poetry critical

online poetry workshop

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  • poems: 46,536 (7,915 active)
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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:

The Whitefire Summer

Summer brings the straw air
wafting through the old screens (1)
of empty histories.
I don’t remember the shards of blood
shed by the ancestral fragments
for my children,
playing on this porch,
pushing their little toy canoes
over the hot gray cement.
We are the final children
walking alone through the desolate silence
of the great tawny beach.
The faithful sea lies dead by our feet:
after a billion years, it has perished,
resting, lifeless and broken,
rotting in its lonely gutter.
The futile tears of death
have gathered in our footprints,
leaving a trail of hopeless little mirrors
in the ancient sand.
The quiet, crystal currents
blow the soft, windy hair
over the loving flesh,
a golden testimony to the shining eye
of the Whitefire Summer.
The searing heat pours down
like hot, heavy syrup,
onto the dogs, sleeping like soppy brown rags,
oblivious to rocks and dust and black rubber tires;
onto the cars, cursing dryly in the surging, swirling
rivers of glass and steel;
onto the big houses and spinning fans and patient trees
and grapes and grass and sidewalks and brittle pages.
1. As in rusty screens on old screen doors.

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