poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Current Stats
  • poems: 46,536 (7,915 active)
  • comments: 310,496
  • ratings: 113,302
  • average rating: 7.5
  • forum posts: 247,946
  • users: 10,091 (135 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:

In Media Res

...when suddenly my safety fell apart. My own mirror came crashing down before me and my shattered reflection lay poised, indelicately on the floor.
In a shocked effort to replenish the girl that was once me, I fell to my knees, grabbing at the glimmering pieces. The pieces that somehow, held my lifestory.
Fairytales sometimes do have sad endings, for my life had grown darker but not so dim that at the right angle a picture couldn't capture my smile or that the sunlight didn't gleam off my hair, casting blonde shadows and I wanted my glass slipper back.
So, my hands flew quickly across the floor, re-positioning and replacing the collection of shards that I so fiercly needed to be me.
Blinded with silent tears, I worked until I imagined my eyelids getting heavier with each thought of perfection. I wiped away my liquid sorrow with the backs of my hands and hushed my sobs with a swift inhalation of stinging pain because as I looked down I saw a different dark shade, a deep red.
But the defiant tint that was spilled over the blue tiles of my bathroom floor, the shade of blood that unquestionably came from my trembling hands, seemed to be getting brighter. I could make out something, surely there but very faint, was a message.
The prince had sent it and it read...

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