Jenevieve Carlyn
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coastalpoet.bsky.social
Jenevieve Carlyn
@coastalpoet.bsky.social
2.2K followers 610 following 1.6K posts
Evie by the sea. Words in Parabola, RiverHeron, Dark Mtn, Broken Spine, Madrid Review, etc. Poetry of the Sacred Prize & CT Poet Laureate Award for Ecopoetry. Commended Mist & Mountain, Shortlisted Artemesia Arts.
jenevievecarlyn.com
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coastalpoet.bsky.social
I took two months away and I'm still not back, not fully. But it is the beginning of Advent, and this poem moves me. ❤️
Miracle Not the one who takes up his bed and walks But the ones who have known him all along And carry him in – Their shoulders numb, the ache and stoop deeplocked In their backs, the stretcher handles Slippery with sweat. And no let up Until he’s strapped on tight, made tiltable And raised to the tiled roof, then lowered for healing. Be mindful of them as they stand and wait For the burn of the paid-out ropes to cool, Their slight lightheadedness and incredulity To pass, those ones who had known him all along. Seamus Heaney (from the collection Human Chain, Faber) An image of the beach appears to the left of the poem, and the Poetry Ireland logo appears in the bottom left corner.
November 30, 2025 at 11:52 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
coastalpoet.bsky.social
'I lay before you
with the storms
of past and future—

there are more coming.
Breathe. Birds rest before they soar.'
July 28, 2025 at 5:12 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
womensartbluesky.bsky.social
'Resting Fox' by UK printmaker Sarah Bays #WomensArt
Print featuring a curled up sleeping fox on leaves and among branches of a bush
September 21, 2025 at 6:13 AM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
paulwritespoems.bsky.social
This Sunday…
November 27, 2025 at 10:12 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
paulwritespoems.bsky.social
From Midnight…for 48hours

Send your best work

Full submission details here:

paulwritespoems.com/2025/09/08/t...
November 29, 2025 at 7:32 AM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
For #Promptcombo #Characters & #PromptTheme #Amphibian, a poem for my grandmother, whose roots were in northern Italy's Piedmont region.

Thank you to hosts:
@rfsmith.bsky.social
@thepaulconnolly.bsky.social*

*a very last minute post, so sharing only for fun 🪷

'Kin' in Heimat Review, Jan. 2023
A photo collage for my 'Kin' poem, featuring (clockwise): a gnarled apple tree, a chiffchaff, yellow lilies, and pink apple blossoms. Kin In the evenings, we walked to the soft silver pines, tucking tufts and wisps into the branches for the winged convocations of the downy-wise—to covet, to be taken up into the mysteries, woven with leaves and lichen, moss, feathers, twigs, spun silk: entwined. My grandmother wore her hair in a swirl above her head, like a yellow lily resting on a pond, and we never saw a frog hop out, but in the springtime, it was an ever-present possibility: a small amphibian might appear, viridian as a river rock, to sit and sing to the moon. If a song thrush thatched a hermitage, a peasant’s castle in the knotted boughs of the old crabapple, or if a chiffchaff overwintered in my braid, then I could learn the avian folkways, knowing when my feathered kin was jubilant or tired, and needed rest from prophesying; Whole ecologies would branch and bloom around us: orchards swirling, a braided nest.
September 30, 2025 at 9:01 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
sidhepress.bsky.social
255/500 by tonight! Thank you so much to @janeburn.bsky.social for this beautiful painting of two Palestinian sunbirds. And to you, reading this: you can help. Please, please do.
On the left is a watercolor painting of two sunbirds, one male and one female, perched on a branch together. The male sunbird is brightly colored in turquoise, blue, purple, green, and brown and facing to the right, with dark orange paint behind him. The female sunbird is subtly colored in dark browns, tans, and grays and faces left, with dark turquoise paint behind her. The text reads “Help displaced families in Mawasi: displaced families are pouring into Mawasi with empty hands and empty stomachs. With your help, we can continue to feed them, comfort their children, and remind them they are not forgotten.” At the bottom is the link https://chuffed.org/project/mawasi-project
September 21, 2025 at 6:52 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
A lovely tribute for a treasured musical instrument. 🎼
matt-guntrip-music.bsky.social Matt Guntrip @matt-guntrip-music.bsky.social · Sep 14
For #smallpoemsunday my mum’s piano arrived at my daughter’s place where I’m staying. Though willing neither of her sons can look after it..
Bechstein The piano cherished bypassed her sons, accommodation issues and discord too much for melody and found its way to a grand daughter where art can rest à côté de l’amour Matt Guntrip
September 19, 2025 at 5:52 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
I turned 43 yesterday. Birthdays are awkward, but the world being what it is, I felt grateful. What do I hope for in the second half of life? Peace, family, friendship, love, animals, plants, a real home. Openness, trust, safety, gentleness, warmth. Poetry too, but my heart is in these other things.
rideintothesunset.bsky.social Gloria @rideintothesunset.bsky.social · Sep 19
Morning peace. Sun rises through mist on a happy horse.
Gema, the bay paso fino mare, is easy to spot in the pasture, although she is still in deep shade as the sun just starts to light up the tops of the trees and morning mist/fog lightly blankets the land.
September 19, 2025 at 8:58 AM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
What a beautiful poem. Such strong imagery. Taking us all into the deep end with that ending!
andywilliamson.com Andy Williamson @andywilliamson.com · Sep 15
Thanks to @thewombwellrainbow.bsky.social for today's #promptcombo #history, not had much time so re-worked something old and, I think, rather tenuous! #poetry #poems (apologies for the Antipodean use of 'chips', please read 'crisps' if it offends 😀)
Swimming lessons at the new pool where you took me on winter evenings transforming me into proto-selkie before hot tea and chips from the machine the pool is still there not as pristine the vending machine broken a phone call came to tell me you were gone and I remembered how you encouraged me to become someone I could believe in
September 15, 2025 at 3:42 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
So much heaviness right now, expressed meaningfully here. I especially appreciated the part about the t-shirt in Kyiv: 'Just be kind.' Yes, sometimes it's all we can do. Also, the reminders at the end. We have to keep trying to find a way through. 💙
September 15, 2025 at 3:32 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
coastalpoet.bsky.social
To not be afraid to ask questions for clarity, and to appreciate whatever answer comes in return. To respect where other people are in their lives, and to still stand in your own integrity and truth. To stay on your path. To be a friend. To grow.
coastalpoet.bsky.social Jenevieve Carlyn @coastalpoet.bsky.social · Aug 5
This, everywhere at all times, is how I would want to try to live:
To care deeply about things that matter, and let everything else go. Of the things that matter, to speak honesty & openly, whether it is about a genocide or any other thing. To be transparent; to offer yourself to others in this way.
August 5, 2025 at 10:43 AM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
coastalpoet.bsky.social
There's a typo in this, but I still think it's a good manifesto, whether you're in a cocoon phase or a growth phase 🦋
September 15, 2025 at 2:41 AM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
saintghost.bsky.social
For #PromptCombo #ClocksTicking ✨

for @dragonslayerma.bsky.social
After The Gold Rush My hands, rough as pine cones sift through the waning night as if through lightless sand, through shells and stars and kelp and rusted pieces of a corroded Mars. It is getting late, so dim, around the edges yellow curls of polaroid, the keyless box in the attic mind and all the people I could never find. And the rib cage meadows a willow grove where a summer went missing or a thousand or two. Time is a dusk that will not stop creeping and my head is made of clock springs that do not know the hour.
September 13, 2025 at 5:14 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
notmiddlec.bsky.social
Migration is happening before you know it!
It's been almost a year since I started photographing #hummingbirds
Time flies. 2024/5 has been wacky.

#birds
A hummingbird is flying into a pink plant
August 23, 2025 at 12:21 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
I love the contrasts in this poem 🌙

'The road is too far,
too long, too dark...'

'But the evening star, the moon
with her almost-smile'
September 13, 2025 at 2:12 AM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
poetryman1.bsky.social
#promptcombo #clocksticking
@dragonslayerma.bsky.social

Another oldie that felt appropriate! Apologies for wonky copy!😀 "All In Good Time" first gratefully published in Inkshed December 1990.🙏
September 8, 2025 at 10:58 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
Outstanding launch,
@bethbpoet.bsky.social!

I loved hearing the poems in the collection, 'A Long Way Down,' and also the wonderful poetry from guest readers too:
@marcellenewbold.bsky.social
@judemarr.bsky.social

A brilliant event! 🪂
bethbpoet.bsky.social Beth Brooke @bethbpoet.bsky.social · Sep 12
It’s my online launch tonight!
September 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
For #PromptCombo #ClocksTicking & #PoemsAbout #Candlelight, this was in Autumn Sky Poetry, Nov 2020.

Bit bleak, but long past. Currently in a season of renewal, & if you've gone through this w/ family, wishing you peace.

'Remember the year a fox'

@dragonslayerma.bsky.social
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
A painting of an icy creek with a snow-covered embankment, bare trees, and a small house in the distance. Remember the year a fox Came through the neighborhood every afternoon, leaving hungry tracks through the snow, sunlight glinting low on the old oak tree? We imagined its den near the place we went sledding when we were children— the chestnut caves in Pine Orchard’s glacial hills. Even now, I hear your echo in the restless wolf- tones of the cello, as the bow draws near the bridge. I asked you, once, your favorite sound: mine the melodious lapping of our dog at her water; yours, the fizz of a wave each time it left the shore, kissing the sand before parting. Coming and going: that was always your way. Somewhere, a honey jar holds your laughter like a bee in resin. This year, cedar waxwings are nesting in the thicket where we walked in autumn. At this tangle of sun-gold and winterberry we’ve arrived again. How did we reach this place? I recall collecting acorns, wild apples for baking, tallow candlelight, sun-dried leaves. A flurry of feathers crashed into the window one night. Stunned and silent. Warm hands, placed gently on the hearth, so beating wings could rest.
September 12, 2025 at 3:30 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
benjlmorgan.bsky.social
Without 9/11, would any of this be happening? Something broke in the western psyche that day.
mollyjongfast.bsky.social Molly Jong-Fast @mollyjongfast.bsky.social · Sep 11
Jules, this is Brian. Listen, I'm on an airplane that's been hijacked. If things don't go well, and it's not looking good, I just want you to know I absolutely love you. I want you to do good, go have good times. Same to my parents and everybody, and I just totally love you, and I'll see you when ..
September 11, 2025 at 6:59 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
Thank you for this. I appreciate experimenting w/ different styles for the prompts, posting old poems, & scraps. My earliest poems were pastoral & I still love that style. Also wanted to try a traditional Bluesky bio for a bit; I might need to do this for myself but not sure how I feel about it yet.
thebrokenspine.co.uk The Broken Spine @thebrokenspine.co.uk · Sep 6
And here’s the thing: don’t let us (or anyone) clip your wings. Yes, we’ve got preferences for publishing projects — every editor does. But our social endeavours? They’ll never control your creativity. They exist to make more space for it.
September 11, 2025 at 3:59 PM
Reposted by Jenevieve Carlyn
tendajithelion.bsky.social
A hummingbird drawn to goldenrod flowers.

#birds #naturephotography #wildlife #wildlifephotography #birdphotography #omsystem #nature #goldenrod #hummingbird
September 1, 2025 at 10:59 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
A small poem from years ago, after a semester reading & writing about ancient, medieval, & modern wars, then coming across this historical footnote:

"In ancient Sparta, mothers sent their sons off to war with the command to come home with their shield — or on it."

CW: violence #PoemsAbout #Facades
Invocation My hands clasp as if upon a gilded hilt as if praying before the stone that holds the sword Excalibur. Summon in me the strength to win this fight. Walk me to the line blindfolded, hands tied. Lead me into battle, banners waving, defeat nigh. I will march on— and carry home my shield, or else return upon it.
September 5, 2025 at 9:23 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
I spent the past week immersing outdoors. It was peaceful, a cacophony of sounds each night, balmy air better than any poem I could write. Part of me wants to stay on a digital hiatus during the fall. Another part thinks it's important to return & keep building. Vulnerability is hard. Never give up.
Purple milkweed by the pond densely covered with lilies, with trees and a willow on the left side.
September 5, 2025 at 8:18 PM
coastalpoet.bsky.social
A poem for Palestine about something I witnessed in March 2024. It left such an impression, I told a friend about it the first time we spoke. In fact, it was the reason we spoke, as I wanted to tell someone and knew they'd understand. Thank you for this beautiful issue, @madridlitmag.bsky.social ❤️‍🩹 🇵🇸
TRAVELER'S PRAYER JENEVIEVE CARLYN I couldn't tell you where I was going that day. No, I was going to see my father, it was snowing. On the news, gray ash was falling elsewhere from the sky. Through the windshield, I saw a man on the overpass holding a Palestinian flag and a cardboard sign that said GENOCIDE. It was absolutely freezing and he was all alone. I honked my car horn, a fleeting gesture of solidarity then I was gone. Thought of his family, We the People, the complicity of the government which had designed this highway to move troops between the city and the sea. One late American summer, I saw a man kneeling beside a floodlight in the parking lot at a rest stop, facing east. Trucks rushing past, no prayer mat, nothing between him and the concrete. His children, also praying beneath the stars. An invisible geography, a gateway to the great beyond— the Atlantic, Mecca, Gaza, a place that he called home. To inhabit this world this life this body as completely as this man on this night on his knees before his God. If there is a universal sound of prayer, let it be the silence of every bomb halted, each scream transmuted into peace. The Madrid Review's Poems for Palestine (Issue 5)
August 28, 2025 at 4:04 PM