>We won't be harsh

Speak for yourself.

a poem

Drowning Flowers

It is raining harder than usual,
but I’ve seen dead gardens flood before.
I’ve watched a child’s fingerprints
wash away from a passing car door window;
her ill lasting impression,
upon me, will not streak so easily.
Dry spirals of dust and oil and pollen
play victim to an encasing vision
and painful exoneration.
Innocence devalued in blood;
shame and lethargic reconstruction
abate beneath the underpass,
like a sparkling eye
in the pain or sorrow or joy
of a spousal return,
a mother’s death,
a violent ignominious death.
Headlights in the noon hour
raise the children of a cautious passion
to live through a burning image
extinguished in the rain.
She could have been an artist
or the mother of my brother’s child.
Drowning flowers lose loose petals,
but not all sense of beauty.

>>133180
I like it.

>>133180
This is pretty good. Keep at it.

>Innocence devalued in blood

I like this line.

i'll be a fag and post one more...to bump

Regrets of the Still Unknown

The Street lamps burn with an artificial ferocity
like a strange sun fixed to the earth;
moths orbiting a lunar path
play the infant’s mobile,
as she looks up to the city sky.
Jupiter is out, just below the moon,
a star that cannot twinkle,
a god that cannot reign.
Swiftly passing beneath the swarm,
her brown boots splash stains
from the sweating streets
up onto her busy legs.

Above the sordid streets,
a bleeding green eyed man
peers out from his window.
Awakened by her hurried walk,
he likens her to a stone
that once shattered,
reveals shards of plumish
quartz called amethyst,
a sobering gemstone
now easily overlooked.


The man threatens consciousness;
pooled in still blue blood,
deep as the cloudless night above
the city or the unsailed seas
beneath the icy shield’s of Europa,
he dies with a new regret.
How he wished he could have met
the austere owner of the muddied hem.

The only thing I'm working on right now is a fairytale story for my little cousin.

>>133209
>>133212

thanks, most of my shit seems to be about fucked sexual perversion usually involving death.

>>133217
Trying too hard.
I like the first poem more.

My creative writing teacher loved it.


Gentlemen of this grand jury, I sit before you today accused of the most horrid crime known to our grand, glorious justice system, the most despicable, disgusting act a human being can perform, murder. Now, man has viewed homicide as a sin for as long as God had given us this green earth, but at times has it not been justifiable. To do away with those that threaten the great moral fibers of our beloved America. In times when one's life, no, one’s whole country is at stake wouldn't we all do whatever we could to insure the survival of what was meant to live forever. I am here not to show that I committed no crime, but to show that Lester Dunn had committed an even greater crime, treason against one's country by indeed being a communist. I state that the only crime I, Franklin Green had committed had been defending and loving my beautiful country too much.

"Hiking"

Perhaps I should have stayed home,
A voice asks the quiet mountain aloud.
Boots prod the soft, spongy loam;
A query lost upon a silent crowd.
But time is one thing not in my possession;
Alas, it matters not, for adventure is my obsession.

Too late to turn back now,
We three face the mossy, green path.
Hold aside the lithe, youthful bough
We three expose the dark forest’s wrath.
A dense cloak of mist envelops our trail; indeed, very bleak.
Alas, it matters not, for our destination is the peak.

I'll post mine

"Summer"

Summer is for ice creams
Summer is for going out with friends
Summer is good beach fun

>>133287
It's short and simple. It has charm.

The only good "post your own work" threads are those that revolve around making on the spot a single paragraph.

ok ok heres mins
penis
a work by anon

beginning of a story I just started.

I had followed him through the parking lot four times before. He worked in a very tall brown building full of offices that were contracted out to various businesses. Around the side of the building there was a sturdy, dry unloading bay; shipments came on Mondays and Wednesdays at six and nine am, sometimes there would be noon deliveries on Fridays. If I kept track of these times I would be able to sleep on the pallets and use the heavy cloth that covered them as a blanket.
He moved toward a long sleek car and pulled twice at the silver handle before he had unlocked the door. As he reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys he saw me looking at him through the windows of the neighboring car. Quickly, I turned around and began fidgeting with my pockets and when I turned back to see his next action I heard his door close and the engine beneath the shining black hood click then roar. I couldn’t see his face through the driver side window due to the dark tint, but as he reversed, turned and left the lot I watched him watching me through the less opaque windshield; he was soon out of sight and I slid my back against the car I had pretended was mine.
I embraced my knees as I sat, wishing I could be in the passenger seat beside him. In my reverie, we fought playfully over the radio station; he grabbed my hand and brought it to a stop with twenty kisses, delivered in some magic rhythm that tingled in my stomach and my neck, behind my eyes and inside my ears. I felt the seatbelt tight around my waist and between my breasts. I sighed and slid my hand between my thighs; I squeezed my legs together and grabbed my shoulder with my other hand. My teeth found the inside of my lip and held loosely to the hidden flesh.

And if I do? But you don't question that--
We are straight as arrows, proud as geese
We tumble through rain-riddled rocks, a river
For only the powerless need question

And choice? What freedom is choice?
Open-mouthed mewling, yawping
The gazeless scratched eyes of facades
After bare branches scrape them open.

Turn your face away, and no more of this!
Swiftly, chase your footsteps in front of you!
No other path but ours, and mock the
Frail equivocating cattle afraid to rush the chute.

>>133265
Your creative writing teacher doesn't know shit.

And that's why he/she is a fucking creative writing teacher.

>>133265
I give up where did you find this, or did you actually write that. Please tell me it's not something you took pride in.

"The world has taught mankind to increase productivity. I wish to decrease productivity," said Jack with much conviction. "Faster means is the perversion of mankind, and I will not stand for that," Jack said while grasping passing men, trying to awaken a lost memory within them. "World subsitence was a time long ago; we now live in our own filth. Some may be far from the landfill, but others will always pass."

The footsteps were monotonous, and the clamor of traffic reached a loud hum. "Oblivious men scour the streets, trying lights and words for a peak inside; minds of others propagate to mine," Jack was insisting pertinence.

Advertisements litter the concrete super-space. Buildings soar, scraping the sky. Men fow in and out of buildings since some importance lay inside them. "Talk of money burdens the poor. Inflation keeps the players few. all departments are categorized; progress lay inside them. Unless we are new, we will never overcome. The reigns always check for impropriety."

Currency belongs to the people. Let us remember," gasping for breath, Jack let out in full belief. The speech was over, and no one had bothered to stay and listen.

He is on the corner of fourth and main everyday, passing his beliefs to the wind. Not many people listen to him, and if one person is an exception, they normally ask him to settle down.

Lamenting, Jack sighs, "A maze with no exits and walls sky high, is it only I who won't accept the progress?"

Slowy Jack takes his body, walking back to his dwelling: a room like a rectangle consisting of 50 feet by twenty and named Block 23, Government Issue 25.

>>133390
i like it.

sorry, that's not too helpful, but i'm tired.

Haiku about about impending winter I wrote for my creative writing class:

Branches grow barren
Winds, frigid and bellowing
Soon, nature will rest

I peered out the window, and watched as the world moved beyond it. Forest stretched from the horizon to the blanketed soil. The green hills, adamant and immovable, stood like a great wave caught in stasis, all framed by the sleek geometry of the train’s interior. The enticing smell of junk food from the snack car behind me attempted to seduce my stomach, but I wasn’t hungry. At the moment, eating felt like an alien ritual, the habit of a bizarre creature that needed to consume others to survive.

The train hummed softly to me as I sat in quiet. I knew that outside this tiny, air-conditioned world was the real one, where the sounds of the train roar and pass by man and nature like a storm, shaking the earth and disrupting the order of things, if only for a moment, then leaving the earth to rest once more. It was calming, at least, to know that I was not on the receiving end of this chaos. I could feel the train gliding along the tracks as we went, like a sled moving across bridges of ice, curving and wandering towards places unknown. But as I stared out the window, soaked in daydreams, the corner of my mind knew where the tracks were heading, and where I had to go.

Walking with the Sun in my Eyes

Shears of light shred the world in front of me
Which I never knew too well.
I only recently began to learn its charm;
Its skyscrapers, sidewalks, and smell.
But now my perception of it wanes,
As the sun sheaths away my view.
Was my life spent all in vain
when I could see, before I bid adieu?

"I know you want to blame us, and you have every right. We tried to protect you, tried to hide you from monsters, from creatures like him in the worst way possible. We tell you they don't exist, that the things in the dark are just shadows created by fading lamplight and overactive imaginations. But they exist. They're as real as you or me. When you become an adult and the monsters no longer want you, you always forget that creeping fear, that sense of a hungry beast in the shadows. It fades to the back of our minds like a bad dream. We forget there are things in the dark that can hurt us and when the time comes, children like you who believe, who try to warn us are the ones who pay for our forgetting."


It's pretty crap, but I had fun writing it.

The last creative piece I wrote was when I was 16. It's pretty lulzy so I will post it up.

Jason awoke in the desiccated, barren desert. Surrounding him was nothing but a few shrubs and cacti. The horizon he saw was so bleak he could distinguish the curve of the earth along the ground. The thirst he felt was unbearable and he could die for the soothing quench of water. The last thing he can recall prior to now is being tepid at home, with his tender parents.

The land was bare. The scorching sun laid itself on his shoulders, pushing trembling warmth onto him. He knew he had to find a way to escape, as he could see the nonentity awaiting him. He could barely think. He did not want to think. He regained himself, and climbed to his feet. He began to walk, each step with the sand gliding between his toes. He walked to the next cacti, and the next cacti. The milieu was familiar where ever he looked. “...Where do I go?” he thought to himself. He kept walking though; with some optimism, of hoping to find anything to survive. As he sauntered across the desert, he fell violently ill. He fell to his knees and started to gag. The heat was too much, and a flow of vomit poured from his mouth and nose. He couldn’t compose himself to continue. Jason planted his face in the sand, gradually losing his discernment and finally consciousness.

As he convalesced, he heard faint noises coming from over a knoll. He clambered to his feet and kneeled behind the hill, peeking over the top. What he saw was a nomadic settlement. It was very small and was a maximum of 40 people. The buildings were simple tents, made from animal skin and frail sticks. Many of them were disassembling their buildings. They were packing up their village, preparing to move to another location. From what Jason could see, it was diminutive and seemed welcoming enough for him to approach it. He had no choice anyway, as it was his only option.

>>133465
thats good.

As he ascended from the sand bank, the nomads immediately noticed him. They stopped everything they were doing, and raised their arms, pointing at him. Their faces were empty with emotion. They looked as if they were preparing to attack, but they had no weapons. Jason knew that this was not good, and he had to escape. Suddenly the Nomads began to shriek howling like wolves, piercing Jason’s ears. He was stunned in fright. He could not move. His entire body was stiff. He forced his legs to slowly walk backwards, still hearing the horrific screaming from these humanoid beings. At last his body was free, and he sprinted back over the knoll, out of view. A tear fell down his cheek. He was so shocked and scared He did not want to be here. He started to cry, sobbing, hoping. Hoping for anything to come and pull him out of this outlandish terror.
All of a sudden the shrieking stopped. Jason lifted his head up, but was still too afraid to even look at the monstrous beings. With a quick peak over the knoll, he saw no one in sight. They disappeared from their village, yet left everything there. Jason knew he must have been hallucinating. The potent heat has left him dazed and confused, causing him to be disoriented. He slowly staggered toward the abandoned village, holding himself strong in case he has to make a stand against anything. He could hear nothing but his own footsteps, so he was sure the village was deserted. The first tent he searched contained water and food, as well as some other unnecessary supplies not worth lugging with him. Jason was wary about drinking the strange water, but nature overpowered him, and he took a small sip. It tasted like water, and he still felt normal, so he guzzled the entire bottle. As he looked at the food, it was nothing he had seen before. The meat was from a creature unknown to him. Again, nature overpowered him and he took a large bite. It tasted peculiar, but it would fill him up for now.

>>133508
1) post on /x/
2) add creepy picture
3) ???
4) PROFIT

As he entered the second tent, he was stunned at what he saw. A girl no more then 11 years old was laying on the ground, crying and holding her knees, clearly in distress. Jason was wary of her, but she was obviously in misery, so he approached her.
“Hello?” Jason said in a calm voice.
The girl quickly raised her head, staring at Jason.
“Are you in my mind?”
“I don’t know”, Jason replied.
“DON’T READ MY THOUGHTS!” the girl bellowed, with the emotion of fear and anger in her eyes.
“What? I can’t read thoughts. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I am okay. You are not”
“You’re not making any sense. Why am I here? What is this place?”
“Ha! You menacing boy. You can’t get your head out of humanity”
“Tell me where I am! I want to leave this place!”
“This is Evangelion. This is god’s kingdom. You are an angel, and I am too”
“Is all of this real? Am I dreaming?”
“This is a dream; a bleak shadow reforming itself from the corridor of your mind. A shining glow soars over you, but you do not realize it. You can feel yourself, but cannot feel others. You can carry yourself, but others cannot carry you. Everything you see is a lie; nothing you see is truth. What you hear is not what you think it is; it is thrusting itself from one head to another, indulging itself in your senses.”
“...Where do I go?”
“You will find your sanctuary, shortly enough...”
Jason has heard enough.
“Goodbye”, he said
“Goodnight, sweet prince”
And right in front of his eyes, the girl vanished, leaving nothing but the clothes she was wearing. Jason wanted to cry, but he was reflecting what she had said. He searched for what water he could find, and left the camp.

>>133515

lol, interesting use of 'tepid'

With the supplies necessary to travel, Jason travelled in search for his ‘sanctuary’. Ahead of him seemed austere and desolate, but he had a sense of optimism, as if he knew that beyond him was a haven. Sweat dripped from his forehead, running down his face. He progressed with fear. His escapade seemed dreary, but he felt compelled to keep moving.
Presently he noticed ahead of him an animal. From a distance it looked like a horse, but as he approached it for a closer look he realized this was not a horse, but a camel. What surprised Jason was the company of an old man. His face was wrinkled and his hair was long and ragged. His clothes looked old and unwashed. The camel seemed to be holding the burden for the old man.
“Can you speak?” Jason asked.
“Yes, I speak”
“Am I going the right way?”
“What are you looking for, young one?”
“I don’t know exactly. I was told to find my sanctuary. Is this the right way?”
“Son, when searching for your sanctuary, only you can guide yourself the right way.”
“But I don’t know the way.”
“You’ll know the way, boy. Just follow yourself”
Jason knew this did not make sense, but then again, nothing has.

He continued walking aimlessly, still sweating and holding onto the looted water. In the prospect ahead of him was nothing but the small shrubs and cacti. It almost seemed to him that everything was similar from when he first awoke here, but he still feels like he has progressed. As he roamed through the desert he was still thinking about what the girl at the camp said. Nothing she said seemed to make sense to him. He was not an angel, and this was not God’s Kingdom. The thought of this being a reverie dream-like place makes sense though. That is the only thing that makes sense in this world. Whilst pacing to his ‘sanctuary’ he felt the ground shake. Jason looked below him and saw the soil open up. Like jaws swallowing him, the ground opened to reveal a cavern, taking Jason into it.

The fall left Jason disoriented and stunned. He looked above himself and saw the hole closing back up. He regained himself and found his footing. Jason gazed around him and was astounded by the spectacle. Crystals covered the walls like glitter. The roof had elongated, suspended crystals fixed to it. The smell of fresh rain scented the cavern, and the air breezed onto his face like a strong draft, soaking it with humid air moisture. From the room he was in it extended to many corridors, but one in particular shone a great light from it. This corridor was a light of hope in the striking darkness. He proceeded to enter it, after taking in the spectacular sight of beauteous forms, seemingly untouched and unseen. The corridor lengthened to a great distance end to end. Jason looked beyond it and saw the escaping light. He scuttled through it, breathing in the soft moisture air and running his hands across the rocky, sparkling walls. Toward the end of the corridor came a rope ladder, moving up toward the surface. It was not sturdy to hold much weight, but Jason had come far enough to not give in. He took his hands on the frail rope, and tugged it slightly. It held. He took both his hands and wrapped his leg around the end of the rope, pushing himself up with each tug and pull. His strength was much more then he imagined it to be. As he approached the surface, he put his hand into the hole. It started closing. Jason quickly grabbed onto a loose root and pulled himself out of the hole, just as it closed next to his feet.

He glanced around himself, and saw nothing but desert.
But behind him in the horizon, a glitter caught his eye. As he moved closer, he saw an outstanding sight. A flow of water rivulet was flowing from a cliff. The moon shone from behind it, reflecting onto the stream. The sight was magnificent. Jason fell to his knees and touched the moist sand in front of him, tears running down his face. A man stood on the water, urging Jason to come closer. He took a step on the water, and approached the man, taking his hand. The man smiled, and picked up Jason, carrying him into the waterfall, evaporating with the flowing stream.

I remember getting full marks for it, so I was happy with it lol.

>>133552
It was all written the night before it was due. I was just pulling out words and finding synonyms to make it sound more sophistocated lol

>>133534
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

>>133390
i've always been a fan of the word 'mewling'

in fact, i long to sneak the phrase 'puking and mewling' into nearly everything i write, but alas, it never fits

>>133444
good bad? yes no? i posted the tits to get a reaction x.x

>>133648
Oh. I wrote that after I read the communist manifesto if that means anything.

What beauty a silent soul can sing,
slumbering beneath satin sheets.
Her breath, a placid lake of augury
where skipping stones are gifted flight
and flecks of wonder form, like flesh,
a life in every word.
Her resting breasts pierce her silken silhouette,
as gleaming embers hiss and grey.
She lay, still still, among the cool glossy waves;
Slumber’s hunger is voracious.
Her lips have let their color flee and free
the palest shade of gorgeous .
By the light that laps her skin
she wakes, alone against the dream.

A man is burning
The smell of flesh lingers in the air
A child is dying
The sun is shining
A sea of flames
Blood coagulates on the asphalt
A weapon's cache
A mother's scream
The sun is shining
A mass grave
No escape
No birds are singing anymore
The sun is shining

"His life was no longer lived; his life became an obscure footprint to his future."

>>133714
It's just another ordinary day on 4chan.

Everything is beautiful from a great distance. The less beautiful something is, the further we must distance ourselves from it for it to once again be a vague,
peripheral, stunning shape. Minute, fleeting. The ugliest things things can be viewed from irrational distance and be rendered beautiful; some through blurred or impaired vision, some through eyes that have seen a grimmer future, that look back and see not a past, but not the present-- and some cease being viewed at all, so that they may remain beautiful in our minds. None of these things are truly beautiful achievements, none of them genuine.

They spring from emotions that are vague, and distant, like the shapes that they see. They spring from desire to be sprung, they spring from desperation; they spring from affectation, and not from affection. We maintain walls, and barriers, and boundaries, and distance, so that we may be glimpsed only occasionally, and so that we may gain beauty through brevity. So that we may be candles that are lit and blown out in unyielding succession, so that what we take away with us is the spark, not the flame, or the candle unlit, or the candle discarded.

>>133793
We are beauty that is a box upon a shelf we seldom envision occasion to reach. Treasured possessions that go owned but unseen, so that the distance we lay down before the box we do not open is what is beautiful. When we get too close, we exhale too mightily, we eliminate the fire, we dislodge dust, and we are simply not far enough away. And we hate, and we hate, and we hate. And we distance ourselves once more, but this time we know exactly why, and it has nothing to do with beauty, and everything to do with maintenance of illusion.

And the trick is to get so close to someone that they can't possibly be anything but a mess; blurs and lines and scars and detail, so close that they consume our vision entirely, and we see nothing else, so close that they can't be anything but ugly, and know that they are beautiful, because they are the lit and the unlit, the clasp and the content, everything and the space between.

I suppose this could use some heavy editing, but I don't know if it's even worth it.

OH BOY I LOVE SHARING MY SHITTY WRITING


I can photosynthesize
Right before your very eyes.
Also I can alternate
Between my spore and pollen states.
No woody tissues I have found,
So I just grow close to the ground.
Some questions I will get a lot:
‘Mono or a polycot?’
Xylem keeps me nice and wet,
But don’t discredit me just yet.
I grow all over,
Cause I’m a clover.

>>133833
That's cute :3

>>133833
awwww :)

>>133924
I wrote a lot like that in Creative Writing. It's what I'm best at after narrative writing.

III. Bare. Bare as mother. Bare as eyes of wasted night. Bare. Bare as the animal, and you. Bare as the one you pine for, bare like the rooms of your dreams. Dreams of bareness, and in these, you discover nothing. Spit on yourself, bastard son and sufferer--dream of the End. The End’s symphony is silent. Bare beginning and end, and you in the middle. Float in the stream of your sickness--no cure. Bare as your funeral, no one will come. Vultures will mock you. Bare, never too bare. Your stench offends the ones who crawl in the junkyard, this stench is birth and mind and light. Cruel little light. Light that stares into and through you. Stretched across field of defeat--blindness, heart’s exhaustion. In murk, in field of scorched trash.

oh boy super-cheesy sonnet coming up bitches you ready for this pentametric shit?

If ever I could touch the dome of night
And there among the stars upon the sky
No heavenly orb would e’er outshine thy light
And to be with thee I would from heaven fly

Though all on earth would love to see it fall
And thee to whom thou swore thyself returned
Their words to me mean less than naught at all
But do not think my claim to thee unearned

When none were there to see thy tears of glass
Go rolling down thy milk-white silken cheek
I watched, and felt thy painéd heart, alas
My love for thee, not now, but then, was meek

I give my heart for thee to freely take
And with thy own seraphic music make.

I wrote this for an English project in tenth grade.

The warrior lays back on his bed,
The battle raging in his mind.
‘He’s lucky to have kept his head’
The doctors here are very kind.

His body lies so battered and bruised,
His leg blown off with one quick blast,
His being beaten and abused.
How can it be that he still lasts?

Yet he is not the only one
So beaten and so torn apart.
Shots fired, yet not from a gun
Wound not the body, but the heart.

The men who do in trenches squirm,
And those who see the bodies burned,
Who are not pierced by shrapnel blast,
But whose wounds forever last;
There is no salve to soothe the sting,
Just the balm that time may bring.
They not harmed by mortar fire;
The flames inside burn ever higher.
Their cores are shattered, rent asunder
As the earth would roll and skies would thunder.
They see once-men, dying flies,
Souls broken by the ghastly guise.

The soldier rests, the procedure done.
Bandages mend his broken hide.
He is saved, but who has won?
For all are broken all inside.

(I don't like the last line but I couldn't make it fit the meter.)

>>133334
here is mine:
vagina
a work by femanon

>>133833
You need to write a kid's book about biology or something

the city, submerged.

in the bay a thousand stars burn bright.
red, green, yellow, white; lost at sea
is their purpose, time-dissolved is the plight
of the worshipers, of the architects,
of the ants of the anthills; sunk into the night
is the loneliness; expanding and right
are the shadows that cling to each pearl of light.

wrote this when I was 16, for a girl, its bad but seeing it now made me baww ;_;

I dance for mercy
She dances for sweat
Burning neon nectar
Pouring down my gaze
Acid tequila lace
Strangling my sunset phrase
I dance for survival
She dances for death

Herr Panzer

Herr Panzer you stand
A triumph tall.
Sword slung at hip
Like dangling death,
Tenth horn of Dragon
At your side.

Herr Panzer you stand
A Death’s Head dark.
Black boot you crush
Women underfoot,
Flagstaff planted firmly
Twixt yielding hips.

Herr Panzer you stand
A conquest strong.
Beating fists on walls
And scorching lovers,
Herr Panzer, you stand
A man.

>>134622 - is me
want feed back, please give

>>134622
its a little too bombastic for my taste, but the imagery is good