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:

Why Did You Marry Aphrodite?

You married her years ago
when your feet were threatening to cut themselves off
of gravity. Her spare hands picked you up,
throwing you back and forth like a hot coal
in time with a piano metronome
until you said I love you over and over.
Her lilac perfume reminded you of your cradle
when you were young and blankets stuffed your eyes
with cotton sores and calluses,
when stars were wishing wells
and you really believed you’d get a dream out of twenty-five cents,
at least one star would take pity
and keep your coin instead of spitting it back down.
Her bright curls like twisted suns burning holes in the sky,
burned a hole in you.
You kissed her, trying to get inside
sometimes because you couldn’t remember
what you lost in the great fire.
At her desire you laid around under the liars,
the dream shakers that let you down, making nothing
but tears to fill up their holes of copper and nickel
flicked up to heaven by deadened children after the toothfairy.
Aphrodite smiled shiny pearls that beamed and longed
for the sweet soaked clam they were ripped from
when water didn’t have names.
She laced you in her arms that lived forever,
and you would die in a pile and she would smile;
hiding lies in her dresses
of silk. You found them once when you went looking for love
or mortality, memories of men twisting her thighs
and night sky serenades with your old quarters meant to buy dreams,
and all the silvery raining made you love her more
like you kept giving up quarters
to line heaven’s floor.

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