Home
>
Topics
>
Poetry

Top 25 Poetry Articles on Substack

Best Poetry Articles


Upcoming Poetry Events

Open mics, poetry slams, book launches, workshops, festivals and more!
Hi everyone! Welcome to the Uplift Poetry events newsletter, featuring upcoming poetry events happening throughout Australia and online. Whether you’re looking to write, listen, learn, or perform, there’s plenty of events to check out. Scroll down to view our list of open mics, poetry slams, book launches, workshops, festivals and more.
Uplift Poetry6 LIKES2 RESTACKS

The delights and demands of translation

Translation as a "poetry for peace"
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama222 LIKES22 RESTACKS
Vera's avatar
Vera
Thanks for this piece, Padraig. I’m a native Turkish speaker, and English is my second language. I studied English Language Teaching at university, so I’m fluent in English. Maybe this isn’t exactly what you were asking about, but I’ve found that when I write essays or poems, I often feel more comfortable writing in English.
Sometimes I translate my own work into Turkish as well, just to see how the feeling changes. For me, preserving the feeling while translating is an art in itself, as is the act of translation. Sometimes I feel that the Turkish and English versions carry completely different feelings, but neither is more or less than the other. They are simply unique in their own forms.
I have both Turkish and English versions of some novels, too, and I enjoy reading them in both languages and comparing the two. It never fails to amaze me how much work and artistry a translator puts into a text. Contrary to what many people think, this is something I believe AI will never truly be able to replace and it feels good to know that.
And I’d like to add one more Turkish saying: “Kolay gelsin,” which literally translates to “may it come easily.” We say it to someone who is working, writing, or even to a shopkeeper when we’re saying goodbye. So, kolay gelsin to all of you who are creating and writing.
Bless you.
Dawn Young's avatar
Dawn Young
I live in a two bedroom townhouse where the 2nd bedroom served for a decade as the shared bedroom of my two sons - where they landed every other week as they shuttled for most of their lives between my home & their father's. Now that they are both at university, the metal bunk bed is gone, books & trinkets have been sorted or stored in the closet, and the room has been transformed into a guest room which has a new life hosting international high school exchange students - my own rebellious form of "guerrilla diplomacy" in contentious times. This summer, I hired my younger son & his best friend to take out carpet, put in flooring, & paint the walls - completing the metamorphosis. The French call a guestroom a "chambre d'ami" ("a friend bedroom"); as I look about the room to see the bed given by my son's friend covered by the quilt given by a close friend which once covered her beloved Grammy's bed, my childhood dresser covered by the runner stitched together from French placemats by my best friend, or the olive wood praying hands carved in Bethlehem which came to us after my father's passing - even the solar dancing monkey given to my children when they were small by a colleague - the room has truly become a "chambre d'ami" - representing so many gifts of love & friendship.

Classroom Series: How to Slam

Emotion, Performance, and Audience in Your Poetry
Dear read poetry friends,
read poetry17 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Dave McNamara's avatar
Dave McNamara
Thanks so much for this really clear, well-written, overview of the history of slam poetry! It’s a form I have thought about quite a bit, love its history, believe in its mission, and in fact my thesis advisor in grad school, while I’m not sure was a “slam” poet, was part of the Punk poetry scene Chicago in the 80s. However, your post was also thought-provoking, and made struggle again with it, because even though it should be right up my alley, I actually do not like slam poetry very much as a form, while at the same time fully support people’s enthusiasms for it. Let me explain a bit:
In one sense, slam should be right up my alley artistically, and should excite me, because Iit brings together the two art forms I have pursued in grad school and beyond: acting and poetry. While in the writing program, I became highly influenced by the beats, and especially Charles Olson and the Black Mountain poets, because of the primary structural device for poetry was the poetic line as BREATH, and the primacy of SOUND in the meaning in the poem. YES. Poetry is meant to be embodied, and its meaning is not language-as-logic, but language distilled: language as music, sound carrier of meaning, spoken to be experienced, known through experience, not rational. This, in fact, made up my theme in my critical thesis: poetry as sound, poetry as spoken.
Which is what Slam's all about, right? Well, maybe it was different in the 80s, but to be honest, the slam poetry I’ve seen, what I felt was all self-performance, and not very good poetry. I want to be careful, here, however. I am a white male. Slam has been a very important movement for Black and Hispanic writers to celebrate, declare, and fully acknowledge their worth and humanity. You mentioned the Negritude movement, which was awesome. I LOVE the Negritude poets. Sadly, though, the actual poetry I’ve heard in slam felt a bit forced, a bit predictable and at times tedious with the rhymes, and then I just felt that though the celebration and self-empowerment of identity is a crucial, and needed, experience for many minorities to embrace, and reclaim, I still felt the theme of every slam performance I have seen was pretty much the same, and thus, got repetitive, and lost some of its meaning, power, and impact.
I’m sure there are excellent slam poets out there, and I almost feel like as a white poet, my criticism may feel illegitimate, but yes, performance is good, and yes, poetry needs to live off the page, and yes, identity should be celebrated, but ultimately, the originality of the words, and the structure, still matter, and if rhymed, the rhymes need to be a surprise, and not predictable. Finally, I feel that self-empowerment and self-proclamation can be effective but if that’s always the PRIMARY meaning of the slam, the art of the poetry and nuance of performance can often become secondary, may feel a bit amateurish, and perhaps not worked on as artfully as they could, if the goal isn’t art, but rather self-empowerment.
I hope that made sense and wasn’t offensive. I DO support the form, but I feel if a true art form, it needs to be treated as art. If it’s a fun thing to try, it’s or a fun thing to watch, but that serves a different purpose. But in thinking about it artistically, maybe budding slam poets should go back to the Negritude poets a bit more, or find different ways, definitions, and expands one's idea of expression, and also what authentic identity is for each individual: what it is, explore its complexities, and find their own unique way of expressing it. And finally, even though it’s a performance, the words, structure, music, and language, should never be secondary, or an afterthought, or, as I've experience, forced to fit the form. Instead, the form and words must both be essential, unified, and of equal importance. I personally suggest exploring NOT rhyming, but that is not a criticism but more an individual preference.
Regardless, I support any striving poet and the continual search in making it new. And as to the life of a poem, YES! Get it off the page! Keep embodying it, and when speaking it, my last thought is that the performance should be an organic outgrowth of the music of the words. You don’t have to perform the words. Allow the words to imbue the performance!
D'AYA-louges's avatar
D'AYA-louges
I’m on live right now, I just subscribe to you, maybe you can drop by at my account, and let’s talk on things, you could ask questions, so that we can have a healthy conversation. https://substack.com/@josiahothnielpulas/note/p-211852581?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=8opzyw

Poetry vs. Comics: Nobody Wants this Fight

Guest Blog from Poet and Comic Lauren Haldeman
Dear read poetry friends,
read poetry31 LIKES2 RESTACKS
REPUBLIA's avatar
REPUBLIA
RUNE THE THIRD:
"Marshy country is the oldest,
And the first of trees the willow.
Pine-roots were the oldest houses,
And the earliest pots were stone ones."
Francis Gabriel Concepcion's avatar
Francis Gabriel Concepcion
Jimmy Liao also combines poetry and illustration in his books like "Sound of Colors". The result is some very beautifully illustrated children's books 🙂

The River Flows in Every Direction

A curation of poems written by the Poetry Outdoors community.
Dear Friends,
Poetry Outdoors, Abbie Shanahan, and 4 others37 LIKES9 RESTACKS
The Sawyer's Daughter's avatar
The Sawyer's Daughter
These are all lovely, each and every one. Brava, my fellow poets!
Petra's avatar
Petra
I love your meadows, Ash. And I'm intrigued by the writing workshop on the 23rd. <3

Cocktails, Poetry, and the Things We Let Ourselves Want

A note from Jo, hi!
I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve spent my fair share of money on $18 cocktails. I love the sultry bar atmosphere. I swear my legs never look better than when they’re crossed under a high-top. I’m laughing with my partner, or my friends, or a person I’ve never met before. Just last week I fell into a conversation with the son of a rabbi about what aspect…
Arcana Poetry Press31 LIKES1 RESTACKS
Lauren Rich's avatar
Lauren Rich
Now try: ordering the cocktail at the bar and sitting there sipping it while reading poetry. PERFECT day for me!
Heather Heiney's avatar
Heather Heiney
Cheers to cocktails *and* poetry books! But I can’t wait to pair this one with fall air and my morning coffee.

Silent Blackbirds

Poetry by Trisha Leigh Shufelt
Let me be more than a moment more than ink on the brink of breakthrough more than a decorative ornament tucked away with no perceived value let my words stick thick like manuka honey lace liminal l…
The Poetry Moth18 LIKES6 RESTACKS
Wildwood Writer's avatar
Wildwood Writer
So good!
Dennis Hendrickson's avatar
Dennis Hendrickson
'Let me be more than a moment
more than ink on the brink of breakthrough'
I love the sound of these words----ink on the brink of breakthrough. I'm looking for a place to write.


Help Me Choose a Cover for my poetry book

Your assistance will be most appreciated!
Dear Friends, Followers and Subscribers,
Victory Palace Poetry13 LIKES2 RESTACKS
Elizabeth Chaykowski's avatar
Elizabeth Chaykowski
This is just My humble, subjective opinion both as an artist, and one who is familiar with what You are writing about. I have assisted others in choosing covers for their books. I love doing this kind of stuff. So strap Yourself in, cause here comes a full assessment. LOL! (which of course You can totally ignore, cause in the end, You have to follow Your own heart)
1. Too much going on.
2. Not enough going on.
3. Perhaps a contender, but pretty aggressive on the eye.
4. The concept has been over used and has become a cliche.
5. A strong contender.
6. Doesn't relate to the subject matter.
7. Too New Agey looking and kinda cheesy.
8. A strong contender, but without the heart in the figure. The small heart draws the eye towards itself, and detracts from the impact of the entire image, which is quite powerful.
So I'd say, You're looking at a toss up between 5 and 8.
The one I find most appealing is 8, but without the little heart in the figure.
Like I said, just My humble opinion. Don't be afraid to totally trash it, because like I also said, I love doing this kind of thing, so I couldn't help Myself.
Good luck with making Your choice and the launching of Your new book! Congratulations on such a fine accomplishment! :) <3
MVSA's avatar
MVSA
No 1

Full fathom five

and the music we turn to
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama106 LIKES8 RESTACKS
Jo Mosser's avatar
Jo Mosser
I think you can get a new tattoo that somehow seems to have always been a part of you, and the same goes for songs; you can hear something for the first time and need it like it was your own substance. A few of those songs for me are Newcastle by Lankum, Watching you Without Me by Kate Bush, Mercy Street by Peter Gabriel, Only Skin by Joanna Newsom.
I also feel myself transported by a good Irish reel—I know they are meant for dancing but when I hear them all I can see and feel is the land, the birds and rivers and fields—even though it's a land I've not yet met. Music, language, poetry and land—all family to each other.
I'll also just drop here my heartfelt gratitude for heavy music. When I was just quitting smoking, 20 or more years ago now, I got into yoga so I could forge a new relationship with my breath. I lived in a 600 sq.ft. cabin with my partner who was simultaneously deep diving into obscure Southern sludge metal—low, droney, riffy, distorted, desperate music full of rage and sorrow with griefy screaming vocals. In yoga classes I would brace against the soothing music—nothing in me felt like that. At home, my whole being would soften in the resonant container of this heavy, distraught music.
Beth Cross's avatar
Beth Cross
Lost Words: There's a wonderful project here in Britian to retrieve the words of nature being stripped from every day use, led by the gentle prescient Robert MacFarlane. Alongside his poems a group of musicians created songs to celebrate these same small creatures, birds, nuts. As a conclusion to the set is The Lost Word Blessing. I've danced away sorrow, sat with acceptance and mourned those leaving this life including my most beloved happy beacon of a cousin, Cathy. She listened to it as life slipped away:
Even as the hour grows bleaker
Be the singer and the speaker
And in city and in forest
Let the larks become your chorus.
And when every hope is gone
Let the raven call you home.

What time is it?

The weight of time
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama306 LIKES29 RESTACKS
Michelle Bridges's avatar
Michelle Bridges
I’m in pre-boy time, the minutes or hours before my son wakes up and the day will continue at a different speed.
I’m in AD time (After Divorce).
I’m in the Venn diagram years, when my son and his great grandmother are alive on earth at the same time, even as she forgets things almost quickly as he learns.
I’m in the Trump-stained years, which are coated in a repulsive, sickly slick oil that no one can seem to wash off.
I’m in the years of my living, the short/long time when my light switch is on and I have the great adventure of being awake, awake, awake.
Dwight Lee Wolter's avatar
Dwight Lee Wolter
What time is it? It is time
to remember that I am but a wrinkle
in the tarp of time.
For a time, an impression of my presence is made visible,
like the dent in a freshly made bed
where I once sat on the edge
to put on my shoes,
like dirt that still clings
to shoes I once wore before
I walked through the door and
was no more.
Time is what keeps everything
from happening all at once.
I am not happening all at once.
I am happening now
until I become what once happened. Time is reputedly precious.
So am I.
So are you.
For now.
-Dwight Lee Wolter

To Tell the Truth

Your weekly Mary Oliver poem and writing prompt.
Welcome to Dream Work: A Year-Long Writing Journey with Mary Oliver
Poetry Outdoors75 LIKES7 RESTACKS
Kate Berlin Benoot's avatar
Kate Berlin Benoot
Anticipatory
Once precious and baby,

tiny little bird, nestled in my chest 

now,17.
Her life lived in moments that play themselves so swiftly,

full and brimming.
But if I were to tell the truth,

you’d find me shattered in a corner 

fragmented into a million pieces.


I’m fine, I say, 

I just need to catch my breath,
As I close this chapter, 

As baby bird flies the nest.


Beside you, silently

One last time to bear witness,
as you steady yourself on the ledge
Your future, yours entirely

moments continue to play even faster still.
I am full, 

mama is brimming

But if I were to tell the truth 

…

let me just catch my breath.
Jenna Whittaker's avatar
Jenna Whittaker
"Nothing about my day is ordinary after an owl comes into it." Oh my goodness, isn't that the truth!
This is such a powerful poem, and that ending took my breath away:
"a woman fastened to her own
gorgeous, enormous wings."

Conversation about conversion

and greeting the world
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama319 LIKES21 RESTACKS
Pip's avatar
Pip
I was converted to myself. It was an insight born of nothing in particular, it just ... happened. I realised my instincts were sound, were very often right and needed to be paid attention to. Now that my sound odd to some but if, as a child and then as an adult, you learned to do what others wanted, say what others wanted to hear and swallowed their opinions about you, then such a revelation is a marvel. A quiet certainty, not dogmatic and not to be forced on others, but just a deeper inner, solidity that's arrived. I welcome it and wonder how life would have been if I'd been able to recognise and honour it earlier.
Lisa Marie Simmons's avatar
Lisa Marie Simmons
Hello and happiest Sunday all! Thank you, Pádraig, and for your poem too. I'm very much looking forward to the book.
Your description of Mary in her pale blue housecoat, her benediction offered to bishop and parishioner alike, is so vivid.
This is the first prompt that has given me pause. Usually I have a very quick response. Today I find myself returning to my earliest memories, to being rehomed at eight years old, and to that first, fragile turning toward a new family, open-hearted, uncertain, and yet, somewhat miraculously, willing. Perhaps the conversion I am struggling to express is an opening to trust...

The Black Honey of Summer

Your weekly Mary Oliver poem and writing prompt.
Welcome to Dream Work: A Year-Long Writing Journey with Mary Oliver
Poetry Outdoors43 LIKES4 RESTACKS
Enier Cruz Alvarez's avatar
Enier Cruz Alvarez
August
After Mary Oliver
The sun does not ask permission to burn,
it simply blankets the Caribbean coast,
bleaching the coral until the white sand
feels like crushed silk beneath my bare feet.
Here, where the turquoise water meets the edge of the world,
I am not thinking of the future, or the houses to mend.
I am only watching a single vine
clinging to the shade of a sea-grape tree.
The skin of the passion fruit is wrinkling now,
not with decay, but with a patient sweetness.
I pluck it down—heavy, small, and warm—
and cut the dark rind open with my thumb.
Inside, it does not look like clean, quiet fruit;
it is a chaotic, golden galaxy of seeds,
slick and wet, holding the aroma of the rain.
Mary Oliver told us that to love the world
is to swallow it whole, to let the juice
run down the chin without shame.
So I eat, letting the sharp, electric tartness
waken my mouth, while the salt wind
carries the rhythm of the high tide.
ByEni
Finn's avatar
Finn
Written after Mary Oliver’s poem, August.
Peaches 🍑
I once heard it said, if summer were to be days of the week, July would be Saturday and August would be Sunday. And yet the peach, so juicy and sweet and soft to the touch feels in my hand and my mouth like the promise of a lazy Saturday fruit.
And when you eat it, it says wait now, don’t turn from the slow sweet relaxation of Saturday to the grocery shopping food prep, laundry doing days of Sunday just stay, stay here a while and enjoy this Saturday fruit.
Because no matter how sweet those juicy Peaches of August are nobody wants it to be Sunday just yet.

A Voice From I Don’t Know Where

Your weekly Mary Oliver poem and writing prompt.
Welcome to Dream Work: A Year-Long Writing Journey with Mary Oliver
Poetry Outdoors48 LIKES5 RESTACKS
Struck By Grace's avatar
Struck By Grace
Mother debbi rhodes
A Voice From I Don’t Know Where, after Mary Oliver
Can you feel me hungering for you?
Sometimes…
Sometimes when You’re looking at me,
I feel an overwhelming sense of belovedness,
knowing that You want me.
That is always true, whether you feel it or not.
Yes, but sometimes I’m too angry
or frustrated or tired, and at those times
my brain can shut You out.
Those are the times I thirst for you most,
and I weep at your withdrawal.
I am
the ground on which you can stand
when you feel untethered.
I am
the light that can penetrate
your heartache if you let me in.
I am
The bread that will fill your
hungry soul
Hearing Your voice,
somehow…
I think I can trust,
with trembling faith,
that you will continue to
look at me and love me,
even when I look away.
I will never stop hungering for you,
never stop thirsting for you,
never stop looking at you,
never stop speaking to you.
Thank you. I think I’ll take a nap now.
Van Burbach's avatar
Van Burbach
Thank you, Ash. I loved both Mary’s poem and yours. Here is my offering in response:

Conversations of the Heart

Your weekly Mary Oliver poem and writing prompt.
Welcome to Dream Work: A Year-Long Writing Journey with Mary Oliver
Poetry Outdoors47 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Struck By Grace's avatar
Struck By Grace
When Did It Happen?
Mother debbi rhodes, written after Mary Oliver
When did it happen?
At midnight, the Great Vigil of Easter, when I was claimed as Christ’s own.
Where did it happen?
In a small parish in New Jersey.
No, tell. Where did it happen?
In the manger of my soul, a place glorified by the presence of God.
What is your heart doing now?
Rejoicing with gratitude for my eternal beloved belonging.
Michelle DiSarno's avatar
Michelle DiSarno
When did it happen?
When I unclenched my fist and laid down my armor.
Where did it happen?
On the bench in front of the monastery
where the grass was still damp from dew.
No, tell me. Where did it happen?
In spirit and space-time.
What is your heart doing now?
Knowing itself.

The Poetry Someone Needs

I’ve been searching for the right words to put in my poems. Counting syllables against the weight of someone’s approval, wondering if a poem falls silent when the wrong person doesn’t hear it. “They will always be mountains to cross, and we all have to bear the cross the cross to success.” Yes, there are many people who need these words. But wh…
It’s All in Poetry11 LIKES4 RESTACKS
Saiora Al's avatar
Saiora Al
This really stayed with me, especially the question of who we’re writing for. Sometimes one reader is enough.
Rachel Peck's avatar
Rachel Peck
Wow. This is so thoughtful. I think you've put into beautiful verse the decisions we all go through. Who are we writing for? Does it matter if only one person reads it? Are we writing for ourselves primarily? Does that matter if our words find that one person who needs to read them? It shows how important poetry is. Really well written.


Healing and hurt

And the objects that help
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama344 LIKES38 RESTACKS
Deborah Smith's avatar
Deborah Smith
Tomorrow marks the milestone of 15 months since my husband died. Since then I have taken most of his clothes to the Good Will store, but cannot yet surrender one of his shirts. A year ago I wrote 3 haiku about 3 special objects that help me live with the hurt.
Though you are gone, the
sleeves of your wool shirt wrap your
arms around me still.
Only you know the
joy in the small wooden box
you made just for me.
Your eyes twinkle in
a picture from long ago.
I smile in return.
Terri Windling's avatar
Terri Windling
I've gone through a six year period in which I've lost two siblings and several close friends in a variety of sudden, traumatic ways (suicide, disease, heart failure, tragic accidents). My beloved dog (a springer/lab mix) was a steady support throughout it all, and then she died too. An artist friend made a necklace for me depicting my dog jumping over the moon: the necklace is silver, the moon is gold. Reeling from so much complex grief, I put the necklace on and have rarely taken it off again since. It represents all my lost loved ones, as well as my dog, symbolising how closely I carry them all with me as life goes on. I've heard it said that you don't really "heal" from grief; you learn to carry it more lightly. I carry my grief in silver and gold.

Poetry Prompts—July 2026

Part of the purpose of Rabbit Room Poetry is to not only nourish your creativity with excellent featured work but also give you actionable steps for moving forward with your own poetic projects. At the beginning of every month, we share a roundup of poetry prompts created by our Director of Content, Andy Patton, to whet your imagination and launch you i…
The Rabbit Room52 LIKES7 RESTACKS
Terry Todd's avatar
Terry Todd
Jonah’s Dialogue
“I have a job for you.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s just what you should do.”
“I think I would fear it.”
“I want to send you east.”
“There’s nothing there for me.”
“You imagine fearsome beasts?”
“Father, just leave me be!”
“That city will repent.”
“I long to see a beach.”
“Their hearts are sorely bent.”
“I am not fit to preach.”
“You will regret this choice.”
“I want to go out west.”
“The sailors won’t rejoice.”
“I think I know what’s best.”
“The sea can get quite rough.”
“There’s something fishy here…”
“You really all that tough?”
“My stomach’s feeling queer.”
“Shall I condemn these sailors?”
“No, I’m the one who’s bent.”
Acknowledge human failure?”
“Yes, Lord, I do repent.”
“You need to take a break.”
“Inside a monster fish?”
“It is for your own sake.”
“Won’t you grant me one wish?
“Father, I want to live!”
“I promise that you will.”
“I want praises to give!”
“Jonah, I mean no ill.
“Ready to travel east?”
“I will try not to cry.”
“They are not wicked beasts.”
“Is that where I will die?”
“Tell them they must turn back.”
“If You say so, I’ll do it.”
“Or else their future’s black.”
“But somehow I intuit,
“That if they hear me well,”
“Yes, go ahead, say it.”
“You won’t send them to hell.”
“Even donkeys bray it!
“I am a loving God.
Lots of children know me.
Why would you think it odd,
That these ones also owe me,
“Gratitude, obedience?
You need not be so mad
That I offer presence.
Sit with me and be glad,
“My mercy is so great,
The children gather round.
This hill on which we sit,
Is also holy ground.”
July 21, 2026
David Franklin Braun Jr.'s avatar
David Franklin Braun Jr.
The Computer,
A frigate,
Guns at ready,
Unfurls it sails.
The Keyboard,
The crew.
At attention,
Ready for my commands.
The Task,
Answer every stupid question
That the company asks.
Each question a shot from an enemy ship
To which my crew returns their fire.
The Clock,
Is wind in the sails
That brings me to five.
Where peaceful waters live
And the cannon shots die.
The Emails,
Relentless is their barrage
From angry resignations,
Requests for raises to accesses needed.
Each shot hitting the hull
And putting holes in sails.
The Coffee,
Friend and first mate.
Who always holds me together
When the hours get late.
The Effort,
The name of this ship
Feels vain for tomorrow
I do it all again.
For each shot that I land,
The enemies takes three.
Each slows the ship and wind
That carries day.
My Name?
Captain Sisyphus,
Captain of the Effort.
And I will go down with the ship.

YeS-pOetRy-yES!

August 21, 2026
Yes, there will be a Zoom poetry reading and discussion this Saturday. Click on the link below at the appointed time to join.
Bruce Isaacson3 LIKES1 RESTACKS

Craft & Play Vol. 59

The entire spectrum
Dear friends,
Of Trees & Poetry, E R Skulmoski, and Julia McMullen26 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Mark Hurlin Shelton's avatar
Mark Hurlin Shelton
Hi there I just subscribed.

My hypervigilant curiosity is now not a nuisance, but a vital part of my writing life.

"It provides a channel, an outlet for all the frantic over-observation and over-thinking that is with me every waking (and sleeping) moment." Bernadette Lynch won July's Poem of the Month with Nuns.
Bernadette Lynch won July's Poem of the Month with Nuns. Here is our usual poet interview, delivered each month with the recent POTM poet.
VERVE Poetry8 LIKES1 RESTACKS
Once Upon a Class Clown's avatar
Once Upon a Class Clown
Wonderful. Congratulations, Bernadette. Love the desk!


Nobody Is Coming to Discover You

You need to leave the house.
I get it. Going to a poetry event for the first time can be daunting. It somehow makes you feel like you’re in grade school again. You text a friend, Can you come with me to this poetry thing? Not because you necessarily need them there, but because you just need somebody there.
The Poetry Room154 LIKES29 RESTACKS
Kate Marsh's avatar
Kate Marsh
My first reading is coming up and this was exactly what I needed to read!
Barb Huntington's avatar
Barb Huntington
I’ve become more and more introverted. Don’t even send poems out anymore haven’t been to a reading since e my chair flipped over at a reading in the park.