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:

A Mourning of Blown Chances.
2CBurt

I commit the memory to paper,
 1
and these marks commit the moment
 2
to my mind; this flat-light image of a rotund
 3
Southern-European man in a tall, blue felt hat
 4
screaming "tourist", grinning at his map book as if
 5
simply being here and now is
 6
enough to make his life;
 7
the chinese man crossing the square,
 8
(a square, what a fucking joke.
 9
It's hardly Florence or Rome,)
 10
unreasonably pleased with his task
 11
of carrying four coffees to friends or family
 12
waiting in the eleven am queues outside the half-price
 13
ticket box (that's not true - I didn't see where he was going);
 14
the giggling girls with fluffy alien antlers,
 15
a youthful parody of countless hen nights, embracing the same
 16
freedom that left me with a flat-light image of a dog
 17
running past that "one-day" girl, and the tramp
 18
that chased it falling over her on the day
 19
I lost my virginity, the day I'd made
 20
sure hers would be someone elses.
 21
 
 
The grinning Greek in the hat is gone;
 22
no-one replaces him for a while.
 23
The girls scream,
 24
take photographs and leave. I wish
 25
I had done that. I wish
 26
I had a photograph of her and that dog
 27
and that tramp, so I could overdevelop it,
 28
or likely use a more conventional means
 29
of leaving it behind me, lost and forgotten
 30
and still young.
 31
Now though, I sit in the square,
 32
and lift my feet only
 33
for the neon
 34
blowing dead leaves into
 35
a single, hopeful pile.
 36

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