Talk about poems from others or write some yourself. I’ll start with one of my favorites.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

I'm literally a poet, i'll post here not the ones i wrote, but some other authors creations.

I like to explore foreign countries poetry, to start, i'lll recommend the poems of Erik Axel Karlfeldt, his style is kinda similar to WBYeats

allpoetry.com/Erik-Axel-Karlfeldt

AN NYC HAIKU

AYO, MA!
I SAID AYO, MA!
...FUCK YOU THEN!

Damn wish dashes didn’t turn into f***ing bullet points wtf

• proper

Yeezus is Jesus in Spanish
Yezeus Christo se ☧

Anyone have any tips for getting out you how you feel into your work? I feel like I completely lost touch with that and my mind is always trying to run from my emotions

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. - Pablo Neruda

Just keep revising

Try to capitalize on emotions as they happen.

You always have your phone (notepad) with you anyways.

They deliver the edicts of God

without delay

And are exempt from apprehension

from detention

And with their God-given

Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria

ferry like bolts of lightning

unhindered between the tribunals

of Space & Time

The Messenger-Spirit

in human flesh

is assigned a dependable,

self-reliant, versatile,

thoroughly poet existence

upon its sojourn in life

It does not knock

or ring the bell

or telephone

When the Messenger-Spirit

comes to your door

though locked

It'll enter like an electric midwife

and deliver the message

There is no tell

throughout the ages

that a Messenger-Spirit

ever stumbled into darkness

• Gregory corso

When The Eclipse Went Out

two white toes and a black hole
furry
a sharp tongue for cleaning his
friend
travel to the end together, it
hurts
they say it's okay, this shot
calms them down
i kneel beside my ever-loving
shadow
and say my goodbyes —
hes screaming, shrieking, so
am i
HELP ME IT HURTS
we say
they end it
it doesn't stop hurting
it never stops hurting

i recently got a promotion at work but for some reason got hit with a wave of depression last week
speaking with my therapist we realized it coincided with me not feeling like I had a creative outlet
so i've began writing poetry again
I made a short list of some of the most memorable events in my life and this was #5. its about putting down my first cat. his name was Partial Eclipse because he was all black except for two white toes.
i cried when i finished it yesterday.
it feels good to write again.

Terrance Hayes is my favorite poet & this is probably my favorite poem, not just by him, but in general

poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/57566/how-to-draw-a-perfect-circle

Him and Kaveh Akbar inspire my poetry-voice a f*** ton

Here’s a poem by Akbar:

poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/90975/despite-my-efforts-even-my-prayers-have-turned-into-threats

And then a poet I love who doesn’t necessarily inspire me creatively, I just love her passion, is Patricia Smith

poetryfoundation.org/poems/147055/when-black-men-drown-their-daughters

Those three are my favorite contemporary writers along w Claudia Rankine

Your curves cannot distract me from your eyes, cause I know where the truth resides.
I dont wanna see naked before I strip you to your soul and know that I can trust you.

"as I sit here, broken hearted

I came to s*** but only farted"

On the real though my favorite poems probably ice and fire. It is so simple but I find myself thinking about it quite a lot.

"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."

This is one of my favorite poems of all time about fighting in WWI. It's so incredibly powerful I get shivers every time I read it. And it's a big reason I am so staunchly anti-war.

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

I studied it and other first world war poems for my A levels, it's an incredible poem. Wilfred Owen had such ability and its tragic that he died when he did, literally one week before the war ended

old pond,
frog leaps in,
water's sound

i didn't want to spend the time re-formatting this poem i wrote a couple years ago in the ktt text box so im just pasting a screenshot

it's written from a human and alien perspective and my inspiration was from a collection of short stories by Italo Calvino called Cosmicomics which I highly recommend

I like this alot. Italo is obe of my favorite authors. Great work man

...And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

cry rivers

swim to the shore

dimpled cheeks betray the feeling

feet stampeding through mine shafts

canaries singing, the wire's tapped

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!