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:

Rites of Osiris

Rites of Osiris
I. Isis, Queen of the Night
Her eyes were
glimmering lapis lazuli;
cold, blue, milky-white,
the chatoyancy
of gold-flecked,
hard iron pyrite in the
impassive smile of fate.
She kissed me
at the airport and I fell
in love. It's that simple.
In love with her long hair,
her kind heart, her perky, pink,
soft breasts, her immaculate vulva,
her strong arms, and long legs...
the way she moaned
when I put it
Isis, Giver of Life,
you formed your insides
around me and
took me in willingly then.
Three years ago,
before the demon Set
claimed what his
own and loosed the black
arrow of fate, we
were in love, she and I.
We lived a fairy tale...
A death in the family undid her
and I held on for dear life,
I can hold on no more.
Winged Night the Butcher claimed
two that hot evening in L.A.;
he was no more and she came undone,
undoing all that happiness that was us.
II. Blood Tide
Walking bleeding, she bore
it and she made me bear it
alongside her; the cruelty, the silence,
the rage, and the irrationality.
It wasn't long before my responses to
perpetual incrimination
less than therapeutic.
This scorpion
aimed its stinger for her heart before
turning to his own to poison.
That burning
can make good men go mad.
I wasn't any different.
III. The Crescent Moon
I wandered far from her the last two years;
stumbling into the arms
of Hathor, her mother's tan breasts hanging
heavy in my greedy hands,
following the moon, exploding the milky way
with a gasp, spreading both
hemispheres apart with my hands and tasting
the bitter, tart rose planted delicately
above summer's sopping, sweet peach.
The goddess parted her ivory legs and took
my magical wand into her divine emptiness
I drank and tasted the water that splashed
from her insides when she screamed.
I never knew that the last time I tasted you
would be the last time I'd taste you.
If I had known the emptiness that would follow
in the seconds, minutes, days, weeks, and months
that followed, I would have drank more deeply
from that fountain, Cow-Eyed, Crescent Moon daughter.
Your brown eyes haunt me, plague me like the
rosy tips of your distended nipples; madden me
like the soft shadow of black hair between your thighs.
Will we ever meet again? When can I taste your mouth again?
When can I put my fingers inside you while you look into my eyes?
How will your hair smell when I pull it away to kiss your pale, white neck?
IV. Shadows, Sand
Today, I rose from both shadows and planted the seeds of new life in the Earth.
Today, I journeyed across the sand and reached the oasis blooming within myself.
Tonight, I long for them both again but I am content with dreams of new love.
Soon, I will find her again, the new face of the old goddess, and create new rites.

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