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!

Random Poem:

Seasons of Memory

Fire-lines surrendered and broke - flames roar.
Crying voices awoke, nightmares, gasping, retreating.
Petrified tears weeping, wet eyes a gaze - the heart wails.
Time faints in fear, haunted and pale - memories burn, all ablaze.
The sky eerie, a ghostly sort of black – distant lightning crack!
The midday sun extinguished, darkened to dusk.
The wind howling foul, roaring with bluster and gust.
Choking ash, smoke and rain mingle - fire engines flash, roar and signal - sirens wail and scream.
All is grey with red fringes, purple and yellow.
The earth singes, horizon aglow.
Roos lying there – in the scorched air.
On their backs, burnt and black.
Blown up from the heat, burning feet, Despair!
Do not look back.
Sweltering - record temperatures melting.
Radio says it’s forty six point nine.
A Blue Mountain inferno - get out! got to go!
Coonabarabran to Cessnock fire does not stop.
Lithgow and Bendigo no one will forget this time.
Summer swelter has ended – heat gauges relented.
A boy’s memories remain.
Cinder and ash are wet now, scarred the blackbutts bow.
Beautiful are our rivers flowing with drenching rain.
Rains started three or four weeks ago - reports of another east coast low.
Three hundred mils or more, eyebrows shift, it starts to pour!
All the rivers fill and full, rapidly they run, gone is the sun.
Autumn upon us now – wind joining in blowing foul.
A tree falls in a stormy night.
Tragedy unfairly breaks – the neighbourhood awakes.
A boy’s life has been taken from sight.
Rain heavy, continues steady, for a month or more – rivers rise and fall.
The Bellinger always keen, breaks levy banks up stream.
The Hunter and the Hastings, the Manning and the Macleay join in the run –
Not to be outdone.
At the rivers mouth the sea fills with brown water – freshwater to the slaughter, of wave and salt.
Still to me, its strangely reassuring, mother natures’ been calling.
Accepting of burning land and smoke and all the rivers broke.
Unjust a boy’s life lost – saddness and sorrow, nature loves us still.
Sunday today - soaking still, in bed we lay.
He’s at the window now, I hear a little boys sigh,
He’s thinking of play somehow, looking for sun in the sky.
Alas gumboots and bravado, outside anyway, splashing and kicking in ‘Possum- Way'.
A boy’s memory remains, of a season filled with fire and rain.
Lest he forget, still today no sun yet, rain, rain, rain pervades.
His spirit young, learning, watching, mother natures’ parades.
He sees it, and knows it can’t be told, not to be controlled.
He seeks to see her closely, to hear her, to hold him dear.
In his memory this season will remain.

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