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:

Captain Kids' Cook

I've only been cooking
for a few months now, looking
like I'm ranging this kitchen
like a captain who's itchin'
for some high-seas adventure-cuisine.
Here follows the culinary scene:
Shrivelled guts
make mutinous maties --
pirates go nuts,
all a-gnash for the nosh,
and the decks be awash
in swells of soups
n stews n sugary goops,  
reducing quite nicely and rightly
on flames spreading sprightly
beneath the cast bellies of battle-worn pots.
Far below,
dark fists are stowed --
gemstones of the earth
in daggerish girth --
a once-buried trove
brought forth to light.
Oh golden finger-lings,
remove your thinful skins tonight;
allow my earringed ears to hear
your ivory fleshes sing:
                                Ahoy! A bubbling sizzle,
                                   bounding drizzle,
                                    carp-boh! To all!
                                    To oil! Carb-oh!
                     Hydras on the foaming main a-boil!
                  Monsters' hunger staved by stoven toil!
I'm paddling pans with spatul-oars
and sailing 'round this island's shores
beguiling meats with spices, tar-black char.
Salty-dogs a-slaver near
to hand
and sigh when flavours sear.
They hover in a huddled band,
take up the chant,
tho forkless -- they incant:
                                 Revolt! We are
                              gone much too far!
                    We must repast lest be aghast,
                      and teareth down ye spar!
                                 Revolt! We are
                                gone far too far!
The parroting crew
has a chuckle to view
me tighten my buckle
and swash;
beheading gourds, and impaling squash
on the plank.
The rabbling file and rumbling rank
of their innards too loud,
I brandish my saber and woodenspoon-crowd
them away to their brigs.
Impetuous figs!
Do I seem to dally,
in this steam-frenzied galley? Yo ho!
My apron twirls,
as the misty air swirls,
and grated lemon zest
sprinkles down like the twinkles
that burst from an opened treasure-chest.
I swing cavalier
on a crystal chandalier,
and drop cannonball casseroles heavily there --
with flourish and flair --
atop the mess-table,
to heartily disable
the frowns of the little corsairs.
A flurry of cutlery, fingers
and blades, not one lingers
or strays from their meal
but to grunt, or slovenly snort.
With cheeks rosed with zeal,
sauces, and hash-covered lips,
when the time comes for swabbing
like the cracks of whips,
they abandon the ship.

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