This is a subject that has been fascinating me for a long time, so I've decided to open a thread in which people who share this passion could have some fun. What I would like this thread to contain, albeit these are merely suggestions and not restrictions, is examples of poems belonging to big poetry movements such as:

- Classical
- Symbolism
- Romanticism
- Parnassianism
- Modernism

Now, to further clarify what my intention is, I'll say that personally written poems are preferred but if you find this outstanding piece of poetry that you wish to share with us, by all means, do so. Criticism is also encouraged and, I'd say, preferred but please refrain from posting if you don't have anything constructive to say.

Right now I am extremely busy and haven't been able to compose anything as of late but I'll kick this off by posting a poem that I had to write during my university years; my teacher asked us to write a poem with silly words such as "spirit level", "thermometer", "compasses" and "square root". This is what I came up with:

“A distant moan that softly floats above the glacial wing
Reminds the dreamer of the place where all the dead men sing;
They’re thrown in flames and twist and scream and once again they die
And violent maelstroms howl like wolves ‘cause spirit level’s high.

The thermometers go insane and sink in boiling tar
And numbed the senses by the char of the compasses are.
As all the souls embrace the pain and in the dark descend
Ironically fate calculates the square root of the end.”

Given the ambiguity of the text I'd say I was going for some modernist poetry; right now I have no idea what the hell I wanted to express. Anyway, posting those stanzas on the internet feels a bit embarrassing but I guess I have no choice given that I am the OP. Looking forward to reading your lyrics. Also, I'd love to read some parnassian poetry if possible, given that this movement skipped Romania altogether as far as I know and trying to translate French poems, with all those complicated, pretentious and over-the-top words is very difficult.

Go!

There once was a man from Adair
who painted his arse like a pear.
A penny a smell, was all very well,
but two pence a bite’s not so fair.

Nice topic.
I dunno what movement if any my poems/lyrics would fit into but here goes nothing.

Promethean god-king consumed by the fire
Wraith come back to the flesh
-idea become man
become man become idea
Gold become mercury
Lead become iron
-man become idea
become idea become man.

Those are some really interested lyrics, dude. I like the musicality, which makes it sort of symbolist. It's great.



I'm really wondering what you mean by that last lyric...

Well this sounds interesting..
I'll give it a try

-Now the crows won't left
They shout the name, they wouldn't forget
Those crows fly to reach vehemence in my mind
My mind..
A world that does not exists anymore...
A large place of illusion that was broken by empty vicious and wounds that will never close..
Time stopped, my mind is the void, all is dust
Crows won't stop shouting, they want to reach my mind again
But those wings are old and remain cut
They don't know that they themselves are not real
They were just illusions, other empty unreal creations by my mind
Suffering at last is my own void, I'm dust, all crows are gone, but now I'm trapped in the real world

Hmm, maybe this is a thread I can contribute to here. I've been lurking a bit too long.

I've been writing seriously for about 3 years now. I really don't think I can place any of my poetry in any sort of movement. Some of my stuff is entirely free verse, or entirely metered. Sometimes in the middle. I will say that the two poems that got me so interested in writing are William Blake's "The Lamb" and "The Tyger." They aren't particularly interesting by themselves, but on contrast demonstrate Blake's mastery. Each takes an opposing lens of the same question, "who put you on Earth and why." What struck me was the difference in the use of specific letters to reflect the poems' meanings: soft "th" and "d" versus striking "t" and "f." That was where I crossed the threshold between "poetry is lame" is "poetry is art."

Thanks for starting the topic and sharing your work. I'm no expert, but if we're all sharing here, I might as well do my part to throw in a little critique. I'll try not to be pretentious... but sometimes I can't help it.



For a poem made up of "silly words," I rather like the imagery you give off. Being browsers of metal forums, most of probably have an appreciation for the macabre and grotesque. I think you check both boxes well enough here. Since you didn't consider much in the realm of profoundness, the image is really all that matters here. So with that in mind, there's only a few things that pop out for improvement

1.Meter. Especially with couplet rhymes like you have, some small changes in stress can give the line an easier read. Like "They're thrown in flames and twist and scream and once again they die" to "They're thrown in the flames and twist and scream to once again die." 14 syllables is a bit hefty per line, but it fits the "boiling tar" aesthetic.

2. "'cause." Cutting off "because" here is wrenching for me as a reader. The nonchalance of it is a bit awkward right next to rather complex imagery. Maybe this would be better instead: "wolves of spirit levels high."

3. Syntax. "And numbed the senses by the char of the compasses are." It's difficult to tell which verbs own which nouns in this line. Of course, if your subject matter is twisted and ambiguous, this can be an interesting technique, but for the ease of reading I think it should be cleaned up. Try "And the senses of the compasses are numbed by the char." Although I might be butchering it there.

Hopefully that was useful. Regardless, thanks for being vulnerable enough to let me take a stab at it.
I look forward to sharing in the future!

That's some interesting poetry right there. Are the crows supposed to be the dreams that are unfulfilled?


Welcome. Looking forward to reading your compositions.


Thanks. I just remembered that what I was going for was a depiction of hell.


That doesn't sound that to me, for some reason... My original line was meant to have the syllables divided in a "first-stressed, second non-stressed" couples and it sounds right to me. I am reading your line wrong, maybe?


Yeah, that's a really bad word. But the course was almost over so I had to come up with something in about 15 minutes. I didn't have time to come up with anything better and haven't revisited the poem ever since.


You seem to have understood it pretty well so it can't be that ambiguous. I must admit this is sort of a trademark when it comes to my poetry so I'm afraid twisted phrases will never go away. I'm all for improvement but that's something deeply rooted in my writing style.


It certainly was; even the fact that someone took the time to read your lyrics is extremely useful in itself.


Also, to all those who shy away from contributing please do not hesitate. I am extremely busy at the moment and I rarely have the time to maintain the thread. Let your artistic spirit roam free in the realm of poetry and let's turn this thread in a magnificent internet place.

Thanks! Hmmmmmmmm.. I think that you're correct, unfulfilled dreams that depress and hurt, on the other hand, the crows also may represent good old dead memories and broken wishes.
I was drinking when I wrote this, I'll drink more. Nice thread

Oh, finally a thread for me! I'll bite:

Transfixion of Creation

Grey waves
Blisters on the ravenous hand
An epoch of golden termination

Hidden by bones of cosmos
A silent piper delivers his melody

Lo and behold, hearts beat in fear
Striving to return, striving to defy
A signal of their own
Push themselves across the frontier
Seeking wisdom in the land of absence

Worms cut a hole and multiply
Decrepit kingdom stumbles
Pillars of might break under the sky

Lo and behold, an unapologetic sage
The master of deceit has been tricked
Longing to repay with blood and extinction
A moribund animal shows its teeth
Before they've been violently shattered

Thou art not worthy
To behold the truth
May thy sight be blinded
By wounds of your own

Such a grandiose epitaph
For such a trifling being
Cacophony follows you
Into the world of thorns

A piper falls asleep
Dreaming and creating
The new strands of time

Lo and behold
Earth under which your limbs may walk
Has sunk and has been devoured
By ghastly lights you bowed to

This is an old one called 'Over Mount and Valley'.

A crown of leaves
A throne of trees
With both feet resting on the hill
The first birds singing
The springtime bringing
Ghost winds clawing through the mill

No soul to bear
To heaven's lair
I gave it up long ago to you
I won't regret
If you don't forget
Everything I promised you was true

Will I find you by
If I faster fly
Over mount and valley, over wilds?
Or will you go
To where no one knows
Beyond the farthest reaches, wayward child?

I will follow anywhere
You lead me
If even to my death
You bring me
And I will savor every breath
Till I close my eyes
And my last thought will be of you
When it's finally time to die

I really like the imagery and motifs you use, especially the "crown of leaves" and "ghost winds", they're very captivating

I love this thread.. Please write more folks, I really enjoy reading you! Haha.
Here's something I wrote for my girl, she's not good... Really not.. I can't talk to her.. Or see her.. Long story.
Whatever I wrote this listening to Back to the Shadows from Burzum. It's a little... "sweetie" I know I wrote this drunk.. Probably.

Woman of the eternal night
Beauty eyes of my dreams
Giants, brilliant with infinite void that loses me...
Beauty woman, I'm drunk at your eyes, I'm weak when I reach your smile..
Always in my mind, beloved
Always strong and stand
Crying forever If you fall, crying forever if you're not mine..
Beauty woman of the eternal stars
I'm screaming inside, let me touch your sky Goddess! I'm dying with your absence...

Just you in my dreams..
Just for a moment I can see you
Don't go away, this clouds blind me
I can't follow your voice..

You're disappearing from my mind
I can't fight no more...
The void consumes me
Just let me hear your voice.. Let me die alone...

(I had never share such emotions with anybody wow something is alive inside me)

Ok. Here's something of mine. It's been a while since I've touched this one and it's probably do for a revision -- took me a few reads to remember what I was getting at. Feel free to tear at it, and sorry that it's a bit long.

Homebroken

The tea tasted of dishwater
But not being rude, I take sips.
A friendly luncheon nextdoor –
My neighbor’s thought drips

Like his sink all over the floor.
I doubt he’ll fix that awful mess.
His front door sits unhinged –
A certain cause for his distress.

Far too long a periphery fringe,
Time was due that I come to talk
And catch his dribble in my cup –
Though I’ve not been listening.

“ – that’s what’s about folk;
They don’t take of themselves
And are unhappy when broke –
We owe this to ourselves.”

I nod and look thoughtfully up.
Of course, I came here to hear
Not to bind with beliefs so blind,
“Still, we should guide those from fear.”

“How’s that?” my neighbor spoke,
“People can’t learn for themselves;
If on own air everyone chokes
No one can teach ourselves.”

I swish the tea around my mind;
I’d spit if I could, but not this place
Its peeling walls itch just enough –
Is that a snarl from his face?

My steak looks very tough.
Granted, it’s raw and seeping wet.
I hear him growl and I think he snaps –
Or do I only imagine that?

So I ask, “Who picks up the scraps?
Surely something must be done
With derelict human undercuts.”
I sit back and let his mouth run.

“It’s only those that make up smoke
And everyone to care themselves.
The fire then you try to choke,
Which there is not but for ourselves.”

Into the room his mangy dog struts
With fur so putrid and nose so dry.
“Is your pet ok? He looks so ill,
Do you care for this beast, or let it die?”

“That dog is only a very thick oak
He cannot speak at all for himself.
You can’t teach against nature’s yolk
He is just him and I am me myself.”

It snaps at me with a threat to kill.
I growl back… I’m losing my mind,
“Restrain this savage!” meets a shrug,
“I can’t; he’s urges and I have mine.”

The dog jumps up to get his fill
Of the meat on my plate. Neighbor
Follows suit, then drawing his
Genitals, pisses all over the floor.

So... being the OP and all I guess I should take better care of my thread. Real life challenges (work, personal projects, unexpected shit etc.) are keeping me very occupied and/or tired at the moment and I hardly feel like analyzing poetry anymore. Some time in the future I might be able to contribute more but for now I want to point out that without any discussion this thread will surely die. So, despite being grateful for you posting all these wonderful poems I'm afraid I'll have to ask something more from you and that is engaging in conversation. If you don't have the time or the will that's fine; as stated I'm in a similar situation myself. But if you love this thread and want to keep it going I'm afraid that simply posting poems won't be enough to keep it alive.

For now, I hope you won't mind me reminding you how great of a lyricist Dani Filth is. Please feel free to dissect his lyrics or the writings of any other talented lyricists you know of. It is permitted, as stated in the opening post.

One of my favs
One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Reading this while Her Ghost Haunts These Walls by Nocturnal Depression must be brutal... Poem freezes me, beautiful...

Talking about life... Life is a poem itself, life is a game but with no checkpoints, no achievements and no trophies, can't go back, no respawns, just one life fade to illusionary hope of the weaker humanity.

If you want to share something with us I think that's the correct thread, Lich . Everything may turns into a poem.
I'll share something, I left Argentina and I'm leaving on Brazil now.. With no money, no home, just sleeping on the road or with some friend's houses sometimes. Good thing is that I got a job.. Impressive... I still can't see my girl, my life is strange, nobody robbed my phone yet hahaha.

Well, what is going on with your life folks?

By the way kellyon I feel touched really directly with Bishops' poem..

This is something I'm curious to discuss as well -- what is it that people listen to when they write creatively? I find that it helps to get into a certain mood, and sometimes when I lose the mood I can't finish whatever it is I'm working on. I actually listen to a lot of DSBM as well for poetry, but also when I'm journaling. Abyssic Hate's Suicidal Emotions always puts me in a proper ditch... as edgy as that sounds. I've also enjoyed much of the work from Dreariness as well (too shoegaze for the archives I suppose).

I had an English professor who publishes a lot of his own poetry, and he had a pretty interesting perspective on moods for writing. His take was that one needs to knock down their "internal editor" in order to really capture one's thoughts and emotions. Meaning that if you're writing like normal, you will be hyper-critical and aware of your thoughts, more susceptible to writers' block, or unable to articulate ideas onto the page. Oddly enough, he advocates drug and alcohol use that would shut down your "editor." Obviously this can be dangerous if done irresponsibly. His method, however, is to wake up at ungodly hours (say 3 in the morning) to write before his "editor" wakes up. He's kind of a pretentious fuck, but so am I, I guess, the point being that it's not an exact science. For me, I start my best writing right before I should go to bed and don't stop till I pump out a rough draft. Then I go back and edit it for a few weeks to make sure my ideas are coherent, the poem's form fits those ideas, and grammar/syntax are clear (or specifically messy).



The villanelle is a really cool form. The way you weave the repeated lines into each other, changing their meaning in each stanza... so many possibilities. I was initially averse to popular forms of poetry, but honestly having a frame of rules to work around can force you to be more creative. Like, you have so little space, your words really need to count, and you have to be particular about every syllable. I often fall into extending a metaphor through 40 lines, which can be a bit overkill. Not to mention, if you use a form with rules, it sets you up easily to break them.

WIth the bishop poem, I love the rhyming of "last, or" and then in the last stanza slanting with "gesture." It's just sloppy enough not to have "mastered" the form, yet it proves a mastery in and of itself. Really cool stuff.

Anyway here's one I wrote for class, sorry if it's bad.

This is interesting.
It seems to be about the downfall of western civilization and the possibility of spiritual rebirth, correct?
I feel like I'm missing out on some more meaning going on in there though.
The language reminds me of 18th/19th century English translations of the bible, a prophetic kind of atmosphere.
I see you're from Croatia. Do you write poetry in Croatian as well and if so how do you find writing in each English and Croatian?

Thank you for your comment!

Well, it's not really easy to explain. Whenever I write poems, I tend to just follow the words that show up in my mind. In a way I see certain images and then I try to transcribe them into words. Now, in hindsight, that you've put it like that, you might even be kind of right here. I'd reckon the overall theme was about human obtuseness, greed and escalating violent behaviour. In short - things that pissed me off at the time of writing.

When it comes to language, I may have been under some influence of Deathspell Omega's lyrics and some Romantic poetry (one of my subjects at college this year is called "British Romanticism - Poetry"

I do write in both languages, but I've written more things in English than Croatian. I feel like I can express myself better in a foreign language than in my own. There is also an aesthetic reason to it - some of the stanzas I'd write would simply sound better in English, whereas in Croatian it would be kind of cringy, if you catch my drift.

Cool, so you're not over intellectualising your writing, that's good. It's a side point but do you think that violent behavior is escalating? It seems to me that in the first world people are more peaceful generally than has been typical historically. And that might not even be an entirely good thing; people who could use some violence directed at them aren't getting any. -I'm thinking of politicians, bankers, corporate heads and other parasites...



There's a mix for ya! I'm not all that familiar with Deathspell but I knew I could sense that period of Britain. Which Romantic poets especially appeal to you?



So your being less familiar with English lends a freshness to the language in how you feel it? I always used to wonder why so many bands from non-English speaking countries sang in English thinking that greater familiarity with a language would make it easier to create in that language but then there's the other side of it that greater familiarity stands in the way of creativity sometimes. Some of them just want to appeal to a wider audience of course. I've written one poem in Irish, which, while it is my own language I grew up speaking English and I'm a long way from fluent in Irish. It does open up other creative possibilities, writing in another language. Some things can be said in one language that just can't in another.

I honestly don't know. I'd reckon that the human race has always been belligerent and violent for one reason or another, it's just that we, living in this particular point in time, may feel that the things are getting worse with each passing day, when that may not even be the case at all. It could've always been like this. Of course, people, like yours truly, may on the spur of the moment think differently and react more emotionally towards the current world problems, believing everything is going to hell.

I also believe that violence doesn't solve everything. There are a lot of other measures one can take in order to diminish people's egos and make them more amiable and honest in their profession that are more psychologically based. You know how it goes, eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.



I have a great admiration for William Blake. He's a real unsung hero when you compare him to the likes of Byron and Wordsworth. I like his prophetic works a lot. His stanzas are laden with grandeur. For some reason, I could never get into Wordsworth - I'm sorry if you like his works, but he is a bit boring to me.



I guess so, some words and constructions simply sound right that way to my ears and eyes. I mean, every language is bound to possess some elements that can embellish certain stories and poems. What sounds great in one language may not sound as great in another, unless it is translated more freely, but then some of the mystique is gone, the aura has been meddled with.

For example, there's this verse I wrote in Croatian:

"Suza za suzom umire u moru
Koje guta i nikad ne vraća
Blješteći pod zvijezdama
Pokazujući i skrivajući
Svoju zlobnu ćud"

Which can be translated into English as:

"Tear by tear dies in the sea
Which swallows and never gives back
Shining under the stars
Showing and hiding
Its wicked temper"

I don't know about you, but I feel like there's something amiss in the English version. The atmosphere isn't the same. Creativity is a curious thing, but that's what's great about it - you never know where it can take you. That same quality fuels originality and new ideas. Also, would you mind sharing that poem of yours? Feel free to translate it too if you so choose. The more poems we have here, the better.

Since my reply is getting very big, I'm going to paste my new poem in a separate one.