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:

Just Another Excuse To Get Out Of Class
SirBoggy

I walked back to class
 1
from the principal’s office
 2
and I felt too big to fit
 3
in the tiny-mouse-like-passageway halls
 4
of the middle school I hated
 5
with actual bitterness, which
 6
grew immense with each passing day
 7
and even then I knew somehow
 8
that seventh graders shouldn’t hate,
 9
at least not as much as I did.
 10
                In fact, that’s the year I truly started
 11
                to hate – everything – myself included;
 12
 
 
and as I walked back to class
 13
with my thick inarticulate,
 14
Neanderthalesque,
 15
uncouth hands dragging behind me (hands I clearly knew were incapable
 16
of holding a pen gifted enough to write poetry,
 17
or gracefully painting the essence of a beautiful soul,
 18
or affectionately strumming a guitar,
 19
or caressing a woman’s soft-petal-face
 20
with the delicacy of a lover; nor
 21
was my animal-heathen-man face capable of a
 22
smile able to inspire beauty in her soul).
 23
 
 
I felt as though things had gone too fast
 24
like I’d missed a lesson along the way.
 25
I didn’t understand.  How did I grow from
 26
innocently insecure to man-beast-predator
 27
in less than a year?  And why did she, my principal,
 28
look at me that way and talk to me in that way,
 29
and why were six girls, fighting not to giggle with one another,
 30
aloud to sit on one side of a round table
 31
with the principal on their side and me on the other
 32
 
 
                        – alone –
 33
 
 
as they read lengthy proclamations of feeling
 34
“belittled and uncomfortable”
 35
                – well, actually, those were the principal’s
 36
                empathetic words on their behalf –
 37
and what was the lesson I was supposed to learn;
 38
and why did she scold me like a puppy,
 39
hitting me with her hurt-on-behalf-
 40
of-the-powerless-little-girls tone
 41
like it was a rolled-up newspaper;
 42
and why did I get in trouble
 43
for saying, “Hello,” in a meek, polite,
 44
now-unconfident tone just because
 45
after that many months a girl
 46
was still able to drag me down
 47
to the principal’s office because
 48
according to her my, “hello,” sounded creepy?
 49
                I didn’t even know how that was possible.  “I mean,
 50
                how do you even say “hello” in a creepy tone,”
 51
                I was left wondering.  
 52
 
 
Nor, did I know what sexual harassment was
 53
or how to speak, or look in a girl’s direction,
 54
or be in close proximity without doing something wrong
 55
like existing?  How could I have been so wrong,
 56
unless I was tainted at my core?  …which I believed
 57
for longer than is healthy.
 58
 
 
By the end of that year,
 59
all the fun a seventh grader can have
 60
by getting in trouble, like me, shriveled up inside;
 61
going down to the principal’s office, for me unlike those girls,
 62
was no longer an excuse to get out of class.
 63

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