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post poems here please (and also crit them) apologies for the lame title, a mod can breeze by and change it if people think of anything better old thread rules apply. post context, etc in italics, and please bold the titles of your poems so we can tell when the poem starts faq: Q: I'm a total newbie to poems, should I post them here? A: yes Q: I'm an ultra level poem master 5000, should I post poems here? A: this thread is kind of more for newbies and people who aren't that good. if you're good, get anthologized or something. Q: I don't know how good I am at poetry since poetry is subjective A: good point! post away Q: I don't know dick about poetry, should I crit the poems here? A: hell yes Q: will you personally crit each poem? A: for what it's worth, i will, at least until the thread picks up steam Q: 2017 is almost over, idiot A: i didn't realize that till I posted a new thread. i really just wanted some crits for stuff I wrote. titles can change, much like time changes matter Q: does stream of consciousness writing count as poetry A: i don't know what people's tolerance is, but i personally will crit it, so sure? Q: how do I get gud at poetry A: i have no idea. i am starting on this journey myself. yes, it sucks knowing we can never be as good as poem.exe. but lets try to be good at poetry anyways edited to put my poems in the second post, edited again to put in a faq. ill throw more into the op as i think of it take the moon fucked around with this message at 17:55 on Jun 5, 2018 |
# ? Nov 29, 2017 08:21 |
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# ? May 6, 2024 01:52 |
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i couldnt sleep tonight so i wrote a bunch of poems. theyre terrible, kind of stream of consciousness-ey and so criticism is appreciated-hopefully you can tell where im going with these cuz i could def get there better frost ain't your veins hot today carved in the ice said i'm yours, but they told you things about rust and decay kino side split buzz mine because i'm just okay winter drift, born finished static your torso operates tryst in the snow, glow and freeze till i'm bent over torn clover saw it and just saw haze back how they told you to think, laze marks as black as their charcoal roads and cities just pick me up on screen back where we taped it, frozen in dreams globe cuck '89 starling flew past my cheek a broadcast from deep said order, please told them i wanted the glaze found his flat earth, sphere cucked born in the valley, deep hosed told him i'd always be true what could it hurt, just me and you? dragged me up and down stairs said "this pain is too much to bear" when i came to i saw ultraviolet now felt energy burst, sky it "now" whispered my blood, sighed it deep in my bones, tried it broke my arms and i couldn't swim away gausse in their own style they fell upon him like fingers crossed blotted on, "i'm gay" blotted out over moss something to say fade away into gausse till your blood turns gray Mariah's twee skips, my loss handful of dust, when they could just say oh no, you're supposed to be this way grand loves and grand fears you lit flames 'gainst the wind pulling feathers, knives only today the new flesh, new skin, new tears the cables twisted so the caps could spin said "forty bones first" and klaxons went off "do you kill aliens?" "no i hug them, bra" if you'll learn, you'll tell him to stop "i was once like you, then i started to aug" the new mutants' shackled cough is like death if you're caught before the last stop take the moon fucked around with this message at 22:45 on Nov 29, 2017 |
# ? Nov 29, 2017 08:24 |
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Last Week, Last Night, Daily, and Forever I’m your host, Dick Missile. Today’s story: Skintight anchors in the newsroom. No wiggling, no wrinkles. Padded. Bulging, but no hint of illegitimate nipple. Power tie limp like member. Empowered female hosts artfully assembled for your pleasure, but standing front and center—I’m your host, Dick Missile launched into contested airspace plunging towards milk warm seas. Cut to commercial. Smoke break. Buttoned-down cardigan above desk, bermuda shorts unzipped and off-camera. Nothing below the waist ever shown, ever. Straighten tie. I’m your host, Dick Missile, today sitting with it tucked tight, folded twice, stuffed into a cotton hammock twisted fifteen times and zip-tied to keep from getting out, touching co-hosts, guest celebrities. Rampaging in studio. Tongue leaving slug trail of mucous across the buzzing static glass. Screaming through clear walls pasted with pheromones thick as fog. Molotov sex chemicals. Eye-contact with co-hosts only, always, hard as bullseye, like trying to hit the moon with rocket and pocket calculator. Eyes up, and count me in three, two, one, and we’re back. I’m your host Dick Missile, and today we’re talking about inappropriate touching in the workplace. How far is too far, and when no means yes. Tie rising out of sport’s jacket. Silk on silk. Creeping in interview. Obvious pattern begging to be seen, touched. Pushed down. Rubbed by fingers and smoothed out. I’m Dick Missile and we’ll be right back after this commercial break. Cigar. Make-up retouched. Sweat wiped from brow by curvy new assistant. Young but fair game. Mental note. Rolodex. Promotion honeypot? Decide later. Read prep notes. War in the Middle East. Rights for Women. Protestors marching naked through Washington. Lap dance at Lincoln Memorial. Assistant count-in. Turn to camera, point at screen. Welcome back, America. I’m your host Dick Missile, last week, last night, daily and forever.
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# ? Nov 30, 2017 22:01 |
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i liked it. toed the line between being creepy and making a point, but i think fell on the right side. makes me think of someone tied up clockwork orange style and being forced to watch talk shows on repeat. good use of soc, very observatory ("eye-contact with co-hosts only, always, hard as bullseye"). if i could change something i'd make it a bit more dreamy and less political, you approach this with phrases like "pheromones thick as fog." "how far is too far, and when no means yes," is either clever satire or too on the nose, can't decide. good title and use of.
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# ? Dec 1, 2017 01:27 |
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spectres of autism posted:i liked it. toed the line between being creepy and making a point, but i think fell on the right side. makes me think of someone tied up clockwork orange style and being forced to watch talk shows on repeat. good use of soc, very observatory ("eye-contact with co-hosts only, always, hard as bullseye"). if i could change something i'd make it a bit more dreamy and less political, you approach this with phrases like "pheromones thick as fog." "how far is too far, and when no means yes," is either clever satire or too on the nose, can't decide. Thanks. I really like prose poetry like The Flame Cycle by Zachary Shomburg. I'll take a look at your poems soon.
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# ? Dec 1, 2017 03:22 |
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spectres of autism posted:i couldnt sleep tonight so i wrote a bunch of poems. theyre terrible, kind of stream of consciousness-ey and so criticism is appreciated-hopefully you can tell where im going with these cuz i could def get there better Critique I don't know. Some individual lines are nice, like pulling feathers, knives only today but again, I didn't feel you were saying anything, and for me, that's an important component to a good poem.
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# ? Dec 7, 2017 17:55 |
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thanks for the critiques, ill work on them and post some more later Collapse Me Collapse me Wither my lungs into A coma, set satellites to Catch the transmissions That my teeth spit out Break my spine In two, I’ll speak to The fay that orbit The meteor’s dry tail Drift me out into The ether that swims around The cold light of distant stars Meting Out Meting out the stares And razor cuts of lurking thoughts And trials of your sorrow Existing out the deluge And rotted fears of Forgotten dreams Worry out the taste of Winter in the black rashes Of your medicine take the moon fucked around with this message at 04:19 on Dec 9, 2017 |
# ? Dec 8, 2017 22:28 |
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Poetry's tricky to critique in isolation; it takes a while to know what a poet's aesthetic and aims are and it's hard until then to give advice because poems can be doing many different things. For what it's worth, all your poems seem like they're in a fairly similar voice. That is, you're working out a way of conveying something using a consistent bag of tricks, but it is not, right now, clear to me what you're trying to convey. I'd love an explanation of what you think a reader will get out of what you've written: that might make it easier to tell whether you're succeeding. Is it intentional that the final stanza of "Meting Out" is almost a haiku (6-7-5)? Anyway, as a stand alone, this is the one part of what you've written that expressed something concentrated and clear enough for me to pick up on, which I guess I'd define as the necessity of certain difficulties: winter, like medicine, might be harsh, but maybe necessary. "Black rashes" is a nice phrase there that teeters right on the edge of meaning.
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# ? Dec 10, 2017 00:18 |
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a sense of desolation would be nice, im in a depressive phase and would like to share that the first three were designed to evoke what consciousness might be like in a cyberpunk dystopia, but they obviously dont succeed at that id like to read more poems; i really liked Last Week, Last Night, Daily and Forever and have read it a bunch of times.
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# ? Dec 10, 2017 01:57 |
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Eclipse Rally A meaningless sound, but growing. A thousand protestors and counter-protestors gathered together in a square filled to capacity by people or hate, depending on who's asking. Pictures taken with the auditorium only half-full, or virgin footage, angled and cropped to present a flattering turnout, or the real thing—you’d have to be there to know for certain. Photoshopped. But to attend at all means compromising reason to the point of fatal self-delusion. Impassioned internet commentators and political-party funded shills fill message boards with recaps of events that never happened or happened or will happen. A three-dimensional board game played five-dimensionally by a time-traveling ex-actor turned political mastermind. Golden showers in Russia. Dossier. But leaks and dead journalists and e-mail probes. Hanky code dropped at the scene of the crime. Hot dogs eaten no bun. Pedophilia pizza parlors and meetings in secret bohemian groves. Canaan reborn. An ancient owl voiced by Walter Cronkite. Missing girls. Dead drops and coordinate locations hidden in plain sight. Richard Nixon's spirit screaming in quote from Watergate tape, decrying it as "the faggiest thing I’ve ever attended." Mind you, this from man who diddled Bebe Rebozo in Lincoln bedroom. In the desert a wall is being built to replace a wall that always existed. Always a desert. Always a wall, torn down or erected. Incremental upgrade. Chainlink and barbed-wire swapped for cameras and drones and concrete. Contract negotiation. War milked dry. New opportunities manufactured. And in high-rise conference room facing the waterfront point of disembarkation the jew and the arab and the hispanic and the black and white men are sharing a bowl of hummus, sticking their fingers in, tasting.
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# ? Dec 10, 2017 06:12 |
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nice title. maybe a bit too political? a bit too on the nose or whatever. i liked the part about an ancient owl voiced by Walter Cronkite. youre like the only person who remembers pizzagate.BananaNutkins posted:
should be a "the" in there trim the fat, maybe the more lecture-y bits like "But to attend at all means compromising reason to the point of fatal self-delusion." that sort of thing should be more subtle. take the moon fucked around with this message at 02:08 on Dec 12, 2017 |
# ? Dec 12, 2017 01:29 |
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potato you are a pomme de terre a potato not an insult I swear an apple of the earth because the french cannot open a mouth without dispensing a poem you are a pomme de terre yourself, yes, singular a potato is not an apple and yet like the french I have not found the word specific not the phrase ideally to describe you in totem like an undiscovered country you pesky factotum I sense your presence but can only say by comparison a pomme de terre, apple of the earth if only I spoke english! then you could be my potato. spectres of autism posted:thanks for the critiques, ill work on them and post some more later I appreciate the jolts of language but I wish there was more of it - the gaps between phrases are nice but the rest is a little plain and feels like generic. "The ether that swims around the cold light of distant stars" has so much filler, I'm going "the that around the of" and bumping over the actual meaningful text that's wedged in between. That prosaic phraseology works in a more conversational poem but here you really need your imagery to glitter hard like obsidian. If you were to remove the speaker aspect, the words would possibly seem to be cut out of metal. They need to be more of object poems than a conscious declaration.
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# ? Dec 19, 2017 08:53 |
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spectres of autism posted:a sense of desolation would be nice, im in a depressive phase and would like to share that Yeah reading more poetry is good. Is there any poetry in particular that you've liked? If the answer is no, there's so many different places to start...I personally recently really been enjoying the book "Lighthead" by Terrance Hayes. I think he's good at poetry. I don't think you fail at either of the two missions you've set out here: creating a sense of desolation or evoking what consciousness might be like in a cyberpunk dystopia, but at the risk of sounding snarky here: are you sure that's what poetry's for? I guess to me that's a fairly low bar, and clearing it doesn't make me, as a reader, go "wow, I really got something from that." I guess at a minimum I'd want the poem to illuminate something about the nature of that desolation; how it works, why it is, etc. T.S. Eliot said the point of a poem is to create an "objective correlative" for a mental state: a series of images which, read in sequence, mimic the operation of an ongoing mental process. I guess what I'm saying here is the poem's got to take the reader on a journey, right, it can't just stay in one place and spin its wheels and I think that's a little bit what you've got right now: a good beginning but the poems aren't going anywhere. There's no process, just exposition. Or maybe I'm totally wrong. I ain't no expert.
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# ? Dec 20, 2017 22:06 |
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I'm gonna post a poem that I just wrote here. I write in a lot of different styles and this one is very conventional. Please don't quote it, if I can' ask for that, because I'm gonna erase it in a few days so it won't ever get archived and be stuck on this website forever. Edit: you missed it cda fucked around with this message at 06:38 on Dec 24, 2017 |
# ? Dec 20, 2017 22:08 |
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yeah im thinking of deleting all my bad words too. posting this thread and being op of it was like a 3am decision, i wouldve posted in the old thread but it was closed. i feel very self conscious that lots of my bad words are on the internet now for what its worth i liked "scarecrow." "potato" took until the end of the second verse to really grab me one more try then i might be done disappointment it dismays creeping and scuttling across the seabed shining pearls caught in sandstorms it dissapoints spastic again i want to stay in the shower digging nails into bites forever it deepens hardening magma smoke in the air i want to roll over the sides and be lost in the tide e: im gonna check out the flame cycle actually since its goon approved and i need reading material. also wanna read more haikus take the moon fucked around with this message at 00:36 on Dec 21, 2017 |
# ? Dec 21, 2017 00:19 |
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spectres of autism posted:yeah im thinking of deleting all my bad words too. posting this thread and being op of it was like a 3am decision, i wouldve posted in the old thread but it was closed. i feel very self conscious that lots of my bad words are on the internet now Oh no! Don't let me discourage you. If the internet isn't for putting bad words on, what's it for? PS, the words aren't all that bad, either. You have a nice way with them, and I bet the more poetry that you read the more satisfied you'll be with the results of your writing. spectres of autism posted:e: im gonna check out the flame cycle actually since its goon approved and i need reading material. also wanna read more haikus Coincidentally I've been reading a bunch of haiku recently. Here's some links: https://noonpoetry.com/issues/ noon is a magazine (issues available online) that has lots of haikus in it, but not just haiku. It's got all kinds of short form poetry. Here is Jack Kerouac reading some of his "American Haiku" with saxophone accompaniment. One of my favorite things ever: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJdxJ5llh5A And here are two books I've been reading: The Essential Haiku: Versions of Basho, Buson, and Issa: a collection of translations of the three greatest haiku writers in Japanese. Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years: like it says, a collection of haiku written in English. Cool because in addition to haiku written as haiku, it also includes haiku-like poems/parts of poems by famous poets (like parts of Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"). cda fucked around with this message at 18:51 on Dec 21, 2017 |
# ? Dec 21, 2017 18:47 |
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will literally check out everything, thanks also got the first book in the flame cycle for christmas vietnam my head is empty this jaundice it eats past recursive lines of regret and into the hopes buried deep under my heart in time flowers may grow over graves marked with ash and amber, dawn's light climbing over fern and flora until then i wait for my veins to thicken and burst with frothy tides and blood cell gristle wait forever, when i breathe my last, onrushing light tunnel caterpillars and silken rope
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# ? Dec 29, 2017 03:45 |
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still trying cryptocurrency lately youve been saying without talking youve let your heartbeat quicken lost in the visceral lately ive been raking eyes with knives black nights with creased armour empty of sight lately bones have creaked more than ever dreams of domestic sickness chattel for the home please don't consume yourself don't swim in harsh tides never close your eyes to it i've been trying not to think about it lately
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# ? Jan 3, 2018 01:15 |
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spectres of autism posted:will literally check out everything, thanks Hey, real quickly I think this one has promise because the imagery is used in service of a narrative so it has an emotional arc - it doesn't end up where it started and that's good. Thanks for sharing.
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# ? Jan 3, 2018 02:43 |
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cerecloth break gaze because you hold hands spontane because of blown plans everyone's trying to wear each other hold fast to each other's sweaters creased and torn, don't torch the charge everyone's wrapped in pieces of each other it turns me on to reject held like a husk of someone's past hell like the way someone loves time will heal my regret dawn after dawn, the tape spools when you talk, it makes some sense
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# ? Jan 15, 2018 18:23 |
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Edit: nothing to see here
lostdogcantstay fucked around with this message at 23:42 on Jan 24, 2018 |
# ? Jan 24, 2018 23:33 |
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Loving Others, loving Yourself A therapist asked me If you could date yourself would you? Maybe she meant if I would, could I go gently caress myself I Can be a bit sensitive at times you know Some people just want to be held Some people like me Is that so much to ask? It is if it's a stranger on the bus that's why I'm always late for work Was in love once that was just the Heroin talking Went to Rehab Not to get clean but to find a wife All I got was a couple months in prison My girlfriend now She doesn't get it "Whenever you think of me, Poetry should just... Flow out your mouth!" When I think of her Something flows it's not poetry and it's not out of my mouth Having no illusions is important Love happens a moment at a time Nothing is forever until it is so until then always be prepared to go gently caress yourself
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# ? Jan 25, 2018 02:01 |
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pretty good for a poem about edging. liked the first two stanzas, then it sort of slid into average and obvious, and the last stanza was kind of melodramatic. id like it more if all the stanzas were consistently surprising in the way the first two were. is the third stanza saying rehab is a prison? there are other interpretations but that seems the most likely
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# ? Jan 25, 2018 02:11 |
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Bowied a Thunderdome interprompt's entries about pirates and mermaids and love Phrase Affair he shivered vice devoured he together He into died drawled moment said was eight, you? horrifying but transition skin of He Her versa Twenty and swim as if that tail was vice and him versa she could tell you she wasn’t empty she loved Literal real mermaid just enough What what mermaid Air romantic mermaid Aye like a room blushing mermaid no vice sweet That was his from a sewing phase she was out Wow
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# ? Feb 5, 2018 22:44 |
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When I gazed At the light Of what I could have said, Stricken, I stood, But couldn’t stand, The noises Of what I could not grasp. I looked at you And saw a face That wouldn’t rise. It was the past that slid From the fingers Of our minds. To try to calm the blurry image That leads From your eyes To mine And back again, Infinitely, Is a tiger’s paw Against a window Trying not to break it Though it feels like A petal in the rain Brought back to its flower Again.
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# ? Feb 6, 2018 20:25 |
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i dont have much to say about this other than i liked it. i like poems where i don't really "get" them but they still sound unique and interesting. i wish it didn't end with "wow" i didn't like this one as much, it reads like something i would have written. too dramatic. i don't like poems which feature a mysterious, anonymous "you" which is something i'm guilty of. the imagery of tigers and petals in rain seem too cliche for poetry. it seems like a formless, too long haiku. however its not like i hated the reading experience. it just didn't really grab me.
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# ? Feb 6, 2018 21:20 |
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spectres of autism posted:i didn't like this one as much, it reads like something i would have written. too dramatic. i don't like poems which feature a mysterious, anonymous "you" which is something i'm guilty of. Thanks for the critique. I know next to nothing about poetry so I'm at a loss to come up with an objective response. It is what I truly felt when I wrote it, though. It certainly grabbed me at the time. Though it has been polished a little bit. About form, like about poetry, I know nothing, but I thought it was nice that the first block of lines and the second block of lines adds up to 13 lines, and that the final block is also 13. Edit: And if you subtract 3 from 13 you get 10, which is the end of our decimal based counting system, but you also get 3, which is how many blocks there are. Tiresias2 fucked around with this message at 23:03 on Feb 6, 2018 |
# ? Feb 6, 2018 22:57 |
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i dont know much about poetry either. sorry i Didn't cstch your form thanks for sharing
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# ? Feb 6, 2018 23:33 |
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spectres of autism posted:i dont know much about poetry either. sorry i Didn't cstch your form I read your poetry like raps Edit: Una vez viví Por el dicho de Gines De Pasamonte “Toda afectación es mala”, Y aprendí después Que es una afectación también. Roughly translated: Once I lived For the saying of Gines Of Pasamonte "All affectation is bad", And then I learned That it's an affectation too. Edit 2: For context, I hope we are all familiar with book 1 of the Quixote, and that is where Gines of Pasamonte first appears. He is saved, rather haphazardly, by Sancho and Quixote, from rowing the galleys as a slave. But since Quixote insists on taking him and the rest of the freed prisoners to his beloved Dulcinea by force, he and the rest of the freed prisoners subsequently pelt Sancho and Quixote with rocks. Later, in a lost chapter of book 1, he steals Sancho's mule. This is canon because it is commented on in book 2. Then in book 2 he appears (though this is not known either to our heroes or to the reader until the end of the episode) disguised as a gypsy wizard, and stages a play with Quixote as the lead, and he gives him this advice: "Remember, all affectation is bad". Tiresias2 fucked around with this message at 22:51 on Feb 11, 2018 |
# ? Feb 7, 2018 00:12 |
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Bowied the Thunderdome anti-vehicle interprompt entries drat so drat so Frank killed a slug that’s clear Frank waited vehicle us him trees trucks and too much intersection it inched along to suicide or murder Depending on Will
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# ? Feb 13, 2018 21:29 |
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Tiresias2 posted:I read your poetry like raps ideally poetry should stand on its own. that being said i like the spanish version, it sounds nice. tambien is a great word to close off, reminds me of Y Tu Mama Tambien if that was the name Tyrannosaurus posted:drat so Frank settled down in the Valley And he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife's forehead etc.
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# ? Feb 14, 2018 17:03 |
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spectres of autism posted:ideally poetry should stand on its own. that being said i like the spanish version, it sounds nice. tambien is a great word to close off, reminds me of Y Tu Mama Tambien if that was the name I agree that, ideally, poetry should stand on its own. As a hypothesis, I propose that one element of the value of a poem is the quantity of its meaning, to be counted by intensity of significations (how many propositions can be deduced from them by a given interpreter), and extension of the possibility of interpretation of significations (how many people can derive meaning from them, that is, see the bare propositions as significations). On this basis, I propose three counter-arguments to the demolishing power (which could be absolute) of your critique: 1. The mystery of not knowing the work cited is an example of the mystery of getting to know something, and this is a universal experience. A reader of this poem will not be able to derive the fullness of its meaning, that is, they will not know the work cited, and yet, they will know in the concrete that there is something to get to know. Evidence: Named reference to a literary work. Therefore, by logical inclusion, the reader will be drawn in as if they were getting to know something, and this is a kind of meaning. 2. I can still derive the fullness of its meaning (I hope) for myself, and hence, by intensity rather than extension, the poem maintains an acceptable (?) standard of meaning. 3. I hope (but what a monstrous hope! I suppose it's a win-win/lose-lose situation! And that's an interesting definition for the word 'dilemma' if I've ever heard one) that the experience of disillusionment is universal to everybody, which is what i desired to express, and hope I have done so successfully. Yet there is something puzzling: What is an acceptable standard of meaning? Edit: I apologize for the narcissism. Tiresias2 fucked around with this message at 22:28 on Feb 14, 2018 |
# ? Feb 14, 2018 21:41 |
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Lost Dream of stars up above the filament I have explored the avenues Besieged storefronts and window displays Harsh flushing air through dark to black I look up at the streetlights and imagine myself free
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# ? Feb 14, 2018 23:48 |
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8 Ball posted:Lost I really like this one. In the city one can't see the stars, but we do get bright lights, and it is immense just like the sky, with so many people and so many things, things that outside of the city would be outlandish, and things to see and things you'll never see, and simultaneously things that you'll see that no one else ever will, and at night it's so different from day, and so there's this feeling of being outside of the routine, without structure, free or lost or both. Is that a decent interpretation? What is yours? As for form, it seems like the first and last lines are connected. If I counted correctly, the syllables per line are 10, 8, 9, 8, 13. Is there any meaning to that pattern? Tiresias2 fucked around with this message at 04:12 on Feb 15, 2018 |
# ? Feb 15, 2018 03:54 |
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Tiresias2 posted:stuff well, i see your point. re: your poem, i was a bit dismissive. lets see if i can get a bit more Meaty. first two lines: kind of alliterative. simple words, max syllable count is two. my eyes dont really have room to slide over any words. its the opposite of prose, really, you want multysyllabic but words with smooth rhythms for maximum denseness of meaning and prettiness. that is, im no expert but i think thats how it should work. third line: im not sure what you achieve by dropping the name of the city. if youre aiming for mystery, keep the author mysterious, and save yourself some wordspace. this city name is dry. fourth line: i really like this line. because its in spanish, my brain moves to translate, and it sort of glosses over, becoming alternately the literal translation and "all affection is bad." either sentiment would be cliche on its own but together they have a dual meaning which works really well. last two lines: sound nice in spanish but literally translated are sort of aiming for a clever paradox which always falls flat. poetry is supposed to sound nice, not wittily point things out. going for the second kind of calls into question the former. Tyrannosaurus posted:a poem and got the gently caress out i wish the title was different. the best line is the fourth, it barely makes sense in an avant garde way. im not sure what the last line is for, if its a pun on the name will i dont know the context. i dont have much else to say so im sorry. i liked it though. really felt tom waitsy/vagrant legendy. otherwise thanks for critting each other guys e: valerian cannabis is a gateway drug to valerian the stars stream light a bird's wing high a match is struck sound is a gateway drug to harsh noise and discord disentegrate a parallax atlas gasping frequency is a gateway drug to radiowaves black cat static dripping wet leaves hissing summer my foggy breath heartbeat's interlude steady wide eyes cannabis is a gateway drug to valerian take the moon fucked around with this message at 19:20 on Feb 18, 2018 |
# ? Feb 15, 2018 08:11 |
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Bowied the thunderdome interprompt about explaining a joke vehicle my sense to bug exactly (literally) goes a meaning the speed goes (a joke) the difference? Procreate, they say can’t stop bugs flying into the windshield not enough to matter propel through the windshield you have no thing no end no whats say Right Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 19:53 on Mar 2, 2018 |
# ? Feb 20, 2018 22:39 |
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Puzzle Somewhere between the constellation of Cancer And the nebula of Cassiope Between the chains of Narcissus And the pearl of Nefele Somewhere round the black hole in the center of the Milky Way Lies a blessing and a regret I foolishly hold dear The night I missed the final of the Champion’s League Because I had to go to sleep xitl fucked around with this message at 04:16 on Feb 23, 2018 |
# ? Feb 21, 2018 07:44 |
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spectres of autism posted:
i really like the title like it until the line "static your torso operates", this threw me off picks up speed again and gets very good in the end! have you worked to improve it? i think it's good. at least i enjoyed it general critique: i prefer strong beginnings but that's subjective, people say strong endings are more important (and my favorite poem ever is all about the ending...so maybe i actually like them more but can't write them). i feel there is a slump in the middle. the whole concept is good and the poem feels free so good job.
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# ? Feb 21, 2018 08:03 |
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Bowied the thunderdome interprompt about explaining a joke your poems are definitely getting good. i like this a lot. bugs are recurrent, a strong theme. i like how theres a gutpunch about sexuality and how its often forced on us. the whole poem is opaque but in a way that i know theres something going on underneath. the end is amazing to me, reminds me of that one incoherent 4chan meme, and then an abrupt, unexpected closer, that kind of deepens the preceding line, as if someone is saying "right" in response to something they dont understand, but theres still an alluring ambiguity to it. xitl posted:Puzzle i get that its a joke but i think the setup is too beautiful to waste on a closing line about Sports. nefele is a really obscure reference, i looked it up and now know about where centaurs and the golden fleece come from so thank you both of you thanks for sharing e: humblebragging was here e2: typed this out today, pretty short Gave I fell again. I exhumed contra, glut and lust I drank deep, sugar and tint I aged in reverse I stayed bright lit, a child’s skin, a sketched butterfly’s wing An embryo, a dust mote I was nothing then My nails grow too fast, whisper from bone, curl and slake My boils lanced, my blisters black My neck breaks my heart take the moon fucked around with this message at 05:45 on Mar 1, 2018 |
# ? Feb 27, 2018 03:04 |
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# ? May 6, 2024 01:52 |
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What is this thing we've built that nobody owns? I believe people grow kinder. Be productive between cigarettes. Never allow pride to re-double injury. And if you wish to harvest a healthy crop of genius, spend two years encouraging the mediocre. I am the center of my own universe - it could not be otherwise - and so too must it be that you are the center of yours. That does not mean you cannot be - for a time - the captain of my experiences; nor that I, with your consent, might not serve as the captain of yours. "Despair Not!" she cried, "there is reason for hope!" Indeed. Imagine. What if it isn't already too late? "Follow me," she continued, "that we might collaborate - and, by so doing, avoid folly." She is the Lightning and the Thunder She is the Crackling of a Fire She is the Rumbling of an Earthquake and i'm a tumbling spire Lend your ear to an elder and learn; the wind and the water will not carry our waste away. Echoes of humansong and records of dance; how many great civilizations descend from feral children? I want again to feel your teeth against mine our toes entangled, our tongues entwined wrapped 'round each-other like oak and vine you can touch my face any time, I'll /never/ mind We ain't stand t'hear, round 'ere, the "I ain't et yet" blues. So part your lips, my dear, closed mouths won't get fed. If you are not bringing yourself to tears as you write, what hope have you of taking your audience there? How do you expect to moisten their eyes while yours are dry? Learn to listen to your ducts. Live, well up, /then/ write. Stain your pages with more than just Ink.
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# ? Mar 2, 2018 19:36 |