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2012-09-23 11:50 3002959 Anonymous Poetry Thread (48498489.jpg 1680x1050 808kB)
ITT: Post poetry.

9 min later 3002990 Anonymous
>Old lake >The frog dives >*Splush*

10 min later 3002997 Anonymous
Post poetry there is only silence, I think. Winks and glances, grunts and dances.

11 min later 3003000 Anonymous
>>3002990 i see what you did there

15 min later 3003012 Anonymous
You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

20 min later 3003024 Anonymous
But me I'm not stopping there, Got my own row left to hoe Just another line in the field of time When the thrashers comes, I'll be stuck in the sun Like the dinosaurs in shrines But I'll know the time has come To give what's mine.

24 min later 3003033 Anonymous
Struck, crippeld breath My blood, never so fast My teeth, cannot be still My mind, absolute notingness My thoughts, chaotic and selfhating Courage escaped Once more unto the breaches I cannot

25 min later 3003035 Anonymous
I sing the god carcinoma devourer of beggar and saint. across all our tissue the bulls he gives issue make every is into an ain't I sing the mighty sarcoma Consuming the daft and the wise In the pallid lymph courses he marshalls his forces Decembering all our Julys Come give us the hymn "melanoma" the bane of both pauper and prince when the cool probe insults and we wait the results, and the specialist cannot but wince we sacrifice things on their altars a lobe or a limb or an eye, that our doings without may appease them no doubt that this bribe might just let us get by. But the comfort of friends is not cheering and the struggle does not give release and the glance of an eye and the tremor and sigh and the long dismal wait for decease Oh drink you the health of Lymphoma: requiter of dread and despair and the step on the scale as it tells a new tale of a soon to be vacanted chair But we had some good laughs with him didn't we? and he made a good run of it though; have another small round, he won't wake at the sound. take the bottle back home as you go.

26 min later 3003037 Anonymous
Post poetry? Is that poems written in farts?

27 min later 3003042 Anonymous
>>3003012 Go to bed, James.

27 min later 3003043 Anonymous
>>3003037 you had an arse full of poetry that night darling

28 min later 3003045 Anonymous
>>3002990 I feel like this has been done before

30 min later 3003053 Anonymous
>>3003035 >Decembering all our Julys I love you. I love you so much.

38 min later 3003073 Anonymous
There's a pretty bookshop In the mall where I stop of an evening to bask in the glow. of keats and Jerome, before toddling home i might linger an hour or so It's a pleasantish place and they fill up the space in the front with a smallish cafe and sometimes, i confess, if the hours do not press i might hang about most of a day I'm not on intimate terms, with my fellow bookworms and wont let myself tax them unduly still perhaps its unkind, but when they bring to mind certain authors, i christin them newly On a day I won't state I'd stopped in for a plate of biscuits and perhaps a small chai when the svelte sillhouette of a winsome Collette, with a volume of Proust caught my eye She'd been snagged by a stripling not unlike a young kipling who held her attention , and arm I began to suspect that the virtues of Hecht werent the ones he pursued with his charm then I chanced to glance round, drawn perhaps by the sound, of a Seneca, muttering in Greek and I beheld not a few folk arrayed two and two, intermixed in amongst the more meek More?

41 min later 3003081 Anonymous
An ominous disembowelment... The soothslayer is blinded, such is fate; Abomination to damn the eyes... For the righteous, a test of faith. "We thank thee lord, for this tribulation, We sing thy praises without end; No matter how rabid the oppressor, We shall not fail thee, though we pray for Strength." Ensnared in the web of the unjesus, The once-sacrosanct abbey is Besieged, With the braying of the Nightgoat, Benedictine friars convulse. Infernal visions flay their souls As their bodies contort and writhe... Capricornus nocturnum haunts them, From their torment springs its delight. Impaled on one of its many legs, A bug-eyed Mary gapes on in horror As her only son is chewed to bits By spiderchrist... She is flecked with gore. Caprine morturion leads the bones Of their departed brethren In the abbey's catacombs; When gargoyles vomit blood, The defunct will ascend To rend the mortal flesh Of the brothers of the good word, And make victims of their guts. Those who are left, Of god bereft Run amongst heads Suspended by threads. Crosses up-ended And frenzied blooshed For those who sought favour From their saviour. "I am messiah" The grand delusion To hell-wracked things, Revelation.

42 min later 3003084 Anonymous
A saturnine Poe, with a pert Woolf in tow, was pretending to parse Kierkigaard, While a stately Ayn Rand, With Anne Rice, hand in hand was affecting amused disregard an assertivre Camus had assembled a crew, of pale Kafkas, and one hapless Twain In a booth by the door where he regaled the floor with contradictions implicit in Paine till a black-clad Millay, did a studied sashay through his prospect, and made the lad stammer, and throw up his tirade, as though she had laid him across the forehead with a hammer I had seen quite enough of this singles-night stuff, so I made deft repair to the stacks where the used classics rest side by side with the best of the second hand trade paperbacks. By a Disneyfied "Alice" I picked out a "Valis" and "Melmoth Reconciled" bound in calf. to go home and unwind with this fortunate find was my thought, when I heard a quiet laugh

44 min later 3003086 Anonymous
i beheld two thin chaps, quite in each other's laps, with expressions that brought to mind Wilde clandestinely thumbing a volume of cummings, best works, with the joy of a child I detoured through suspense so to raise up a fence of fiction betwixt me and them When I got quite a shock passing Iris Murdoch and I felt myself out on a limb There was Sandburg himself, hair mussed up like an elf out of Tolkien, chatting up Jane Austen, she preened and laughed while they spoke of Lovecraft, but escape was what I wished to gain the poetry section, i thought, on reflection, I'll certainly find respite there! No! A Pince-nezzed Stout, had his Longfellow out, and was bending Le Guin crost a chair! And a youthful Stendahl had an Atwood asprawl with her Brontes spread open before. I spun round, so to flee, but then what should I see, but a shy little Oates by the door!

45 min later 3003090 Anonymous
My tongue grew quite thick, as she reached for my Dick, and soon cradled my Balzac as well. "Why such treasures your finding! I've always thought binding with leather was awfully swell!" The whole thing turned out good, when I quite understood, and we afterwards went out a pair. And we went to my den, where we essayed Anais Nin on the sofa bed next to the stair. Now I'm straight home of nights and I eschew the the lights of the quiant little shop, without sigh. for she's bought me a Nook, and declared that a book store's not for married men, such as I.

47 min later 3003094 Anonymous
One must be for ever drunken : that is the sole question of importance. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time that bruises your shoulders and bends you to the earth, you must be drunken without cease. But how? With wine, with poetry, with virtue, with what you please. But be drunken. And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass by a moat, or in the dull loneliness of your chamber, you should waken up, your intoxication already lessened or gone, ask of the wind, of the wave, of the star, of the bird, of the timepiece; ask of all that flees, all that sighs, all that revolves, all that sings, all that speaks, ask of these the hour; and wind and wave and star and bird and timepiece will answer you: "It is the hour to be drunken! Lest you be the martyred slaves of Time, intoxicate yourselves, be drunken without cease! With wine, with poetry, with virtue, or with what you will."

48 min later 3003097 Anonymous
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like I feel a bit lightheaded maybe you should drive. And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"

1 hours later 3003137 Anonymous
Travelogue "Pray What is the news from Babylon? Does Xerxes ancient town, Still hold inside the Lion's Pride? where once the world bowed down?" "There is no tale of Babylon, that great long-storied land The Lion's gates are broken now. The fields are choked with sand" "You Tread the Path from Illion Where gods and men did greet, Does Priams mighty forteress still, Show all assault defeat?" "What gods have sown, the raven reaps, I offer you no joy neath broken stones her treasure sleeps I bear no news of Troy." "Speak, pilgrim, of Jerusalem, I know you passed that way. The palmer's badge adorn's you yet: does David's line hold sway?" "Where prophets sowed the seed of love, the weeds of hate now grow: the peace that was Jerusalem was broken long ago." "well, traveller, What of Camelot? does Arthur's blood still reign? Do boldy go the shining knights across the feudal plain?" "A trusted friend's betrayal; a bastard's vaunting greed. The moon that watches camelot sees stones upon a mead." "Good host, I beg you, ask no more you waken in my mind the shadows of vain, fallen hopes I fain would leave behind. You long for comfort; this i know, that grandeur might abide, that strength of stone and arms and hearts can bear the waxing tide, And Gilgamesh the strong yet stands upon his mighty wall. That works endure the waning sands, that towers might not fall. Content yourself that legends live where men are just or brave, and deeds of lives may yet survive their castles in the grave. I will not comfort you with hopes that Rome may live again; don't ask me of Tenoctitlan, I've no news from Berlin. In sorrow i depart you now; regretting lenten cheer. But the road is long towards London town, i cannot linger here."

1 hours later 3003138 Anonymous
stop with this awful shit

1 hours later 3003142 Anonymous
>>3003138 what awful shit in particular?

1 hours later 3003147 Anonymous
>>3003142 all of it

1 hours later 3003153 Anonymous
>>3003147 it's poetry. sturgeon's law applies to it as much as anything.

1 hours later 3003164 Anonymous
Once upon a time There was a sturgeon's law, It had one dime It's to keep the rhyme But one day the rhyme was gone It ran away without saying goodbye Everyone was sad After some time People were used to it One guy saw the rhyme On the hill coming back And everyone started to rap

1 hours later 3003166 Anonymous
>>3003164 i puked

1 hours later 3003167 Anonymous
Do you think for even a second that you eventually hurt my feelings with that?

1 hours later 3003171 Anonymous
>>3003167 barf

1 hours later 3003173 Anonymous
thanks in reverse internal stakeholders rage’s tart strain fantasizes the experience my secret currency lifeless as a pound of mercury dimes my condition is a pleasure good way to get run over

1 hours later 3003178 Anonymous
>>3003173 that doesn't make any sense

1 hours later 3003186 Anonymous
My soul is deep When I go to sleep, I pretend, that there is a end, to my sorrow Isn't there another life to borrow?

1 hours later 3003196 satan
these are all terrible; especially that long one with all the name dropping..so bad. im not posting any of my affect transfusionary wordgasms without someone first posting something thats not complete shit.

1 hours later 3003198 Anonymous
These are all terrible; especially that long one, with all the name dropping.. so bad. im not posting any of my, affect transfusionary, wordgasms, without someone first posting, something thats not, complete shit.

1 hours later 3003201 Anonymous
America By Tony Hoagland Then one of the students with blue hair and a tongue stud Says that America is for him a maximum-security prison Whose walls are made of RadioShacks and Burger Kings, and MTV episodes Where you can’t tell the show from the commercials, And as I consider how to express how full of shit I think he is, He says that even when he’s driving to the mall in his Isuzu Trooper with a gang of his friends, letting rap music pour over them Like a boiling Jacuzzi full of ballpeen hammers, even then he feels Buried alive, captured and suffocated in the folds Of the thick satin quilt of America And I wonder if this is a legitimate category of pain, or whether he is just spin doctoring a better grade, And then I remember that when I stabbed my father in the dream last night, It was not blood but money That gushed out of him, bright green hundred-dollar bills Spilling from his wounds, and—this is the weird part—, He gasped “Thank god—those Ben Franklins were Clogging up my heart— And so I perish happily, Freed from that which kept me from my liberty”— Which was when I knew it was a dream, since my dad Would never speak in rhymed couplets, And I look at the student with his acne and cell phone and phony ghetto clothes And I think, “I am asleep in America too, And I don’t know how to wake myself either,” And I remember what Marx said near the end of his life: “I was listening to the cries of the past, When I should have been listening to the cries of the future.” But how could he have imagined 100 channels of 24-hour cable Or what kind of nightmare it might be When each day you watch rivers of bright merchandise run past you And you are floating in your pleasure boat upon this river Even while others are drowning underneath you And you see their faces twisting in the surface of the waters And yet it seems to be your own hand Which turns the volume higher?

1 hours later 3003209 Anonymous
>>3003094 I fucking love baudelaire. Recognized it on the spot, though i've never read that in english.

1 hours later 3003216 Anonymous
>>3003196 that kind of poem is supposed to be bad. you don't pursue high art with an arsenal of puns

1 hours later 3003222 Anonymous
>>3003209 Why anyone would read a translated poem is beyond me. Baudelaire sounds terrible in English.

1 hours later 3003240 ParanoidHyperMusicPolice appreciate feedback
What empty darkness, blackest black Transforms through glass When night gives way to spark and flame Dark folds and falls As colour forms and chaos frees Voracious hue and verdant green Pleiades, Hyades, Orion, Clouds of dust, and fate Wrapt in flame on Achilles’ shield The hidden fires of hidden eyes Who gazed on war and woe Live beyond blood and water Unnoticed, unforgotten, Veins of stars on azure seas Endless and eternal.

1 hours later 3003248 satan
>>3003216 I know what the fuck your intentions were. I evaluated it with that considered, and i'll still say that its bad (while purposefully trying to be bad). your intended artistry is writing a bad poem, with your carefully placed puns and tactless name dropping, designed to make us acknowledge your supposed ironic writing with respect, in the same way that I acknowldge Lil B's shitty rapping with respect, (because he succeeded in making good "purpusefully bad music".) But yours is just bad, a bad "purpusefully bad poem"

1 hours later 3003254 satan
>>3003248 purpusefully porpoisefully purposefully

1 hours later 3003261 Anonymous
>>3003240 This is 2012, stop referencing Greek myths in your shitty poems. It's seriously like you read a couple of Romantic poems, came up with the phrase "blackest black", and then shit this out all over the unsuspecting internet. Greek myths as signifiers are anachronisms. Stop trying to write like Coleridge. Find your own voice... I bet it doesn't involve referencing fucking Achilles.

2 hours later 3003293 Someone Was Here
It seems it's Fate, from the start, To sail with our emotion. I wonder if, in such an ocean, I could ever find your heart. I drift on, without an oar; Fate's wind moves me with ease. I wonder if I’ll ever catch a breeze That could sail me to Hope's shore. As I sail on, the water’s flow Leaves a small wave behind. I wonder if you left one to find, A long long time ago. And as rain falls from the sky Tears fall from my eyes. I wonder if, through my cries, I shall ever find out why! As I look at the tide, It goes from low to high. So repetitive, it makes me sigh… And yet the ocean is so wide.

2 hours later 3003296 Someone Was Here
What flashes before your eyes, In the moments before you die. As the heart sings, passionately beating; A flash of lightning, quickly fleeting; Present for only the mere blink of an eye, But still enough to inspire a small tear from a cry. There must be a reason why.

2 hours later 3003298 Someone Was Here
Dripping tapwater Flourescent orbs Spinning around and around, I look into the ether and then am absorbed Never again to be found

2 hours later 3003303 Someone Was Here
What does nostalgia look like to you? To me, it looks like a vague grey shadow. But that doesn't mean much to you, does it? Why do you think that is? "Language barrier," Meatball suggested. Maybe, Meatball, May-B, May-A-B-C-D-E-F-G be the only way we talk, you and me. But come now, the words themselves reveal their own dirty secrets. And while the surrounding blackness has me thinking each grey is white, We can at least talk about the light of the sun, even though we can't stare at it. Can't we?

2 hours later 3003308 Someone Was Here
That's a brief summary of everything I've played with, not sure how good any of it is. >>3003298 Oh, and the title for this one is pretty important for the whole thing, it's "Kitchen Sink"

2 hours later 3003314 Anonymous
>>3003293 >And as rain falls from the sky >Tears fall from my eyes. >I wonder if, through my cries, >I shall ever find out why! Try again.

2 hours later 3003322 Someone Was Here
>>3003314 Yeah that particular stanza is not one I'm proud of either... I'm just not sure if removing it would ruin the theme's pacing. Should definitely change "shall" to "will" or something.

2 hours later 3003338 Someone Was Here
>>3003322 Here just edited it a bit actually, it was the overly-dramatic last line that really made it lame. >And as rain falls from the sky >Tears fall from my eyes. >I wonder if, through my cries, >I will ever find out why? Sorry if I'm spamming this thread too much by the way.

2 hours later 3003340 Anonymous
>>3003314 There was a cat Sat on the mat I gave him a pat And that was that

2 hours later 3003420 Anonymous
Someone Was Shit At Poetry

2 hours later 3003461 Anonymous
My veils and coping mechanisms Like gun powder and whiskey Fills the room with a tension Like downed power-lines Charred trees Flooded back porches in my mind My little secrets In a tinderbox Kept beside the firepace Where your worries ingite my tempers My tempers igniting my passion For crooked scrawls on Public restroom walls A plea for sanctuaries And clean cups without lipstick stains Tending to my miseries In a bathroom stall In some shady little honkytonk bar 1:43 pm, downtown Nashville With numbers on bar napkins And aspirin in my palm.

4 hours later 3003724 Anonymous
robins egg shell blue embraces atop Her collarbone fabric layers and strings askew abreast Her ample bosom imperfect skin invites side glances (gazing on Her pinkish self) to meet of waiting V on the crease of ceaseless shadows. Alluring vacant azure eyes glide up to greet the ceiling copper curls skip instep as She walks on with Her day. Or.. dawn drowns out all, all back-lit bound bathing locked up with light.

4 hours later 3003773 Anonymous
A physically retarded weenis who knew why? This weenis was most challenged 'n robbed O his pride Though stand he tried His corpus distraught He curséd the laws of gravity and whatnot Shaking a fig at the Lord, O why? A weenis contorted and crippled Hath sighed His comrades engorged and full-blooded gents His flaccidicity a curse and O how he wept His tears swept though The parch-stricken land And verdant fields grew From that a large tree To offer fruit and shelter For all the peenies Thus he was hailed as a king, as a God! O Sweaty Spaghetti! From thus he was called.

4 hours later 3003806 Anonymous
the car was surprisingly harmonious built by complaints fueled by complaints driven by complaints roused with coughs and splutters because a key was turned and left rusted and empty of parts.

5 hours later 3003820 Anonymous
Another thread for poetry, the reader says 'Oh noetry'. Most of these might be on par, but I wouldnt know, TL;DR

5 hours later 3003830 Anonymous
This thread is bad And now I am sad

5 hours later 3003854 Anonymous
On the edge of the Illusionary World There was a writer With a blank page in front of him The only illusion was his writing skill

5 hours later 3003873 Anonymous
A crow flew overhead Under its wing there was a gash The more it flew, the more it bled I wonder if the blood drops made a splash Single drops hit my window My supply of glass cleaner ran out

13 hours later 3004520 Anonymous
And now, a lymeric: There once was a man named Dave Who kept a dead whore in his cave It smelled like shit, and had one tit But hey, look at the money he saved /thread

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