poetry critical

online poetry workshop

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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:

what a terrible word

there is a terrible word
escaping from behind
unfulfilled gold-rimmed eyes.
it's capabilities disturbed.
destruction previously recorded.
but it seems too tempting to let it
               s    l      i    d      e  
through these not-quite closed
     lips                  of mine.
he is far even as he speaks.
in the eves of houses, cross legged on rooftops.
watching the rising moon
with unblinking eyes. determined happiness.
you are resting against concrete walls
smiling the first of many days.
bereft of unhappy imbalance.
each recieved this harbinger.
yet barred the doors as the comets
         showered down upon her.
his words recognize condescension.
lightly tripping
through ideas. incapable of direct eyesight.
leaving her desperation
unfurled on the floor
as she casts out last year to find him again.
you rectify mistakes through passing thought.
forgetful of yesterday's minutes
with each stride drawing farther
from her desperate attempts to catch up.
                    knowingly looking back.
at the sadness etched in her face
as she falls                          behind.
suppose she packs an empty bag
staggers into the next clap of thunder
edged by purple sky
white surge of charging light
turns to watch the silhoutte on rooftops,
the outline on a concrete wall.
wraps her arms about her
in the fading flare.
and with the next bolt
claims disappearance.
there is a terrible word
on her tongue.
she, who carries messages,
it is not the word of
                   second chances.
it screams with the passionate rain.
roars with the ravenous wind.
pools at the edges of puckered skin
                 before swelling over in crimson currents.
it sets fire to affection            pities attachment.
it is a word of doings. forgettings. never-quite enoughs.
but wills a body to survive
through sheer foolishness
quite a terrible way of life.

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