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:

Last Breeze

As dutiful as guilty we stretched out our limbs to wrench old neighbour’s garden from Winter to Spring
To do as if Farmers expert of land amateurs of husbandry of all those around
Tools selected by inexpert eye shaded when intent was strong become crosses to hold, to harshly blister, when false wrapping removed and energy gone
Back to job labourers returned as one, but still Brother fought Brother like pit fighting dogs
Fury full cutting and digging at sods
Uncapping last year’s graves the weapons like axes sliced through dock root
The severing of dead man's fingers the sick cut roots weeping white protest our harsh violence
The second wind of our endeavour, wet anorak smell and toil sweat mix with loam musk sexual and face dripping rain
All steaming and panting to be of soil again
Another axe falls on our game rude, old neighbour in silent appeared coat draped on head as if fitting for her shroud
She felt she showed she was a stranger among young men and in name her dug ground both enthralled in Spring’s new rite in something she did not share
The coffee came off-milk white as complexion but never lost dignity
Both we Brothers embarrassed she had us wrong we have no call on that held preciously
She rushes to hide clothes on the line and moves sole dinner for one as we hold the spades,forks and rakes that her husband left for his grave
There are his plant pots and boots on sides reclaimed by webs like chattels in an ancestor's tomb, touchstones of a time long gone
The drinks taken, thanks given walk back to scene of the crime
Sprinkled sounds of Rugby played across Arden’s old forest land
Desire gone all effort spent we glance and feign to dig now guilty again for our intrusion on a lonely woman her garden and wake
As young I think this way, but goaded by the wind I hear the tall Oaks roar, chiding and warning
They have there seen much before

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