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:

Dream Yourself Alive

I finish the fifth of whiskey, toss the bottle down the stairwell
and hear it shatter three floors down.
God, I love that sound.
I kick the door in and enter the apartment.
"Where's my money bitch?" I demand.
I grab her by the throat and pin her against the wall.
"I'm not going to ask again," I say. "I know it's here somewhere."
She points to the dresser by the window.
I grab the duffel bag and tell her not to follow and not to call the police.
"You'll always be a waste of a life!" she shouts as I'm running out the door.
By the time I reach the bridge my amphetamine high
is slowly releasing it's grip on my system, but I'm still frantic.
I get out of the car and toss the keys into the river.
"Why'd you do that?" a voice asks from behind me.
"I don't have time right now," I say, grabbing the bag of money from the backseat.
I turn around to see a young girl of about thirteen or fourteen
with a swollen belly and a concrete block tied around her ankle.
"You're not going to do what I think you're going to do."
"What do you care?"
I move a little closer. When I do she takes a step into the water.
"Wait," I say. "Hold on just a second, let's talk this over."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Look, I have a lot of money." I open the bag and show her the contents.
"Just leave me alone."
The sun is low over the water. Two pigeons fly under the bridge,
and I am not angry anymore. I'm no longer running.
"I was going to make a drug deal. But I don't give a shit.
I don't give a damn about any of it."
I shove the bag into her arms and remove the block from her ankle.
"Take a plane anywhere you want. Go anywhere you want to.
Make a life for yourself. Make a life for your baby," I say. "And for me."
She hugs me around the neck with her skinny arms.
"I don't know where to go," she says finally.
"Anywhere. Just get out of here fast."
I watch her climb a little hill lugging the bag behind her with both arms.
After a while I hear sirens.
I sit in the sand, look out over the river and wait.
Policemen appear on the bank with guns drawn.
And I let them cuff me.
And I am smiling.
I wake from the dream with a craving for whiskey,
unrealistic heroics
and a love that destroys you.

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