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poets.bsky.social
poems
@poets.bsky.social
130 followers 150 following 26 posts
Semi-regularly posting and sharing poems I like. Maybe you'll like them too.
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nikitagill.bsky.social
A soft, small, hopeful thing.
Everything is on fire, but everyone I love is doing beautiful things and trying to make life worth living, and I know I don't have to believe in everything, but I believe in that. - Nikita Gill
January 27, 2025 at 11:12 PM
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arealmofwonder.bsky.social
When a poem becomes a prayer.

Siegfried Sassoon (1934)
December 1, 2025 at 4:35 PM
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chillsubs.bsky.social
Need some new blood in your system? If by “new blood,” you mean new lit mags, and by “your system,” you mean your long list of potential places to submit to, we got you. If you mean anything else … I do believe you’re in the wrong place.
It’s a New Month, So Here Are a Bunch of New Lit Mags | Chill Subs Blog
The newest lit mags added to the Chill Subs database
www.chillsubs.com
December 5, 2025 at 9:45 PM
poets.bsky.social
After the Divorce, I Think of Something My Daughter Said about Mars by Maggie Smith
#poetry #poem @maggiesmithpoet.bsky.social
Once you go, you can never come back. If you returned to Earth, the gravity would turn your bones to noodles. I mean your skeleton would sort of melt. So if you go, you have to stay gone.
July 19, 2025 at 11:55 PM
poets.bsky.social
Wellness Check by Andrea Gibson
"In any moment, on any given day, I can measure my wellness by this question: Is my attention on loving, or is my attention on who isn't loving me?"
July 16, 2025 at 1:59 AM
poets.bsky.social
So many of us feeling this since yesterday. So grateful for Andrea's light.
mcpants.bsky.social MC😴 @mcpants.bsky.social · Jul 14
I don’t have words for how sad I am that Andrea Gibson has passed. They were always who I turned to when I needed the words
July 16, 2025 at 1:36 AM
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pinknews.bsky.social
Queer poet Andrea Gibson dies aged 49
Queer poet Andrea Gibson dies aged 49
Queer poet and spoken word artist Andrea Gibson has passed away aged 49, a social media post has confirmed.
www.thepinknews.com
July 15, 2025 at 11:20 AM
poets.bsky.social
Atlantis—A Lost Sonnet by Eavan Boland
#poem #poetry
How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder that a whole city-arches, pillars, colonnades, not to mention vehicles and animals—had all one fine day gone under? I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then. Surely a great city must have been missed? I miss our old city - white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe what really happened is this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word to convey that what is gone is gone forever and never found it. And so, in the best traditions of where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it.
July 12, 2025 at 1:28 AM
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onlypoemsmag.bsky.social
Langston Hughes
June 27, 2025 at 2:39 PM
poets.bsky.social
The Wife Who is Ready by Jaqueline Suskin
#poem #poetry
THE WIFE WHO IS READY Can a man resemble a tree? Can a woman be like soil? This is the allure for me, a lover's skin the color of bark or the texture of silt. The hum between our bodies as they unite is the same as the hum of the earth's burning core. I resist and put my ear to the ground. I'm already married to the world. I'm the wife of the cradle that holds us all. But the planet requires my expansion. It asks me to shed my resistance, so I try and open my arms to everyone. You're the same as my beloved bigleaf maple, as the whale breathing in the blue depths, and your breath is the edge of clouds, your teeth are creek stones. We are moving like the herd of deer, just groups of cells traveling in unison. I'm ready for us to stand like mirrors before one another in an endless state of wonder.
June 27, 2025 at 4:54 PM
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onlypoemsmag.bsky.social
i suppose i love this life
in spite of my clenched fist.

— andrea gibson
June 25, 2025 at 10:01 PM
poets.bsky.social
A Small Needful Fact by Ross Gay
A screenshot of the poem A Small Needful Act by Ross Gay: Is that Eric Garner worked for some time for the Parks ans Rec. Horticultural department, which means, Perhaps, that with his very large hands, Perhaps, in all likelihood, He put gently into the earth Some plants which, most likely, Some of them, in all likelihood, Continue to grow, continue To do what plants do, like house And feed small and necessary creatures, Like being pleasant to touch and smell, Like converting sunlight Into food, like making it easier For us to breathe.
June 25, 2025 at 9:57 PM
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tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Cid Corman
Touring the world tilling a small field to its limits.
June 24, 2025 at 1:09 AM
poets.bsky.social
Telephone Booth by Pedro Pietri
Telephone Booth by Pedro Pietri: woke up this morning feeling excellent, picked up the telephone dialed the number of my equal opportunity employer to inform him I will not be into work today Are you feeling sick? the boss asked me No Sir I replied: I am feeling too good to report to work today, if I feel sick tomorrow I will come in early
August 27, 2023 at 3:44 AM
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theferocity.bsky.social
“Like everything alive I was meant to be split open, / to blossom, to be sucked, to be eaten, / to lean, to bend, to wither, / to die and die and die and die until I died.” — Marie Howe
August 22, 2023 at 2:30 AM
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nyingling.bsky.social
"Or the desert fathers
hunting their God from the beehived caves--
how hunger brought him closer,
lessened the distance
between eye and star"

-Jane Hirshfield, who's not afraid to end a mystical poem with the image of a breast.
The cover of OF GRAVITY & ANGELS
August 4, 2023 at 3:34 PM
poets.bsky.social
Stillness by Jono Melamed
Screenshot of the poem Stillness by Jono Melamed. The poem is too long for the alt text, will share in replies.
August 4, 2023 at 7:23 PM
poets.bsky.social
After the Divorce, I Think of Something My Daughter Said about Mars by Maggie Smith
After the Divorce, I Think of Something My Daughter Said about Mars by Maggie Smith Once you go, you can never come back. If you returned to Earth, the gravity would turn your bones to noodles. I mean your skeleton would sort of melt. So if you go, you have to stay gone.
June 22, 2023 at 4:01 PM
poets.bsky.social
Atlantis - A Lost Sonnet by Eavan Boland
Atlantis - A Lost Sonnet by Eavan Boland How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades, not to mention vehicles and animals—had all one fine day gone under? I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then. Surely a great city must have been missed? I miss our old city — white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe what really happened is this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word to convey that what is gone is gone forever and never found it. And so, in the best traditions of where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it.
June 17, 2023 at 6:33 PM
poets.bsky.social
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
Screenshot of the poem Wild Geese by Mary Oliver, which reads: “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.”
June 14, 2023 at 12:49 PM
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heatherhorton.bsky.social
“Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/Above, beneath, betwixt, between.”
~ @neilhimself.neilgaiman.com

“The Revenant”, oil on panel, 72”x48”, priv coll.

https://www.instagram.com/p/Ctc1fAaPgQg/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
June 14, 2023 at 12:30 AM
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rowan.lol
trying to find my Mary Oliver girlies. honk if you're letting the soft animal of your body love what it loves
April 30, 2023 at 4:52 PM
poets.bsky.social
Instructions for Traveling West by Joy Sullivan
Screenshot of the poem Instructions for Traveling West by Joy Sullivan, which reads: First, you must realize you're homesick for all the lives you're not living. Then, you must commit to the road and the rising loneliness. To the sincere thrill of coming apart. Divorce yourself from routine and control. Instead, find a desert and fall in. Take the trail that promises a view. Get lost. Break your toes. Bruise your knees. Keep going. Watch a purple meadow quiver. Get still. Pet trail dogs. Buy the hat. Run out of gas. Befriend strangers. Knight yourself every morning for your newborn courage. Give grief her own lullaby. Drink whiskey beside a hundred-year old cactus. Honor everything. Pray to something unnameable. Fall for someone impractical. Reacquaint yourself with desire and all her slender hands. Bear beauty for as long as you are able and if you spot a sunning warbler glowing like a prism, remind yourself - joy is not a trick.
June 13, 2023 at 8:03 PM
poets.bsky.social
Yes, That's When by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
A screenshot of the poem Yes, That's When by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer which reads: "I like my body when I’m in the woods and I forget my body. I forget that arms, that legs, that nose. I forget that waist, that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain. I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower. I like when I evergreen, current and berry. I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff. And everything is yes then, and everything new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew."
June 12, 2023 at 3:42 PM