u/Gummyfail
Picture god hung in the sky like a motion light
hung in the sky like a gold frisbee
A black disk whirring in front
whirring like a saw
whirring like a table saw
Picture a black day
picture the cricket’s chirr in day
This must be an omen
could this be a portent?
it must be time for vials poured
It must be time to check the wine
 
Like Tantalus, I reach for fruit that pulls
away from me. The ouroboros tail
recedes and stretching mouth cannot press lips
or tongue to tip. Oh, if the taste is sweet,
then surely I can reach, but soft! It pulls
away from me again! Though back is wrenched
to-wards this bliss, and though to kiss is bliss,
is bliss, I pull away as though this kiss
is venom laced (although I love the lace,
I must admit the chase is wearing down
the fun of the evening). I press to press
again! I strain my back again! I reach
to kiss and then! My lips meet skin! Meet skin!
I’ve come full circle and hope to again.
1[2
My muse a bad bitch,
who fucked this sad skit
inside this script flipped brain.
My muse a bad bitch,
who fucked this sad skit
inside my blood print,
gain the flow of sirens poor
and out,
the sea and sing and sing
about Achilles
and how he killed these
Trojan hoodrats
and how he killed that
hope that shone out
like the gold bat
he swung in third grade
and how the skull cracks
and slams against brain
how those blood hands
dropped that red bat
how that boy’s mom
asked where god’s at
and how his main bitch
held his dread
locks and kept the dread
naught from nulling
more out
when he was just
The blizzard bursted black, shattered day to duskness.
The bloody moon abrupt, dazing through the deluge
of snow, arose all rose colored, calling cruelly,
“The sleet will bring the sleep crashing down on careless
awakened. Woe be washed, racked and riled to battle.”
The warring weather wore reddish hues of radish
eclipse, the clotted snow broke the bearings brave men
held close. The close of night bore the broken frozen.
12
]Out of the Giants Mouth[
Inn began God^1 wayward northern
lights^2 shimmying (dance_glow.yhwh^3 )
till the tetraheathen^4 quaked awake^5
]hohohohoho[^6 the sorror^7, the drawer^8
tis’^9 OPEN^10 agape agrape^11 am orchard!^12
Winepresh schlurrs pashh the inn’d^13
so sober, so cold, so-so wishy (again
with schlurry ov frusshchrTREYATION!^14
-k it, ten^15) paws so soft, so-so^16 warm
skin (my skin?) buh-bye^17, buh-buh-buh
Bum! buh-buh-buh-BUM! Bum looking a
round for Wehs^18 to grow to blinding
Trees across shapely and uprighteous…
(but this is where I draw the line^19 )… … …
through lines and through planes
through cubes, through hyper(cubes)repyh^20
Recurse
This a bit of a weird one, but I wonder what people think of the idea and whether it can be implemented properly.
It's been well established that a tradtional prose narrative requires a lot of reworking to fit within the framework of a ludonarrative (look at LOTR or Metro). I wonder if the same type of reworking would be required in poetry (or even more so).
I've seen a few games that approach poetry through dialogue, much like plays do (Hylics, Goblet's Grotto, The Beginner's Guide) and have some relative sucess, but how would you believe someone could go about 'translating' the concept of lyric poetry into a much,much more volatile and visual form.
I think looking at William Blake is a
A rose is a rose is a rose
and a poem equals it
If it be well made.
If my verse is flowers,
then I must be a gardener,
but not a very good one.
While others prune and
water and
whatever, until bushels
of sacred geometry
open and speckle
their oeuvre like gemstars,
I take threadbare silk
and crudely carve out
petals. I take petals
and sew haphazardly
hoping for something
beautiful.
However,
the only beautiful being
the beautiful of
childishness.
I’ve a bouquet now,
but it smells like my hands.
-simplifying modernism in four easy steps)
Eliot
A mean as a mermaid;
she hit me with a force as great as wist.
Woolf
“I can’t see over the table’s centerpiece”;
“Then you can’t see into my soul.”
cummings
Ohh, moaned he
Oh, said she
;
Ohh, moaned she
Oh, said he
Jo(to the word)yce
Endlessnessnessness;
nessnessnessnessness;
nessnessnessnessness
(Over
My God was a Gamma-ray burst;
what a million firmaments
blown dry like condensation
on a bathroom mirror.
My God was a cyclone,
blinded by noone,
tearing through southern states.
My God, I miss the
mouthful of tongues
and quaking jaw.
Eeeeeeesh Da’alada!
Deeeeeesh Ba’alada!
I miss the fatherly breeze.
I saw John the Dullahan.
He was covered in bee’s wax.
Caesar’s roman candle,
shot as a warning.
Like tiger came the-
Christ is now crossing the barrier reef,
bringing the fearful to carry the light.
Hammering, hammering gold to a leaf;
slivers of glistening God in the night.
Trudging the ocean with holes in his feet,
fountains of purify spray from his veins.
Finnegans wake again witness his fleet,
bleached as the snow that will cover remains.
All-father! All-father! Made from my clay!
Fear me! Fear ME! Maker of day!
[1](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4z913c/drincath_drincath_old_english_drinking_song/d6
-Tesseract! Tesseract!
-Have mercy on me!
-Send Ms. Lazarus
-to touch the tip of my tongue!
There is a great gulf fixed
in me. There is a great
bursting star swinging
solar flares like blades.
There is a great burning,
tilting and rolling towards Us.
In That i hear the roaring of ocean’s currents
in a static vacuum. A shrill ringing breaks through
of sacred bells. Ringing throughout and therein.
Maybe space will wrap around space and wrap around time
and wrap around like a horrible blanket so that We
can sleep while drifting.
1[2](h