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Pinhole Poetry

@pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Digital journal and chapbook press. We love the upside-down view and the fact that some art can only happen in the dark. Journal submissions always open! pinholepoetry.ca

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Pinhole Poetry@pinholepoetry.bsky.social · last mo.

Please come out and celebrate the launch of ‘A Mudlarker’s Diary’ Ariel Gordon will read from her new chapbook, joined by Hannah Godfrey, Talia Syrie & Anucyia Victor Kitching with host John Toews Thursday, August 6, 7-9 pm at Public Domain, 633 Portage Ave, Winnipeg Hope to see you there!

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Raoul Fernandes@raoulfernandes.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Nice to have a poem in this charm of an online journal. Erin Bedford does some great work with it and it's all free. Here's my poem pinholepoetry.ca/21747-2/

· P I N H O L E • P O E T R Y

RAOUL FERNANDES Gives WayThe train is so full my shoulder is pressed against a stranger's shoulder the whole ride. Annoyance gives way to something else. Who holds another this long, sustained? Almost...

pinholepoetry.ca

Pinhole Poetry@pinholepoetry.bsky.social · 2mo ago

We're pleased to present our 18th issue, a collection of poems around themes of subways, subtext, undercurrents & all that lives underneath. It features the work of 23 poets and one pinhole photographer, & a chapbook love letter. Many thx to contributors! pinholepoetry.ca/current-issu...

Pinhole Poetry@pinholepoetry.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Our first feature from issue 5.2 is for Shannon Lintott’s poem, ‘open the mouth for light’ Shannon shares what inspired their poem and tells us what they’ve been reading and wondering about lately. Thanks, Shannon!

...each and every passing thing reaches out with tendrils and hollows such creatures, such creatures we become and then suddenly a cave and then finally rest as the wings of the earth fold over us and we say thank you, thank you for letting us returnSHANNON LINTOTT open the mouth for light after Carol Krause close for darkness close it tightly to keep yourself in safely snapped shut, we begin and down we go into the roots and the foundations of sticks and petals and liquid jaws scooping up the morsels of mold and decay and the eyes close over and the hands grow claws the clay becomes our flesh and the muscles learn to push there will be slime but also silence and release as our ears bend and seal and our bones become loose, liquid and we shiver and reverberate in delight each and every passing thing reaches out with tendrils and hollows such creatures, such creatures we become and then suddenly a cave and then finally rest as the wings of the earth fold over us and we say thank you, thank you for letting us returnBild
Pinhole Poetry@pinholepoetry.bsky.social · 3mo ago

Very excited to announce that two poems from our last year of publication have been selected for inclusion in Best Canadian Poetry 2027! Congratulations to Wren Jones and Terry Trowbridge! Snippets of their poems are included here!

Bildpinhole_poetry Very excited to share that two poems from our last year of publication have been chosen for Best Canadian Poetry 2027!! Big congratulations to Wren Jones and Terry Trowbridge! Flip through to see a snippet of each of their selected poems. And so happy they'll share space with Ronna Bloom, Antony Di Nardo, Maria Giesbrecht and YS Lee - all of whom are past Pinhole Poetry contributors! So excited for all of you and absolutely thrilled that Pinhole has been lucky enough to publish such amazing talent. TERRY TROWBRIDGE Fortify the Islands with Flowers Raspberry brambles spike the creek bank. Three fulsome thistle thickets prickle my orchard clearings. The crop is dismal. Instead, I make concessions, to pollinators and rabbits and mice. This year I rewrite myself as a coyote myth. Islands of herbaceous copses a third the height of trees are an archipelago architecture amidst the tree lines. Tufts of ragweed and aster are still greening. The coyotes will have to be inventive to explain me. I am a creature among creative pleasures. The real farmers, and the retirees who fake-farm for tax purposes, do not read next to unshy rabbits. The birds fly but do not flee. WREN JONES At dinner out to celebrate our daughter's 20th birthday my ex offers me soup ladles a small bowl of ramen passes it down the table-our children cup it along. These small acts of kindness have always gutted me, forget about the bigger losses. I stretched my arms out to him for a decade, asked him to suture my heart, too much blood, he said, too messy. Took myself to the forest and laid down on a mound of soft pine needles.