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:

Close my bittersweet eyes
azalea

When raspberries begin to appear
 1
on the decaying fence in the alley,
 2
and the elms bloom into green-golden canopies
 3
that tower over our street,
 4
I find myself skipping barefoot over the warm asphalt-
 5
my blonde hair short again; my cheeks strawberry red.
 6
 
 
I’d love to pick the juicy, ripe tomato
 7
that’s growing in our vegetable garden,
 8
and serve it to the backyard fairies
 9
on little china plates. I’d love to build
 10
a castle of sidewalk chalk,
 11
and stoop over my stiff piano keys,
 12
pounding my little heart out (through open windows)
 13
into those soft summer breezes.
 14
 
 
I’d give it up to the tire swing
 15
and the creaking tree in your backyard;
 16
to Indian spices and sequined clothing;
 17
to a thousand ghosts in the graveyard.
 18
Back then, nothing had to make sense.
 19
Simply laughing together, while those sweet mango juices
 20
dripped down our chins in a sticky cascade
 21
was enough.
 22
Do you remember, you and I,
 23
climbing rugged trees in bare feet, and
 24
laying on dirty rooftops to watch
 25
midsummer night stars?
 26
 
 
I’ll perch on the old wooden fence
 27
and unscrew the jelly jar, letting
 28
our lightning bugs fly away into the darkness.
 29
I’d love to scamper around the park with you,
 30
find all those fireflies, catch them in our bare palms,
 31
and put them back.
 32
But when I stumble up to your doorstep,
 33
you’ve forgotten to leave the front porch light on
 34
for me.
 35
 
 
I’m staring at these old photographs in disbelief-
 36
was it not yesterday
 37
that we held each others’ immature hands,
 38
whispering below the misty glow of streetlights?
 39
Back when nostalgia didn’t radiate from
 40
your bedroom window,
 41
seeping into mine
 42
two houses away.
 43
Back when the scar of our friendship
 44
was a mere ripe cut-
 45
 
 
Two houses away has never seemed so far.
 46

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