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Epistemic Literary- Read Issue 8: Righteous Rage now! @epistemiclit.bsky.social · 3h

#LitMagWeek This isn’t really a throwback because @stanchion.bsky.social isn’t out of print, just not making new issues. I (Kristin) was a subscriber for a while and have been a book club member for a few years and I think Jeff has put some incredible stuff out there for us all to enjoy.

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Epistemic Literary- Read Issue 8: Righteous Rage now! @epistemiclit.bsky.social · 8h

Our newest issue, AGENCY VS DETERMINISM, is out today! Read, enjoy, and share! We’ll be sharing individual pieces over the next week or so 😊 #LitMagWeek epistemiclit.com/current-issue/

epistemiclit.com

Current Issue -

digital literary anthology accepting submissions based on theme to open conversations aimed at interpersonal understanding.

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Prairie Home Magazine @prairiehomemag.bsky.social · 5h

Our first issue in over a year and a half is out in the world today! Featuring six outstanding new poems, compliments of @devminor.bsky.social, Hannah Nathanson, Martin Fisher, Bart Edelman, Alex Stolis, and Don Narkevic. Read the new issue of PH here: prairiehomemag.com/october-2026/

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ONLY POEMS @onlypoemsmag.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

I know how it feels, born as I've been into these rotting times, as into sin.

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HAD @havehashad.com · 23/09/2026

love all the constraints everyone made up for themselves and locked into for Lexi's call! today from @bryanthomasdaly.bsky.social "This poem uses verbatim texts, sent between me and my wife, in winter of 2025. ... The poem is shaped like Minnesota, where we live."

September 23, 2026
32 Texts in Winter
Bryan Thomas Daly
Stop all food, dairy, gum and hard candy. Pistachios,

hazelnuts. Ok I am home. When do you get home?

That time is bogus. No answer yet. Yes. Waiting

by the door. Coming home now. Walking home.

Could use paper towels. Thanks. Going home.

I am very tired. I like lo mein. Just arrived.

At home. Dad died. Check out these urns.

This is black cord. Journey over. Love.

Love that pic of him and Billy. Is there

anything that you desperately need?

I’m here now and it’s pretty scary.

Eggplant. Cucumbers. About an hour

outside Des Moines. Should I add enough

to cover them again? No problem. No need.

This is also black cord. No hard candy is bogus.

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David Atkinson @davidatkinsonpoet.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

This poem by Dorianne Laux uses a simple domestic setting as a bridge to explore the emotional territory between a husband and wife. A juxtaposition between closeness and unknowability It's not only about her listening to her husband’s but his reaction to the song. #poetry #poemoftheday

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Litbowl @litbowl.bsky.social · 21/09/2026

From @brendashaughnessy.bsky.social's book, Our Andromeda: bookshop.org/a/86283/9781556594106 #poem #booksky #writing

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Thad DeVassie @thaddevassie.bsky.social · 21/09/2026

A bookend to #smallpoemsunday by Ted Kooser, from Splitting an Order (2014, Copper Canyon Press) cc: @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

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devon. @devminor.bsky.social · 19/09/2026

Listening to the rain and reading @dehm000.bsky.social’s latest from @stanchion.bsky.social. Both the book and the experience are recommended.

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ONLY POEMS @onlypoemsmag.bsky.social · 18/09/2026

...and you're just too tired to open it.

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Andrew Collard @1andrewcollard.bsky.social · 13/09/2026

Here’s a poem from my book Lo-Fi Citadels for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

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Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 14/09/2026

Philip Levine

ASK FOR NOTHING

Instead walk alone in the evening
heading out of town toward the fields
asleep under a darkening sky;
the dust risen from your steps transforms
itself into a golden rain fallen
earthward as a gift from no known god.
The plane trees along the canal bank,
the few valley poplars, hold their breath
as you cross the wooden bridge that leads
nowhere you haven’t been, for this walk
repeats itself once or more a day.
That is why in the distance you see
beyond the first ridge of low hills
where nothing ever grows, men and women
astride mules, on horseback, some even
on foot, all the lost family you
never prayed to see, praying to see you,
chanting and singing to bring the moon
down into the last of the sunlight.
Behind you the windows of the town
blink on and off, the houses close down;
ahead the voices fade like music
over deep water, and then are gone;
even the sudden, tumbling finches
have fled into smoke, and the one road
whitened in moonlight leads everywhere.

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Deborah @deborahzafer.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

Linda Pastan

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Deborah @deborahzafer.bsky.social · 10/09/2026

I feel so SEPTEMBER today 🍂 So, here is a thread of September poems for you. Feel free to add more. This is Jennifer Michael Hecht

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Rather Good Art @rathergoodart.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

Afternoon all - here's the rather splendid ‘Matin à Villeneuve (From Waters Edge)’, Henri Biva, oil on canvas, 1905, which graces the cover and the month of June of the Rather Good Art 2027 calendar. www.rathergoodart.co.uk/product/the-... #henribiva #rathergoodart #rathergoodartcalendar

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Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

here is a poem I love by the poet Ai, who passed away in 2010. I’ve been thinking a lot about Ai’s work lately as worldwide AI use has been on the rise—how Ai’s speakers are models of messy humanity rather than compliance and production. 🔗 below to a small essay on Ai in the age of AI~

I HAVE GOT TO STOP
LOVING YOU

So I have killed my black goat.
His kidney floats in a bowl,
a beige, flat fish, around whom parasites, slices of lemon,
break through the surface of hot broth, then sink below,
as I bend, face down in the steam, breathing in.
I hear this will cure anything.

When I am finished, I walk up to him.
He hangs from a short wooden post,
tongue stuck out of his mouth,
tasting the hay-flavored air.
A bib of flies gather at his throat
and further down, where he is open
and bare of all his organs,
I put my hand in, stroke him once,
then taking it out, look at the sky.
The stormclouds there break open
and raindrops, yellow as black cats’ eyes, come down
each a tiny river, hateful and alone.

Wishing I could get out of this alive, I hug myself.
It is hard to remember if he suffered much.

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Gary Buckley @garybuckley.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

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phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

Must you have a part in everything? William Carlos Williams, in Nancy Willard's Step Lightly: Poems for the Journey (1998)

William Carlos Williams

SMELL!

Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed
nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?
What tactless asses we are, you and I boney nose
always indiscriminate, always unashamed,
and now it is the souring flowers of the bedraggled
poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth
beneath them. With what deep thirst
we quicken our desires
to that rank odor of a passing springtime!
Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your for ardors
for something less unlovely? What girl will care
for us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?
Must you taste everything? Must you know everything?
Must you have a part in everything?

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phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 11/09/2026

all those poems whisper for autumn William Stafford

William Stafford
FAME

My book fell in a river and rolled
over and over turning its pages
for the sun. From a bridge I saw this.
An eagle dived and snatched the slippery volume.

Now somewhere in the forest that book, educating
eagles, turns its leaves in the wind,
and all those poems whisper for autumn
to come, and the long nights, and the snow.

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ONLY POEMS @onlypoemsmag.bsky.social · 11/09/2026

Cydni Thompson 💙 our Poet of the Week

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Litbowl @litbowl.bsky.social · 09/09/2026

What a perfect late-summer poem. From Li-Young Lee's book, Rose: bookshop.org/a/862/9780918526533 #poem #booksky #writing

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Jay Troyer @gr8flbluejay.bsky.social · 06/09/2026

6 September 1836 - 13 October 1893 John Atkinson Grimshaw, English (1836-1893), Lovers in a Wood by Moonlight, 1873, oil on card, 36 x 23.2 cm, private collection

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Becca Thorne @beccathorne.bsky.social · 06/09/2026

Oil on Fabriano, 70 x 100cm, €200 + worldwide shipping. Message me for details.

A dark, semi-abstract seascape, using just indigo and white. A dark mass of land or water fills the lower 2/3 of the composition, heavily textured through layers of paint and mark-making. There is a suggestion of steep cliffs to the left of the horizon, clouded in fog, with waves breaking onto a shore in the distance. The sky is dark and clouded.

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ONLY POEMS @onlypoemsmag.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

I don't know why we love like this, except to say: you felt it too, didn't you?

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Brandon Diehl @iambrandondiehl.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

Great news: I managed to find the elusive poetry section at Barnes & Noble. All I had to do was traverse through an obstacle course made entirely of copies of JD Vance's dumbass memoir that nobody wants.

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Litbowl @litbowl.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

"You know the way Jesus rips open his shirt to show us his heart, all flaming & thorny..." Haven't stopped thinking about some of these lines since I read them 15 years ago, pretty much. From Nick Flynn's book, Some Ether: bookshop.org/a/862/9781555973032 #poem #booksky #writing

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devon. @devminor.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

Now reading this bestseller by @harrisfootball.com—watch out for Cumulative Press!

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devon. @devminor.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

My “getting back to writing” also means going back to grab a copy of Black Fox’s issue 27, which includes my poem “Brick”.

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Shepseskare in Love @upfromsumdirt.blacksky.app · 04/09/2026

ross gay Pulled Over in Short Hills, NJ, 8:00 AM

Pulled Over in Short Hills, NJ, 8:00 AM

By Ross Gay

It’s the shivering. When rage grows
hot as an army of red ants and forces
the mind to quiet the body, the quakes
emerge, sometimes just the knees,
but, at worst, through the hips, chest, neck
until, like a virus, slipping inside the lungs
and pulse, every ounce of strength tapped
to squeeze words from my taut lips,
his eyes scanning my car’s insides, my eyes,
my license, and as I answer the questions
3, 4, 5 times, my jaw tight as a vice,
his hand massaging the gun butt, I
imagine things I don’t want to
and inside beg this to end
before the shiver catches my
hands, and he sees,
and something happens.

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Christopher Harris @harrisfootball.com · 03/09/2026

Dunno how long it'll last, but if you go to the Bookshop best-sellers page, POUND FOOLISH is listed in the third row of *ALL* best-sellers on the site! bookshop.org/categories/m...

it's Pound Foolish on the Best Sellers page at Bookshop.org

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Gfrun @fenyizi.bsky.social · 01/09/2026

March 15, the first time I listened to his reading of this poem.🙏

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Christopher Harris @harrisfootball.com · 01/09/2026

It's a big day. My novel Pound Foolish is out. It's about a serial killer who plays on an NFL team. If you love the NFL (like I do), but feel conflicted because the league does EVERYTHING IT CAN to lie to us, steal from us, and sweep scandal under the rug... ...I think you'll like Pound Foolish!

The cover of Pound Foolish by Christopher Harris

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devon. @devminor.bsky.social · 01/09/2026

A podcast about worry on book launch day? Was this planned? (Looking forward to my copy, as are many)

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Gregory Crosby @monostich.bsky.social · 01/09/2026

RIP Wendell Berry

From the porch at dusk I watched
a kingfisher wild in flight
he could only have made for joy.

He came down the river, splashing
against the water’s dimming face
like a skipped rock, passing

on down out of sight. And still
I could hear the splashes
farther and farther away

as it grew darker. He came back
the same way, dusky as his shadow,
sudden beyond the willows.

The splashes went on out of hearing.
It was dark then. Somewhere
the night had accommodated him

—at the place he was headed for
or where, led by his delight,
he came.

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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 30/08/2026

What is silence’s only word? Gifts by @leepottspoet.bsky.social in the new anthology, Lim[i]nal from @tinywrenlit.bsky.social edited by @jenniferabrowne.bsky.social and Dana Knott #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Gifts

You live beside the ghost
of an ocean. An ocean no longer
able to pursue all its endless acts
of erasure. At high tide,
the silence breaks against your door
to offer you its only word.

Will you cast a line and bring
up a gift I can take with me?
Gently. Gently. Fragile mouths
tear easily from the hook
and what you brought out
might escape back to the depths.

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~ Alison Peace @irishali13.bsky.social · 30/08/2026

Good night, friends. ⭐️ Art: Kaoru Yamada

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devon. @devminor.bsky.social · 27/08/2026

No writing since December of 24 and no acceptances since that November, but now back at it and with three acceptances this week?

static.klipy.com

Get The Word Out There

ALT: Get The Word Out There

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the Asylum Art @yvesbroeckx.bsky.social · 26/08/2026

I W H E R E T H E M I S T R E M E M B E R S I Venice suspended between dream and memory, where architecture fades into silence and a gondola carries us through the haze. #Venice #FineArt #Impressionism #Art #Gondola #AtmosphericArt #Dreamscape #ContemporaryArt #fog #cptsd #mist #water