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:

a death in spain

What ghosts sift through your lonesome vineyards
kings in mausoleums lay open-mouthed under sheets of marble
reduced to white spines in the heat of night
Don Quixote has died here
destroyed by a double-edged sword
called idealism
Lorca has died here
after he died with Walt Whitman in New York
where together, they had stared at pigeons
through tragic window casements;
then killed in a whirl of politics
and soft feminine mouth
Picasso, too, believe it or not-
his lithe old man's body-
was gnashed under some unremarkable
Barcelona bus
yielding all sorts of strange geometric shapes
until scooped up by Dali
and melted into unearthly ellipses,
bizarre vacant horse skull,
and of course, clocks
the chemistry of a poet is never wrong;
the chemistry of a poet is always tragic
we do not die quietly, dear Lorca
we explode into colored tufts of smoke
with the frailty of a rose and the breathlessness
of an orgasm
yes, we are terminal
yes, we are hollow shells
of transient beauty
the stink of death and the stink of Cordoba,
sweet floral life-nectar
I feel so strangely alive here, Lorca
the difference between a man and a corpse is nothing
except a vague insistence to live
when I die, let me die in your arms
ashes dissolving in the heat of night,
the burning heat of stars

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