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.

Beautiful... May I ask something? Isn't here some obstacle that the poet couldn't move on? Did he try to keep alive his fatal surroundings in vain? Is he trying to get back what he used to be just to realize in a moment that the end was inevitable? Do those black dots represent the void and the unavoidable melancholy? is the translucent twin his own sadness reflection? I feel that reading this Shadows.

I'm writing this now...

-Solitude:

One day those skies used to be blue...
Green landscapes, crystal mountains, yellow birds surrounded my body and that voice gave me a clue...
I used to look to those interminable eyes, those eyes which had taken something of me...
Something that I used to be...

Those immense, perfect formed sunlike eyes crushed my chest
They had robbed my tears
Uprooted my past...
Killed my mind

Green eternal eyes frustrated my sad soul, looking for an answer at the end of the snowed stairs
This cold black emptiness trapped me forever, I just fade again, as well...
I just reached the bottom of my dreams, the core of the black rain
Until today I scream, but deaf owls avoid my broken soil
-Where did you go, my wounded man?-
A wolf crying on the deepest of the forest near a desolated river told me one day
-Wake up again, those skies are grey and those eyes still remain
No landscapes you can reach, no arms you can get
No voice you can hear, no eyes you can protect
Go back to your dreams, I'll be always with you, my dear friend...-

Thank you!

Well, the thing is quite complicated. First off, I tend to write things on the spur of the moment and oftentimes I can't clearly recall what I was writing about. One thing's for sure though: place and time greatly influence the choice of subject I'll write about. Just yesterday, while I was riding my bike, I reached a quiet part of town in which there were two mental hospitals. It was getting dark and the words just came to me. I'll post it here later if anyone's interested.

Now, back to your questions: What I can discern about the background of this poem is that I had images of two houses I used to live in as a kid. So, you may as well be right when it comes to your second and third question - I was overcome with nostalgia and melancholy while reminiscing about them, this concept of time long gone is very alluring to me, maybe that's why I always unwillingly tend to write about it to some degree. When it comes to your first, fourth and fifth question, I'm sorry, I can't fully remember what was the thought behind them, but I guess I was trying to picture how those places look today, uninhabited, haunted by ghosts of the past, and combine that with how I feel about them.

But no fear, there's nothing wrong with having different interpretations! That's a great thing about art - it can mean different things to different people and they can find that it communicates something familiar to them, something they can relate to.

I hope I didn't sound like some pompous jerk, I just like to talk about art



A beautiful poem, mate. I see you're a bit of a visual type, there's a lot of colour in your verses. A lot of adjectives too, at times it feels like there are too much of them, but I guess that's just your way of writing, trying to accurately describe what you see and want your readers to see. And correct me if I'm wrong, but this feels like a description of a heartbreak or about losing a loved person. Is there any truth to that?

This is a cool idea for a thread and I hope the feedback for the recent poems will keep the thread going. I used to write a ton of lyrics and poetry, but time pressure means I don't do so much these days. Maybe this is a way to get back into it.


I like this one a lot because it picks at some very specific imagery without assigning an exact meaning to most of it. Some of the phrases are very evocative: sort of haunting, longing feelings alongside that ascetic love of morbidity that a lot of metalheads share (“A poet retches his teeth onto the ground” etc).

I sort of get the feeling that the speaker is addressing someone lost or distant through many of the phrases, but the imagery sometimes criss-crosses and it’s difficult to say who to apply some of the actions to, or whether they are merely there for atmosphere. The only verse I feel doesn’t fit is this one, which seems much too direct and loses the vague address of the other parts:
Leave it alone, its time is up
Concede some sins to yourself
This fence is not a worthy obstacle
Your feet have already walked across the skies


Wow, this is full of a lot of imagery, especially some particular to metal. You’ve got your forests, wolves, huge empty landscapes, and a whole load of sorrow and solitude. On the other hand, there’s a very direct admission of sadness, which a lot of metal lyrics won’t do. Is that why it’s easier to write this as poetry?

I think your images are cool and especially the story that starts to emerge near the end where there’s a brief dialogue with the wolf; however, those features don’t all mix together very smoothly and the ending part (in my opinion the most interesting bit) doesn’t get developed. From the form, it seems like your thoughts ran out onto paper, so maybe with some organizing you could focus more attention on the important feelings and action.

I notice that LichColdheart originally asked for poetry from certain movements, of which I don't exactly have a lot. However, I've found a sonnet on my computer from more than two years ago, which was written about the Umberto Eco novel The Island of the Day Before. In summary, the novel is about a young man who can't swim who gets shipwrecked and trapped on the boat right on the dateline. By my own admission, it's not a strict sonnet (the meter is longer in certain paired lines, using hexambic instead of iambic pentameter), but should give a nice example of a classical style.

The Ends of the Earth

These boards and planks the restless philosopher strides,
Where swings the mental pendulum;
Fantasies borne in on the tides
On the two shores of his world audibly do drum.

The creatures prosper through neglect,
Like our romantic nourished by his own rainfall;
Imagination heeds the call
Of the flame dove that guards the line where time reflects.

He longs to tread those whitened sands,
Gazes from a weird paradise of yesterdays;
He can reason but can he ever understand
Who from there will return his gaze?

Existence, pure, distilled in a vial;
Thoughts with a fetch of thirteen thousand miles.

Thank you for your feedback!



I really like this one! The imagery, the vocabulary... It's all there. It's a wonderful thing when something inspires one to write a poem, and then that person molds it with meters, rhyme and other little refinements. Sometimes a lot of the elements are sacrificed so that only one of them may prosper, which is really sad to see, so I appreciate the work you've put into this one. It doesn't feel forced.

However, I'm not sure whether this is what you've said about your meter being different in certain parts (admittedly, I'm not well versed in meters outside of my native language), but the last two lines in the second verse seem a bit odd. The first seems too short, whereas the second one seems too long. I'm pretty sure you've noticed that too and that that may have been intentional, but it seemed a bit strange to see while I was reading it. But otherwise - great job!

Yeah, those two lines look especially stark, I agree. The meter of a sonnet should be even in almost every line (using lines of 10 syllables, with 5 stressed and 5 unstressed sounds) but I find it often restricts me to certain phrase patterns, so I changed 10/10/10/10 to I think 12/8/8/12, then 8/12/8/12, then 8/12/12/8, finishing with a traditional couplet (10/10). I also changed around the rhythm pattern in the second verse.

All of this is kind of just for fun and to make it interesting, but you're right that some lines come out differently. I don't really like editing poems, so if something is weird I usually just grow to love it for what it is lol

Hey man sorry for my late response... I replied you days ago but my phone trolled me... (again) I can see that my comment is not here, I won't post anything else from my phone xd.
So


Most of the things that lead us to nostalgia and melancholy are related to our infancy, probably a sensitive one IMO, different from the other kids I dare to say.. You didn't sound like a jerk Poetry is poetry, philosophy is philosophy, is art as you said, there's multiple interpretations and I love that "uninhabited, haunted by ghosts of the past"

And about the stuff I wrote at the time I was drinking and talking with the woman with I was, but I left her yesterday... I use lot of colors and metaphoric phrases with multiple senses, always incarnated in depressive feelings, with her it was a long story, really long, and a sad one... We could discuss a lot of this things couldn't we, hope I read more of you people!



In part yes, most metal lyrics won't use that, except depressive black metal that is my favorite sub-genre beyond black metal, etc..
"it seems like your thoughts ran out onto paper" Exactly! You got it. Maybe I could organize more my writes to make more connection with the writer, usually I write little things pointing to something that is strucking me a nerve at that time.



I don't know why am I imagining a philosopher that went go his life, trapped in a mental asylum where nobody understand, and that place represents the Earth and eventually his life.

Sorry I know your is not talking about that but is what Shadows said previously, it's about art isn't it?

I really hope this thread keeps this stuffs.

Absolutely... When one gets older, there's this ever-lingering idea of lost time (that often gets romanticized). You know that the said time's passed, but it somehow still lives within your soul in a way. Given your username, I believe you know precisely what I'm talking about

Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you're feeling better now. And I echo your sentiment - we need more stuff in this thread! I don't want to be the only one posting it, it's not called "DividerOfShadows' Poetry Thread"! So all ye people, share your creativity with us, don't be afraid.

Thanks man! Yes my name said it all... I think there's a lot of people reading here, maybe they're with shame to share? (not meant to insult)

I'm getting better, what I learned is that somethings cannot change, does not matter how old a person is, age is just an empty corrosive number... Age does not lead to maturity.

Since we're all being shy and not sharing, I'll show a little one here and hope you guys will post some more of your work soon.

This is a kind of anti-love poem about a girl I always met at university, usually when we were both drunk. She sort of liked me and I was trying to work out if I liked her. You can get the result by reading the poem

A Glancing Blow

She exists behind
the ashes in my mouth,
a somnambulant fug,
lips against the earthquake
hollering insults
to tease a grin.

She opaques words,
translucent truths
pushed aside
by waggling tongues,
primary school pyjamas,
‘Some text missing.’

She’s so medium.

I love short poems, in my opinion are the best, in my opinion there are little speech but with total arguments...

Hmm let me see... If I understood I found something linked to hysteria ? Maybe?
At first is like you tried to get at her, but you were a little shy?
"She opaques words,
translucent truths"
You got in deep conversations, I think you did well each-other but what we got here?

Primary school pyjamas... Something is telling me that you saw her pyjamas and then you didn't talk never more.
Did you sleep with her with your own pyjamas too..?
I wanna know what happened!

You could be right, but I want to say this - if anyone wishes to submit their poem or some sketch in a similar vein, don't hesitate to do so. Maybe you're holding onto something really good and you're keeping it away from light, and you should be doing the exact opposite. Also, art is subjective. There's almost certainly a person out there that might enjoy your stuff, don't be afraid of criticism.

Take it easy. We're all human and we all go at our own pace. Don't beat yourself up because of certain mistakes from the past - they're bound to teach you something good for the future, ergo - you can't lose. Hang in there!



Y'know, I gotta be honest here. I really like this style of poetry, when it's a bit hermetic and all. The imagery is rich, but not trite. Also, it's really interesting because there are many small details that paint a peculiar image, and yet the message is hidden if you don't really try to analyse the poem. Great job, mate!

Okay, I guess it's my turn now, we gotta keep this thread rolling.

I've written this today. It's a bit different for me because it seems like there are some Wordsworthian vibes at work there.

The Colour of Rain

A green dream swathed in grey blood
Wavering shadows sleep awake
Let them fall upon uncertainty
And bring me their recollection

Benign tears nourish
The blooming citadels
Primordial pyre
Lets them breathe

As if on a trapeze
The footing is tilting
Let the carefree breath
Caress your face

Turquoise veils laid across my eyes
Two pallid Suns greet me without reserve
An ocean trapped within a mirror
My little crystal to complete the skies

Vanishing, in a blink of an eye
Solemn garment, the colour of rain
And yet still you rest here
Sleeping during the tempest

How many more hours
Will be swallowed by the tide?
White pearls etched into the sky
Sing odes to tranquility

And I am still here
Among the pale, shining corpses
Bleeding water from my feet
Gazing at a man who I used to be
Letting him speak for one last time
As even the spirits must sometime die

Man, I'm imagining a sailor, or a old capt'n which seems to be tired now of living (or the spirit of him), I imagine that because the way of the poem goes, it demonstrates that he is itinerant and tired. Seems he's the only one on that sea that is still alive or animated? Which also seems to be just surrounded by nothing but emptiness and his past?

What are the two pallid suns? (or who?)
What are the citadels?

Hahaha I love that you're so curious! I can't tell you everything of course, but some of the things you were correct about. The first verse with the "ashes in my mouth" and "hollering insults to tease a grin" is about being drunk (the ashes are that taste you get when you're hungover) and being in nightclubs where you can't even hear each other talking. So we would just shout at each other instead of talking properly, because (you're right) we were too shy to talk when sober. The "primary school pyjamas" thing was about being in her house and seeing how normal she was behind the scenes. You know, people you are interested in should be at least a little unusual.

But I like poems like those, where the phrases can have many different meanings. Even the title 'A Glancing Blow' can be considered from about three different points of view: one literal, one that matches the ending phrase, and one that's a little bit naughty



Thanks, I hope it can provide a different meaning for each of us who read it.



I like this one more than the last one you shared. It's less dramatic but has a very eerie calmness to it that makes the "pale, shining corpses" near the end much more effective. It feels like everything seems under control and perfect (get the feeling of two lovers gazing at each other and the "two pallid suns" must be eyes) but under the surface something is going horribly wrong, like something is drowning or weirdly absent, because of all the sleep and shadows and the trapeze.

I love the technique you've used here of blending different subjects together as well. That's a great skill and it makes things much more interesting for the reader, because they can glimpse some of the meaning, but often don't know if the description in one phrase is for one subject or another.

Let's share more!!

Isn't it wonderful how many meanings one can ascribe to a piece of poetry? See, here's the rub, there is an element of water involved, but it has more to do with rain than with sea (obviously), but don't be disheartened, I really, really like your interpretation

When it comes to your latter questions, I'll just say this. Mr Gasmask was almost right with the "pallid suns" interpretation, for it indeed has something to do with my girlfriend, whereas the citadels denote life in nature that's growing, flourishing, blooming. (And just to preempt possible dirtier interpretations, no, they have nothing to do with anything remotely sexual )



Thank you for your kind comments! I'm glad you've enjoyed it that much

I guess you could be right there. As the title may suggest, I wrote this one while it was raining outside, so probably the duality of rain connected to me in a way (y'know, as something that annoys people and nourishes the earth), hence combining this positivity and negativity into some sort of a blur.

I'm down for that, but now it should be ᴎostalgiʞK's turn. Or anybody else's. There must be more poets around here...

This is my unfortunately translated hermetic/symbolic prose poem:
Panzer

Oklopništvo

I made accompanying images which can be seen here.

Hello Osore, as you can possibly tell from DividerOfShadows post above, we are very happy to see other people posting in this thread!

I've read your poem Panzer a few times now, and I really want to know what it's like in the original language (Serbian? Given your location on your profile). I'm not sure about your intentions, but some parts of the English translation seem a bit hard to understand, like the order of the sentence has moved around or nouns have become verbs. Anyway, even if it doesn't exactly express the same meaning, it's clearly work with lots of thoughts and images.

I must say that the long lines of the poem are really appealing, especially when contrasted with the shorter thoughts. Parts of the poem are very abrupt (the beginning of the second verse, for example) and then suddenly a long line comes in with all these blending images and the writing expands and soars. The images are quite mysterious and ephemeral; some of them are morbid, some are beautiful in a weird scientific way.

In this poem, maybe because of some translation difficulties, it's hard for me to be sure what the subject is. There are people and things, but their relationship is extremely hazy. I can't separate the 'I', 'it', 'she', 'they', and 'we' in the poem: maybe there are many people or entities, maybe only two. Can you give us any clues about that? Also, I'd like to ask why you called the poem 'Panzer'. It's a great title, but seems like an unusual one for this kind of poem.

And finally, thanks for sharing