Jacob JB
@jajobi.bsky.social
Queer first, him second || No MFA, no NYC || Let’s do a litmag || Dissenting Missourian || Cellular carbon &c. || Seeking sangha
Works: https://www.chillsubs.com/profile/jacob.j.billingsley
Works: https://www.chillsubs.com/profile/jacob.j.billingsley
All my life
I’ve padded softly through the kitchen,
gently kicking the crumbs off the bottom
of my feet, stealing a piece of raspberry
coffee cake from the counter. To indulge
is to live and I intend to live...
Ashley Kirkland in boats against the current
boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/gravi...
I’ve padded softly through the kitchen,
gently kicking the crumbs off the bottom
of my feet, stealing a piece of raspberry
coffee cake from the counter. To indulge
is to live and I intend to live...
Ashley Kirkland in boats against the current
boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/gravi...
gravity — boats against the current
a poem by Ashley Kirkland
boatsagainstthecurrent.org
November 2, 2025 at 8:31 PM
All my life
I’ve padded softly through the kitchen,
gently kicking the crumbs off the bottom
of my feet, stealing a piece of raspberry
coffee cake from the counter. To indulge
is to live and I intend to live...
Ashley Kirkland in boats against the current
boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/gravi...
I’ve padded softly through the kitchen,
gently kicking the crumbs off the bottom
of my feet, stealing a piece of raspberry
coffee cake from the counter. To indulge
is to live and I intend to live...
Ashley Kirkland in boats against the current
boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/gravi...
I will watch / as you blink in and out of recognition. / I will watch your leaves yellow and learn / a new name for you.
— Wheeler Light in @tupelopress.bsky.social
www.tupeloquarterly.com/poetry/wheel...
— Wheeler Light in @tupelopress.bsky.social
www.tupeloquarterly.com/poetry/wheel...
Wheeler Light — “Itinerary”
Later, we will be friends/and after that, we will be strangers./Do you want to be strangers,/smiling at each other for the first time?
www.tupeloquarterly.com
November 2, 2025 at 7:40 PM
I will watch / as you blink in and out of recognition. / I will watch your leaves yellow and learn / a new name for you.
— Wheeler Light in @tupelopress.bsky.social
www.tupeloquarterly.com/poetry/wheel...
— Wheeler Light in @tupelopress.bsky.social
www.tupeloquarterly.com/poetry/wheel...
Reposted by Jacob JB
phonecall is ready for his first halloween!
October 31, 2025 at 10:01 PM
phonecall is ready for his first halloween!
from the Academy's poem of the day, smallholding by Brian Teare, dedicated to the bloodroot that will bloom in Shenandoah NP this spring
October 29, 2025 at 6:26 PM
from the Academy's poem of the day, smallholding by Brian Teare, dedicated to the bloodroot that will bloom in Shenandoah NP this spring
If this beer was a glass of yellow string, my
enthusiasm would go on unending like, oh,
Weezer’s dead sweater or a magic-scarf shirt,
like tendons not taxed by reverie and rack, full
in becoming the inner ear where a squeaky
cart could wheel me past you without end.
—me, apparently
enthusiasm would go on unending like, oh,
Weezer’s dead sweater or a magic-scarf shirt,
like tendons not taxed by reverie and rack, full
in becoming the inner ear where a squeaky
cart could wheel me past you without end.
—me, apparently
Real honored to be in this phenomenal issue of a consistently excellent magazine. Here’s one of two pieces of mine in the Autumn issue.
“A painter doesn’t have to eat the paints
to be sickened by moonlight. Dizzied pleasure
stalks us all. We careen through the night
in a double pursuit. We climb into its mouth
and suckle its tooth...”
From “A Sober Spell” by Jacob J Billingsley in ISSUE 27
to be sickened by moonlight. Dizzied pleasure
stalks us all. We careen through the night
in a double pursuit. We climb into its mouth
and suckle its tooth...”
From “A Sober Spell” by Jacob J Billingsley in ISSUE 27
October 29, 2025 at 6:00 PM
If this beer was a glass of yellow string, my
enthusiasm would go on unending like, oh,
Weezer’s dead sweater or a magic-scarf shirt,
like tendons not taxed by reverie and rack, full
in becoming the inner ear where a squeaky
cart could wheel me past you without end.
—me, apparently
enthusiasm would go on unending like, oh,
Weezer’s dead sweater or a magic-scarf shirt,
like tendons not taxed by reverie and rack, full
in becoming the inner ear where a squeaky
cart could wheel me past you without end.
—me, apparently
Reposted by Jacob JB
October 28, 2025 at 6:08 PM
Real honored to be in this phenomenal issue of a consistently excellent magazine. Here’s one of two pieces of mine in the Autumn issue.
“A painter doesn’t have to eat the paints
to be sickened by moonlight. Dizzied pleasure
stalks us all. We careen through the night
in a double pursuit. We climb into its mouth
and suckle its tooth...”
From “A Sober Spell” by Jacob J Billingsley in ISSUE 27
to be sickened by moonlight. Dizzied pleasure
stalks us all. We careen through the night
in a double pursuit. We climb into its mouth
and suckle its tooth...”
From “A Sober Spell” by Jacob J Billingsley in ISSUE 27
Jacob J Billingsley "A Sober Spell" — THE SHORE
POETRY
www.theshorepoetry.org
October 23, 2025 at 8:09 PM
Real honored to be in this phenomenal issue of a consistently excellent magazine. Here’s one of two pieces of mine in the Autumn issue.
Reposted by Jacob JB
“She was a bluff
yes, coastal,
dropping
into the thick
of an orca pod,
nestled under one
seafoam comforter.”
From “The Taste of Sweet Pea Leaves” by Ruby Cook in ISSUE 27!
yes, coastal,
dropping
into the thick
of an orca pod,
nestled under one
seafoam comforter.”
From “The Taste of Sweet Pea Leaves” by Ruby Cook in ISSUE 27!
Ruby Cook "The Taste of Sweet Pea Leaves" — THE SHORE
POETRY
www.theshorepoetry.org
September 30, 2025 at 12:02 PM
“She was a bluff
yes, coastal,
dropping
into the thick
of an orca pod,
nestled under one
seafoam comforter.”
From “The Taste of Sweet Pea Leaves” by Ruby Cook in ISSUE 27!
yes, coastal,
dropping
into the thick
of an orca pod,
nestled under one
seafoam comforter.”
From “The Taste of Sweet Pea Leaves” by Ruby Cook in ISSUE 27!
Reposted by Jacob JB
Today’s poem is selected by Zoë Fay-Stindt (@zoefaystindt.bsky.social) as part of the 20th anniversary of Read A Little Poetry.
“Children Listen” appeared in Poem-a-Day, by the Academy of American Poets, 2018. Shared here with deep gratitude.
“Children Listen” appeared in Poem-a-Day, by the Academy of American Poets, 2018. Shared here with deep gratitude.
October 17, 2025 at 2:04 PM
Today’s poem is selected by Zoë Fay-Stindt (@zoefaystindt.bsky.social) as part of the 20th anniversary of Read A Little Poetry.
“Children Listen” appeared in Poem-a-Day, by the Academy of American Poets, 2018. Shared here with deep gratitude.
“Children Listen” appeared in Poem-a-Day, by the Academy of American Poets, 2018. Shared here with deep gratitude.
Reposted by Jacob JB
“It is never about what you think
it will be. It is never about
when you need it most, never
about the blue before sunrise
uncapturable on camera. The blue
in the eye of the beloved. Blue”
From “Language at Large” by Eleanore Tisch in ISSUE 27!
it will be. It is never about
when you need it most, never
about the blue before sunrise
uncapturable on camera. The blue
in the eye of the beloved. Blue”
From “Language at Large” by Eleanore Tisch in ISSUE 27!
Eleanore Tisch "Language at Large" — THE SHORE
POETRY
www.theshorepoetry.org
October 10, 2025 at 12:02 PM
“It is never about what you think
it will be. It is never about
when you need it most, never
about the blue before sunrise
uncapturable on camera. The blue
in the eye of the beloved. Blue”
From “Language at Large” by Eleanore Tisch in ISSUE 27!
it will be. It is never about
when you need it most, never
about the blue before sunrise
uncapturable on camera. The blue
in the eye of the beloved. Blue”
From “Language at Large” by Eleanore Tisch in ISSUE 27!
In trying, I am reminded, over and over again, that I need to stop orienting towards our executioners. Not merely in the explicit, the external, but in every facet of my being. To k!ll the cop in my head means to stop letting my anger overtake my capacity to function.
—Em Roth
—Em Roth
"No, I am listening with one ear to the constructed world of death-making and surveillance while, with another, I am listening to the sound of contented munching, of something real and visceral and of this place I call home for the moment."
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
Em Roth – ANMLY
anmly.org
August 7, 2025 at 10:35 AM
In trying, I am reminded, over and over again, that I need to stop orienting towards our executioners. Not merely in the explicit, the external, but in every facet of my being. To k!ll the cop in my head means to stop letting my anger overtake my capacity to function.
—Em Roth
—Em Roth
Last week, hope felt tangible. This week it is a discipline. This week it is a practice. And this letter hasn’t done a perfect job of that practice, has it? I guess it’s more real this way. But I’ll leave you with one thing that my heart has held lightly.
—Em Roth
—Em Roth
"No, I am listening with one ear to the constructed world of death-making and surveillance while, with another, I am listening to the sound of contented munching, of something real and visceral and of this place I call home for the moment."
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
Em Roth – ANMLY
anmly.org
August 7, 2025 at 10:29 AM
Last week, hope felt tangible. This week it is a discipline. This week it is a practice. And this letter hasn’t done a perfect job of that practice, has it? I guess it’s more real this way. But I’ll leave you with one thing that my heart has held lightly.
—Em Roth
—Em Roth
“A helicopter passed over us just the other day, dumping something across the fields.”
(This happened to me last week—and they don’t grow potatoes around here.)
(This happened to me last week—and they don’t grow potatoes around here.)
"No, I am listening with one ear to the constructed world of death-making and surveillance while, with another, I am listening to the sound of contented munching, of something real and visceral and of this place I call home for the moment."
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
—Em Roth
anmly.org/ap40/em-roth/
Em Roth – ANMLY
anmly.org
August 7, 2025 at 10:25 AM
“A helicopter passed over us just the other day, dumping something across the fields.”
(This happened to me last week—and they don’t grow potatoes around here.)
(This happened to me last week—and they don’t grow potatoes around here.)
The other day I read this series of June Jordan's, which concludes with a fascinating, breathless travelogue at and around Pompeii. But I like this little rainy poem which speaks (in my reading) about solidarity and the ways we fail to realize it. She's the best.
August 4, 2025 at 5:11 PM
The other day I read this series of June Jordan's, which concludes with a fascinating, breathless travelogue at and around Pompeii. But I like this little rainy poem which speaks (in my reading) about solidarity and the ways we fail to realize it. She's the best.
When a flood recedes,
the ground looks unfamiliar.
Everything is out of place
and all the witnesses can say is
this is where the water was.
—Liza Hudock
the ground looks unfamiliar.
Everything is out of place
and all the witnesses can say is
this is where the water was.
—Liza Hudock
Read the title poem from Liza Hudock's Reveille, forthcoming from Flood Editions in August!
friendsofwriters.org/2025/07/30/a...
friendsofwriters.org/2025/07/30/a...
August 3, 2025 at 1:10 PM
When a flood recedes,
the ground looks unfamiliar.
Everything is out of place
and all the witnesses can say is
this is where the water was.
—Liza Hudock
the ground looks unfamiliar.
Everything is out of place
and all the witnesses can say is
this is where the water was.
—Liza Hudock
Reposted by Jacob JB
today is the release day for A Letter From The Mountain & Other Poems (@animalheartpress.bsky.social)!! here is a poem from the book I’m particularly fond of—many, many thanks to all the folks who have preordered a copy already, it means the world to me & I’m so grateful for your kind support :’)
July 17, 2025 at 6:54 PM
today is the release day for A Letter From The Mountain & Other Poems (@animalheartpress.bsky.social)!! here is a poem from the book I’m particularly fond of—many, many thanks to all the folks who have preordered a copy already, it means the world to me & I’m so grateful for your kind support :’)
Reposted by Jacob JB
Seclusion of course means far from the world
…no sounds of a market day or night
I burn dry leaves in my stove to make tea
and to patch my old robe I cut a cloud by the cliff
lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years
why suffer chasing profit and fame
—The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse
…no sounds of a market day or night
I burn dry leaves in my stove to make tea
and to patch my old robe I cut a cloud by the cliff
lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years
why suffer chasing profit and fame
—The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse
August 2, 2025 at 1:01 PM
Seclusion of course means far from the world
…no sounds of a market day or night
I burn dry leaves in my stove to make tea
and to patch my old robe I cut a cloud by the cliff
lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years
why suffer chasing profit and fame
—The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse
…no sounds of a market day or night
I burn dry leaves in my stove to make tea
and to patch my old robe I cut a cloud by the cliff
lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years
why suffer chasing profit and fame
—The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse
This body lasts about as long as a bubble
may as well let it go
things don't often go as we wish
who can step back doesn't worry
we blossom and fade like flowers
we gather and part like clouds
I stopped thinking about the world a long time ago
relaxing all day in a teetering hut
…
may as well let it go
things don't often go as we wish
who can step back doesn't worry
we blossom and fade like flowers
we gather and part like clouds
I stopped thinking about the world a long time ago
relaxing all day in a teetering hut
…
August 2, 2025 at 12:50 PM
This body lasts about as long as a bubble
may as well let it go
things don't often go as we wish
who can step back doesn't worry
we blossom and fade like flowers
we gather and part like clouds
I stopped thinking about the world a long time ago
relaxing all day in a teetering hut
…
may as well let it go
things don't often go as we wish
who can step back doesn't worry
we blossom and fade like flowers
we gather and part like clouds
I stopped thinking about the world a long time ago
relaxing all day in a teetering hut
…
“Not the family theater of / red-winged boats pulling at this paper continent ahead of us.”
Today's poem is "The sound of stars crumbling without any malice/ In a corner...,"
by Elena Karina Byrne
from Women in a Golden State
All Subscribers got to hear this poet from their inbox!
www.versedaily.org/2025/thesoun...
by Elena Karina Byrne
from Women in a Golden State
All Subscribers got to hear this poet from their inbox!
www.versedaily.org/2025/thesoun...
www.versedaily.org
August 2, 2025 at 12:43 PM
“Not the family theater of / red-winged boats pulling at this paper continent ahead of us.”
Not that the dark world was removed or brightened, but
each thing in it was slightly enlarged, and in so seeming became its
true cameo self, a liquid thing, to be held in the hollow
of the hand like a bird
—Birthday boy John Ashbery
each thing in it was slightly enlarged, and in so seeming became its
true cameo self, a liquid thing, to be held in the hollow
of the hand like a bird
—Birthday boy John Ashbery
July 29, 2025 at 1:53 PM
Not that the dark world was removed or brightened, but
each thing in it was slightly enlarged, and in so seeming became its
true cameo self, a liquid thing, to be held in the hollow
of the hand like a bird
—Birthday boy John Ashbery
each thing in it was slightly enlarged, and in so seeming became its
true cameo self, a liquid thing, to be held in the hollow
of the hand like a bird
—Birthday boy John Ashbery
Mark Dunbar in Red Ogre (excerpt) —
Coyotes
and crows flop down, dream of foxfire
and whatever feasts on wisteria, thistles
and goldenrod – anything as mischievous
as green corkscrew curls, the season’s hi-
jinxes squirming like a bait ball across the lawn,
collapsing in the swale.
Coyotes
and crows flop down, dream of foxfire
and whatever feasts on wisteria, thistles
and goldenrod – anything as mischievous
as green corkscrew curls, the season’s hi-
jinxes squirming like a bait ball across the lawn,
collapsing in the swale.
July 28, 2025 at 4:57 PM
Mark Dunbar in Red Ogre (excerpt) —
Coyotes
and crows flop down, dream of foxfire
and whatever feasts on wisteria, thistles
and goldenrod – anything as mischievous
as green corkscrew curls, the season’s hi-
jinxes squirming like a bait ball across the lawn,
collapsing in the swale.
Coyotes
and crows flop down, dream of foxfire
and whatever feasts on wisteria, thistles
and goldenrod – anything as mischievous
as green corkscrew curls, the season’s hi-
jinxes squirming like a bait ball across the lawn,
collapsing in the swale.
July 28, 2025 at 4:49 PM
“The parking lot was all dappled in shadow with the white-black birch trees wafting overhead, cold and wispy and somewhat otherworldly. Orange pine needles and brown leaves on the blacktop, soft yellow grass shooting up in the cracks, and I thought of Bram and his fried blonde hair.”
"But the world outside kept calling, and it was a fantastic and ridiculous place. People are strange and wonderful. There are days when I think, "God, I'm so glad I chose to stay. I wish you had too.""
—Kat Joplin
beestungmag.com/issue23/one-...
—Kat Joplin
beestungmag.com/issue23/one-...
One Hybrid Fiction Piece by Kat Joplin – beestung
beestungmag.com
July 28, 2025 at 3:30 PM
“The parking lot was all dappled in shadow with the white-black birch trees wafting overhead, cold and wispy and somewhat otherworldly. Orange pine needles and brown leaves on the blacktop, soft yellow grass shooting up in the cracks, and I thought of Bram and his fried blonde hair.”
‘At some point I awoke with someone crying in my ear, and in a lull between sobs I whispered, “Who is this?”’
"But the world outside kept calling, and it was a fantastic and ridiculous place. People are strange and wonderful. There are days when I think, "God, I'm so glad I chose to stay. I wish you had too.""
—Kat Joplin
beestungmag.com/issue23/one-...
—Kat Joplin
beestungmag.com/issue23/one-...
One Hybrid Fiction Piece by Kat Joplin – beestung
beestungmag.com
July 28, 2025 at 3:14 PM
‘At some point I awoke with someone crying in my ear, and in a lull between sobs I whispered, “Who is this?”’