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Timothy Green

@timothygreen.bsky.social

editor of @rattlepoetry | thoughts my own

153 Posts397 Follower110 Folgt
Timothy Green@timothygreen.bsky.social · 2mo ago

The rule of a train poem is that you have to keep typing at a steady pace without stopping until the poem comes to a conclusion, so that it's like a train rolling out of the tunnel of your subconscious mind. Surprising things emerge if you force that. From Poems for Katie:

A Noble Gas everywhere I’ve ever lived is tucked inside a blue balloon loosened in a child’s hand she’s standing in her fourth grade field her classmates counting down the soccer lines look almost real beneath her feet in painted grass an unseen bee inspects a clover waiting for the shade to pass when all at once their strings let go as if the sky itself could gasp and everywhere I’ve ever lived is pressing on the inner walls and pulling up her written note and when you find it tangled in the neighbor’s fence I hope you’ll call the number and tell whoever answers where it went
Timothy Green@timothygreen.bsky.social · 3mo ago

If you haven't seen it, check out The Poetry Shop—a curated online bookstore just for contemporary poetry with the browsable shelves you wish your local had. They feature a weekly poet interview with book recs. This week it was me and Poems for Katie:

Poetry Shop 5: Timothy Green, author of Poems for Katie

Say the name Timothy Green and the literary journal Rattle comes to mind. If you write poetry (and submit it) you've likely received Green’s kind-hearted rejection, and maybe even the thrilling email ...

thepoetryshop.com

Timothy Green@timothygreen.bsky.social · 3mo ago

In collecting Poems for Katie, it was astonishing to see how much the poems knew before I did. I was sad for so long, deeply but so quietly even I couldn't hear it. This one became the cover image.

The Giant Who Had No Heart Inside His Body by Timothy Green after Asbjørnsen and Moe didn’t know where to hide it. It was a big heart, after all, as huge as a Cadillac, as loud as a kick drum, and where do you hide such a thing? He tried the barn, wrapped in layers of aluminum foil and linen, hung on a hook from the highest beam—but still the field mice found it. He woke that night to the tickle of their tiny feet inside the huge hollow of his chest. His own laughter chased him through the darkness until he lifted the barn roof and scared them off. Next, he tried the bottom of the lake, sunk with stones to the deepest part. The surface rippled softly with every beat of the mighty heart, but the sound was muffled and the fish well-fed. For a while, it worked— until the cellophane began to leak, and the hole inside him filled with water, a well overflowing, and he wept for days. When the hungry princess arrived, it was raining. He noticed her bright umbrella. Eat, he said, having no other choice, his voice rolling down from the clouds. And so she ate, slice by slice, bite by painful bite for a year, until no one anymore might find it.
Timothy Green@timothygreen.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Thrilled to have this leading off the new issue of 32 Poems! For years, Katie's been trying to get me to actually submit poems to the magazines I like. I've been terrible about it, but it's nice to have started now at the top of the list.

A Lesser Triumph by Timothy Green ... Yesterday I remembered applause ...
Timothy Green@timothygreen.bsky.social · 10mo ago

Just when you think you've seen it all, today's poem at Rattle by Julie Kane is a PechaKucha—it's a spinoff of a Japanese form of slideshow presentation, where you show 20 slides for 20 seconds each, and fit stories into exactly that length of time. 1/ www.rattle.com/old-maid-a-p...

Old Maid: A PechaKucha by Julie Kane - Rattle: Poetry

She was our father’s only sister. Being Irish and the eldest child and only daughter, she was doomed to take care of her invalid mother. Old Maid, we whispered, like the card game where the loser gets...

rattle.com