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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:
|A Sunday Morning At the Beach|
I'm perched atop the moon, quite forbidden for an earthling like me. Looking down on the white cresent, I must be careful no to fall headlong. I'm afraid of heights but the sight is beautiful. Deep in thought I straighten up and sift the grainy moondust between solid fingers. How many planets and people exploded to form this residue of life, I wonder, and how does it feel to be trampled on, smothered and played with three times a day? But really I imagine I already know. And as I look out onto a sea of space I wonder if pain ever really does stop or follows us, not running and screaming, but heavy, invisible.
A cannonball attatched to the leg with fishing line, eternally cutting flesh, leaving wounds and scars no one can see the cause of. Will scissors ever come?
The winds of time now pull at my hair and brush my face; tugging me back from contemplation. As I look up into space I know that though there is pain the universe is still beautiful. I hope that it never changes....except to turn upside down and free me of this gravity. I want to fall into the sky and
straight into the arms of infinity, thus avoiding becoming a few grains of sand.
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