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:

Mirror the Suns and Then You May Pass

Crescent moon cracked sky-
starlight overlaps his eyes
under this pinpricked dome, the violet
tinged edges of their dreamscape nights.
Mares race towards them followed by spirits
spreading their wings.
His legs run to dive- moon shadows capture
shards leaping from the blue black waters
of the lake as it shatters-
a million diamonds sparkling
from man- made light, turned on in darkened rooms.
A curtain brushes her cheek as she watches.
Sips her mud colored tea, savoring its sweetness; his has been drunk.
His cup is unwashed in the sink,
after holding sugarless hot black brown herbs.
Another light is turned on-
his silken glide through the lake dims.
Her face blurs a little in the glass of the window:
her eyes are black, like empty holes.
Watercolor bleeding at sunset seduces,
like perfumed air wafting from other women;
light enraptures her:
streetlights reflecting drops of rain on a stranger's shoulders when she walks
the streets evokes a memory
of summer afternoons when it rained-
you were not chilled, like a popsicle cold
to the tongue but sweet, refreshing.
She watches.
Tomorrow the moon will be fuller.
Tulips planted deep will open for the sun.
Leaves will shake silken drops of moisture on everything outside, as it will rain later.
Roses from Ireland will bloom and she will kiss those before they close at night.
There will be only one cup in the sink.
Black holes when colliding burst into fire:
These flames she is still fanning inside.

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