29.12.2025 12:54
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I have a new poem up at Sublunary Review today! Many thanks to Ruslan Garrey and Dustin King.
www.sublunaryreview.com/home/i-found...
In WHEN I WAS THE WIND, “four cardinal directions point the way through this inner wilderness, through trials and initiations, suffering and discovery.”
Hannah Lee Jones’s debut collection (@juneroadpress.bsky.social) is featured in our #APAHeritageMonth list: www.juneroadpress.com/when-i-was-t...
“Are you seeing my face in Anna’s, however faint?”
“Me hanging up after the fourth ring, deciding I’d pay for it myself. Extras shifts, graveyards, weekends.”
the “clutch of combs”
@eileentomarchio.bsky.social in @vestalreview.bsky.social www.vestalreview.net/picture-day
Sasha Debevec-McKenney recommends Modern Poetry by Diane Seuss and says: Thank God for Diane Seuss! I felt at home in the clutter and breadth of Modern Poetry. It's musical like Billy Elliot dancing angrily through the street. The kind of book you have to put down and step away from. But then you run right back to it.
🕰️ With the year coming to an end, we asked a selection of our contributors to give us their favourite poetry books and pamphlets of 2025.
Next is Sasha Debevec-McKenney's pick: Modern Poetry by Diane Seuss (Fitzcarraldo Editions). Thank you, Sasha!
"A small piece of a person inside the stone continues its long journey.
And someone continues his long journey in humility."
Beautiful philosophical renderings in this showcase by accomplished Ukranian poet Mykyta Ryzhykh at Ice Floe DEC WORKS with a stunning vispo by @rfredekenter.bsky.social 🔥
Complex highway interchange from the air
Never forget, car dependency isn’t freedom.
Some might ask “what’s more free than cars?”
Choices.
Choices are more free than car dependency.
It’s not a hard concept.
I’m not pitting cars against any other single mode of transport.
I’m rejecting design that creates dependency on just one mode.
New poems in @cablestreet-litmag.bsky.social by @stridermarcusjones.bsky.social — who BTW publishes the fab Lothlorien Poetry Journal @lothlorienpoetryj.bsky.social 💙📚
PAST What is the past? We needed a word for everything before. See how my saying this is already there, and there for good —no fishing it out of that deep water, the deepest there is. The past is a tide that drags out but won't return to shore: even your question has been carried off. Look, you can see it floating. Anything heavier settles unseen like wreckage for a silver ribbon of fish to slip through. The past is not all distant. We can stand at its edge, watching the waves do the backbreaking work of pulling, pulling away. From the shore, the past seems to go on forever, because it does. We say it was a different time, but all times are different. This one, for instance. And again, this one.
Maggie Smith ♥️
@maggiesmithpoet.bsky.social
@tupelopress.bsky.social
My next book will be out soon!
at all anyway whatever even so rubbish
J. H. Prynne
Art by Emi Boz
Art by Emi Boz
As always, stay witchy.
#SpookySeason_bsky
#MenWithCats
and always witches too
excuse me, but do I look like I give a shit? well, you're damn right I do. make sure you're eating, hydrating, resting, taking your motherfucking meds, and looking out for your best interests in the spirit of your health and well-being and fuck anyone who dares derail your path to joy
#nonfiction #writingcommunity #amwriting #writerscommunity #authors inventingrealityediting.com/2...
'If God Were To Die'
One of many startling, intuitive poems in this visionary collection.
Ancient truths meet modern ecological crises through a meditative window that honours Creation at its most vulnerable.
EMBER DAYS by @newsthatstays.bsky.social (@codhillpress.bsky.social) 🔥
#poetrybooks
Sacred Afflictions by Vikki C. We can come up with a single line that means so much on the lips of another. Even along a receding shore, a bird circles the vague crescent between bay and off-white and the wind is pastelled in aloneness. Again, you are asking about my day — did I sleep well in an unfamiliar bed? Were there more important things we’d neglected? How is the evening light after the rain? It’s easy to say little in reply to one’s golden other, and still hold them closer than grief, knowing this love endures the lesser kind. I don’t know how to pray anymore, but something tilts my chin skyward. The errant murmuration and their acrobatics, a rapture my eyes heed in search of you. Because its dark mass changes shape too often to turn from. Because the world breaks itself open along the same faultline which splits my chest whenever you fall from your odd sense of flight. They keep asking if I believe in angels. the ones like swans who try the sky on for size – pulling it over us with the thunder intact. I pass a botanical garden; a harp plays a line of music warm and absolute — and Eden is not quite myth. As if you arrive, bare shouldered and faithful, the sundial splits dusk to make two of its kind — and by some soft second chance, I am forgiven.
"Because the world
breaks itself open along the same faultline
which splits my chest whenever you fall from your odd sense of flight."
A poem to be gifted to the "other" across longitudes 🤍
"Sacred Afflictions" in @emergejournal.bsky.social, Issue 32.
#poetry #poetrycommunity
#Writingcommunity
The challenge was to write a poem about an historical event, beginning with a simile, including compound words, kennings, sound patterns and a lesser-used colour… Oh, and all in 80 words!
Here’s my poem about The Titanic.
#poetry #poetrycommunity #blueskypoets #skypoets #poetsofbluesky
Photo of sun-dappled woods in late Spring
“I am quiet and slow, and that is my gift.”
—Fred Rogers
MORNING RUN Inspired by dawn and dew I run hard uphill trying to catch the mist That elusive fog recedes before me the voice of the forest loud in my mind The sounds of creatures just waking exploring the woodland floor prickle my senses But then—I hear the birds of morning silencing their song taking flight from the trees Cold sweat—as the low throaty growl of a predator reaches my ears
#vss365 #prompt Monday, May 25th is #predator
Another week—another word!
Fellow Dream-weavers, tell me a tale
of darkness or light—predator or prey,
but make it sing!
#Predator – A hunter—animal or person, calculated and often cold-blooded.
New release from my publishing press, Lady Chaos Press. Available now on Amazon ❤️🔪🖤
no explanation needed❤️🔪🖤
#watershipdown
❤️🔪🖤
When it strips you bare, nothing left there…
I find everything you do irresistible
In these feelings that are love
You are my passion
This night calls in on me
But I never want to leave this moment
Love cried out with open eyes
You are my wild side
I find your thirst for life exasperating
In these feelings I am whole
#vss365 #passion
My publishing press, Lady Chaos Press, is working on a little something ❤️🔪🖤
From my collaboration project with poet, Mike Zone. Art by Paul Warren. Find our book titled Razorville, on Amazon ❤️🔪🖤
I have 3 modes in writing:
Academic
Storyteller
And shitpost.
Most of the time I shitpost.
