poetry critical

online poetry workshop

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Welcome!

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:

Career Man
eszpebea

I swear some mornings
 1
I can see the Tv snow Playing
 2
On the back of my Eyelids.
 3
I'm Auto-writing,
 4
on Automatic.
 5
This show comes on at 10:00
 6
P.M
 7
Eastern Standard Time.
 8
I'm early morning only late at night.
 9
Welcomed back into the Static Noise
 10
When the sun comes back around.
 11
This man don't rise with the roosters.
 12
I'll be not a slave to circadian rhythms.
 13
 
 
 
 
PSSSSHHHHHHHH....
 14
An alarming blare
 15
Breaks news in dreamland.
 16
The fields need plowing.
 17
Barbarians are at the gate.
 18
The taxman cometh.
 19
There is work to be done.
 20
 
 
 
 
Half Lidded I sip
 21
The Proletariat's Breakfast
 22
As the Stars Gently Fade Into Sunrise.
 23
transport arrives at twenty past six,
 24
And the trains must always run on time.
 25
 
 
 
 
look me in the eyes and ask me,
 26
Who am I to be angry?
 27
ungrateful?
 28
Skeptical of the Great Society?
 29
Who are we to be Disenfranchised?
 30
Disengaged?
 31
This work only means bills and coins,
 32
purchasing power,
 33
And another month's rent.
 34
150,000,000 jobs,
 35
buying time between Disasters,
 36
or till the future makes
 37
the majority of us obsolete,
 38
To the whims of the elite.
 39
 
 
 
 
This doesn't even feel like surviving.
 40
In fact,
 41
I feel I'm being farmed.
 42
Domesticated.
 43
I keep daydreaming of
 44
a stone shack in the woods.
 45
limestone pulled up out the earth
 46
by my own bare hands,
 47
and stacked into a home.
 48
It's Six twenty-five A.M.,
 49
and the bus is always late,
 50
and these in-ear headphones
 51
blocks out the rumbling
 52
of a city waking up for work.
 53
 
 
 
 
I'm still asleep.
 54
I'll call you tonight,
 55
If we wake up.
 56

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