Lainon poetry

A round for the lost and the fallen, A round for these friends of mine, That we may remember we knew them, And when we fall be remembered in kind.

A guy called barnet planned to make a second edition for >>110 Are you still there ?

know nothing but know much fallen in a infinite regress where will this lead us? to yet another wall going meta, until even mereology gets abstract what is that micro? what is that macro? cartesian dualism or physicalism? ideal or real? direct or indirect? tumbling down into the void... wait, are you a reductionist now? all those postmodernist soykaf, where are you going? so the world is not boolean now, it's "intuitionistic" you're just throwing as many references as you can can't even write the right way stupid .a'o xamgu nicte

Doesn't necessarily reflect but my beliefs but I still wrote it. Awakened within darkness Clutching sheets Sweating as his Heart beats, hurtling into The abyss Give him pennies For we all must cross Bird of Heliopolis Wisdom lost, but never is Layed to rest forevermore Birthed again in hidden lore What happens when the sun doesn't rise What happens when the sun doesn't rise There was a Prince of Egypt Occupied with sighs His father, King of Egypt Put Holy Land to his eyes "Prince, take domain and keep it I am to meet my demise." The Prince made court help lead it But they only told him lies. my haiku for a university contest (had to be library themed) : Alexandrian: Of erudition living in that precious time

>>167 Often I remember my nocturne dear A haunting voice dwelt within my abode A heavenly partner to fill my ear The fire of my heart within the dark cold Ever loyal to that most precious air Without want of knowing body or form I had grown to adore the voice so fair That sacred aria rolling through the dorm At nightfall, eleven o'clock she rang When the moon is traveling shaded skies I was giddy, elated when she sang My manner then always so keen to sighs Tenderest, mournful songs she only sings, of love precious, then tragedy in tow So best to tug at my wanting heartstrings, beckoning in most beautous contralto After many a sweet month of sighing Dwelling within distanced admiration My desire I could not keep denying To meet my seraph of adoration Down east hall I wagered its source I'd find I had reasoned her voice to a science So ingrained was it now within my mind I was a scholar to its appliance My heart in my throat, I strode through the dark Knowing at the end of my train to find My lone Venus, struck by her voice's dart The sole brightness occupying my mind At the end of the hall I reached her cell Rapping to portal with an anxious hand Imagine my shock when I couldn't tell That the source of my sighs was a man!

In Dillman's Grove my love did die, and now in ground shall ever lie. None could ever replace her visage, until your face brought thoughts of kissage.

>>169 >kissage heh.

>>119 Still here Bob. Last attempt sort of 404'ed without being noticed too much (although admittedly I could've done more to promote it). I'd be willing to give it another go, if there's interest?

A solitary autumnal leaf begins it's decent towards every living beings end destination. Separated, from it's mother, siblings, and home, it twists in the wind. It dances beautifully; for the moment it becomes a part of a larger ballet, joining dozens of others painting the treeline several shades of reds yellows and oranges, And then it dies, Silently contributing to the muddied brown that covers the forrest floor, and in time the wet, earthy smell characterizing forrest life.

>>184 The ballet... I particularly enjoyed this one. Thanks This is an extract from a song called "people gloves" Say the bonds fit like a glove But love doesnt fit flies like a dove We fit into dozens throughout our lives Get a new pair every winter and cherish when cold hits hard Hard like ice But when the trees turn back to green Scarves fall to the floor like leaves We forget about sweaters The gloves disappear We can never find one or the other again It doesnt bother us We buy a new pair Miss the warmth of the previous one Miss the familiarity of a pair that fits for a while Let the gloves convey your soul You will never find a place to let it grow than your hands Pure, ever in sight Hard to cover But harder to hide I just want to use my hands I just want to use my hands Love doesnt fit Love torns Of it i am not worth

O pointy birds, o pointy pointy, Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.

>>193 Really liked it. Although I would remove the last line: >Of it i am not worth It initially fits from idealism/romanticism to on the end go to conformism/realism, but then, on the last line, it shifts to auto-depreciation (or others would say that it can be read as a extreme idealism). Didn't liked that end.

For time a glowing ember shines, Bright hot against the tranquil sea, And so its pretty lies remind, Glimpses seen of holy unity. Righteous might and Honos's fire, Will sing of glory that awaits, Of enemies who earned their ire, And the justice of their fates. Head held high and sword in hand, With white hot coals behind our eyes, On right's side we go and stand, Oh how we yearn to hear their cries. But, in time, the glow will fade, And ash and bile will take its stead, And so the truth set on parade, Will come and show its cruel head. And looking back we only see, The bold folly of our way, And so in silence we will be, Until we burn another day.

> 212 thats a nice one :)

Her Subtle image follows me wherever I may go- I glimpse it ev'ry now and then -today or tomorrow- Her image now -it haunts me still- forever in my soul I lover her more than anything but never will she know {Pic unrelated}

’Twas in the middle of the night, To sleep young William tried, When Mary’s ghost came stealing in, And stood at his bedside. O William dear! O William dear! My rest eternal ceases; Alas! my everlasting peace Is broken into pieces. I thought the last of all my cares Would end with my last minute; But though I went to my long home, I didn’t stay long in it. The body-snatchers they have come, And made a snatch at me; It’s very hard them kind of men Won’t let a body be! You thought that I was buried deep, Quite decent-like and chary, But from her grave in Mary-bone, They’ve come and boned your Mary. The arm that used to take your arm Is took to Dr. Vyse; And both my legs are gone to walk The hospital at Guy’s. I vowed that you should have my hand, But fate gives us denial; You’ll find it there, at Dr. Bell’s, In spirits and a phial. As for my feet, the little feet You used to call so pretty, There’s one, I know, in Bedford Row, The t’other’s in the City. I can’t tell where my head is gone, But Doctor Carpue can; As for my trunk, it’s all packed up To go by Pickford’s van. I wish you’d go to Mr. P. And save me such a ride; I don’t half like the outside place, They’ve took for my inside. The cock it crows — I must be gone! My William, we must part! But I’ll be yours in death, altho’ Sir Astley has my heart. Don’t go to weep upon my grave, And think that there I be; They haven’t left an atom there Of my anatomie.

My first ever attempt at poetry: It’s really quite simple isn't it. We feed ourselves to feed ourselves Cook so we can cook breathe so we can die. But what do we do when our interests grow? what happens when we stop and think No. Does it show? will this exploitive machine ever go? I don’t think so.

>>173 Im interested i would like to submit a poem reppin my home city hopefully therees more interest

>>173 ++ for interest. I haven't written poetry in a few years, and would submit song lyrics here if they weren't attached to my real identity. But if this got together I'd happily work at writing some again, as well as supporting the project as much as possible.

Five hours, (and who can do it less in?) By haughty Celia spent in dressing; The goddess from her chamber issues, Arrayed in lace, brocades and tissues. Strephon, who found the room was void, And Betty otherwise employed, Stole in, and took a strict survey, Of all the litter as it lay; Whereof, to make the matter clear, An inventory follows here. And first a dirty smock appeared, Beneath the armpits well besmeared. Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide, And turned it round on every side. On such a point few words are best, And Strephon bids us guess the rest, But swears how damnably the men lie, In calling Celia sweet and cleanly. Now listen while he next produces The various combs for various uses, Filled up with dirt so closely fixt, No brush could force a way betwixt. A paste of composition rare, Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair; A forehead cloth with oil upon’t To smooth the wrinkles on her front; Here alum flower to stop the steams, Exhaled from sour unsavory streams, There night-gloves made of Tripsy’s hide, Bequeathed by Tripsy when she died, With puppy water, beauty’s help Distilled from Tripsy’s darling whelp; Here gallypots and vials placed, Some filled with washes, some with paste, Some with pomatum, paints and slops, And ointments good for scabby chops. Hard by a filthy basin stands, Fouled with the scouring of her hands; The basin takes whatever comes The scrapings of her teeth and gums, A nasty compound of all hues, For here she spits, and here she spews. But oh! it turned poor Strephon’s bowels, When he beheld and smelled the towels, Begummed, bemattered, and beslimed With dirt, and sweat, and earwax grimed. No object Strephon’s eye escapes, Here petticoats in frowzy heaps; Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot All varnished o’er with snuff and snot. The stockings why should I expose, Stained with the marks of stinking toes; Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking, Which Celia slept at least a week in? A pair of tweezers next he found To pluck her brows in arches round, Or hairs that sink the forehead low, Or on her chin like bristles grow.

>>253 The virtues we must not let pass, Of Celia’s magnifying glass. When frightened Strephon cast his eye on’t It showed visage of a giant. A glass that can to sight disclose, The smallest worm in Celia’s nose, And faithfully direct her nail To squeeze it out from head to tail; For catch it nicely by the head, It must come out alive or dead. Why Strephon will you tell the rest? And must you needs describe the chest? That careless wench! no creature warn her To move it out from yonder corner; But leave it standing full in sight For you to exercise your spite. In vain the workman showed his wit With rings and hinges counterfeit To make it seem in this disguise A cabinet to vulgar eyes; For Strephon ventured to look in, Resolved to go through thick and thin; He lifts the lid, there needs no more, He smelled it all the time before. As from within Pandora’s box, When Epimetheus op’d the locks, A sudden universal crew Of human evils upwards flew; He still was comforted to find That Hope at last remained behind; So Strephon lifting up the lid, To view what in the chest was hid. The vapors flew from out the vent, But Strephon cautious never meant The bottom of the pan to grope, And foul his hands in search of Hope. O never may such vile machine Be once in Celia’s chamber seen! O may she better learn to keep Those “secrets of the hoary deep!” As mutton cutlets, prime of meat, Which though with art you salt and beat As laws of cookery require, And toast them at the clearest fire; If from adown the hopeful chops The fat upon a cinder drops, To stinking smoke it turns the flame Pois’ning the flesh from whence it came, And up exhales a greasy stench, For which you curse the careless wench; So things, which must not be expressed, When plumped into the reeking chest, Send up an excremental smell To taint the parts from whence they fell. The petticoats and gown perfume, Which waft a stink round every room. Thus finishing his grand survey, Disgusted Strephon stole away Repeating in his amorous fits, Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia soykafs! But Vengeance, goddess never sleeping Soon punished Strephon for his peeping; His foul imagination links Each Dame he sees with all her stinks: And, if unsavory odors fly, Conceives a lady standing by: All women his description fits, And both ideas jump like wits: But vicious fancy coupled fast, And still appearing in contrast. I pity wretched Strephon blind To all the charms of female kind; Should I the queen of love refuse, Because she rose from stinking ooze? To him that looks behind the scene, Satira’s but some pocky queen. When Celia in her glory shows, If Strephon would but stop his nose (Who now so impiously blasphemes Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams, Her washes, slops, and every clout, With which he makes so foul a rout) He soon would learn to think like me, And bless his ravished sight to see Such order from confusion sprung, Such gaudy tulips raised from dung.

>>200 Agreed. Also a hint of defeatism. "Love torns so i'll convince myself i dont need it or im not worth it"

>>173 Interested as I'm trying to write haiku. You could post the rules on the wiki (with deadlines and contact infos for example)

two poems i wrote when i was 16~17 it's really not that good i haven't written anything ever since STRAY DOGS In an attempt to flee from the present, I hide in the temple of my skull. A sadness could be felt. The Sadness became one with the morning haze. I sail down the meanders of memory And reach a familiar landscape. Ecstasy; your feet trampled the blue grass. The Sadness became one with the stray dogs. You approach me with your marble skin, I know all the mounds of your veins, And your laughter heals my skull. Sadness and laughter resounding. Yet all I have left of you Is a memory of a memory. An iridescent ersatz of life. Sadness, as an attempt to flee from the present. You are a forgotten deity in the temple of my skull Sealed by my own frustration and anger. Sadness, collapsing into remembrance. UNTITLED some things can not be harvested by the bees or the ants for they are light and vaporous intangible as ether such frivolous things are found sleeping and playing in the bottom of those heavy empty whiskey bottles

He is searching the floor for needles and blood He thinks the unthinkable couldnt but could he realizes the sex in his lungs and struggles to breathe, opens her mouth and is beginning to heave Pills enter bloodstream as brain becomes numb, mind dumb. eyes glaze over hands shake ground quakes as heart aches and head bakes makes mistakes less great too late to turn back bodies in bags bodies in sacks butcher shop crop tops and heads drop lopped off intestines showing stomachs touching and pants unbuttoned. power struggles, and if any bitch lets him try he will so his advice is to strike first. Bunnies into bats, and cheetahs into rats. Natural borders flipped into reverse orders, men into machines and machines into human beings.

Sometime during eternity some guys show up and one of them who shows up real late is a kind of carpenter from some square-type place like Galilee and he starts wailing and claiming he is hip to who made heaven and earth and that the cat who really laid it on us is his Dad And moreover he adds It’s all writ down on some scroll-type parchments which some henchmen leave lying around the Dead Sea somewheres a long time ago and which you won’t even find for a coupla thousand years or so or at least for nineteen hundred and fortyseven of them to be exact and even then nobody really believes them or me for that matter You’re hot they tell him And they cool him They stretch him on the Tree to cool And everybody after that is always making models of this Tree with Him hung up and always crooning His name and calling Him to come down and sit in on their combo as if he is the king cat who’s got to blow or they can’t quite make it Only he don’t come down from His Tree Him just hang there on His Tree looking real Petered out and real cool and also according to a roundup of late world news from the usual unreliable sources real dead

I don't even like poetry. But I can't sleep and I wrote this. When last I met her, she wore her sins as flowers in her hair, forced me to lay there, spreading ashes in the air. Put my name to a dream that wasn't to be, as she keeps no eyes for the heart of me. Bound to a sleeper whom saw me a keeper, her empty laughter draw my sorrows still deeper. As I remove my limbs to keep my finger from trembling, I fear what my world is somehow resembling, In a future that see pain bound by golden bands, forged by the suffering that tore apart our folded hands, muttering motion as runs the grains of our eternal sands.

Oh freddled gruntbuggly, Thy micturations are to me As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee. Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes, And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles, Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts With my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!

The ringy planet fell to Earth, and cursed her cold Atlantic berth. She loved the starry thoroughfare, and thought that fairies held her there. Till evil puppets cut her string and made her fall, and made her sing. "Oh Chrysler Building take my ring, and with your pointy steeple thing, please lift me up to outer space" The neon building's deco face lit up as it began its race. ...up to the top of space it went with its beloved ornament, and to a nail (securely bent) she hung and hummed and spun.

>>688 Perched upon my lone settee, I peered at what there was to see. Across the running eastern sea (It's east of them but west from me). The Chrysler Building raised its head, and to the planet ringed and red, Triangularly toothy said "I've fallen for you heels o'er head". The planet then began to cry, and twisting through the inky sky, She sang her lonely space reply... "Come take this broken ring and fly".

No matter how hard you hide or be hid, no matter how hard you ignore or be ignored, and no matter how far you escape or be lost track of. There will always be more brain poison to kill your focus, always more poison people to stab your brain, and always more thought poison to stab poison people’s brains. Because functional love does not love loves dysfunctional self-destructive love of love. You can lay your head on the ground and dream of love, and dream of a better world Because when the world is dying we live through our dreams, and when the world is living we die at night. Young Paul talks through rhyme no different than he walks through time. Young Paul tries to get up bright and early to scrub away the planes of pain his four-dimensional time walking rhyme talking people obsessed disgusting repossessed undressed beaten tough and used but not enough misshapen offensive body. Yet no matter how hard he tries there will always be more brain poison to kill his focus, always more poison people to stab his brain, and always more thought poison to stab poison people’s brains. Outside the parking lot, she puts her gun to his brain, disgusting winding intestine brain; she can’t stand to look at it. “I’ve met thousands like you, and if this is the last time I meet another you.” She pauses. “God move my hand.” Young Paul envisions the bend of that trigger, impossible to comprehend the bigger thoughts moving this lot tonight. “I’ve given you all I’ve got, why here on this lot?” “Because functional love does not love loves dysfunctional self-destructive love of love.” Clicks the hammer in her hand. “So you can lay your head on the ground and dream of love, and dream of a better world”. Young Paul begs his lover, knees dig in the earth and hands hover. Head down he asks the ground, “The better part of my memory is of we, and of you I think this might hold true too. Why forsake all we have done?” His head feels up the gun. As she bends down and whispers, the answer reaches Young Paul’s ears “Because when the world is dying we live through our dreams, and when the world is living we die at night.” The bullet says goodbye. “So you can bleed out and sleep here, while the rest of us live”.

Life is short And pleasures few And holed the ship And drowned the crew But o! But o! How very blue the sea is.

>>965 I love this.

They fuarrrk you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fuarrrked up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another’s throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself.

>>965 >>969 Yes.

Morning, noon & bloody night, Seven sodding days a week, I slave at filthy WORK, that might Be done by any book-drunk freak. This goes on until I kick the bucket. fuarrrk IT fuarrrk IT fuarrrk IT fuarrrk IT

The fuarrrking cops are fuarrrking keen To fuarrrking keep it fuarrrking clean The fuarrrking chief’s a fuarrrking swine Who fuarrrking draws a fuarrrking line At fuarrrking fun and fuarrrking games The fuarrrking kids he fuarrrking blames Are nowhere to be fuarrrking found Anywhere in Chickentown The fuarrrking scene is fuarrrking sad The fuarrrking news is fuarrrking bad The fuarrrking weed is fuarrrking turf The fuarrrking speed is fuarrrking surf The fuarrrking folks are fuarrrking daft Don’t make me fuarrrking laugh It fuarrrking hurts to look around Everywhere in Chickentown The fuarrrking train is fuarrrking late You fuarrrking wait you fuarrrking wait You’re fuarrrking lost and fuarrrking found Stuck in fuarrrking Chickentown The fuarrrking view is fuarrrking vile For fuarrrking miles and fuarrrking miles The fuarrrking babies fuarrrking cry The fuarrrking flowers fuarrrking die The fuarrrking food is fuarrrking muck The fuarrrking drains are fuarrrking fuarrrked The colour scheme is fuarrrking brown Everywhere in Chickentown The fuarrrking pubs are fuarrrking dull The fuarrrking clubs are fuarrrking full Of fuarrrking girls and fuarrrking guys With fuarrrking murder in Their eyes A fuarrrking bloke is fuarrrking stabbed Waiting for a fuarrrking cab You fuarrrking stay at fuarrrking home The fuarrrking neighbours fuarrrking moan Keep The fuarrrking racket down This is fuarrrking Chickentown The fuarrrking train is fuarrrking late You fuarrrking wait you fuarrrking wait You’re fuarrrking lost and fuarrrking found Stuck in fuarrrking Chickentown The fuarrrking pies are fuarrrking old The fuarrrking chips are fuarrrking cold The fuarrrking beer is fuarrrking flat The fuarrrking flats have fuarrrking rats The fuarrrking clocks are fuarrrking wrong The fuarrrking days are fuarrrking long It fuarrrking gets you fuarrrking down Evidently Chickentown

The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool. They lay. They rotted. They turned Around occasionally. Bits of flesh dropped off them from Time to time. And sank into the pool's mire. They also smelt a great deal.

Putty. Putty. Putty. Green Putty - Grutty Peen. Grarmpitutty - Morning! Pridsummer - Grorning Utty! Discovery..... Oh. Putty?..... Armpit? Armpit..... Putty. Not even a particularly Nice shade of green. As I lick my armpit and shall agree, That this putty is very well green.

>>136 I like it.

I came home from work. The apartment was empty. Again I failed to change.

Our vigil pierces the night, Backs warm but eyes turned from the light, The stale smoke fills our lungs, As a half-heard tune takes our tongues, But for our voices we cannot hear, "Your watch is over come sit by the fire."

With the wind in my hair, And the rain on my face, I'll harden my heart, And quicken my pace. --- I walked into a desert, With nothing but a name, No memory, no thought, And no-one else to blame. The past holds all the answers, But it holds them not for me, A single solemn whisper sounds, Saying, "just let it be." There's wisdom in the whisper, But as it passes by, I turn towards the heavens, And shout my defiance to the sky.

He jumps into the abysm with eyes wide shut he only can hear his own thoughts 'I should've done this and that' 'My life has been a complete waste' He reaches the ground

>>1037 The hammer strikes down, Muscles strain taut and sparks fly. Darkness envelopes.

>>1078 This is actually really real

Something really edgy I wrote when I was younger: I’ve become dead inside All emotions I strive to hide As I mentally corrode I stain the world of which I strode Rotting into nothing, decaying to immolation I obtain a status abhorred by all nations Hatred reciprocal, I abhor them too Though, all that is ever achieved is pain trough and through Loathing, anguish, misery That is all is left of me

No loli Oh thoust ye who forsworn my light for now only darkness where once was bright Over exposure has a dulling effect to be cut off at the neck when before erect Time has now past puffy vulva is over and kept was i from this precious second has now past into present Poking out now for a sturdy bow is not flat but the time before then ten to eleven maybe starting at 7 missed, well.. not all of it Greatfull am i for the time that we shared but now loli has grown shown now my despair Nothing left to write to say i wonder how many more will i make the full day

If it starts with a 2 all is good for you. If it starts with a 3 look elsewhere and you'll see. If it starts with a 4 you must try once more. If it starts with a 5 a bug report should arrive.

>>1315 That was pretty good. >>1078 4real8me

>>1314 >>1315 >no loli Shows a crappy fanservice of children. getout pedo

and all at once, you sank into your dreams. there you found it, coins glittering on the ground, a dog like a bowstring humming and the shadow of two twins coiling up the trunk of a smoke-soaked tree. a doorway is a passage, you find, connecting two rooms anywhere. so this simultaneity will be with you: now & in your dreams. there crosses the blue line: loosed arrow across a sea of ice, where spreads knowledge as wings & all unseen things hidden in the eye. you lose control -- drag it in the mud, dress it as a dancer to the feather, mask of spice and salt howling vowels: A E I O U to remake you, eternal birth again with you. there is a sword the scabbard can't contain - blue lightning, you said my name from the sun's own lips and nakedness, and the same where the sea was glass just behind the falling shrines.

>>1078 >Again I failed to change. Your clothing?

I'd like to know what you think "In Transit" -------------- In a place where everyone waits, — I wait the longest In a place where everyone leaves, — I leave last In a place where everyone hopes, — do I? I don’t know But the bus will come when it will come, The hot cup in my hand will cool when it will cool, And perhaps I will find what I am waiting for when eternity has finally run out and all that remains is the sweet smell of rain

Pointy birds in Dillman's Grove On pointy legs hop to and fro While in said grove, there I doth sat Afeared upon me birds would shat.

Ask this geezer why he's fat, He leans right down and fuarrrks the cat. And thats ok, it's not a crime, He does it on his bosses time. I was originally not going to post this for fear of bringing down the thread quality. But then I did it anyway!

Alone in bed breathing ragged nameless fear the blackest abyss one thing comforts this too shall pass

>>1723 another from the same lainon: roving aimlessly like a blind fish spot to spot, nothing accomplished mind wriggling as if trapped in mud no escape, only a glimmer of what-could-be resolutions abandoned, fears succumbed to the future unknowable, the past barely remembered faces come and go with alarming frequency is anything what it seems? Am I crazy?

Months before leaving the city I grew up in, that I tried so desperately to escape, I stand with a friend by my side, in a neglected pedway watching the cars travel below me the slight condensation on the windows creates a soft image of the world outside. In such a calm incredible moment everything suddenly makes sense. I realise the city wasn't holding me back it was me.

Lots of good stuff in this thread; glad that lainons have a place to post all of it. linking to Rattle's daily poem blog below, it's a really good standard to compare yourself to: https://www.rattle.com/ >>1078 very effective. simple. >>1612 wonderful!

A delusion of discerning taste, and a gross compulsion to make waste, left me humbled, by the art. Pen meets paper, and the ink to page, jealous of the lyrical sage, a wordless shame creeps upon my face. A writing table is soon left dark.

I call this one Literal Shi7posting >>1968 A delight of porcelain adorns the throne gross cheeks make waste above the dome left me humbled, a huge fart smell hits my nose and lasts an age olfactory nerves began to rage "better out than in!" I do condone just eat no more the savoury tart >>1794 Lots of good stuff in this thread; I'll make it about poo instead glad lainanons have a place to post I bet my laxatives work the most Linking to Rattle's daily poem blog I wish you'd endorse my big easter log It's a really good standard to compare oneself to but hasn't enough puns pulled from the loo rattle.com my poos come from very effective, simple have that poo lest your face wrinkle "wonderful!" one shall exclaim when one has emptied and pulled the chain

Upon the top of a windswept hill, looking down below on empty fields, there the castle stands, craggy and worn, by bloody hands and toil born. Long has it fulfilled its ancient duty, a drawn bridge makes entry easy, thick walls smothering, muttering, muttering. Empty halls reeking of nerves and sweat, reminders of subjects whose fate was ill met, shoved to service by gilded hands, "Exclude for your king your god and their lands." So burly men guarded burlier gates, to protect the lord and his estate. Opulent fortress. Distress, distress.

At the top of a snowy mountain, there lies the end of a rainy autumn, silent like an empty fountain, quiet whisper's smallest quantum.

Badly translated from something I made for my gf, not very good, but my best, or at least the best from the 14 year old tier poetry I usually do. About the strange I present the next thesis: There is certain feeling towards the absurd, A disconnection from our surroundings, if you will, Often accompanied by a certain, peculiar grace. Humor at the strange and absurd, The merit it sustains for certain ones, Will make clear one of two things: The strangeness of the fact or the subject.

Idk how to make poetry in english, it's not my maternal language, but I'm not losing anything for trying once. When I was young I used to dream of endless possibilities floating across the blue sky alon the never-ending clouds. But our childhood dreams fall apart like the balloon you lost that day disappearing towards a place you can no longer remember. Now that disinflated balloon just resembles to our last hopes of floating around like the clouds not worrying about where we go. I ask to myself if someday when the end starts drawing near if I will feel again the joy of floating free across the sky.

Floating in a mind I thought about thinking. There came an idea And then it went. Came sounds, came lights, driving me out, And I just floated Writing. How many words Are there For me to be around Today? I wrote these words When lost but I don't know where. It's time To do.

>>1238 very sad >>1246 a bit too obvious >>1723 is this about having a bad trip? I think I thought this nearly verbatim once >>2224 I think this one is very pretty Here's mine Beating heart, beating heart Shall I stop thy bleeding art? Beating heart, beating heart From thy beat my problems start Covetous and iron wrought Finds me love that I want not Beating heart, you beat in vain For loving bouts all burn the same Endlessly you push me on Thru raging nights and weeping dawn Beating heart, you'll never rest Till an arrow pierce my breast Beating heart, you strange machine Tell me what it is you've seen Do you work for brighter day Or do you beat for my dismay? Beating Heart! Tell me soon For I can't bear another moon O Beating heart, O beating heart Is life just your bleeding art?

Passing in the street our eyes locked for a second enough I don't know you I never will but in that second I saw you, I saw your dreams, your hope, your fear, your fire wordless, timeless, fleeting like a snatch of birdsong through the traffic what did you see in my eyes? I like to think it was the same thing probably you saw some weirdo staring at you but you stared back and that's enough

>>169 >>199 >>1712 these are the best ones

You were there even if you weren't Sitting there with Jesus and the Twelve Watching me at my grandma's kitchen Jumping between the frames and patterns Carved in my eyelids I see your face. You are there even if you aren't Emanating sugar from your lips While I drown myself with aspirins Your breath keeps the pressure on my chest My life lingers in exhalations. You will always be there Even if you are not. The sugar in my coffee The pillow in my coffin Forever, my love.

They robbed me blind, and I'm afraid to see What's left if they left not my eyes to me.

pseud nonsense in the dark i wave my body to music trying to grasp on to a flawed anthropocentric meaning like ancient apemen with the banging of the drum it's rhythm signifying carbon-based lifeforms' recoqnization of patterns and therefore need for the afformentioned death is life. ur not individual. all is determined, -ploding cyclicly. tune out and dissolve.

>>3746 In the dark I wonder how it feels to dance Art through motion, but no different than talking to oneself for I am alone Life is life. I am myself. All is determined, but I am not God. Thus, choices feel like choices. Under the illusion of freedom I seek to grow.

>>661 Vogons go home

>>3680 Beating heart, beating heart To what end did you start? Beating heart, beating heart In this play, what is to be my part? Covetous, I wrought chains of love By which to bind other souls to my own Yearning heart, you yearn in vain For even by love, love cannot be tamed Bonds once dissolved, create a void A void, once experienced, must be filled Anxious heart, you'll never know peace Unless hope to love shall forever cease Foolish heart, you strange machine I must know why it is you are so keen Do you have no memory of past pain? Or is it by desperation or mercy you seek again? Beating Heart! Give me absolution For I cannot bear the lack of resolution O beating heart, O beating heart, In this play, what is to be my part?

>>199 O shiny eyes, o shiny shiny Spice my soul, spicey-picey.

>>3745 I robbed him blind, and now have his surplus of courage Such a fool, afraid that if he cannot see the world that the world cannot see him.

>>3354 Visiting their mind I thought about thoughts about thinking There came an idea and then it went. Came sounds, came lights but still I stayed observing. How many words Are there For me to borrow today? I did not write these words When found, I was here. The time has come To be.

>>1078 I came home from work The apartment was empty. Alone we are not.

And now, an original before I go. Although if these words can be called poetry (which they might), then I might be made a fool for believing I can be understood (which I cannot). I do not know you, but I want to love you, because I hope that I too can be loved. I have not seen you, but I want to see you, because I hope that I too can be seen. I have not heard you, but I want to hear you, because I hope that I too can be heard. But I know that, in the end, these are mere words. Between the AT fields of our souls there lies an insurmountable gap and a distinct lack of tang. And even offered such a thing, I would still be afraid to drink it. Am I whole? If not, should I even try to be? I do not know you, but I want to love you, because I hope that I too can be loved.

>>3774 thanks this is what it sounded like in my head

I am a virtuous sage (swag) I work minimum wage (swag) When I get off stage (swag) Level 60 Mage (swagswagswag)

>>3808 No, thank you. By responding you have let me feel like I managed to communicate with and understand your art with my own. I am grateful for this brief and fleeting connection and wish the both of us growth, peace, and understanding.

>>3781 I know you, and I love you, because I know that you too can be loved. I have seen you, and still want to see you, because I know that we both can be seen. I have heard you, but I want to hear more, because I know there is no end to our depth I know that, without ends, words suffice only partially. Within the fabric of our soul there feels an impossibility and yet we only wish for what we don't have. I could eat all there is and yet still be wrought with fear, of not being whole, and only because you don't believe us to be so. I've always known you, but I've always loved you, because I too hope I can be love.

>>1314 u lied to me

Left of the tracks underneath a sky watching the sidewalk crack Tall, mint, brick, empty. Caverns to house the dark. Broken glass lets me see into a threnody. Forklifts recline, patiently, Quiet, quiet, dirty, dark. Maybe tomorrow, maybe. Alone a red Mack sleeps, waiting, rusting, hoping for the working man to come back, working to feed his family, to sell himself, happily for forty hours instead of sixty but presently its quiet, quiet, dirty, dark. No bell tolls for the industrial park. Beside the interstate just behind a chainlink fence bricks recline with slate Scarlet stone, gray dirt. Quiet, quiet, dirty, dark. No work left at the industrial park.

Three white lucky cats wave in morning Dawn's bruised fingers prod the wrong half of the moon Nudging it off stage right. Lights fade in to misted neon On the ORACLE and the MORTICIAN Blowing the steam off their orange juice, Talking over each other's shoulders So as not to get infected by love's gaze. A dozen teapots lined up along the wall Stretching into a long infinity beyond Losing colour as the gradient bleaches     MORTICIAN: I reckon one of em's got something in it     ORACLE: What would that something be? Wisps of contemplative smoke Rise off the MORTICIAN And the ORACLE nurses a mint As a chess game plays out at their feet; Two knights corner a rook Beating it into a checkers piece Then moving on. The POET enters from under the table To top off the mugs with a fresh splash And answer the question the MORTICIAN can't     POET: It would be a dice, of course     MORTICIAN: And why would that be?     POET: What else could it be? Nothing can be said in response For everything is art to the POET's deaf ears While the ORACLE stares into the pulpy depths Trying to find the porcelain bottom To hide her penumbral grin. Sirens and bells sound in the distance Counting a forgotten hour no one keeps Drilling out a shrill arythmic tone, Blocked out but not ignored. Something whistles, something shatters, A knife clatters to the floor Leaving the MORTICIAN to point at a former teapot, Two white pips stare up from red squares among the shards Which the POET pockets compulsively. The tab is settled ahead of time signed by the ORACLE Mors irrumat omnia Death fuarrrks us all

>>8 >>110 I enjoyed much of the poetry in this thread and am putting together a new collection. If anyone else has poetry they'd like to see in it, please submit soon

Hi. I enjoy writing Haiku (albeit without the seasonal references). I'd like to share one I wrote a short while after my fiance dumped me She went far away and took my heart with her I wither away I admit it could use some work, I dont like using 'far away' or 'heart' but I just cant think of anything better

Boy... You'll be a man... soon. You go outside with a light of your smoke but with the dames you find your self broke you say "She's just not my type." Go to the bar and drink all your woes Go out alone and see all the shows It's every night Oh oh oh oh Boy... Soon to be a Man

This is "Horse Lattitudes" by Jim Morrison, extended by one of those AI systems. I forget which one. When the still sea conspires an armor And her sullen and aborted Currents breed tiny monsters True sailing is dead Awkward instant And the first animal is jettisoned Legs furiously pumping Their stiff green gallop And heads bob up Poise Delicate Pause Consent In mute nostril agony Carefully refined And sealed over the wind's Tough jaws A cold sweat Pulse Anxiety Dry skin and cold feet The first bird flies The second and the third And the fourth And then the fifth Like a dream Like a dream In the mist A green bird The wind blows the sea The wind blows the sea The sea turns into foam And it comes A strange and terrible sight A man who has lost his senses It's been a dream A green bird It's been a dream A green bird It's been a dream A green bird

I need to find some of my poetry. I'll get back to you

Toked up, lets see what the creative juices cause "Very well", I doth decree For the things in which I have seen We hold her there in times of woe The memories do begin to flow The times of pain, the times of sorrow The feelings of no tomorrow Memories wain and memorries follow And who is to say what is written We enter her in majistrate We ask her what she can give day unto day We ask for her compliance, a submissive bitch but those who respect her get scratched their itch Some hath said we should do away With the things we have made to use her gay But nonetheless, the union must a solution must be found unmussed Her greenish hair, with bluish-browns Even Cassandra walked her grounds 'Twas here before the dawn of Man She shall continue until the end of sand Who is she?

I am closer to the elder Gods than any of the modern flaws I am seen as arcane, and strange, and lame But they never see my brightest of flames They listen with machines that are abnormal While I have the superior; not monoaural The beauty of this I do proclaim Seems to make people think I quite insane A wonderful grace of the men who run, Who built the very roads they fought on With no inheritance, they were so Grand Yet their time has passed, with lament and hate Though the eldest among us is not in vogue I speak not of the ones whom created our woes The Men whom did cry "Hoorah" and "Horray", The parents of the ones thought "eldest" today Their sons are more like to the Youth of Today The people who don't know their own world of decay And so I must say I know of All Things, At least what exists in my way My machines around me, arcane to some Yet simple predicessors of what they all now run. A method for music, not mono but quad And a television which is giant and boxy, but fun ;)

The man lived in the woods He was of insperation A gentle man he was Though we turn him into sensations We saw him there in his forrest shack and said he wasn't right! Sure, he did some baddish things But you would too in fright. A man of such intellegence he gave the codebreakers a fright And he was simply revolting against the modern world In which we are uptight Oh Una... Unabomber Theo Kaninisky Oh Una... bomber Oh U...nah...bomber He gives us such a fright! The boogyman, the spooks of all The Men who don't know "Right" Perhaps one of the Just of All We lock him up all tight Oh Unabomber! Please hear our woes We heard of your grand mission We love ye, we respect thee, It's not a ingormamice's plight We hear the woes of our fellow foes And know they fought our fight With blessed wings of imortal prayer With Faust, they'd be alright So give us our Manson, our ATWA, our Rockwell, and hear our friendly cry For we know that ye, Unabombeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer Are among the eldest cry!

I seek the man of visions Whom knows all we see Knows everything that has ever been And shall know all we see His fearless cry, triumphent mind The crack-end of a deal The greatest sky can not rival thyee hero of ideals The man who asked the mighty ghoul To get the grace of day To ask him to pay the ultimate price But not one out of vice to see all the world at bay He came in the starry sky and lives there still To live until the end of time Until he has finally satisfied his ill Dante would have known him well A hermit man, he still sells A doctor who simply held his fright And pledged his soul to Satan To get the colors in his mind Of wisdomic lust never-sating Who is he?

>>5100 fixing previous Dante would have known him well A hermit man, he still sells A doctor who simply held his fright And while men around him chuckled with delight And pledged his soul to Satan To get the colors in his mind Of wisdomic lust never-sating But only if he gets it all will he be free from imortal's gracing

I don't know why this was filtered

Mothers milk Fathers breast Red, red ruby lips Anus flowers Custy crest Dan boy is not a toy

1. I'd like to sing you. What does that mean? Good question, But despite it I'd still like to do it. 2. I'd like to sing you. Sing for me? Sing you. Sing about me? Sing you. 3. Let's sing! I'll sing you, You may sing me. But, I don't know how! Neither do I! Let's sing, It might be beautiful.

>>110 I wrote that last one, feels weird re-reading it. little overly dramatic for me now, but not terrible I guess

Circuitry of light travels below People throughout as motes. A thousand lives compressed into a line. An incandescent organism Writhing in agony. --- Internet god, a teddy Young girl swaddled in /prog/ Lit by cyan Reality unwind Gambino once asked "Is it real because it's online" Is it online, because it's real? Should we all just go to cyberhell? The Teddy draws people to her, To worship her. Facet of personality grasped, Not the real one, not the true one As all hermanutics is.

Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp; Guns arent lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live. - Dorothy Parker This poem birthed my love for this poem... and other poem s

take a note and keep it restrain your shaking hand stray thoughts set loose a tempest To govern air and land silence is chaos And thoughts race like current You cannot lose A moment It's all you'll ever have

any advice on making child poems? i have no experience with poems

The organ atrophied, Can it be replaced? I drew the lines, Can they be erased?

Despite our shortcomings, and horrors It is difficult not to fall in love with people. - You, the person reading this. Mentally content or in turmoil. Are breathtaking. - Your spirit, like absinthe. Filling the air with an herbal complexity. Anise, fennel, and wormwood. - Your tears sprout flowers, and berries. Your crooked smile nurtures them. If one could drink your thoughts, they’d bring a list of flavors. Like that of wine. - Give yourself more credit. You are beautiful, you bless the ground you tread on. - I love you.

Why do we enjoy suffering? Were we designed for that purpose? - We hear it in our music. See it in our behavior. Glorifying violence, against those who look like us. Against those who look different. Glorifying the pain from our environment. From the consequences of our own actions. - When pointed out, or inquired. We say it is a warning to stay away from those sins. A message to behave differently. We preach this from a mountain of money. A pile of glory. - We are ALL like this. We say we are behaving like a different race, as an insult. We ask if we think we are from another ethnicity, when we act differently. Think differently. - Individuality is frowned upon. To hide behind a safe stereotype is the norm. While wearing a mask of acceptance of others. - To be better. Is to be a race traitor. We think hatred is our strength. More munitions for Helter Skelter. - I am afraid. I am terrified. - I am disgusted.

it was midnight when the reverse of a voice, slithered into my veins to constrict my flow of thought. even though all of this was my choice, i still regret every drip of blood it tasted to the last drop i am dripping with the echo now, the echo speaks, and the echo howls, the echo has made my body it's house; the reason why my eyes leak. have you heard the echo? if you havent then you will soon. and when it speaks to you, you will know regret, you will want a tomb. no its not ab heroin use

Black ICE hash Ages shift Awakening

Ｌｅｔ＇ｓ　ｆｉｎｄ　ａ　ｑｕｉｃｋ　ｗａｙ　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｐｌａｃｅ， ａ　ｑｕｉｃｋ　ｗａｙ　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｓｐａｃｅ， ａ　ｑｕｉｃｋ　ｓｐａｃｅ　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｐｌａｃｅ， ａ　ｑｕｉｃｋ　ｐｌａｃｅ　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｓｐａｃｅ．

Whispers and murmurs echoes through the wires, the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. A light blue glow radiating. The transformers constant hum, inaudible distant voices. Outside the rave talking, you hear distant voices, music muddled by the bass bleeding through the walls. Time is moving slow. In the background people laughing, loud voices, confrontations, discussions, things are happening, speed up but slowed down. Warm summer night walking through the empty city. Like a factory at night, assembly lines stand still, that which once was busy, now powered off. Twenty year old conversations, frozen in time, paused, trails of someone long gone. The future looking back, alone, finds comfort in the past. During the night, in the distant past, time stands still. The ever present chatter, intersecting agencies and the incomprehensibly chaotic movement, asleep, revealing what remains and what really is.

>>8550 "A poem" despite no rhythm or structure if standards were tight it wouldnt pass muster If you all are programmers then it pains me to think (but where are my manners) oh well you must stink but thus is this board I can't much complain I am not the lord of all of us lains language and software they go hand in hand well ordered they're pleasant, the rest taste of sand

Ten-faced, night-time, wave-form in-tegrated with iambic, laced, drizzlings of words singed with green, red, ochre tones loosely undulating with the parsimonious vicissitudes of becoming-and-un, home-alone seminars held silently under the sun.. There lies Mira, bless her soul, hiding from conflagration in the cold, never-ending notwithstanding with requisite understanding the flowers will bloom in spring. Finding the time to align the lines that define the signs, re-imagine, sanctity of mind, cornucopia edicts lay low under blankets of ice and snow.. To quantify the subtleties of animal lines we must stay to the end of the day. Here, there, everywhere, the clouds will funnel down, mix and match and close the gap between the sky and the ground.. Heaven and Earth: a ritournelle, around and around and around.

Wand und dübel Wald und Kalt Kalt und Sand Sand und Wald [makes little sense but i heard it in a dream once.]

a poem i wrote for one of my classes this semester. it's about a psychotic episode i had a couple of years ago... thought it might fit here. thanks for reading anons When I first ate an orange I tore off a piece and kept it in my pocket for years, and whenever I was frightened I would run my fingers over it, each one, feeling to the thumb, contemplate taking it out to view as the detached scientist watches the jellyfish in a jar, forever motionless, content in formaldehyde, safely removed from the tentacles that can, will, kill. But I never would, until in the dark fallow times, evenings lying awake sketching the gaps in my memory, I would wrest it from its hiding place and study every divot, dimple, dip and ditch, pit and pitch, the strings connecting it to the body long since torn away. When I turned it just so in the sickly yellow lamp light and noticed the rot, cotton-ball white and moss green and softer than both, I put it back in my pocket and laid in satisfaction that it was there, that I had seen it and remained whole. It kept all those years – to know that it could one day be unsalvageable was enough, yet with smug satisfaction I assured myself that it wouldn’t. Even still, sometimes I held it between my first two fingers, like a cigarette, waited for the pressure of this home-made vice-grip to be so overwhelming that it finally burst. Do you want me to be honest? I never push it too hard. It always goes back into my pocket. When the viscera is caught by the wind, what will I have to keep?

Put ice in jar in a dish Place mirror under star To catch of a fish Pour water in bowl So it’ll have room to swish Soak of thy rags And doest thou quick For tonights the night We go over the Big Drink For Dianna's Great Kiss To pluck of the Apples Called Asaneth’s Tits And capture the castles Over glass mountains Gold fountains And the abyss Slipping like sands Through the collective of fists Sweeping the lands Where none can but miss Like steam rising strands From the pot of our piss Greasing the gears So the clock never clicks Our fine table yet stands Thick as Red Bricks Behind a black veil Playing the greatest known trick To an audience of one Who’s applause’s laying thick Come Opine Your Eyes To The Whirled Dost thou know Why God abhoreth thy sacrifices Fastings and burnt offerings Thy new moons And celebrations of seasons change Tis because thou hast believed that God Would need to receive that which He hath made As if He did not posses it already For in days of old These things were done so as to render praise And that Man might give and receive in thanksgiving Not to appease and placate Nor to cleanse and atone But to glorify creator and creation For what He gave us And to serve as a mirror image Of the true cleansing and atoning Which is within And know that no sacrifice be accepted Lest it be the giving of ourselves And the repentance of fallen lusts For in the new moon And the changing of seasons God gives unto us Not we unto Him He who was crucified was crucified for us Not for Him The Father need not The Son But The Son needeth The Father He giveth life not out of necessity But out of love And compassion Mercy And understanding Dost thou know That the Man who does the Will of God lives forever For His image remains in him And he in Him You were made As the image of God Better start acting like one Im spiritually 23 skiddooing Out the back door early At the cracking of dawn With a sigh of relief And whisk of my palm Im 23 skiddooing Before its all gone Who are the Reality Kings? The Dog Farts And Twisted rings The Suicide Girls And the song the bird sings? I’d rather let the manic whore out Then keep the little bitch in

Monday night, closing hour at local village saloon By name of Gunther's Extremely petit and frail blonde lady tending Bar 40+ and still in pigtails Her name is not Gunther Man enters and removes hat Pushing 29 but appearing to push 60 Sad grimace and bright green windbreaker Remaining entirely calm and unemotional A look of being of the verge of tears is in his eyes Fenced in by an expression of utter seriousness Orders a shot of bourbon Sips off half of it and calmly looks up at the aloof bartendress with deep but gated concern *** Gunther I'm worried about you We've been noticing that you've been living fast and loose lately And that you haven't been yourself I don’t know what we are gonna do about this But I’m deeply concerned And I felt we needed to tell you We've been talking things over And came up with some ideas I think we might able to help you out

If god himself was a duck, The sky would be his lake. He'd glide along the sun-drenched air, Clouds parting in his wake. If god himself was a duck, Each quack a thunderclap, I’d hike to the highest peak To hear his feet tip-tap. If god himself was a duck, He’d nibble at the stars. Entropy would have milestones, Like the time he swallowed Mars. If god himself was a duck, I would not be afraid. His divine judgement could be won With a veg’table buffet. When god himself is a duck, The world will be at ease. And I shall worship as he commands, By growing garden peas.

>>8753 love it Out here Straight up Hammering soykaf The fuarrrk Out I know They like To make you think Its all about What you have to say But really Its all about Where you within your head lay At the end of the day I know They like To make you think Its all about How much you can pay But really Its not the chips in your game Just the way that you play They said She had a nice ass So I gave it a stable And she on a hearth They said She could cook So I gave her a pot And therein her stirred They said she was fine As the wind So I made her come down And breathed her all in They said No one has seen her Yet still I sought her ablind Seeing as it was That I heard her Through time Seeking recognized signs Knowing she left them For me to find The one who I love Shes only waiting To be mined Staring them down Right to the finish Eye on the prize Soul to the limit Staring them down Lovely and true Required observance Endless renew Staring them down Coming up short Condensing the clown To make our retort Staring them down Tis all that it takes Just make sure to keep walking Or you wont awake

Man, impure and indisposed to much (and who can blame Him?), much less mount to the stars, finds himself wallowing for another millennia in his tiny mote of dust. Oblivion is his rule, death his lover. An ellipsis so true it's become painfully cliche. The gyres of heavenly bodies are now a mockery, a reminder it is all too tried and tired and true. Usura and Moloch make love in the Seventh Heaven, their power a mirror of the Primum Mobile, an inversion as all by Saturn's rule is as He watches over His children, salivating? Or frothing? My eyes deceive me. Farthest away in static skies, floaters dazzle as drifting stars leave a trail on glass. Our lot in life is of Mercury and tin aimed at silvery Points, reversed. Eversive.

They were bi curious I was mercurius The new fetish Being over a barrel Rather let the manic whore out Then keep the little bitch in My Marine Mother Mary Pray thou lead us from sin We need a Hermetic Posture Adjustment Before The Running Gags win Because im getting hot and bothered Under the cuffs and collars From these ash cans And chimerian ox herds Mimicry Madness Monsters VS Mescaline Masters Of Bratwurst Toe to Toe And going Banunu Like clockwork The Devil hates being the image of God Thats what you should do Be just like him And learn to call it a good thing too Opine your eyes to the whirled Before they become unfurled We wouldn’t want influence brought to bare Because a bear has gotta influence himself if hes to care And now I think of my life as Philosophical Wine From Fine Oak Kegs In a society of two fisted left wingers Drawing from the dregs What I saw ~ What I thought I saw God is Dead Namely The Death of The Philosopher Stone The birth of skeptical chemistry Its not because I'm some magic man Its because God is a Big Magic Man in The Sky The Delusion of Human Supremacy is festering in the craw of Man Right now What a blessing so to be The experimenter and the experimentee The outcome of operations will be contingent On the measure of thy sympathy Parting the way a universe thinks Bleeding away the red oil that stinks Verily herein is a venerable arcanum connoted I feel that I must tell thee therein thou shalt find it promoted Please excuse my schlemiel I cant seem to shake him Its making me ill How long its been takin Oh please Please excuse My schlemiel Its a heck of a bother With him at the till Your pleasure oh Rabbi Is my one and only wish If you’ll excuse my schlemiel We’ll get on with this bris Please excuse my buffoon Whos come uninvited I did not want him here He who never is silent Please excuse my buffoon Whos high up in the clouds Looking this way He’ll never come downs Please excuse my buffoon Whos been chained to my ass The lock cant be broken Thats holding us fast

>>8757 cant tell if the ending implies the ultimate regeneration of creation or an expectation that all is damnation? always remember the black before the white, just like the dark before the light.

I usually don't write poetry but I did this stupid thing on a whim The tree withers before its prime No fruit to bear, no sugar in its sap The cold wind peeling my bark The sun disappears beyond the horizon The sky so distant from the soil that I poisoned But how pleasant that sky must be The clouds like cotton These fields mere carpet from that breathtaking height It's beauty I'll never know Though I do like to dream My branches rustling with wonder Wonder I shall, as I have no right to claim that blue sky

Lament of an Idol. In balmy Babylon Enseated loftly, Among the high pillars embossed with Gold, I watched the mingled ecstasies of bodies, Blur with the agony of broken bones, Before the pylons graved with imagery, Libate with pythons bile and carrion, where brawny piles brought for my mysteries, Died at the pipe-song of the clarion. Their blood did brawl a flood of frothy gore, Anointing muscles of the hateful great hulks, My servants, swift to slit with sharpened swords, And falsely worship me, the angel ghaib’ro; And I weep hearing the deeds pledged to me, My adamantine hands as to crush the trumpet, To burst my throat and boom in deafening! And see the sinful world be seized from it. Invocation of a word:Incarnadine IN thee INCARNADINE I see a world, The Vales of Crimson bleeding deadly dew, Which clot malignantly a demon-Pearl, And Hordes of vile idols the residue, CARnate as beauty fully boisterous, Like Vi’lent screams from Carthage once rang out, Which drummed the congealed dregs til poisonous, And poured veneific praise on the great mounds, NOThingness coalesced, from darkness born, The Scarlet Star which taints the stainless Void, That pulseth the vein-flow as heart and Lord, And adores all in all with changing Voice, THINE grisly God of harsh carnage and life, Thine is the damned bdelium and Corse-Glow, Thine is the devil’s light sharp as a knife, And thine the sacrifice of the crossroad. Invocation of a word:cerulean By the cerulean skies I am crowned, By wisdom my hand grasps the wind itself, the Scintillating far-lightnings I’ve bound, and faint ether has formed my citadels, About the rim of worlds my simurgh flies, Administering my will cross the vasts, Engrossed with all-pervading wizard-light, I, the sole idol and iconoclast. My expanse crusheth the great Gods on high, The aged plateaus are turnt dust in my day, Alike I rule the kings and troglodytes, Behold my eye, see Earth rushing away. The infinite vistas to yield their full, The subtle sensations in sudden blend, The culmination of the real and Good, I am the flesh of the First Utterance. Contrasting moods(written upon hearing the Kanon ost track promise/約束, Yakusoku) I carve Chalcedony into exotic forms, The parts of great colossi lustered with strange fire, And search and smelt and cast unearthly monstrous ores, Made variate by harsh effort like flame-stained iron. Nacreous pallors set in filigrees of Gold, Inlays of rare blue jade from foreign lands damask, rediscovered myrrhine gives veins of purple-rose, grisailes enlegent with the names of Abrasax. Yet in some small moments I too feel it, The foaming up of lost memories, Of things forgotten yet replete, Of things which may never be. The reminiscent faces, recalling things I’ve never known, returning though the person changes, This feeling faint, and delicate as snow. Ten haikus written in 40 minutes in dedication to the Sephiroth. Malkuth Frail pale willow branch, Sign to mark our parting ways, Just dust at a touch. Yesod Wind blows past a branch, Demons claw and demons cry, Just a passing wind. Hod Rivers run above, Flowing fish and fields of fiends, Cloud swallowed by cloud. Netzach Shifting seas adrift, Silv’ry froth-broth billowing, Streams of white-blue skies. Tiphereth Bone-white from the milk, Fulled by drinking up your fill, Of galactic light. Gevurah lapidarian, tapetum lucidum-like, sigils carved by stars. Chesed Colors variegate, Ruby, xanthos, smaragdine, Bodily organs. Binah Eyes open and close, Golden dawn and ebon-eve, Spheres of perception. Chokmah Shooting stars are dart, Shot strong at a start shocked, a nervous system. Kether All things revolving, Circumambulation, Wealing under God.

There he stands all alone on the edge of an apartment brown hair flutters in the wind watching the cars zoom by all he needs to do is move one inch forward and he does the people stare at the windows as he falls down down The kiss of the concrete meets him after a short time the police gather and the people crowd and stare another sad boy on the edge waits to jump.

the glass plane spaces conditional air from rainslick catching light inexhaustibly bestowed from prometheus [] dillution comes warm from a machines nipple. it's naturally cloud-darkened & a cold artiface holding damp soul originates... some thing [] all's so empty, vapid... insidiously insinuated with untold ingenuity. masterfully ingenuine, a miracle this hasn't yet been taken from us. cultural, spiritual frostbite. it hurts, would it hurt to be sincere? [] the last dissertation of the future, if required, will cite headlines, memes, feeds, greentext, thumbnails, people recording themselves ranting dancing fuarrrking fighting yelling crying. it will tell you that you are right, hate someone, everyone. [] It really hurts, Miss you so despairingly it is nearly torture. Only a pencil & erogenous pillow holding my insanity. I am a fjord of perversity & a mess in sensation. eeeeeghh please materialize in my bedroom, as a tactile apparition... tantric. desire with none of the fruit of original sin. [] dieselstink singes our nostrils the older man waiting beside me has not yet prepared for death, wishes, in futility, to exchange years, decades. eyes track a crow in flight & plexiglass partitions it into four. under the rocky plume of reborn snowmelt, I am called by the railyard. []

Retire from the massing hordes, and seek Your comfort contemplating things most high; Though outwardly you seem demure and meek, Your mind’s embroiled in rumination, spite, And envy—Oh, to be as joyous as The common man, partaking in his feasts And festivals, not caring if he has No answer for those ever-prowling beasts That lurk in those most dark peripheries Of consciousness—depression and despair Molest him not, while you must shoulder these, And other, greater burdens, sitting there Alone, in silence, none to offer balm Or soothing words, to turn your psyche calm.

spring and poetry make flowers and ideas bloom birth of a haiku (i'm new to this, feedback is welcome :))

>>9433 Epic stuff. Great use of language and the Simurgh reference really activated the old almonds there for me! Here is my Question for you anon… The Question by Anonymous >https://voca.ro/1d5762UgnV4B

this is my poem. i hope you like it.

A cup fell to the ground With a sound clearly heard. As space was pulverised, The mad mind came to a stop.

This is a beautiful, ancient poem from the lands of Heyuriya that was handed down to me through generations.

A round for the revolver, let's play Russian roulette!

What makes The Fool Into The Magician Is The Purity Of The Operator The Will Of The Consummater The Drill Of The Obfuscator And The Thrill Of The Conjugator Be Still Before The Silence Maker Then You Will Be A Project Maker And have something In Hand For The Object Creator ***

ⵉⵥⵍⵉ ⵓⵙⵍⵍⴱ ⴰⵎⴰⵢⵏⵓ ⵙ ⵜⵉⵏⴰⵡⵜ ⵏⵏⴰ ⵉⴼⴽⴰ ⴱⴰⴱ ⵏ ⵡⴰⴷⴷⵓⵔ ⵉ ⵜⵎⵜⵜⵉ ⴰⵙⵙ ⵏ 30 ⵢⵓⵍⵢⵓⵣ 2001, ⴳ ⵜⴼⵓⴳⵍⴰ ⵏ ⵓⴷⴰⴱⵓ. ⵜⵉⵏⴰⵡⵜ ⵏⵏⴰ ⴳ ⵉⴱⵔⵔⵃ ⴱⴰⴱ ⵏ ⵡⴰⴷⴷⵓⵔ ⵙ ⵓⵙⵏⴼⵍⵓⵍ ⵏ ⵓⵙⵉⵏⴰⴳ ⴰⴳⵍⴷⴰⵏ ⵏ ⵜⵓⵙⵙⵏⴰ ⵜⴰⵎⴰⵣⵉⵖⵜ ⵉⵙⵏⵎⵍ ⵜⵉⵙⵎⵉⴳⴰⵍ ⵏⵏⵙ. ⵜⵉⵎⵔⵙⵍⵜ ⴰⴷ ⵜⵍⵍⴰ ⴷⴷⴰⵡ ⵏ ⵓⴼⵔⴰⴳ ⵏ ⴱⴰⴱ ⵏ ⵡⴰⴷⴷⵓⵔ ⵏⵏⴰ ⴰⵙ ⵉⴼⴽⴰⵏ ⵜⴰⵙⵉⵎⴰⵏⵜ ⵜⴰⵥⵕⴼⴰⵏⵜ ⴷ ⵜⵎⵙⵙⵓⴳⵓⵔⵜ

>>10069 bro how did you learn amazigh, my parents never bothered and there are barely any good resources about i

Sokolov’s Cindering Nerves Last night She came and left col ‘n stole cardboard bones held consecrate with devastating lust for non-existence of the mind only a self-employed prisoner poet could know having been wryed against the sky when he knew Why the house of hanged never seemed sane like digitally processed veins. Tearblood Iridescence Stiffly resting with the death I know that degradingly grips the Seventh Heaven of tortured rust. That borrowed flesh, quasi-conversing in metronome breaths, necromanced with chance like a stereo metal pipe dream. The thoughts I have when I can't get the amnesia tones out of the radiator. Fear it is, when that midnight grievance puffs your polluted veins to sound pounding freight trains. I was ridden with tearblood iridescence When I entered the room of Presence... But now I can taste essence.

Jack and Jill went up the hill They each had seventy-five cents Jlll came down with a dollar and a half fuarrrking whore.

LETTER FROM A SHATTERED MAN He wrote a letter for her Sick that he was Sick and hopeless and afraid Feeling the rush of blackness to his heart How he longed for a life as good as the peace that would free him from the living What would he not have traded for respite from pain? But he dreamed of disappearing to end all dreams and all problems To bring a fair and honorable close to what had become an insane and insufferable dilemma Every corner filled with whispers that he do it He heard it in the coldness of his heart turned his head and feigned ignorance until the sounds were faded away into nothingness He offered an apology to those who could no longer hear him Oh, I am sorry The words don't even apologize for themselves I have done these things Nothing can erase them from our memories The grayness of it's pressed against my chest The dull pain of it permeates my blood This breathing done in vain won't hinder death I've run the maze, I know it inch by inch And this I've learned: there is no other exit And his kind metal friend laid him to sleep scattered his aching brain spilled him The room he occupied is empty The windows are unseeing, vacant eyes The walls shut out the outside life and at night keep his soul from escaping

>>10321 best one. he needed the money.

Java Keywords (with special appearances by some other reserved words) public void throws if throw new try if else do return true catch this class int while float short enum interface instanceof import abstract package with byte sealed exports private for null yield switch case break when default var permits double final char strictfp const synchronized static volatile provides transitive record extends transient requires opens boolean assert goto implements long continue super native, finally, protected; these words are key

there is a spirit of pure sweet goodness somewhere in this universe yes there is i've felt it i've touched it it's real and that's what i want to be part of forever and i'd like to make the sound of it if i can

Give and receive The great gift is to give For giving is sure to keep Pray thou mayest give And give knowing how giving is to keep Keep by evolving the heart Also in understanding For to evolve is to give And to give Is to keep And to have understanding Of the Heart Give with your whole being Pray you might know just how Think of all God gave you Ordinarily counted for naught Humbly relish and savor In trembling and in fear To strangers who neither know you Nor you them And when they ask you “But what of the price?” Say ye unto them “The value is in spirit” And being on your way Take due stock and measure They will see this and consider And if God so wills it Gain understanding by Grace Pray Prostrate as the universe is shattered Cry out amidst the very dissolution of being Neigh all being is nigh unto knot The restitution and salvation of all Compounded upon mortar and pestle of time Be confounded and amazed Crucified and stoned Sawed in half and atoned Buried alive in sand storm existence In which see it fit To render A spirit of thanksgiving And praise To the renderer Unto the age of ages and the ancient of days Whos contented purr Give and receive in all of its ways Knowing that your prayer is heard Lay it ever before you In fear and in trembling For it shall never fail to be granted Ye very well know and knew this But howbeit seemingly forgotten That in The Great Day Thou shalt testify solely thereto in truth Relish the fruition of what it means to give And ye shall receive eternal and everlasting Forged it in the hearth of heart Wherein prayer resounding Given spirit after the athanor of being As blood and water poured forth Given and received Adam unto Adam Upon that crown an inscription lies A new name, the name of truth Known only to ye who receive of it *** In life never forget this one truth That a time shall come when thou shalt testify in truth my son In that Great Day which is yet to come and yet has already come But men know it not That thou has received naught but what was needful for thee and creation And that creation was in need of thee So were thou called forth unto being Likewise all beings Animate or not Known or unknown It will be made plain unto all things The very necessity of their being The very rightness of their existence The very meaning of every experience of everything For all things all awareness’s all cataloged records of Akashia every avenue of the Anima Mundi Are for a purpose Nihilism itself will find such great irony and rejoice For it will see itself as being necessary and at such will abound confounded Even the pit of hell, Satan and all the rest, will be forced to reign in eternal thanksgiving For the necessity of their very being The very nature of error, sin, and ignorance, itself shall come to be known in its necessity And God will stand in all things revealing itself to be all and having given itself into all and beyond all And the fallacy that anything could ever be apart from God yet still exist shall be revealed Dont condemn yourself Or bemoan that all is loss When all thats happening is The rising of tension From the cathartic disillusionment The purifying resolution imminent But give thanksgiving And praise Then turn on Dial in And attune to it When the world is offered unto you “If your sense of things remains sure, why not have your cake and eat it too? Is your rejection of such things to imply that you have not the mastery of self you so desire? For only if you can take and enjoy while remaining temperate and moderate is your sense of self control genuine. One who must of necessity limit themselves from the gratifications of life by an expressed inability to remain proportionate, stable, and prudent when engaged therein can truly not claim freedom of expression, nor proficiency in self control, rather your inability to share in such things is a professing of utter weakness. See then if you have the strength and prudence you desire by the entertaining of these gratifications…” Say unto them “If I had not already taken stock of all that is in that and in me in regards to such things you offer, I should be readily dismayed and tempted towards your purpose. But seeing the fallacious nature thereof stems from the sophistry of your understanding I will share with you the true measure. Think ye not that a man who resists a weight does not gain strength thereby, and in doing so make measure and testament to his strength? Or that in a fast no benefit is had because nothing external is added, yet it is readily accounted and easily demonstrated what has been gained? Think ye not that in the moment of acceptance of a gratification of one sort, thou must give way the gratification of another? Consider what it is I have gained in my stead, and take ye stock the value thereof, measuring philosophically, temperately and soberly, then consider again whether I have truly rejected these things as one who has not known them, or perhaps one who is afraid to remember them. Rather in truth I have accepted them and have kept them with me that I might not need to regain them. In this I remain satisfied.”

>>10426 Whoever wrote this I think you might actually be kinda cool. Dunno why I feel like saying that.

another law was passed today to keep the madness back at bay but where i am it's here to stay as the nerds go doubling down they circle wagons round the freaks and let them reign among the geeks with all the luxuries they seek as the nerds go doubling down so then come all the pipers pied who fly their standards far and wide and leave my people stupefied as the nerds go doubling down they claim it's all in simple fun while calling me the devil's son for pointing out the harmful ones as the nerds go doubling down it won't be till i'm in the dirt that they see everyone they hurt for saying they will not convert as the nerds went doubling down relationships that fell to bits the smartest ones who sold their wits the myriad of cultural splits as the nerds went doubling down

>>10451 hey, thanks fren, that was kind of you to say....

>>10467 i can dig it fren. >small hats and pretty masks resound >as the nerds driven in herds are at a loss for words >and the worlds go tumbling down

Rocking back and forth, I think how you might Lying to myself on this sorrow night In hell I will end; it only is right Reading nothing but what my mind serves me Corrupting my thoughts, I don't deserve thee How could I be in such unstable plight No one would withstand, witnessing such sight Contempt, disdain, despise No others agree, would only may be But in this ego, only I can be Ever present wits, to I such appeal Judging what it does, and worse, what it feels One which that extends to this piece of text That only will end, with such fake regret Rocking back and forth, I couldn't hear you Let's go back, muting the liar. Rocking back and forth, I think how you might Scared to my guts, but a flame so bright Such a splendid shine, the liar it fights Around, the darkness, the sorrow, the death The sparkle keeps that, only at a breath It is coming close, but nowhere ready I listen in awe, and in agony Rocking back and forth, I wonder, you might ? And hear the truth, that only you whisper The spark carry, far away my despairs Liar still there, he for sure will come back But until then, he is not on my back And now is time, one that I can define A witch is born, from these ashes of mine I now know your might. And it indeed is bright. Deep down, I think I knew what was coming. I was still so surprised, no dream, no thought, no logic could have prepared me. Only the truth could, and it is necessarily late. I am now convinced, it will always be well in the end. Keep believing, and ready yourself for any happy end. One will come, and it won't be the one you are ready for.

For you guess my presence be In sight nor sound entice with me; World of wonder, thoughts of gold None of which to plunder bold. Errant still our thoughts must stray   "Take from me, and give away!" The forest whispers bounty still, a mother offers fill   "Live as free, and take from me! For take from you I will."

>>1037 I fuarrrking hate this, The word fuarrrking overused So fuarrrking much... fuarrrk.

peace inya soul that what make you strong when the whole world burnin, gone crazy you ok cuz the peace inya soul when death br comin, fast of slow you alright cozya peace inya soul peace what make ya strong when they all hate you, hurt you, leave you you ok coztha peace inya soul that all you need

A name of anonymity, A blessing or a curse?, It conceals me among people, Shrouds my past in obscurity, Winding my way through history's course, The secrets begin to unravel

Day in day out I run a simple spree I do not care to heal or change, it’s done, I’m a lump fullfilled as neet. I realize every time I bump into one, who ruins me and I regret to have them ever meet

Is the best in life not secrets, that cozy locked up room, where everything’s displayed, away from every doom. My private little hell, with no one to attend, a dancehall full of miracles, only I know to withstand I’m happy and I’m glad, it’s me and silent shadow, the knocking of my heels echo on the walls, couldn’t say I’m missing out with my closed eyeballs. We sway dreamy and enchanted, everything is real, nothing feels so heavy, as when I break the seal. Let them all wait outside as they did with me, I prefer this cutting truth, until eternity.

Various words: bread Silk Dryness Sunbeam (Not meant to rhyme and not my fav words either) But I believe with additional imagination it has become now a complete, deep and beaubeau poem. Thank u for ur consideration.

Also: _____________ >>10622

Some interesting, creative posts lately. More plz.

We, the matchstick men? In suits of nail, little Ahabs All aboard, our cramped, tiny car. Dead dream shoved asunder. I watch you operate entirely, Solely on malicious charter One hand for all, raised right up One mouth for all Affixed to the bright red cup Ah, our men from Mud, dogs from day one Where is it that you put that chance? Girl in the sahara With your crusted map You ticking time bomb You lost chain

clear as the nightsky fallout fills in the gaps well better than concrete liquid, solid core all questions answered by time easier to follow all is well enough let them now soykafpost through the looking glass

Cold, dark, and lonesome, Text on the screen glows brightly, Nameless and faceless, Warm flame of friendship.

Lay me in my cave. The shadows cast outside and the misery they cause have me at my wit's end. I do not care for comraderie- the pain it causes or the time it wastes. I've enough already for a trip to the dunes: let me cast my own shadows, listen to the crackling of inner flames and the voices of the dead which I now must heed. It's late, but it's all I wish. Let me speak in alien tongues and ignore fools who'd sell me for less, keen instead on the loud clicks of blackfires from beyond through the onyx monuments to their jester god and the tower it erects. Lay me at the feet of the dunes I seek, laughing stars, and bathe me in your luxious caress. Talk to me as so does every shadow you cast on the fertile dunes of death. Let me go mad! That's what it takes.

It’s snowing again. Like last winter’s fall, and many before, I promised myself to change, to transform. Yet, it’s snowing now, just as it did then, but I’m still the same - it’s snowing again.

Thawed and tingling lips Cupped into river hands that tried to wrestle the truth And the flame within -those who question that yearning spirit, what do you know about life? Is it enough to be god fearing? The white knuckles pressed for fight To finally see Trully seeing. on wings above, use that for something For the good, for the more, for the real I never meant to sell.

grinded over months, it blew my godamn mind into pieces you claim it was my dark nature self-referential and my fathers daughter discarded and despised after preyed upon my frailty? i dont know what to say. the weakest link; im not so sure.

You're the type of person I truly do abhor Sucking on a black cock You nigger loving whore

When I read Truly read I see myself Staring back From the pages

https://allpoetry.com/ Do any other lain-anons use this stupid soykafty site?

Red Christmas, I gave you my heart, But the very next day, you threw it away... This year, I won't break down in my tears, I'll pilot for someone special. Red Christmas, I gave you my heart, But you turned away, kept playing it hard... This year, I'll still hold you so dear, Cause I know you're something special.

Came up with this one the other night Im a Space Age Junky Now watch me Robo-Cop Alchemy for Dummies Redefining Pushin Rock Luna Deep Sunny Taking O From the Cult of Pop >https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZwv8wH-C0Q >"Look at me, cant you see its true, your a part of me, im a part of you" "Were you the One? Or is it, where the same"

Im taking you to breakfast Each of you all Im making you brunch Right off rhyme on my wall Your a bite for our lunch And a dinner well munch Serving you up At my beck and call Digest you I shall Then wait And watch what we can do When I extract your essence And make it vital When im dwarfing you Dwarfing you all Im dwarfing you fathers But staying Oh im staying Always staying Oh so so small For the genuine good The very grandest good of us all Truly the best The absolute finest call Putting you Putting you all Inside of my little ball I dissolve distill and congeal you Back door of the hall Behind the fabric of my reality Right side of the wall Under a golden lined shawl Staying ever as grateful As you were so big Tis painful you fall But I caught you Caught you just in time By being so so small Oh so, so, small I took the residue of your life The shocks and appall The fine and dainty The vinegar and gall The dross and superfluity Disposed of withal And kept all the rest Knowing intuitively Only the best of the best Would it prove to properly install Congealed in my Little Ball Your my philosophical birds nest Nursing an old soul Into a state of free-fall Now it so seems Twas mutual profit after all That the greatest gems In the most perfect Tremendous And genuine sense The biggest hoorahs The grandest sunrise And fall Like the onslaught of endless ends oncoming As we all know that it shall All the concocted enemies of uncertainty Which we abhor to recall The cohobated friends found worth the fee With whom we inspire new virtues Mutually to install With all implied impertinently As often we do or dont evolve And all we intend imperfectly Too much or too little involved Are the smallest The tiniest tiniest of all Like the man from the black mountains told me When we walked in the snow deep Cross the Dark Devils Desert And over the rivers so dry and steep Past the living waters with leisure Every drip we endeavored Upon time and space did we measured On an eternal hyperdrive trip Past the beginning and ending of forever To the middle of four corners To the heart of our treasure “Son the greatest and heaviest The absolute incomparably wealthiest The all mighty and most precious test And unsurpassed exceedingly powerful gift With which men are blessed Is an unimaginably tremendous Tenderest breast That which is called the greatest Greater than all health, wealth, and jest He whom outshines all the rest The treasure of treasures Which thy labors shall wrest Is the tiniest The tinie weaniest Very tinyest of all Yet also the weightiest The heaviest weight For through all things does it fall It gets a man up And drags a man down It keeps him afloat And makes him abound On account of it do they boast Yet in the ocean of life They know not how to boat Thats why And thats how For the rest of your life I am dwarfing you Dwarfing you my son As you are dwarfing the fathers Truly dwarfing them all Just as I have dwarfed you And dwarf them you shall” As we separated three principals Them in one border tethered In the land of Sons and Daughters The holy kingdom of Our Fathers Where they say ya get what ya give And she gave us the best of her

A million switching packets in the wires Of intimate human expressions to all The grand collective scribbling wall Speaks to each of whims and desires But now that everyone's nestled there, The outer world does pay a toll, In dead-eyed people, who poured their soul Into a signal that spills everywhere. Forgetting their kids behind a screen, Visiting friends in a simulated world To spend a life bored and curled Is to act a play not in a scene The state of man in the modern day; An interface to electricity.

And when I unleashed the Fire upon him That Old Serpent called The Devil was blown back I watched him contort and curl As the embers spread through Giving him a visage of black And the wings dissolved As the body contracted While the life left his eyes An expression of shock On his shattering face He let out a terrible cry A roar from the center of the Earth I compressed him into a cube Of snow white ashes I blew on the ashes And the World was kindled by them Then the Earth turned black And the Moon was made to be blood The Rivers all running backwards As the Sun stood in the Heavens And shined all Night long

>>10996 its soykaf. "the rivers all running backwards as the sun stod in theavens blabh blah. < Visiting friends in a simulated world you all killed me. "keine beweise" go fuarrrk yourself feliciano

>>11045 Admittedly not one of my better ones, just for fun. Not everything has to be an absolute knock out. But clearly it struck a cord with you enough to rustle your jimmies, thus I remain satisfied. Seethe, Cope, and Dilate.

we are a decision we're the collapse of stochastic probability into miracle. we're energy condensed to sing and fractally create, in concert, configurations of particles that carried by these same waves cannot help but dance along to bring increasing layers of complexity (more fractals in tune) climaxing in the expression of a being or an object, and in the case of beings, you'll be sad to know, these waves upon waves upon waves of existence and non-existence give way to the wonders of a choice. an ultimate choice at every moment, one that defines this whole ensemble- to drink, go out, stay home, scroll, take in your surroundings, pet your dog, squash a bug, eat your vegetables, speak out, pretend you observe, alienate yourself, participate and regret, cheat on your girl, abandon your child, lie in a limbo of indecision that you hope pays out; all choices guided by nature, the whore's, invisible hand but ultimately made by a complex construction of waves and particles and atoms and cells and beings and societies, direct or else that actions the ultimate direction this all should take and gives energy its purpose. we're a collection of sorrows, regrets, abuse and spite and love, and caring, and madness, and the slow treads of guilt that may move our hand, but we ignore signs or listen keenly to the tune that's playing and act. this is why things like alephs and infinities and the possibility of every choice not undertaken and the reroll of each dice may serve as literary devices, as contemplations of the what-ifs, that are not, and will never be. there is no freak chance. there is a miracle playing to a sordid, stoic, or joyous tune at least in this moment, and that's you. and that is all that surrounds you.

>>11177 tasty digitz. good stuff. gotta write more soon myself.

i once had a name, but i forgot what it was. it sounded like their cry, like that hissing of trajectory pebbles, that tear off feathers coming down slowly returning the cup from my lips to the grainy table, earthy rings , the satelite had run its course true half moon shadows over the mirror, rips off in tides, it comes in waves. it leaves in echos, its residue sticks. i knew back then how to describe whatever searched for a home in my mind. and show my teeth to a new day. nowadays i shrug shoulders at the minute. those gods were infatuated with a nameless face, they knew the glass and my perfect offering -which i had to forget. that prickling taste numbs my throat, i feel it like a glove, this poison leaves no shadow figure untouched. and i remember. everything, except why i am here.

>>11377 I like this. bit clunky but who am I to say that really (+it helps the vibe)

I don't usually write poetry in English so I'll try my best to translate it: TITLE: Panta rei Everything flows, myself included I change I morph I am born anew I make iconoclasm my personality year zero my philosophy my memory will be buried along with this generation my corpse in a grave this poem in a trash bin

I need You To Fertilize My lawn Squat down And do it Now

>>11404 paint a picture you say and then they are with colostomy bag and a bowel full of crap -greed- sucking up all love and light like a black hole and i could go on with other things i see and cannot unview with this double vision of mine, so few and rare, the moments of stillness.

Yo, pass me the pipe and let me get lifelike Gonna hit the Tina Turner kinda like Ike Psych, I'm already hyped on something of the right type Don't know how to finish this, I should have played Counter-Strike Right, well I came back here to make up four more lines for this song If you didn't notice, each new line is one more syllable long A fluidic flow to treat you, mine is unequivocally strong But I'm wack 'cause I lack, once again, a good end like a fu​ckin' ding-dong ################ Dawn star flares on disk of night, Where darkness binds them closer than light. There is no safety this side of the grave; Grok ye not why mome raths outgrabe? They twig all good things pass away, Yet burn and rave at close of day. Don't start anything you're not prepared to finish,

A blog post about poetry. http://lostinthecycle.xyz/blog/rupi-kaur.html Wrote this at first to whine about Rupi Kaur, ended up writing more than I expected. I appreciate any thoughts, particularly whether any American's relate to the educational issues.

Our Faith will see you through To find yourself anew Contemplate The space Between the two Behind yourself to do In Time yourself In Time yourself renewed Entwine yourself to truth To find thyself askew Erasing time A space resigned Incline thyself Incline thyself to you Redefine thyself To find thy Hell To find a wealth in you Our space will be exhumed Our mine of mind re-tuned To find thy Health To find thy Health in bloom Be kind inside each doom To find thyself To find thyself anew Our Faith will see you through Entwining ashes flew Imbibing and renewed A Shining Light A Shining Light of you The Seat of all come true Upon a time Upon a time consumed The days and stars they croon All in the afternoon Where space and time Where space and time infuse Behind the eyes Behind the eyes of you

missaligned and trampled, finding grace in scraps, robbed and bruised, askew pushed to the fringes and accepting this or nothing at all, what do you think is easier to do? the light travels in rounds, i might catch some reflections, but the insurmountable horizon leaves me very, very little faith. it did not wanted me here to begin with, and i gambled all along. im being asked to create a sanctuary, while i was only an architect of love in hell. i really dont know it at all. everything just hurts. all the time. All is german for universe. some things just make more sense to me, than for others. let me try. without any purpose and any hope. just for the sake of having the river at my back. i really dont know it at all.

Linking these here in order to not overwhelm the thread with spam, but these 3 links represent a lot of contemplation and practice concerning breaking down poetry, rhythm and sound manipulation of all sort down to a level that I’ve not seen done anywhere else. The first essay explains rhythm and the polyphonic conceptions of verse which masters like Hopkins and Milton intuited but never put down explicitly, the second link is a list of 8 poetic ornaments which range from new techniques that are the equivalent of alliteration however never codified or explained by another nor practiced in any systematic way, to entirely new categories of meter and language manipulation from the smallest atoms, the third essay is an entire aesthetical analysis which takes a Solomonic view to art as a whole and by it gives us a model of art, psychology, occult mysticism, theology and ontology. https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/the-elements-of-rhythm https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/novel-ornaments-being-an-assortment https://fraterasemlen.substack.com/p/egregore-archeus-theory-a-theo-ontological It’s my hope with these 3 we may come to a sort of, rigorous scientific geometry of poetry.