Jenny Mattern
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jengelmattern.bsky.social
Jenny Mattern
@jengelmattern.bsky.social
1.8K followers 1.4K following 1.2K posts
MG author. Fledgling poet. Rep’d by Nicole Eisenbraun @ Ginger Clark Literary Agency. WHERE THE LIGHT SHINES IN releasing fall 2026.
Website: jemattern.com
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jengelmattern.bsky.social
A #poem for those who still believe in democracy on November 5, 2025.
Text from the poem, SOMETIMES, by Sheenagh Pugh: Sometimes things don't go, after all, from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail, sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well. A people sometimes will step back from war; elect an honest man; decide they care enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor. Some men become what they were born for. Sometimes our best efforts do not go amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to. The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.
November 5, 2025 at 4:50 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Behold…poetry perfection
Bomb English is hard to explain. Why is one b loud and one quiet? Why does one house stand and another crumble? Why does one mother falling on the open wound of her one son howl, while another opening her one mouth goes dumb? -Andrea Cohen
September 16, 2025 at 2:36 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
I’m happy to have my #poem published in the newest journal of #haibun from the Poetry Pea. 💚
September 9, 2025 at 12:58 AM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
I’m tickled to have my #haibun featured on the 50-Word Stories website today!
August 18, 2025 at 7:54 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
💚 This week’s feature in my Poetry Corner: “Things We Carry on the Sea” by Wang Ping (easier-to-read version in alt text)
#poetsofbluesky #poetry
THINGS WE CARRY ON THE SEA by Wang Ping We carry tears in our eyes: good-bye father, good-bye mother We carry soil in small bags: may home never fade in our hearts We carry names, stories, memories of our villages, fields, boats We carry scars from proxy wars of greed We carry carnage of mining, droughts, floods, genocides We carry dust of our families and neighbors incinerated in mushroom clouds We carry our islands sinking under the sea We carry our hands, feet, bones, hearts and best minds for a new life We carry diplomas: medicine, engineer, nurse, education, math, poetry, even if they mean nothing to the other shore We carry railroads, plantations, laundromats, bodegas, taco trucks, farms, factories, nursing homes, hospitals, schools, temples…built on our ancestors’ backs We carry old homes along the spine, new dreams in our chests We carry yesterday, today and tomorrow We’re orphans of the wars forced upon us We’re refugees of the sea rising from industrial wastes And we carry our mother tongues 爱(ai)，حب (hubb), ליבע (libe), amor, love 平安 (ping’an), سلام ( salaam), shalom, paz, peace 希望 (xi’wang), أمل (’amal), hofenung, esperanza, hope, hope, hope As we drift…in our rubber boats…from shore…to shore…to shore…
August 16, 2025 at 6:20 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
The latest issue of Folk Ku from King River Press is gorgeous!

I’m tickled to have two poems featured in its pages amongst so much beautiful ‘ku!
Two haiku: tidepool afternoon the limpets and I, tranquil driftwood balance beam— seagulls cheer my flawless routine
August 11, 2025 at 7:32 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
I'm honored to have my haibun—"Erickson's Theory"—featured in Issue 32 of Drifting Sands, amidst a number of incredibly talented poets.
💙💙💙
A huge thank you to guest editor, Anju Kishore!
#poetsofbluesky #haibun #poetry

drifting-sands-haibun.org/wp-content/u...
ERICKSON'S THEORY My mom says growing old is a developmental stage, like learning to crawl. It makes sense, really, because only now can I begin to understand that teetering on the cusp of fifty means finally appreciating the art of surrender. youth the gift of not knowing When I was a little girl, a visit to Great Grandma Senora’s apartment meant the thermostat would be set to match Grandma’s age. It meant being scolded if I touched the splendid knickknacks she had collected while living in exotic locations in her younger years. It meant navigating the assisted living wing where we had to dodge wheelchairs full of invisible old people who smelled like mashed potatoes and pee. rummage sale jade elephant fifty cents
June 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Woo-hoo! It’s my #tanka! Thank you to @thesolitarydaisy.bsky.social & Michael Dylan Welch.
May 31, 2025 at 6:04 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
I’m all about haiku on this site, but I’m shamelessly going to drop this here because I’m pretty proud of it. 💜
May 14, 2025 at 4:02 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Gorgeous, Christy!! ✨
April 18, 2025 at 12:51 AM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
I’m happy to have a poem featured in this #haiku anthology on #internationalhaikuday! 🌲⛺️🌲
April 17, 2025 at 4:17 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Just saw 3 little boys pause at the Poetry Corner to read Jack Prelutsky’s “Be Glad Your Nose Is On Your Face.” They walked away with big smiles. ☀️
#poetry #poetsofbluesky
Photo of a sidewalk stand called “The Poetry Corner”— Be glad your nose is on your face, not pasted on some other place, for if it were where it is not, you might dislike your nose a lot. Imagine if your precious nose were sandwiched in between your toes, that clearly would not be a treat, for you'd be forced to smell your feet. Your nose would be a source of dread were it attached atop your head, it soon would drive you to despair, forever tickled by your hair. Within your ear, your nose would be an absolute catastrophe, for when you were obliged to sneeze, your brain would rattle from the breeze. Your nose, instead, through thick and thin, remains between your eyes and chin, not pasted on some other place- be glad your nose is on your face!
April 9, 2025 at 11:04 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Gary, after hearing about the penguin tariffs. #caturday
Photo of a cat with his mouth open wide in what looks like a belly laugh
April 5, 2025 at 4:42 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Happy #caturday from Kate, who is absolutely not planning world domination.
Photo of a white and grey tabby cat with her paw curled under her chin
March 15, 2025 at 2:51 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
One of my haiku is featured in the latest issue of The Solitary Daisy!
Text of haiku: bison footprint— a western meadowlark builds her nest
March 10, 2025 at 3:57 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
trapped in time
my deer ones
smile for the camera

#DailyHaikuPrompt (deer) #haiku
Photo of deer at night, silhouetted against the lights of the house behind them
March 6, 2025 at 2:17 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
It was such a joy to play with words while writing this split-sequence #haiku alongside the wonderfully talented @andrewssusanm.bsky.social! Thanks to @thepoetrypea.bsky.social for choosing to publish it in their journal!
Front cover of “split-peas journal” crane at rest sunlight glitters on the lake flitting dragonfly weight of the world daily worries Sisyphean pebbles leaving ripples on one leg teetering in currents seeking balance
March 5, 2025 at 5:00 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
For those needing a diversion from the heaviness of world events, may I present "Ode to a Beloved Bra"—
#poetry #poetsofbluesky
Text of the poem "Ode to a Beloved Bra"— You’ve been with me through thick and thin Through countless loads of wash But now stretched to transparency You’re lacking in panache You always were more functional Than elegant or chic But the way you’ve left me hanging’s A legitimate critique And though you’ve propped me up for years The time has come to part I’ll miss your supple comfort But I must click “Add to Cart”
March 3, 2025 at 7:42 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
Love Jack Kent! Ditto Leo Lionni. Alexander and the Windup Mouse, Fish is Fish, & Swimmy were a huge part of my childhood. #kidlitchat
February 26, 2025 at 2:35 AM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
My parents think I’m just a kid,
a silly, flighty sprite,
a child with neither will nor way
who couldn’t win a fight.

It’s weird, I think, how much they fret
and can’t go with the flow.
I’m pushing fifty, after all.
They really should let go!

#poetry #wordoftheweek
#poetsofbluesky
February 20, 2025 at 2:33 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
“Our snow was not only shaken from whitewash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees.”
❄️
-Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales
Photo of snow piled high atop birdhouses and the branches of trees
February 17, 2025 at 6:56 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
#poetsofbluesky #poetry #light
Text of CANDESCENCE: feast on the first rays of dawn the citrusy tang of sunbeams fresh from the vine relish the last drops of dusk starglow distilled with a whisper of pine dissolving on your tongue dance under the strawberry moon like the wild thing you are twirl in the light arms open wide wider widest as you guzzle radiance as you become the light
February 17, 2025 at 4:51 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
My first attempt at playing with enjambment and buried rhyme after a class with the wonderful @josephfasano.bsky.social —

#poetry #poem
conflagration artists can’t stop wars after all there were painters in bosnia and poets in rwanda and potters in germany bearing testament to the flames crafting fragile beauty amidst grey ashes of testimony weaving molding carving lighting tiny fires of remembrance for each name
January 26, 2025 at 5:41 PM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
“What Kind of Times are These”—written by Adrienne Rich in 1991—is the current feature in my poetry corner. I just wish it weren’t quite so timely.
What Kind of Times Are These There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted who disappeared into those shadows. I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here, our country moving closer to its own truth and dread, its own ways of making people disappear. I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods meeting the unmarked strip of light-ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise: I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear. And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these to have you listen at all, it's necessary to talk about trees. -Adrienne Rich
January 24, 2025 at 2:08 AM
jengelmattern.bsky.social
🤎🤎🤎 #Kidlit quote of the day:
Quote by Katherine Rundell: “Children’s fiction necessitates distillation: at its best, it renders in their purest, most archetypal forms hope, hunger, joy, fear. Think of children’s books as literary vodka.”
January 9, 2025 at 4:06 PM