own.

By this, that giving life, through strife creates as
What is right, determined wrong in context of delusion.
For absolute equality, inhibits true ability, in favor of a unified inclusion.

By this, utter hypocrisy, living; yet not to be of
Life, for it's of differences and strife,
Which generates a soul to rise above it.

By this, the fate of those made known,
Who would be raised, and others shown,
Be doomed to one’s antithesis forever.
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Sun, 23 Oct 2016 01:54:27 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68815 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Better to know how one may lose
Ever a thing that has its place in
Always looking towards in-whom an
Utter expression that we choose
Through foolishness about to begin
You find what always has been given
Walter Blytheham - Sun, 23 Oct 2016 19:18:06 EST ID:XMHdHQWf No.68822 Ignore Report Quick Reply

>>taking a heap of steaming shit into your hands and holding it to the sun like fucking Simba ain't doing nobody any good.

>What possibly makes you think I'm doing that? Because I made a necessary new poetry thread? Logically it makes sense to assume you're projecting hardcore, considering your valiant attempt to combat shit with verse that is void of any discernible meter.

Alright, I come in peace.
I was replying to the person who praised your poem; It's a rebuttal directed towards unjust commendations, part of an ongoing jihad in the installation of originality.

I also didn't write any of the poems in this thread, so say what you like about those. In fact, writing poems isn't my strong suit at all.
But, especially as it's an experimental poem, wouldn't you like honest feedback?
If you wrote something cliche on purpose, then why won't you agree that it's unoriginal? Do you argue that it's an original cliche poem? Maybe somewhere within the layers underlying rhythm and metre you've experimented with something, which, good or bad, makes it original. But I'm sure you'd agree that there's more to a poem: how do all these layers overlap, what line of thought, or emotion do they support? What is it you've ultimately sewn?

And part of what attributes the the value of content is always originality, not in your metre, or your scheme, but as a whole piece.

Good luck. And this new poem of yours looks very good at first glance, from my amateur perspective.
Jarvis Worthingdale - Mon, 24 Oct 2016 03:41:05 EST ID:/SOPt65o No.68825 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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I not read poems or poets and only some books. Something I don't know is why modern poets will use Olde English-esque phrasing. Is this what poetry is? I'm a good people person, I am good at reading into when someone is not being themselves... that's how I feel when I read a lot of poems. Like the poet is trying to sound like somebody else, or that they are using some kind of vocabulary that is beyond them or not really necessary.

genuinely confused if this is the idea of poetry, but the artistic expression doesn't seem to require fancy-talk.

Like, I read some great poets that use street talk, everyday words. It's great. It's like, poetry is how you arrange your words, not WHAT the words are. But a lot of people got it backward and arrange bad words in a poor fashion.
Simon Dapperfield - Mon, 24 Oct 2016 06:40:53 EST ID:wThPtJvC No.68826 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Simple green
Bottle refilled, spraying the ground
Talking lagoons,tempen, sweetened with sugar
Or bitter like tea
Hannah Hasslewudge - Mon, 24 Oct 2016 23:51:11 EST ID:DLSNK7xF No.68830 Ignore Report Quick Reply
I'm glad you're still around
Hannah Hasslewudge - Mon, 24 Oct 2016 23:53:17 EST ID:DLSNK7xF No.68831 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Sometimes the older english words sound a bit better. A bit nicer on the ears.
A lot of that stuff is pretentious garbage though.
You need to find the guys who can do it with good attitude.
Angus Washfoot - Thu, 27 Oct 2016 06:49:19 EST ID:9FRZPTCg No.68838 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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It was a sunny day,
a sunday in May
I ate a sundae
it tasted okay
Nell Turveyford - Thu, 03 Nov 2016 22:53:53 EST ID:RFJAL4Ly No.68858 Ignore Report Quick Reply
I wrote this a last semester while being intensely bored and even more intensely sober

All things come and all things go,
And your choices hold no bearing midst the to and fro

So how to find meaning?
How do we go on- while we fumble & grumble & and bumble along?

All through the hate, late rush push and pull,
All of our time seems quite very full

So I guess, when we dress & pull out and move on,
We must cling to our moments when the come-
When they rise & they shimmer & shine like the dawn

nb cause poetry is for fags
Beatrice Siblingsare - Fri, 11 Nov 2016 00:16:54 EST ID:lwvD7tkL No.68864 Ignore Report Quick Reply

when I posted this
nigh three weeks back
it wasn't a slight at you
or your song.
just an experimentation,
abject non sequitur in bold
end of exercise
David Muzzleford - Mon, 21 Nov 2016 20:16:25 EST ID:tqQe8yXU No.68877 Ignore Report Quick Reply

i weep inside with joy
Albert Sushman - Fri, 25 Nov 2016 20:34:51 EST ID:4JMlzFlY No.68890 Ignore Report Quick Reply
I liked your poem, the first half was fresh.

The second half not as much, but I still thought it was pretty good.

I like poems calling people out on being pedantic art critics who don't actually contribute anything themselves.
Nigel Meckleville - Thu, 01 Dec 2016 00:22:04 EST ID:XmxLzzOm No.68893 Ignore Report Quick Reply
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Her face is hidden by a black veil.
I have no memories of her, just a faded photograph.

I don't love her when I'm awake;
Instead of dreaming I see the disappointment behind her veil,
And I know she couldn't possibly be real.
No memories.
I want to be alone.

And I want to keep dreaming.
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Mon, 26 Dec 2016 17:23:56 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68956 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Since I found myself I've been lost in ecstasy.
Surfing on something I can't see.

Now that I try to talk to you about it seems like I only achieve opposite ends.

But I'm a fool and I can't help myself.

After surfing the only thing I want to do is to find others to go surfing with.

But we live on an island where everyone pretends there is no ocean.

Don't take yourself so seriously.
The reapers joke is when you see what you do is what you didn't.

So there's no point in doing anything else than what you love.
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Mon, 26 Dec 2016 17:32:51 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68957 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Those who want power because they want life, get it.

Those who want power for the sake of itself, get it for a time.
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Mon, 26 Dec 2016 17:54:26 EST ID:2IIAwKMz No.68958 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Ego's are like Suns, they provide warmth.

Women are cold because they are less egotistical than men. That is why they seek heat.

The biggest ego's act like suns to a solar-system, and most relationships fall into this pattern.

Fuck that.

I don't want a bunch of planets rotating around me.

I would rather be a binary system of two suns, caught in the orbit of each other.
Nathaniel Fuvingkig - Thu, 19 Jan 2017 17:15:06 EST ID:ZrZIQZ8N No.68991 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Fool, did you used to post with a Camus avatar in /b/ tripfag threads?
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Thu, 09 Feb 2017 15:34:23 EST ID:3wtssQcY No.69019 Ignore Report Quick Reply

Yearning forced upon the surface,
striving for expression found,
trying to convert emotion;
Body remains tied and bound.

Hoping for release unfounded,
Seeing all that people want,
Never knowing sweetest taste;
enduring lack and crooked font.

Fawning over star-crossed lovers,
setting tables in the sky,
dinner bell as been left waiting;
to get to heaven one must die...
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Thu, 09 Feb 2017 15:40:16 EST ID:3wtssQcY No.69020 Ignore Report Quick Reply

Never spoken softly said,
I towards my mistress dear.

Never stolen kisses wept
but for the temperament of fear,

denied throughout a mind well kept,
softly singing nevermore

of sweet nothings nonetheless,
left lying on the kitchen floor.

Forever lost amidst the things,
yet nothing found betwixt the noise.

Justified through ones self-worth,
but in the end are only toys

of mind and thought projected,
on the canvas of the Id,

for shifting blame upon oneself,
confirms what others did.
Hedda Gemblemog - Mon, 13 Feb 2017 00:55:01 EST ID:0yf20Rzi No.69025 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Embrace of Portraiture

primitive asymmetry of her body
edges defined in thick pencil
delicate intricacies of some jagged, ancient rug
hips like still, lead crystal

arches, painful--knotted
(hands on her inner thigh)
her hair, unwashed, smells like menthol and cinnamon
(she pushes herself into me)
using a stone to grind fennel and mint

a peidmont in august; a ripe delta
taiga during the thaw

innumerable measures of land.
Jarvis Grandforth - Mon, 13 Feb 2017 15:23:31 EST ID:7D9J2HIr No.69027 Ignore Report Quick Reply
Diphenhydramine diphenhydramine
my kingdom for a spider
inositol hexanicotinate
there are shadows on the lights here
wahh wahh wahh
Isabella Blackdale - Fri, 24 Feb 2017 16:29:09 EST ID:gzTaKzPW No.69060 Ignore Report Quick Reply
The Fool !oj3475yHBQ - Mon, 17 Apr 2017 18:39:08 EST ID:UGR2VvKV No.69182 Ignore Report Quick Reply

Sorry said the simulacra,
while the passersby stood still.
Fearing of the wraith to cometh,
seeing sun on winters hill.

Dripping water in the gutter,
frozen lake upon the sand,
never knowing what is better,
never sought to understand...

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