Tessera

@plensbuien.bsky.social

Chen Chen @chenchenwrites.bsky.social · 3w ago

happy Nolan’s The Odyssey release day for all who celebrate. here’s my favorite Odyssey-related contemporary poem, “Telemachus’ Detachment” by Louise Glück.

Telemachus’ Detachment

When I was a child looking
at my parents’ lives, you know
what I thought? I thought
heartbreaking. Now I think
heartbreaking, but also
insane. Also
very funny.

Anne SdG @annestolte.bsky.social · 4d ago

[...] Ik zal de halmen niet meer zien noch binden ooit de volle schoven, maar doe mij in den oogst geloven waarvoor ik dien… [...] Fragment uit De ploeger Gedichten 1911-1976 Adriaan Roland Holst Overleden op 5 augustus 1976

phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · last wk.

Marge Piercy

August

How long can all stand at impasse?
Not a ripple stirs the grass. The bee in thick air stalls. Breath clots in my throat.
No seed drifts down or petal falls. The sun embalms
in middle air a mote
static as a bubble trapped in glass. Silence parches into thirst. Out of these turgid calms
tornados burst.

HAD @havehashad.com · last wk.

well well well well well... today from Sarah Carson! https://www.havehashad.com/trj84

July 30, 2026
In the Mornings We All Meet at the Well Well
Sarah Carson
Well, well, someone says.

Well, well, well, someone else replies.

Well, well, well, well, here we are, someone’s dad inevitably continues.

It goes like this for hours.

We forget we came here alone with our empty buckets. We forget that we came here hoping to be healed.

Chaucer Doth Tweet @levostregc.bsky.social · 2w ago

Basquiat seyde that "art ys how we decorate space, and musique ys how we decorate tyme." It doth followe that poetrye ys how we decorate thoughte and sense, and narratyve ys how we decorate memorye. And all are middel fingeres agaynste death. Make art, or else.

Pieter Taffijn @ptaffijn.bsky.social · 2w ago

Veel regen viel er gisteren niet en we gaan weer hete dagen tegoed. Dan kan je niet echt beregenen, de druppels zijn eerder verdampt voor ze de grond halen. Maar later van de week zouden er buien komen. Wachten dus. Iedereen een mooie dag gewenst. Vandaag gedicht 2859: 'De aanhouder' van Derek Otte

Dr. Jeroen W.P. Wijnendaele @drdragases.bsky.social · 2w ago

Good grief, this hits home.

phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 2w ago

A poem by Virginia Hamilton Adair, who published her debut collection at the age of 83

REUNION BETWEEN PLANES

I'm the old school friend swooping out of the sky like a Halloween witch in my Hollywood shades and my stretchable wig and a girdle of groans. Since we shrieked our goodbyes in a shower of rice
my babies have grown beards been jailed and divorced. My husband the broker embezzled, absconded, is living abroad with a kennel of bitches. I remember your dad who fondled our bottoms your mom with her bottle she hid in the sofa.
My God, they were younger by decades than we are crossing into the dusk
of this terminal bar.

-VIRGINIA HAMILTON ADAIR

emily fraser 🌿🐌✨@emilyesfraser.bsky.social · 2y ago

Thank you to Pleiades for publishing my snarky little CDC hate poem 🖤

Emily Fraser

Encouraging News

As the CDC director announces with a smile that the overwhelming number of deaths occurred in people with at least four comorbidities
—people who were unwell to begin with I think of the film noir my students made where local townspeople kept being killed— how after every murder twelve-year-old Charlie in a too-big trench coat and fedora announced in his best old timey radio voice:
There's been a murder.
But don't worry—
it was only a SMALL murder.

Thad DeVassie @thaddevassie.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Finding a Ted Kooser kind of happiness should be the goal. #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Thad DeVassie @thaddevassie.bsky.social · last mo.

A favorite from Beth Ann Fennelly for #smallpoemsunday cc: @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Stanchion @stanchion.bsky.social · 3w ago

Enjoy the whole of @toddedillard.bsky.social 's masterful, What The Husband Keeps from Issue 20 of Stanchion Magazine. "All this time, I kept it safe. This is how I love you."

OverBoeken @overboeken.bsky.social · 4w ago

Had ik je maar als kind gekend | die nu mijn kind en moeder bent (Titel: 'Is het vandaag of gistren vraagt mijn moeder') #MVasalis (1909-1998)

Read A Little Poetry @readalittlepoem.bsky.social · last mo.

“People don’t like to leave a party / unless the house is actually / on fire.” — Charles Rafferty . . . This poem appeared in The Southern Review, Winter 2026. Shared here with deep gratitude.

Postcard From The Past @pastpostcard.bsky.social · last mo.

It's exhausting.

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · last mo.

Nikki Giovanni

There are... still... so many books I want to read.. and reread...
There are... still... so many places I want to travel... to.
There are... still... foods I want to eat... and drinks I want to sample...
There are ... blankets to lie upon or under...
There are pillows upon which to prop my books or my head...

I know no one ever wished they had been meaner...
Or hated more...
Or spent more hours away from people they loved...
I know that life is interesting and you can never go wrong Being interested
If 1 were giving advice I would say: Sing
People who sing to themselves
People who make variations on songs they know
People who teach songs to other people
These are the people other people want to be with

Alisa Bokulich @alisabokulich.bsky.social · last mo.

A perfect poem for this day "Let America Be America Again" BY LANGSTON HUGHES www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147907...

Let America Be America Again
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
Q
SHARE
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers
dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the
stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek
And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
1am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Dominique Baker@bakerdphd.bsky.social · last yr.

"O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!" Starting the day sharing my favorite Langston Hughes poem in the family group chat before doing my own reading poets.org/poem/let-ame...

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · last mo.

This is not enough William Corbett

July’s grass burnt over
the gardens are factories.
It is the inexpressible sadness
of a family sitting down to dinner
at a card table under the shade tree
behind their house. This is not enough
and it is not too much.
The screen door slams as the children
go indoors to watch television.
Their parents sit smoking
and talking over the dishes
hardly noticing the buses
rushing past them on the highway.
It is that moment where everything will stay
but never long enough.

The labor librarian @laborlibrarian.bsky.social · last mo.

I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

I, Too, Sing America

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America

-Langston Hughes

Gerry Jöris @gerryjoris.bsky.social · last mo.

DAGGEDICHT - M. Vasalis (1909-1998) – De zomerwei des ochtends vroeg De zomerwei des ochtends vroeg. En op een zuchtje dat hem droeg vliegt een geel vlindertje voorbij. Heer, had het hierbij maar gelaten. (Uit: Verzamelde gedichten. Uitgeverij Van Oorschot - Beeld: Chris Vest)

Chen Chen @chenchenwrites.bsky.social · last mo.

thinking about this delightfully furious poem by Mary Ruefle again.

Red

by Mary Ruefle

I fucking depended on you and
you left the fucking wheelbarrow
out and it’s fucking raining
and now the white chickens
are fucking filthy

Ilja Klink💙💛@iljaklink.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Vandaag las ik dit gedicht voor aan 50 volwassenen:

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Ted Greenwald

I’ve loved often enough
been shot down enough to hurt often
I’ve pitied myself as well as others (both ways unhealthy emotion)
I’ve wondered if I could love someone else (morbid)
I’ve made my doubts into poems
discovering covers often get kicked off
to cool the body’s heat and mind’s jungle growth
I’ve wondered (and felt made to wonder) if my own ‘worth’ is
‘worth much’ and wavered
well, Ted, when I saw you on 8th St last month
we (you) talked for awhile and
then went over St. Mark’s and Gem’s to take pictures with Gerard
you said, the one thing that always disturbed you
about my poems
is there are no really embarrassing moments

Chaucer Doth Tweet @levostregc.bsky.social · 2mo ago

"Ich askid ChatGPT," Well Ich askid the stones, and the forest, and the starres, and the mountaynes, and the moone daunsinge above, and what thei seyde was learninge, and dreames, and growinge thinges, and makinge art, and a worlde wher we talke to each othir and care about each othir.

Amy Borgman @amyborgman.bsky.social · 2mo ago

#smallpoemsunday #poem #writingcommunity #poetry A master of small poems… Andrea Cohen From her beautiful book, Furs Not Mine (Image in part 2 of this text)

BOMB

English is hard
to explain. Why
is one b loud

and one silent?
Why does one
house stand

and another crumble?
Why does one
mother, falling

on the open
wound of her one
son, howl,

while another
opens her mouth
and goes dumb?

womensartbluesky.bsky.social @womensartbluesky.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Iconic feminist graffitti (UK), 1979, photographed by Jill Posener, British photographer and activist #womensart

Letters of Note @lettersofnote.com · 2mo ago

RIP David Hockney

I’m 82, I’m going to die. We die because we are born. The only things that matter in life are food and love, in that order, and also our little dog Ruby. I truly believe this, and for me, the basis of art is love. I love life.

David Hockney
Letter to Ruth Mackenzie
April 2020

Read A Little Poetry @readalittlepoem.bsky.social · 2mo ago

“So you might as well live / and you might as well love.” — Pádraig Ó Tuama . . . This poem appeared in Sorry For Your Troubles by Pádraig Ó Tuama, published by Canterbury Press Norwich, 2013. Shared here with deep gratitude.

Burgi Zenhaeusern @burgi.bsky.social · 2mo ago

What a crescendoing sonnet of a list!! 😍🎶💖 For #smallPoemSunday I give you @joustingsnail.bsky.social's (Reuben Gelley Newman) Give from his 🔥❤️‍🔥🔥 DEAR DEAR, forthcoming (!!!!!) @triohousepress.org. Go get your pre-order in! 📚💙 @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Dear Dear on a multicolored and striped placemat (partially out of frame). Dear Dear is printed in black and white capital letters of different sizes and fills more than the entire upper half of the cover, the author's name, also black and white capitalized letters, the rest. A string instrument's f-hole in black and cut into red wood-texturing constitutes the background.

Give
Jasper Johns, Untitled, Encaustic on linen, 1996

Give me a ma- in the shape of a bird.
Give me a thousand amoebas, pulsing.
Give me blue. Give me a blood-stained postcard.
Give me backwards. Give me everything false.
Give me a flock of dimes, a school of pennies.
Give me two boys made of circles & squares
Kissing. Let it never come to an end.

Let it abstract. Let it grow everywhere.
Let it circle & circle & circle.
Let it speck the ramshackle fire escape.
Let it prick, spackle, grow tense & fickle.
Let it past tense & paper clip & gape.
Let it want, let it let, let let unplanned
Kissing. Let it never come to an end.

David Atkinson @davidatkinsonpoet.bsky.social · 3mo ago

Almost six years since George Floyd was murdered Yves Sakila was killed on Friday in similar circumstances Not in the USA, but in Dublin. People stood & watched, recorded his murder on their phones, no-one tried to help ‘I do not need my freedom when I’m dead’ #poetry #poemoftheday #ICantBreathe