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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:
|god a comin'|
andrew did not like the leaf,
it looked small and warrantless.
if you can imagine tea-cups drooling
over the paucity of bank cheques
then do so
but here old ladies play senile
for the bus man to scowl.
he's driven this life before,
knows all the signs of the
underneath the rust of my regard
falls a street kid, well,
one fig and two cronies,
the smallest directing the largest
and madness in-between.
its all a sea of "cunt", such that
i wonder if he was born filthy
or if he dined with rats.
is a show off on the liquor,
perhaps it helps light up the night,
cheap vodka stewing in a 14 year old,
not shots, gulps.
i guess a word, a look, a little
luck and he would be roses.
but we're here at the stop, on the road,
ingested in the wrath of the busman.
the world flattens out,
alls they see are shoes,
blood on the tracks.
a nice fist of darkness
to thump him on the back,
maybe a bong
he's a small runt,
god ties the laces.
(comment on this poem)