poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Current Stats
  • poems: 47,317 (6,858 active)
  • comments: 313,811
  • ratings: 113,746
  • average rating: 7.5
  • forum posts: 252,501
  • users: 10,413 (110 active)
  • current users: 0


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:

Air inbetween

mounted lip's chapped and sliced
with the imprint of your gnawing
nervous hesitations,
an idle mind
the pouty intrigued expression
Skin like feather,
my mind an indelible pleasure
for being so close to your self inflicted scars
and the quick self-conscious smearing of worn down lip-gloss
which label illustrates nothing medically helpful
but seems to believe sparkles will be an improvement
will be an service to you and your needs
So, little flecks of light illuminating off miniscule confetti
carried on the driest and most fragile of skins
flies off your gleaming lips to the cheek,
to your frowning eyelids
stealing all the important places I have yet to look.
Lifting you into this tiny impressionable chaos of shattered hopes,
as though you are in a dream and this fantasy is melting through your pores...
But to me
it only slices your face into areas of interest;
Perhaps I'd fancy a lip or more an nostril or even an eyebrow?
perhaps, I shouldn't ignore your longing, your relentless hopes, needs and pulls
Perhaps this is a calling...
But as the light dimishes and only your black figure remains
I can still reach my arm out and tenderly press my finger to find skin flakes drifting on to it.

(comment on this poem)