poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Current Stats
  • poems: 45,002 (7,546 active)
  • comments: 303,087
  • ratings: 110,573
  • average rating: 7.5
  • forum posts: 245,975
  • users: 9,852 (127 active)
  • current users: 0


Welcome to Poetry Critical, an online poetry workshop. To post your own poetry you'll need to create a user id by typing a name and password in the box above and hitting 'New User'. If you just want to critique or jump into the discussion, however, you can go ahead and get started!

Poetry Critical 2.0

Hey guys, Donald here.

In a few weeks, this site will be 9 years old. 9 years! And I still know some of the earliest submissions by heart.

But, boy. That’s like 102 in web-years. So it’s time for something new. I’m building that something now with my nights-and-weekend minutes (and plenty of coffee). Buy me a cup?

Development updates from Twitter:

Follow @poetrycritical for more!

Random Poem:

human traits and their social significance

i have understood little
of what it is i am called to..
become? was it?
Irwin Edman once wrote
during an age of prewar;
that we are of natural state,
of social significance.
our traits define our journeys,
and other painfully read
quotations of that matter.
by traits i believed he spoke
of my daily consistency
of drinking tea at 3 o'clock,
or my habit of letting a
phone ring 4 times before
deciding to call later.
it did not cross my mind
that perhaps he meant something
a great deal deeper.
he said that man
has been much less
conscious and deliberate
but was more frequently,
moved by passion
and by ignorance.
Through such traits
we have created our empire,
our masterpieces,
and moreover,
our mayhem.
I hardly wish'd to become
a stimulant of ignorance
yet what fool can say
they wish to be extremely
Day by day,
we sit in constant
What are you doing?
Have we lost our ages of discovery,
of enlightenment?
Edman says that Enthusiasm,
is a trait which shall take you
far in life.
Explain to me how i
could possibly have Enthusiasm,
as i look upon a society
of wreckage.
a society of corrupt children,
burnt books,
ignorant scholars.
a society of over development,
of counter-clock-wise virtues,
and endless sin.
What is there to "become"
in this world of waste?
I hardly wish to become
"apart" of this,
to add to the fabrication
of destruction.
Shall i teach,
to children who refuse to
comprehend the lessons
of history?
Shall i heal,
for people who daily
take for granted every
breath they have
been generously given?
Shall i create,
with the belief that my
creations shall be
trampled upon by
future generation,
just as we have trampled
upon the gifts
of our ancestors?
Some have told me
that i possess a great deal
of negativity,
they tell me i shall never
make anything useful
of my time.
Though they are false,
for i have chosen a path;
I believe i shall write,
in the hopes that
someday, someone,
shall read and realize
what it is we have
truly "become".

(comment on this poem)