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:

Sexless Circles

I must
put an end
to this duality-
like two attachments forming
a whole.
I have no time; it possesses wings
(and certainly desires nothing with me).
And these scissors- the whole of two attachments-
function in no other way
than to clip my own.
Apparently I'm a spectacle.
No.  This is not a show,
and I have no time-
but it procrastinates;
but I procrastinate,
so although I have no time
for this art and craft,
it nevertheless casts itself
into me-
I am the cast.
No, this is not a show.
All I am is bitter- self-absorbed-
(presumably absorbing nothing
other than this art and craft
and emitting the same outward).
All you do is [change]
watch the snow[, my snow]
flicker and fall on
this television screen,
like a blizzard sweeping away
visibility to a point (surely anything but blunt)
where all you know is that
you [just don't know] are losing warmth.
This is not a show.
A novel possibly, my Beloved-
but [I am] 124 is spiteful.
I will not be [the same] a part;
this is not a show,
but [oh, how] we nevertheless
watch the scene go by like actors on some stage.
Who do not even know their own roles,
much less dialogues.
This needs to end,
it is a beggar groveling at [pulling me to] my knees
to run the handle-less scimitar
through his chest-
I am bitter.  And this,
no, this is still not a show-
no actors,
no time,
no imagery (because that would imply
I am putting this to an end.
This is no show.
And [What] that [is]
shown[?], in comparison (of course),
is nothing[, nothing].

(comment on this poem)