poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Current Stats
  • poems: 48,930 (6,391 active)
  • comments: 313,616
  • ratings: 115,794
  • average rating: 7.6
  • forum posts: 225,049
  • users: 10,146 (92 active)
  • current users: 5


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:

I Miss my Wife's Lover

As the night is born and the time nears,
upon my face a subtle smile appears.
A jack lantern smile, twisted behind candlelight,
I've been haunted for years,
tonight this ends.
Ducking below my hidden spot by the window,
still listening for the sound of head meeting pillow.
Even though murder by night is basically cheating,
Life sentences aren’t worth repeating
Into the window after i knew he was at rest,
feeling anticipation building up in my chest.
Firmly grasp his throat and choked him awake,
then said something that made me almost hesitate.
"This is my home, please get off my property"
Like, I was trying to leave,
Only lacked an opportunity
Yeah man,
I broke into this house to answer some questions,
maybe play some monopoly
or take dance lessons,
but again, i digress,
let me get back to my mess.....
I consider fire and poison, and then the fetal shot,
theatrics are important, but not worth getting caught.
A point must be proven,
I must keep myself mild mannered
Leaving daddy shook I slowly stalk his only child.
Bringing them together, we sat, just us three,
A father,
a son,
and potential kamikaze.
The boy was calm, a  fearless spirit,
his father trembled, scared and desperate
Ignoring mercy, I move towards wounded souls,
Yet smile, collected and calm,
a stranger with a knife
who means no harm.
Standing behind every word I say,
again enraged locking eyes
my blade penetrates his ribs,
a son now must decide if his dad dies or lives.
You've heard of the black-market?
I went to the blackoutlet
A selection wide and great,
I felt silly that i'd doubted it.
Only in America, can food stamps purchase cyanide,
only in America are
English muffined and french fried.
I threw the boy the tainted needle and kit for first aid
Until the day I die, I'll never forget the face he made.
It was one of resentful wisdom and sheer determination,
The blood pours too quickly,
the boy must stitch.
completely unaware my plan was without hitch.
after about an hour both were injected.
It was absolutely perfect, no aspect left neglected/
Three days they sat in dismal pain,
I sat delighted
deaths are essential,
in fact they were invited!
Gasping slowly they stopped clinging
and breathed their last,
two less people involved in the cast.
Life gives too many bullshit ideals,
before judging,
                   try killing
                              to know how it feels.

(comment on this poem)