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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!
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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:
Random Poem:
| Hi Mom, Dad. |
unknown
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1 | 1 |
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Hi Mom, Dad. | 2 |
It's me, Eliot, | 3 |
a 34-year-old | 4 |
bank robber | 5 |
retrieval specialist man | 6 |
without a girlfriend | 7 |
or any prospects of saying | 8 |
'I do' | 9 |
anytime soon; | 10 |
Please, visit anytime. | 11 |
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"Spit it out, drama queen," she | 12 |
nodded, crossing her arms. | 13 |
Parker was always | 14 |
the sensitive one. | 15 |
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Eliot's usual detour to | 16 |
the kitchen for a beer | 17 |
or a soda | 18 |
or to look at the | 19 |
game of hockey | 20 |
on the large, paneled screen | 21 |
instantly met tragic death | 22 |
at the blades of a ceiling fan. | 23 |
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"I'm guessing you | 24 |
and your parents | 25 |
don't get along," her casual | 26 |
looks loaded with backstory. | 27 |
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"Eliot | 28 |
you're also a con artist," she yawned, | 29 |
"So run a con." | 30 |
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2 | 31 |
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When his mother smiled | 32 |
congenially saying, | 33 |
"You look the same | 34 |
as six years ago, | 35 |
Lovebirds!" | 36 |
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His father | 37 |
ground his teeth | 38 |
and coughed. | 39 |
"You better get us home | 40 |
in time for lunch." | 41 |
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Parker raised her eyebrows | 42 |
and stage-whispered behind her hand, | 43 |
"It's a little early for us, but | 44 |
offer our guests | 45 |
a drink." | 46 |
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She informed Eliot | 47 |
'acting naturally' was the game | 48 |
with a slow thumbs-up. | 49 |
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Eliot didn't point out to his mother | 50 |
it had been eight years | 51 |
not six. | 52 |
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3 | 53 |
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In his apartment, | 54 |
playing happy, normal couple, | 55 |
and possibly cooking, | 56 |
nothing scared Eliot. | 57 |
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Parker dragged a fingernail | 58 |
down his cheek | 59 |
her knuckles turning white. | 60 |
Simple purple top, worn jeans, | 61 |
no shoes, | 62 |
and he had to remember she | 63 |
wasn't really so | 64 |
cookie-cutter. | 65 |
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"I'm impressed, Eliot. | 66 |
It's clean, | 67 |
it's decorated." His Dad's eyes | 68 |
drifted over top the magazine | 69 |
to the way her hair | 70 |
was pulled back | 71 |
in its usual curly ponytail. | 72 |
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"See, Dad. | 73 |
I'm not a complete loser." | 74 |
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"Anybody can work | 75 |
power tools," he commented | 76 |
turning his attention | 77 |
to the tongue-and-groove cabinet | 78 |
in the corner. | 79 |
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4 | 80 |
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Later on she said: | 81 |
"There's something wrong | 82 |
with you." | 83 |
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Parker jumped when | 84 |
he let out a barking laugh. | 85 |
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"But --" she whispered, | 86 |
"your dad's kind of a jerk, though." | 87 |
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In that moment Eliot wished | 88 |
he could tell himself that | 89 |
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she was the one | 90 |
for him. | 91 |
(comment on this poem) |
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