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:

Old Man Wu (memories of an old gangster)

Old Man Wu
Was a mean sonofabitch
Who used to hang around down in Chinatown.
Once or twice we was askin’ for him
‘cause Jimmy, see, Jimmy wanted to see him.
But the chinks tell us
That the motherfucker had gone over to ‘Nam.
“Crazy sonofabitch.” We said.
“Motherfucker’s gonna get a bullet in the head!”
“Our boys gonna think he’s the fucking ‘Cong”
“The others is gonna think he’s Ho Chi Fucking Minh!
He’ll have that place in a week, and we can set up a racket,
You boys like Vietnamese casinos?”
We all laughed, and forgot,
About Old Man Wu
But sure as my fuckin hat is black
Two weeks later who do I see walkin’
Down the street in coolie town?
But Mr. Fucking Wu:
Sandals, robes with dragons and shit,
And that goddamn black paper hat.
Always had that damn hat...
So one time me, Jimmy, and Wu
Go outs to some new fuckin restaurant
And these broads Jimmy brought
Just wouldn’t shut the fuck up;
And Mr. Wu, he didn’t speak a word a English
He’d fly off the handle you even asked him.
So he’s takin all this shit,
From all the broads talkin’ to him like a little kid.
“hel-lo. I Bar-bah-rah, this Tee-na”
He don’t say nothing, just sips at his water.
And then the bitch points to the table and says:
“This tay-bul. Can you say tay-buhl?”
Mr. Wu, no words, just gets up and lays her out.
Just a big fuckin backhand slap across the face
And then he nods to Jimmy and leaves.
Jimmy’s pissed, but he don’t say nothing
Thinkin’ that’ll end up hanging
Like a duck in a chink shop:
Feet tied and head cut off.
Wu woulda done it too.
Someone got him not long after that...
Middle of the day and some punk kid
Comin up behind him and Bam!
Shoots him four times,
In the back...
The fuck is that? In the back...
That real gangster son of a bitch deserved better...
I miss Old Wu though...

(comment on this poem)