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:

shrapnel of people make for late nights

frustrated at your double meanings
words drift in and out of my concious mind
but all i hear are footsteps pacing sterile hallways
watching letters intermix to form phrases
meanings that lose content and change
only melting down walls
and color is running across pages
freshly blank. who forgot to stop the inkwell?
sheets tangle around skin smooth to the touch
but my flesh burns as yours charges across it
closed eyes dont make the monsters go away
there are people standing. beside me.
crooked smiles. eyes drifting between
galaxies and black holes.
these strangers are my friends.
i dropped blood-letters into a blue mailbox
to apologize for all those
safety pin cuts.
causing harm. smile love.
once i was told that daylight brings about protection
but these beautiful strangers catch melting words
and twist themselves into secondhand lines.
asking for years. years i tucked inside sewn skin.
left in metal cans to settle. and. collect dust.
choking rotten scarred years.
borrowed and forgotten
while cowering in a dark closet. late one night.
two dimes and a nickel later i heard the clock
ring three times. half. your number. melting snow
dripped through my window onto a blue pillow
justly the tears of trees. except it came from wrists
and chests. of macabre hues.
and momma always said open eyes made the night disappear
eyes of the full moon but its still so damn dark.
except for the people. shrapnel of {beautiful} people.
guess my eyes are still closed.
after all.

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