File: JOYLEE.jpg (657.6 KB)

POESÍA DE AMOR, EL TEMA,

EN ESTE HILO LITERATO,

EN ESTE,, AQUÍ, FORO DE MIERDA;

REQUIÉRENME LETRAS DE AMOR

LOS LIBRESCOS HIJOS DE CERDA

QUE SOLO HAN PROBADO EL ARDOR

DE LA MÁS BAJA Y RUIN LUJURIA,

Y QUIENES NO SON MERITORIOS

NI DE MI EYACULADO OLOR.

Spiraling decay that begins and never ends yesterday is today yet today feels worse tomorrow will hurt more I gaze into the mirror and I see my reflection and I see my reflection in the mirror behind my mirror form and I wonder if the me in the mirror envies me or if he prefers to exist intermittently and I wonder if the me in the mirror behind myself envies the me in the mirror as his existence is not only acknowledged when I think to think about him and I realize I am distracting myself from the spiral inside my heart beating erratically although the monitor says 89 BPM and I wonder why the spiral never ends and I realize that the spiral is self inflicted and I decide to cut it out and I prepare my genetic scalpel and I hesitate because it is scary and I make the incision and I pull the string within my heart and I pull and I pull and I pull

ad nauseam

I'm gay
I'm gay
I'm gay for boobs

Echo
by Christina Rossetti

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimful of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again tho' cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

This is a poem I wrote. Please give a critique.

Empire for empire, war for war,
Strong crushing weak is the law,
As great men sit on golden throne,
They want to see an empire ROME.
Caesar shall return as a great man,
Foretold by Spengler, see his plan,
Total rule from sea to sea
And he will rule but by decree.
Disagree? To the camp.with you,
You will be a slave, that's true,
As empires conquer once again,
And blood flows fresh over the plain,
We worship Genghis, Hitler, Caesar,
We need an empire that's even bigger,
We need an empire that's number one,
That holds the world like a stone,
Men will march in total rhythm,
As emperors expend much jism
At the political map, all one color,
As they take the whole world over,
Old gods return, sacrifices made,
Jupiter smiles, as the way is paved,
To IRON RULE, that will never end,
And for the weakling, we do portend
Unending violence, just for a thrill,
YOU WILL NEVER STOP, OUR IRON WILL.

>>25316902
If self-aware post-irony it's funny. If making fun of someone other than you it's gay.

>>25316647
A poem I wrote translated to English: "The Hedgeshot"

In the shadow of brooding heat fierce,
The grassblades stand limp and pale.
The hedge in glowing, sweating pierce
Has lost its deep and vivid veil.

There stirs a twitch within the hedge’s breast,
A rustling low beneath the floor.
It pricks me sorely to go and quest
What whispers there within its core

In the shadow of the shimmering, glimm’ring heat,
From out the hedge there spurs a strain:
A play of most bewitching, elfin wit,
From the hedgebelly to mine ear again

I peered with narrowed, eager slits,
To see what moves within the leaves’ domain.
I stared into the heat’s wild, mangled fits
What plays that hidden faery-game

Surely the troll teases the sparrows,
Surely sylphs hoard treasures in secret nooks,
Surely gnomes hide in the brown-leafed barrows,
Surely fauns court faun-maids with roguish looks.
Surely sprites are humming and buzzing there,
Surely the dwarf-king lures me to be his heir

Then angels stepped up to my side and spake:
“Dwarf and troll, sylph and faun,
All these quaint and pious hedge-sprites wake
You may dare to grasp them if you’re brave and drawn.
You may walk the hedge-path with God’s own grace,
But know this one thing clear:
If you go, you go all the way, and without a trace.”

A shiver ran through me, full of prickling fright,
That lazy, withered hedge now seemed
A changeful, impish child of spite
It struck me squarely in the heart, it gleamed
Right on it struck my heart, my senses’ bane
Its wicked jest has hit its mark,
And drives me mad with love insane

The rustling in the hedge doth wane,
I startle upright in my chair, aghast.
I must not wake what came again
The very fate the hedge on me hath cast

Yet turning back is now forever banned,
Mad-will hath seized the reins outright.
In angel-song and fool’s delight I stand,
To bask therein and swear to every faery’s rite

For evermore, and more ever, with all my might.

Now there stands that hedge again,
green as spring and right as rain

No wailing on the plane
Parent ethical
(I'm sleeping)

Sparagmos

Mouth full of blood and wine
under the bone-white moon,
women dance and tear me apart
howling like loons.

Under the ascending sun
My gore makes the flowers grow.
Women feast on my flesh
next to deer and crow.

>>25317391
What did you mean by this?

--bittersweet--

A nodding ship that drifts away
Off from places so dull and grey
Where grief and sorrow go to die;
leaving but a carefree sigh

No strife or dread or toil for gold
Of passing stories never told
Gentle seas that rock fears to sleep;
for wakeful minds alone to keep

Intruding curtains wake my sight
The light betrays my wish for night
What lingers wears off with a yawn
And fades away along with dawn

>>25317423
>Sparagmos is an ancient Greek ritual term (from sparasso, meaning "to tear or rend") describing the ecstatic act of dismembering a living human or animal sacrifice. Associated closely with the worship of Dionysus, it symbolized the tearing apart of life to achieve a divine, transcendent rebirth.

Theatre sad.
Drapes in winter.
I'd show you but nothing's
ready for a photograph.
I have some already,
photographs
of photographs
of the sea.
They are precious,
like me.

>>25316745
El Cumgenio

Thought I'd end up with Sean
But he wasn't a match
Wrote some songs about Ricky
Now I listen and laugh
Even almost got married
And for Pete, I'm so thankful
Wish I could say "thank you" to Malcolm
'Cause he was an angel
One taught me love
One taught me patience
And one taught me pain
Now, I'm so amazing
Say I've loved and I've lost
But that's not what I see
So, look what I got
Look at what you taught me
And for that, I say
Thank you, next (next)
Thank you, next (next)
Thank you, next
I'm so grateful for my ex
Thank you, next (next)
Thank you, next (next)
Thank you, next (next)
I'm so
Spend more time with my friends
I ain't worried 'bout nothin'
Plus, I met someone else
We're havin' better discussions
I know they say I move on too fast
But this one gon' last
'Cause her name is Ari
And I'm so good with that (so good with that)
She taught me love (love)
She taught me patience (patience)
She handles pain (pain)
That amazing (yeah, she's amazing)
I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)
But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)
'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)
Ain't no need for searching
And for that, I say
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next (thank you)
I'm so grateful for my ex
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next (said thank you, next)
Thank you, next (next)
I'm so grateful for my ex
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
I'm so
One day I'll walk down the aisle
Holding hands with my mama
I'll be thanking my dad
'Cause she grew from the drama
Only wanna do it once, real bad
Gon' make that last
God forbid something happens
Least this song is a smash (song is a smash)
I've got so much love (love)
Got so much patience (patience)
I've learned from the pain (pain)
I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)
I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)
But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)
'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)
Ain't no need for searching
And for that, I'll say
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next
I'm so grateful for my ex
Thank you, next (thank you, next)
Thank you, next (said thank you, next)
Thank you, next (next)
I'm so grateful for my ex
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
Yeah, yee
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
Thank you, next
Yeah, yee

came up with these more as song lyrics some sleepless night, but i might as well post them here.

i put up all the red flags
that i could fucking find
and you still said you loved me
and nothing'd change your mind

i told you this was quicksand
d'you really think we'd swim?
i couldn't say no to your love
you were my one way in

well we're still bound up in my skin
if not in your eyes
i planted all these roses
to make up for the lies

please forgive me all these poses
and what they're there to hide
please forgive me all these postures, dear
and what you're here to hide

Hard water

Drowned dead, calcified carcass still standing

Mournful eyes layered on glass, silver, glass again

Keeping me company while I evaporate

Dry tears form along the fragile surface

Can't love her

Threadly reminder: "free verse" isn't poetry.

as the seasons blur
grin across the sands of time
forgotten kindness

>>25316647
stephin merritt:

you need me
like the wind
needs the trees
to blow in
like the moon
needs poetry
you need me

>>25318014

Say that without your father's cock ravaging you now.

>>25316647
El armador aquel de casas rústicas
habló desde la barca,
ellos sobre la grava de la orilla,
y él flotando en las aguas.
Y la brisa del lago recogía
de su boca parábolas,
ojos que ven, oídos que oyen gozan
de bienaventuranza.
Recién nacían por el aire claro
las semillas aladas,
el sol las revestía con sus rayos,
la brisa las cunaba.
Hasta que al fin cayeron en un libro
¡ay, tragedia del alma!
ellos tumbados en la grava seca
y él flotando en las aguas.

>>25316647
>Bonus: post a poem you wrote about your oneitis.

The winter solstice of my love
Left nothing to amend
I stood without my heart that night
"Why does it have to end?"

Spring came to take my sullen mood
Snow melted with my plea
Yet in my chest was still a void
Like the hollow of a tree

Then summer came and dried away
The tears I used to weep
My heart now tarries in the tree
Forever yours to keep

>>25317131
I like it

>>25318014
The weavers of these tedious threads
Would like to see their medium dead
Should something raw and real arise
Must this be raped and ostracized
In a life without my rhythm and rhyme
What is there to hide behind?

Alexander Pope's Eloisa to Abelard is a great love poem. Too long to post in it's entirety, but here's an excerpt:
>Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
>Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
>Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
>Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
>They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
>Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
>The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
>Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
>Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
>And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

>>25318141
Heh. fun little one

>>25318141
bruh

>>25318141
Kino
>>25317391
CRINGE and GAY

>>25318033
https://youtu.be/jgGUutf5BK0?si=atyiBU-tTW0gBgRv

File: FFXqLTGXsAUU17V.jpg (100.9 KB)

>>25318054
>>25316745
Why are Hispanics are the only ones who have the dignity to post in their own language? Other than them nobody whose first language isn't English does it.

We gave them swords to defend the land
Now their blades are at our throats
Our servants claim every speck of sand
And Muhammed rapes our goats

O flesh of my flesh
Blood of my blood
Too near to touch
Eternally out of grasp
Nearest to my heart
Never to know the sound

Lost in spiral I realize there is no room left for my attachments I open a space within my brain to funnel the string through a space with no ending beginning from the origin point the resulting gordian knot hangs like a dead light bulb with nobody to hear its cries for control from there reality may form paper effigies go about their business unobservant of their false nature uncaring for their fellow false humans unknowing of the tangle swinging above their false society as emotions swell surface area stretches further further beginning and never ending one day the spiral will be cut one day the paper will look up one day their crayon eyes will blink one day they may shed a wet tear one day there will be an ending and finally meaning will bloom from the corpses of crushed dreams

>>25317131
can we get the original?

>>25317634
>photographs
>of photographs
>of the sea
nice

>>25317634
i like it

>>25318141
>without rhythm or rhyme
scans better but ymmv with accent, otherwise tight

NÃO FIZ NADA, BEM SEI, NEM O FAREI

Não fiz nada, bem sei, nem o farei,
Mas de não fazer nada isto tirei,
Que fazer tudo e nada é tudo o mesmo,
Quem sou é o espectro do que não serei.

Vivemos ao encontros do abandono
Sem verdade, sem dúvida nem dono.
Boa é a vida, mas melhor é o vinho.
O amor é bom, mas é melhor o sono.

— Fernando Pessoa


I’ve done nothing; never will – but see
How this nothing’s educated me:
Doing all and nothing is the same;
I’m the ghost of what I’ll never be.

Under dereliction’s will we creep;
Truth attends us not, nor masters keep.
Life is good, but wine is better still;
Love is good, but better still is sleep.

Parfum Exotique

Quand, les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d’automne,
Je respire l’odeur de ton sein chaleureux,
Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux
Qu’éblouissent les feux d’un soleil monotone;

Une île paresseuse où la nature donne
Des arbres singuliers et des fruits savoureux;
Des hommes dont le corps est mince et vigoureux,
Et des femmes dont l’oeil par sa franchise étonne.

Guidé par ton odeur vers de charmants climats,
Je vois un port rempli de voiles et de mâts
Encor tout fatigués par la vague marine,

Pendant que le parfum des verts tamariniers,
Qui circule dans l’air et m’enfle la narine,
Se mêle dans mon âme au chant des mariniers.

— Charles Baudelaire


‘Exotic Perfume’

When, eyes closed, on a sultry autumn night,
I breathe the warming fragrance of your breast,
I see expansive shores before me, dressed
In summer’s dazzling unrelenting light;

A lazy isle, where Nature sets in sight
Exotic trees, and fruits of luscious zest;
And slender-bodied men with vigour blessed,
And women too with open gaze and bright.

Drawn by your fragrance to this pleasant land,
I see a port where sails and rigging stand
At ease, still wearied by the ocean wave,

While in my soul, the verdant tamarind scent
That fills the air and makes my nostrils crave,
Is everywhere with songs of sailors blent.

Noli admirari, quare tibi femina nulla,
Rufe, velit tenerum supposuisse femur,
non si illam rarae labefactes munere vestis
aut perluciduli deliciis lapidis.
laedit te quaedam mala fabula, qua tibi fertur
valle sub alarum trux habitare caper.
hunc metuunt omnes, neque mirum: nam mala valde est
bestia, nec quicum bella puella cubet.
quare aut crudelem nasorum interfice pestem,
aut admirari desine cur fugiunt.

— Catullus


Don’t wonder, Rufus, why you sleep alone,
Without some girl to offer you caresses,
Despite your endless gifts of pretty dresses
And necklaces of rare translucent stone.
I’ve heard some nasty rumours. In the vale
Beneath your arms a goat resides, it’s said.
This scares them off. Quite right! To go to bed
With such a filthy’s beast’s beyond the pale.
So try to smell more like a human being,
Or otherwise get used to people fleeing.

Maria, sedated.
Fingers pluck a tear out
Christ watches, always
Hand on your heart
the other where?

I've been reading the very Revd Donne. I like the poems but I often feel like I'm in over my head. Sometimes I come away struggling with cleaning any meaning at all. Does anyone have advice? I'm relatively inexperienced with poetry aside from Shakespeare.

>>25321587
>I've been reading the very Revd Donne. I like the poems but I often feel like I'm in over my head.
"Dr. Donne's verses are like the peace of God: they pass all understanding." — King James I

>Does anyone have advice?
Read some other poetry. Hard to recommend anyone since I don't know what it is about Donne that you like.

It might be the very feeling of being in over your head you like, in which case, here are some 20th-century poets who can make you feel there is meaning in there you're not quite getting:
— Hart Crane
— Wallace Stevens
— Robert Lowell
— John Ashbery
— Geoffrey Hill (sometimes)
— W. H. Auden (sometimes)

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Rupi Kaur

>>25320233
>zero (you)s
the other ESLs are too savvy.

Just a dream I can't make true
Something I must decipher
Would you let me translate you?

In my mind I'll remake you
And myself right beside her
Just a dream I can't make true

A piece of you in residue
I'll bring along as reminder
Would you let me translate you?

Forge you in my own figure
Shadows behind a divider
Just a dream I can't make true

You'll get your loan in repaid full
Like Joan of Arc since the fire
Would you let me translate you?

Who knew it would be this painful
To pluck the thorns from a briar
Just a dream I can't make true
Would you let me translate you?

>>25321166
Sure: "Die Heckenschützen"

Im Schatten der brütenden Hitze
Stehn Halme matt empor
Die Hecke im gühenden Schwitze
Die sattgrüne Farbe verlor

Da zuckt es im Innern der Hecke
Da knistert es unter der Flur
Da reizt es mich arg zu entdecken
Was säuselt da drinnen denn nur

Im Schatten der glimmenden Hitze
Dringt aus der Hecke hervor
Ein Spiel von innigem Witze
Vom Heckenbauch ans Ohr

Ich guckte gespannte Schlitze
Was da im Gewächs herfuhr
Ich gaffte in's Flirren der Hitze
Was treibt es da drinnen denn nur

Sicher hatzt hier der Kobold die Spätze
Sicher horten dort die Sylphen Schätze
Sicher tummeln sich Gnome im Laubbraun
Sicher buhlt dort ein Faun um die Faunfrau'n
Sicher summen und brummen da Geister
Sicher lockt mich der Zwergenmeister

So traten Engel an meine Seite und sprachen
Zwerg und Kobold, Sylph und Faun
All die possierlich frommen Heckenmanen
Kannst du dich zu greifen trau'n
Den Heckengang mit Gottes Segen wagen
Doch wisse eins:
Gehst du, so gehst du ganz.

Da Schauerte es mir im Schalk
Jene träge dürre Hecke scheint
Als wechselhaft und schelmisch' Balg
Getroffen hat sie mich ins Herz
Inmitten meiner Sinne
Getroffen hat ihr böser Scherz
Und macht mir Irrenminne

Da ebbt jenes Rascheln der Hecke
Ich schrecke im Stuhl empor
Dass ich nicht wieder erwecke
Wozu mich die Hecke soeben erkor

Doch Rückkehr ist ausgeschlossen
Tollenwollen hat Überhand gewonnen
Mich im Engelssang und Narrenwonnen
Sonnen und Eid zu leisten allen Feenpossen
Das immer und immer das ganz

Nun steht die Hecke grün und prall

>>25321936
I kekked

File: Inferno VI — Virgil Quiets Cerberus.jpg (578.6 KB)

Not Doré’s finest hour, I have to say. Cerberus is supposed to be on the point of tearing them limb from limb. But Virgil is sprinkling the earth in a relaxed manner and Dante isn’t paying any attention whatsoever. Oh well, never mind.

>>25316647
How to get into poetry?
I have a few poetry books I keep on the shitter, Leaves of Grass, Robert Frost's NH, some other random shit. I enjoy reading them and occasionally pull some lines I like, but I've always felt a bit in over my head with poetry, like I'm just trying to tap into a world I don't fully grasp. I'd like to understand it better.

>>25323082
I'll add that I seem to like the more abstract stuff best because I can kinda do what I want with it mentally. The stuff I want to grasp better is the more straightforward stuff that's regarded as classics, I don't really understand the nuances of the craft enough to appreciate those.

>>25322045
I wasn't satisfied with some stanzas here, so here's a second stab at it.

Just a dream I can't make true
Something I must decipher
Would you let me translate you?

In my mind I'll remake you
And myself right beside her
Just a dream I can't make true

A piece of you in residue
I'll bring along as reminder
Would you let me translate you?

Forever in my retinue
Your name remains in requiem
Just a dream I can't make true

Bring your voice I'll bring the fuel
We'll cleanse your faults in the fire
Would you let me translate you?

It's painful to be born anew
To pluck the thorns from a briar
Just a dream I can't make true
Would you let me translate you?

The expansion which is is referred to as "echo" thus like an echo expansion always returns to its origin point breathing in and out the knot creates and destroys so that there may be the facade of ending yet because the knot remains nothing is allowed to end therefore it begins and never ends like schizophrenic lungs imagining worlds of interest as to distract from mundane truths kill the knot kill your attachments return to reality break the mirror break your shell reset your heart and understand that one day you will suddenly die in your yard surrounded by grass and wire waiting to be found by your children so that your beginning may finally have an ending and meaning will have been established.

I have a little question that I don't know if any of you will really have the answer to
listening to Slovak music I found that they take great care in keeping vowel length intact even if it makes the lyrics sound weird
is meter in Czech and Slovak poetry quantitative or qualitative? if it is quantitative, that's awesome, I think it would be interesting to hear a poem or something to get an idea of how it may have sounded in Latin and Greek
do they use dactylic hexameters and elegiac couplets and so on?

You look, and I am seen.
God had not finished the trees
before you took the green.

A single tear on the blue column
falls, homesick for the sea.
It might have fallen
from you
or me.

Swart long-ship of wood so coarse,
of heathen make, a water'd Horse.
Gallop'd across the water wide, her sail
billow'd with swollen pride.
With compass new did England seek,
with Axe in hand to hew the meek.
The men of God were slaughtered then,
as Foxes routed from the den.
The bearded men resistance met, by English Men, while women wept.
And spear did clash with sword and shield, those English hearts that could not yield;
Not in their home, on holy shores.
'Fly to your ships and take up your oars!
The wind of God will aid you not, and on the shores by arrows shot!'
The heathen dogs began to rout,while bows
were nocked and in a shout:
They loosed them, lo' there as they fled,
the surf was strewn with heathen dead.

>>25324498

Hello it's 2026.

>>25324498
Pretty good

Poetry Is Happening should be a genre.

File: 717202056_4334612243455157_1685995532973486462_n.jpg (55.2 KB)

How is something like this considered poetry? This is (bad) prose? Facebook is infested with this crap. I'm not a formalist, far from it, but what the fuck.

>>25325638
It's considered poetry, because you recognize it to be poetry. Poetry delivered in the vehicle of bad prose. All meaning emerges from context.

In a dream I was
a pigeon
shitting up
the David
and they didn't fine me
but they also
didn't offer a crumb
so I had to lay siege
to a tourist hand
I shat on him too
then
and flew back
to my tiled heaven
fully convinced
of the validity
of a panino

File: trump-new-hair.jpg (264.2 KB)

This cracked nut
Of intellect's stuff:
Babe, you don't strut
With a broad felicitous butt --
I alone flaunt a load
Of gruff gristle -- Mistaken
For fluff

I cracked the nut
On perplexity's open crug:
A heaping 20th century pavement --
An habitation of a mound
Fleshen in cut. All of they,
Whom I spent an hour,
They're made from the same stuff.

Would you guess it?

My father used to tell me
No friends but the mountains
But dared he not prepare me for
the quiet after violence

Marauders after power
Invited me to choir
The music of the shooter
And quiet after violence

The distant drums were booming
Until the crowd was silent
The peacefulness was grueling
In quiet after violence

>>25325734
Not him but I don't. It's just shitty prose with random newlines.

My brains on the pavement
Says more than a verbal statement

>>25326860
ugly ass serif font

Bless the hill that gives freely
and the right time on the clock for a walk.
The dirt road is clean enough for spirits
and you never know behind a tree.
The well is deep enough for two
but probably more—
we go to town for a bucket.

File: 1775023415302963.png (630.9 KB)

>>25327349
Bless da hill dat gibs freely
an' da rite time on da clock fo' a wock.
Da dirt rode is cleen enuf fo' spirits
an' u neva no bind a tree.
Da well is deep enuf fo' too
but prolly mo'—
we go town fo' a bucket.

Lo, I have naught to say, and say it well,
With “thee” and “thou” bedaubed on every line;
Yon empty thought, in antiquated shell,
Doth strut as though its vapours were divine.

Forsooth, my quill hath found no meat herein,
Yet still it scratchèth like a lordly goose;
I summon “whence,” “wherefore,” and “hath” and “bin,”
To make this puddle seem profound and spruce.

O list! No wisdom knocketh at the gate;
No bright conceit comes riding o’er the lea.
I merely wear a jerkin, sigh at fate,
And call mine boredom “high solemnity.”

Thus nothing blooms in raiment overwrought:
A sonnet full of robes, and void of thought.

I remember reading an anecdote about how much Wordsworth liked to walk, but I didn't realize that 90% of his poetry is about walking.

File: substack-40bebfe8-8be9-41e6-aeb7-2b1c2d162c74.jpg (39.5 KB)

An hospitable abode -- What is that
But a crude forlorn picture? 'Tleast
By a weary man's soul -- For what else
Could he see by moonglow
Or as by chance he attends candlit mass
'Pon Candlemas, and what is all in each
Way greater than he, is still awash by the
Dread complex: Inferiority
And so is 'any place he hangs his hat' --
No, scratch that! So is the finish line that
Overjoyed 'pie in the sky' -- A crude remark
(He knows), but not all this, and tragically
He logically doubts not: Heaven . . .
Where does he turn, and is it women?
Women of great heft? -- Broad and wide?
Bawdy in bosom, or swaying in side?
Or women, the young -- These which youth
Does betray: In fellows a queesiness
The matronly will *gasp* when you say:
"H-, h-, h- . . . Hi." "H-, h-, . . . Hello."
"H-, h-, . . . How can I help you?"
"You been here before?"
Some are so young and handsome
The jealous arise . . .
But you should arise quicker
They're all Christ in disguise
Mind your manners, lost boy
Eyes on the prize
There's no telling if your heart will
In reality capsize -- You're restless to
A fault: So be carried, you dove.

I don't get why in The Divine Comedy that Dante and Vergil are allowed to just wander in and have a stroll around

"Can you hear me now?"
Echoes call in forlorn halls
Questions answer questions
Many times we've called before
"Hear me, hear me now"
Bitter pleas from depraved souls
Confessions of confessions
And words of God through glory holes

>>25328942
People are constantly accosting them and threatening them but Virgil always just says, more or less, "Unlucky — someone in Heaven says we're allowed!" and this is the magic password and the demon or centaur or whatever looks disappointed and stops trying to eat them.

You have to remember the whole thing is a massive allegory and I guess that part of it means, mainly, that if you are really a virtuous person and have faith in God and so on, you can associate with wicked people and not get corrupted yourself.

That said, on a few occasions it is a bit more hairy. For example the demons chasing them into the circle of the hypocrites. Or there's the thing with the castle where the spirits shut the door in Virgil's face. I guess that's saying that logic and reason (which is what Virgil represents) can't comprehend pure malice, because pure malice is not really logical. Evil people are often evil even when they don't benefit from it (or even suffer from it). Virgil can't anticipate that.