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Please don't laugh at me lol
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>>74864>and I eat men like air
Nothing to be embarrassed of here anon
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I love Florence Welch’s poetry in her book. I would consider all of her songs to be poetry though.
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IDK the name of this one, but the author's name is on the pic. I found it after watching Oldboy and googling the first part bc it sounded so cool to me, but then I ended up liking the whole poem.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone.
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im usually more into prose than poetry but some poems do speak to my soul. this one by wcw epitomizes the concept of mindfulness for me>>74916
woolf truly is the queen of writing, thanks for sharing anon
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The Two Voices" by Tennyson. My favorite poem.
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At the Gate by Henrik Nordbrandt is probably my favorite poem ever. Breaks my heart every time I read it.
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ngl i hated mrs dalloway when i first read it. but then something clicked and now i find most other authors a bit bland lol. her writings pretty atmospheric and it helps how #relatable she is
but maybe posting prose is a bit off topic
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Would recommend Olga Broumas. She writes a lot about women, particularly lesbians, in a way that references old myth/fairytales. Some really beautiful stuff. Cinderella is my fav.
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I unironically like Lana's newest poem
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This poem was not written by Hitler, but by Georg Runsky in 1906. It was attributed to Hitler and republished as an act of propaganda.
See the original here https://www.bartfmdroog.com/droog/dd/bluthen_des_herzens_scans.html
(sorry, can't screencap as I cannot turn off night mode)
I'm really into poetry and I would like to write some but no matter how much I try I can never get them to be beautiful and full of emotions like the ones I read. How exactly does one get better at writing poetry?>>113391
You should share anon!
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The more things change…
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by Mary Brandolino
In memory of all the bunnies we couldn't save
I remember Easter Sunday
It was colorful and fun
The new life that I'd begun
In my new cage.
I was just a little thing
When they brought me from the store
And they put me on the floor
In my cage.
They would take me out to play
Love and pet me all the time
Then at day's end I would climb
In my cage.
But as days and weeks went by
I saw less of them it seemed
Of their loving touch I dreamed
In my cage.
In the night outside their house
I felt sad and so neglected
Often scared and unprotected
In my cage.
In the dry or rainy weather
Sometimes hotter sometimes colder
I just sat there growing older
In my cage.
The cat and dog raced by me
Playing with each other only
While I sat there feeling lonely
In my cage.
Upon the fresh green grass
Children skipped and laughed all day
I could only watch them play
From my cage.
They used to take me out
And let me scamper in the sun
I no longer get to run
In my cage.
Once a cute and cuddly bunny
Like a little ball of cotton
Now I'm grown up and forgotten
In my cage.
I don't know what went wrong
At the home I did inhabit
I just grew to be a rabbit
In my cage.
But they've brought me to the pound
I was once loved and enjoyed
Now I wait to be destroyed
In my cage.
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I'm at my wits' end trying to find this poem. It's about gay sex and one of the lines is something like "why don't you swallow? was it something i ate?"
Anyone know what I'm talking about? I saw it on LJ in the mid-2000s when someone posted it, and I think it may have been published in some anthology.
pic unrelated, he's the first gay poet that came to mind
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I'm hoping we can bring this thread back. This is probably my favourite poem ever
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Something pure and childlike about this poem. I love it so much.
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By Emily Brontë.
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Mary Oliver's book on libgen
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In the green garden
freshly baked bread awaits me
alongside sweet juice
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I have this problem too, anon. I actually have a harder time getting into non-rhyming poetry because I feel if I delete all the line breaks, it doesn't have as good a cadence as rhyming poetry does.
I read Richard Siken's two books and while I like his poetry, he had one prose work in that book and TBH it read almost exactly as his poems. I felt a bit disappointed.
IMO some poets like Christina Rossetti or AE Housman just hit different. I understand how they're considered poetry and admired for their musicality, but I kind of don't get how non-rhyming musical poetry is different from regular wonky prose.
Not a bash on interesting prose; I read it, but I don't get the nuance (yet).
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I mean there is a lot of theory on what makes a poem. For the imagists, it was concision of language, sharp images, and classical aesthetic. H.D is the go to for that stuff. It also useful to note that the imagists came of age with the popularisation of photography, which probably had a huge effect on literature.
Thank you for sharing nonnie
. This one moved me lol
Yeah, that's her. Hilda Doolittle, she published her poems under her initials. I think she was America's best modernist.
There's also the New York School whose poetic subject was slice-of-life and they tried to write in the voice of the conversations of the gay MoMA crowd.
I'm just saying to find which poems click with you and start from there.
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Kubla Khan/A Vision in a Dream, a fragment of a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
*Poem is in picrel, below is information about the poem, and why it is incomplete
"In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in ‘Purchas’s Pilgrimes:’
>‘Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto: and thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall.’
The Author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence, that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort. On awakening he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter:
>Then all the charm
>Is broken — all that phantom-world so fair
>Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
>And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
>Poor youth! who scarcely dar’st lift up thine eyes —
>The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
>The visions will return! And lo! he stays,
>And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
>Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
>The pool becomes a mirror.
Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to him. but the to-morrow is yet to come."
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i love this poem from gormenghast, it's seemingly a silly nonsense poem but if you read it knowing (or anticipating) the events of the later books it's clearly symbolic of the themes and characters in them. it’s also written using amphibrach which is my favourite meter ever.
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my favorite poem.
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I don't know if this belongs here as it's not a proper poem, but Virginia Woolf's suicide note to her husband always makes me tear up.
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My prompt was “write a poem in the style of Edgar Allan Poe about an autistic woman.”
aw thanks nonnie
, you are so dreamy..
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Widsið maðolade, wordhord onleac,
se þe monna mæst mægþa ofer eorþan,
folca geondferde; oft he on flette geþah
mynelicne maþþum. Him from Myrgingum
æþele onwocon. He mid Ealhhilde,
fælre freoþuwebban, forman siþe
Hreðcyninges ham gesohte
eastan of Ongle, Eormanrices,
wraþes wærlogan. Ongon þa worn sprecan:
"Fela ic monna gefrægn mægþum wealdan!
Sceal þeodna gehwylc þeawum lifgan,
eorl æfter oþrum eðle rædan,
se þe his þeodenstol geþeon wile.
þara wæs Hwala hwile selast,
ond Alexandreas ealra ricost
monna cynnes, ond he mæst geþah
þara þe ic ofer foldan gefrægen hæbbe.
ætla weold Hunum, Eormanric Gotum,
Becca Baningum, Burgendum Gifica.
Casere weold Creacum ond Cælic Finnum,
Hagena Holmrygum ond Heoden Glommum.
Witta weold Swæfum, Wada Hælsingum,
Meaca Myrgingum, Mearchealf Hundingum.
þeodric weold Froncum, þyle Rondingum,
Breoca Brondingum, Billing Wernum.
Oswine weold Eowum ond Ytum Gefwulf,
Fin Folcwalding Fresna cynne.
Sigehere lengest Sædenum weold,
Hnæf Hocingum, Helm Wulfingum,
Wald Woingum, Wod þyringum,
Sæferð Sycgum, Sweom Ongendþeow,
Sceafthere Ymbrum, Sceafa Longbeardum,
Hun Hætwerum ond Holen Wrosnum.
Hringweald wæs haten Herefarena cyning.
Offa weold Ongle, Alewih Denum;
se wæs þara manna modgast ealra,
no hwæþre he ofer Offan eorlscype fremede,
ac Offa geslog ærest monna,
cnihtwesende, cynerica mæst.
Nænig efeneald him eorlscipe maran
on orette. Ane sweorde
merce gemærde wið Myrgingum
bi Fifeldore; heoldon forð siþþan
Engle ond Swæfe, swa hit Offa geslog.
Hroþwulf ond Hroðgar heoldon lengest
sibbe ætsomne suhtorfædran,
siþþan hy forwræcon wicinga cynn
ond Ingeldes ord forbigdan,
forheowan æt Heorote Heaðobeardna þrym.
Swa ic geondferde fela fremdra londa
geond ginne grund. Godes ond yfles
þær ic cunnade cnosle bidæled,
freomægum feor folgade wide.
Forþon ic mæg singan ond secgan spell,
mænan fore mengo in meoduhealle
hu me cynegode cystum dohten.
Ic wæs mid Hunum ond mid Hreðgotum,
mid Sweom ond mid Geatum ond mid Suþdenum.
Mid Wenlum ic wæs ond mid Wærnum ond mid wicingum.
Mid Gefþum ic wæs ond mid Winedum ond mid Gefflegum.
Mid Englum ic wæs ond mid Swæfum ond mid ænenum.
Mid Seaxum ic wæs ond Sycgum ond mid Sweordwerum.
Mid Hronum ic wæs ond mid Deanum ond mid Heaþoreamum.
Mid þyringum ic wæs ond mid þrowendum,
ond mid Burgendum, þær ic beag geþah;
me þær Guðhere forgeaf glædlicne maþþum
songes to leane. Næs þæt sæne cyning!
Mid Froncum ic wæs ond mid Frysum ond mid Frumtingum.
Mid Rugum ic wæs ond mid Glommum ond mid Rumwalum.
Swylce ic wæs on Eatule mid ælfwine,
se hæfde moncynnes, mine gefræge,
leohteste hond lofes to wyrcenne,
heortan unhneaweste hringa gedales,
beorhtra beaga, bearn Eadwines.
Mid Sercingum ic wæs ond mid Seringum;
mid Creacum ic wæs ond mid Finnum ond mid Casere,
se þe winburga geweald ahte,
wiolena ond wilna, ond Wala rices.
Mid Scottum ic wæs ond mid Peohtum ond mid Scridefinnum;
mid Lidwicingum ic wæs ond mid Leonum ond mid Longbeardum,
mid hæðnum ond mid hæleþum ond mid Hundingum.
Mid Israhelum ic wæs ond mid Exsyringum,
mid Ebreum ond mid Indeum ond mid Egyptum.
Mid Moidum ic wæs ond mid Persum ond mid Myrgingum,
ond Mofdingum ond ongend Myrgingum,
ond mid Amothingum. Mid Eastþyringum ic wæs
ond mid Eolum ond mid Istum ond Idumingum.
Ond ic wæs mid Eormanrice ealle þrage,
þær me Gotena cyning gode dohte;
se me beag forgeaf, burgwarena fruma,
on þam siex hund wæs smætes goldes,
gescyred sceatta scillingrime;
þone ic Eadgilse on æht sealde,
minum hleodryhtne, þa ic to ham bicwom,
leofum to leane, þæs þe he me lond forgeaf,
mines fæder eþel, frea Myrginga.
Ond me þa Ealhhild oþerne forgeaf,
dryhtcwen duguþe, dohtor Eadwines.
Hyre lof lengde geond londa fela,
þonne ic be songe secgan sceolde
hwær ic under swegle selast wisse
goldhrodene cwen giefe bryttian.
ðonne wit Scilling sciran reorde
for uncrum sigedryhtne song ahofan,
hlude bi hearpan hleoþor swinsade,
þonne monige men, modum wlonce,
wordum sprecan, þa þe wel cuþan,
þæt hi næfre song sellan ne hyrdon.
ðonan ic ealne geondhwearf eþel Gotena,
sohte ic a gesiþa þa selestan;
þæt wæs innweorud Earmanrices.
Heðcan sohte ic ond Beadecan ond Herelingas,
Emercan sohte ic ond Fridlan ond Eastgotan,
frodne ond godne fæder Unwenes.
Seccan sohte ic ond Beccan, Seafolan ond þeodric,
Heaþoric ond Sifecan, Hliþe ond Incgenþeow.
Eadwine sohte ic ond Elsan, ægelmund ond Hungar,
ond þa wloncan gedryht Wiþmyrginga.
Wulfhere sohte ic ond Wyrmhere; ful oft þær wig ne alæg,
þonne Hræda here heardum sweordum
ymb Wistlawudu wergan sceoldon
ealdne eþelstol ætlan leodum.
Rædhere sohte ic ond Rondhere, Rumstan ond Gislhere,
Wiþergield ond Freoþeric, Wudgan ond Haman;
ne wæran þæt gesiþa þa sæmestan,
þeah þe ic hy anihst nemnan sceolde.
Ful oft of þam heape hwinende fleag
giellende gar on grome þeode;
wræccan þær weoldan wundnan golde
werum ond wifum, Wudga ond Hama.
Swa ic þæt symle onfond on þære feringe,
þæt se biþ leofast londbuendum
se þe him god syleð gumena rice
to gehealdenne, þenden he her leofað."
Swa scriþende gesceapum hweorfað
gleomen gumena geond grunda fela,
þearfe secgað, þoncword sprecaþ,
simle suð oþþe norð sumne gemetað
gydda gleawne, geofum unhneawne,
se þe fore duguþe wile dom aræran,
eorlscipe æfnan, oþþæt eal scæceð,
leoht ond lif somod; lof se gewyrceð,
hafað under heofonum heahfæstne dom.