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:

remembering tenderness

to be honest i don't.
i remember becoming 'william'
who was shoved
into the story
of my name, i am
memories of colour
slouching "yellow"-
   the first of the sunflowers and the stripe
   of bee in wonder,
   my mother called me away from
   a swollen hand
   as if nature were more cruel than
   my fingers later would curl beneath
   by your buzz.
or coming home from school on the august path
when the wind kicks back and i am
another distanced yellow, this time smudged on concrete
slabs, i drew our family in crayon
and it rains tomorrow
but you're there in brightness
till the shade limps in.
though this is cruel to me,
that i am born and that i have died
that your arms cradle
a fleece blanket with milk stains
so long dried that it seems to
map a crust of youth.
that is your grace holding me-
a trussed egg
split on chicken wire, like blue
eyes over a coal stove
love has cunted my
memories into scrap paper-dolls
nest on the fridge door.
something fainter than simply naming me
as yours, a throat of me
not the cold remorse of your tongue
imagining teeth of the prettiest white
as pretty as horses running paddocks
something clenched as i was
to your warm breast,
though at the time i couldn't pretend
and my tears wronged you,
you were strange after that,
you plied your hands at crafting nets
from animal bones, told me
we are trapped in
bodies we don't deserve-
i understand now, you thought life
was nothing more than
a river you could bend.
you bent my mouth into words
like 'love', like i was a son
you could catch in a jar,
splinter my heart to yours
and make me call it so.
make me say i am yours.
hard to picture anything
more cruel than being naked
or faultless- a black & white
swarmed by magnet fields-
and it is the same death again
as that memory
a tense flicker and something like
a sermon of heat as i can still
hear your whimper
on my winter pelt- skinned
rabbit, you told me clean
that i wore my father's jaw
his eyes
his paleness.
now it seems he was a ghost
you unravelled from picked
threads- you started at my toes,
it was his skin, you yelled,
and you continued to alter with slivers
until i was a blood bag
my hair stuck like straw knives
in your skin- hands so
sticky with his love,
his red offering,
yet you scrubbed us off silently until your skin
shone. it was like every bit of ugly had drained  
and your heart so maimed with memory
but i sift through colour like seashells,
till the blue returns with its soft memories
and the yellow; bright flame
and the red can be let go- that is you,
with love, my other heart, a storm of whispers
and a fist for this:
flensed tenderness.

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