Home
>
Topics
>
Poetry

Top 25 Poetry Articles on Substack

Best Poetry Articles


Poetry vs. Comics: Nobody Wants this Fight

Guest Blog from Poet and Comic Lauren Haldeman
Dear read poetry friends,
read poetry23 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 🙂

Classroom Series: the Sublime

Romantic Poetry & the Sublime
Dear read poetry friends,
read poetry24 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Neutral Yoga Daphne's avatar
Neutral Yoga Daphne
Claire, grounding the Romantic idea of the sublime in Tiffany Higgins' poem brings a poignant, modern urgency to this centuries-old concept. Connecting historical awe and terror to our present ecological reality shows just how vital poetry remains for processing overwhelming truths.

The River Flows in Every Direction

A curation of poems written by the Poetry Outdoors community.
Dear Friends,
Poetry Outdoors, Abbie Shanahan, and 4 others31 LIKES9 RESTACKS
Katelynn's avatar
Katelynn
What a collection! Much to digest. And I love how Ziv's rounds it all out. Thank you for guiding us through the Meadow, Ash.

Jay Molloy reads Everything Is Poetry If You’re in the Mood for It, by Georgie Jones

because everything is.
When Jay shared this poem, in her endlessly-listenable-voice, at our 2026 Poetry Salon, she shared that pregnancy with a toddler and a job (and all the other things) wasn’t allowing much time and space for writing poetry… but there was some comfort in fellow-poets who insisted that it’s all poetry, every littlest piece of it.
Secret Poetry Appreciators6 LIKES5 RESTACKS
Theresa Southam's avatar
Theresa Southam
What I loved about this poem was the horror of the finger in the aïoli (isn’t men’s chewing one of women’s bug bears?) alongside the sensuous other examples of poetry’s noticing.! Yes and what a beautiful voice!

What time is it?

The weight of time
Dear friends,
Poetry Unbound251 LIKES25 RESTACKS
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
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.

Healing and hurt

And the objects that help
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama330 LIKES35 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.


Poems on TOO MUCH.

The winning poem and shortlisted selection for JULY 2026 Poem of the Month Competition.
This article features the winning and shortlisted poems from July’s Poem of the Month.
VERVE Poetry13 LIKES4 RESTACKS

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 Outdoors46 LIKES7 RESTACKS
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."
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.

Conversation about conversion

and greeting the world
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama312 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...

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 Outdoors46 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.

Loneliness and solidarity

Paradoxes and the past
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama275 LIKES31 RESTACKS
Richard Sumpter's avatar
Richard Sumpter
I'm 88 and reside in a senior living facility. We used to have a small writing group that met weekly. The group no longer exists due to the demise of a couple of members. This place can foster and fester loneliness. (Side note: an oxymoron - certain death. Is there any other kindergarten?) But I digress. One of the group assignments was to write a song. We didn't have to write the music - just the lyrics. I have never been a devotee of the "country and western" genre, but I thought I'd try it to vocalize my loneliness since my wife of 52 years had died. Here it is.
Regrets
I loved you best I could,
but it’s not the way I would
if I had a chance
to do it all again.
Didn’t love you as I wanted
so I’m feeling somewhat haunted
since you went away
Before I knew the truth.
You always gave your whole self,
and I held back my true self –
giving only pieces -
not fully being yours.
I should have been more honest
even though it seemed the hardest
thing I ever had to do.
Truth was harder than a lie
since I thought I couldn’t satisfy
the wrong-held, long held version
of who I had to be.
So wrong I was in judging you
who never did judge me;
just loved with full acceptance
the me I let you see.
Now that I’m alone
I’m looking for a phone
with bars enough to reach the ever after.
November 29, 2025
Nancy Shebeneck's avatar
Nancy Shebeneck
We are in a pandemic of loneliness.
Now there’s a paradox! Widespread loneliness!
Or is that an oxymoron?!
In the past we lived in tribes.
Maybe they were on to something, then.
Wouldn’t you rather be annoyed
in the cacophony of community
than feel the echoing pangs of lonliness?
How is it that social media
has only made us more isolated?
Words on a page without punctuation,
a face in a space on a box…
I miss the smell of the peanut butter sandwich that you ate for lunch.
I miss the feel of your fuzzy sweater with a hug.
Oh, to have a tribe of wisdom to
make an offering when feeling lost.
Oh, to have sweet tiny teeth and big brown eyes
smile up at you on a gloomy day.
Step out. Reach out.
Matter matters as “they” say.
Take a chance on human humus.
Presence is powerful and can
ease your empty pangs.

Hymns of Never Again

Poetry by Trisha Leigh Shufelt
Hymns of Never Again is a reflective poem that references several personal experiences from childhood. There is ambiguity, but hopefully, the message still rings true. It first appeared in my book Th…
The Poetry Moth5 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Jay Allen Ford's avatar
Jay Allen Ford
Trisha, “tithings to scars/ringing like broken bells,” feels like the hinge of this poem. It makes childhood suffering resemble an offering that was extracted rather than freely given—something paid into a spiritual system that should have protected the child but may instead have helped silence her.
The question “do you hear me?” becomes even more powerful because its speaker is uncertain. It could belong to an authority demanding obedience, or to the child attempting to make herself heard beneath the ministers’ screaming hymns. That ambiguity allows the reader to feel both possibilities without forcing the poem into a single biographical explanation.
What makes the ending so powerful is that you do not abandon the sacred vocabulary; you reclaim it. Amens, halos, thorns, crowns, and hymns are gradually taken away from the voices that once possessed them. “Never Again” becomes the speaker’s own liturgy—a vow that cannot be disavowed by passing hours or folded into another unopened envelope.
The colors quietly carry that transformation. The shiny green bicycle and vivid orange carpet return later as green rusting into orange. Childhood brightness has become corrosion, but it has not disappeared. Even the rain salts before it cleans; healing is allowed to sting rather than being mistaken for erasure.
Your ambiguity works because the images are so exact. We do not need every biographical fact to recognize the emotional truth. Please continue trusting that combination of sensory precision and unanswered space. It allows readers to enter the poem without claiming ownership of an experience that remains yours.
Perhaps the poem’s deepest movement is not backward after all. The speaker turns the knob toward childhood only long enough to recover the voice required to face forward and sing, at last, “Never Again.”

July-August 2026

Submissions open until 8/17, writing prompts, cool sites to explore & more
What to expect from this newsletter:
Plants & Poetry House13 LIKES4 RESTACKS

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 Room47 LIKES6 RESTACKS
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.
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

ANNOUNCING: Poetry Prism Contest Winners!

It is with great excitement that we announce the winners of the 2026 Rabbit Room Poetry Prism Contest! We are so humbled and overwhelmed by the outpouring of poetic offerings from our community; we received nearly 1,000 poems from 550 poets, making the decision a very difficult one for our selection committee.
The Rabbit Room98 LIKES3 RESTACKS
Jerry Foote's avatar
Jerry Foote
How will we be able to access the other poems from our creative community?
Mark Rico's avatar
Mark Rico
Congratulations, everyone! Well done. :)

Poetry Prompt of the Week: Serial Memory

In this generative prompt, stack memories on top of each other like Anne Sexton in "I Remember" until they take you somewhere surprising
It’s August again, and here in Virginia the bugs have been sawing while the grass has been browning. I’ve been going barefoot for days on end and feel a little like I’m hiding out from the world. It all brings to mind my favorite Anne Sexton poem, “I Remember
Robert Wood Lynn18 LIKES
Wiss Slator's avatar
Wiss Slator
Thank you for sharing - the painting, the poem, and the article. I am curious how you selected this painting, what led you to it, or maybe it’s an old favorite of yours?
Jo-Ann Mort: A Precise Chaos's avatar
Jo-Ann Mort: A Precise Chaos
Love this and the description - Rukeyser used this concept to build on her narrative in a poem


Poetry Prompt of the Week: Inferences as Subject

In this contemplative prompt, let the reader make deductions and inferences, and then reveal something to the reader about their own act of making those deductions.
Mourid Barghouti, the late Palestinian poet who spent much of his life exiled from one home country and the next, preferred concrete to abstract language for this reason. He thought this language spoke more to refugees. But concreteness of language can create…
Robert Wood Lynn4 LIKES1 RESTACKS

"Kentucky River Longing"

A poem and painting from the archives
Kentucky River Longing
Plein Air Poetry, Alexandra McIntosh, and Brad Davis8 LIKES2 RESTACKS
Julie Sumner's avatar
Julie Sumner
The gar IS so weird-I'm glad you dignified it with a poem!


Indibāt انضباط: Discipline Looks Boring Until You See What It Builds

It takes years, then happens all at once. An overnight success begins with a thousand nights in darkness.
What if the life you are praying for is not waiting for one extraordinary moment, but being constructed through the ordinary things you choose to do every day?
Poetry and Gahwa504 LIKES191 RESTACKS
Flora's avatar
Flora
Why does the article say 100% AI 😭
Mohamed Camara's avatar
Mohamed Camara
I usually don't comment or post, and remain on Substack as just a reader. But your posts have been something I look forward to every week; they give me a new perspective on things I have been going through and am currently going through. It's not too much more that I can really say, but I want to tell you that I love your posts and you have given me some excellent reads, and to keep going. alhamdulillah

Yes... Poetry... YES!

بله... شعر... بله
Yes, there will be a reading this Saturday, featuring author of the novella These Crazy Nights by our brilliant friend, Moniro Ravanipour. Moniro is dissident Iranian novelist who experienced extensive repression and attacks from the Iranian regime. She will tell us of the Struggle for Iranian Culture. Our open reading will follow the feature. The readi…
Bruce Isaacson10 LIKES4 RESTACKS
Hengameh Mahallati's avatar
Hengameh Mahallati
I lived in Iran during the very period depicted in the stories of this book; the years of post Islamic Revolution, and I can truly say that this book is a mirror of the society and the atmosphere of Tehran and Iran at that time.
Hoda Zare's avatar
Hoda Zare
This book is one of the best books ever. It is about looking for normal life and love among chaos and war under a brutal fundamentalist government. Which we forget in a free society most of the times

Tawakkul تَوَكُّل: How to keep going when you're not sure what's next

On hope and trusting the One who already knows tomorrow.
One day, this season of your life will become a story you tell with gratitude.
Poetry and Gahwa789 LIKES277 RESTACKS
Muhammed Abdul-Malik's avatar
Muhammed Abdul-Malik
alhamdu li llahi for yet another timely reminder. Knowing that Allah has told us that He is better for us than our false narrative that we control tomorrow is very reassuring.
Alice's avatar
Alice
Beautifully written, as always!

The Blooming Toilets

A dark urban legend about a roadside shrine w/audio.
More Than Poetry13 LIKES5 RESTACKS
They Were Children's avatar
They Were Children
This is well done. Ever thought of trying to write non-horrifying horror stories?? :)