Sean Eaton (Poet)
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nomdelamer.bsky.social
Sean Eaton (Poet)
@nomdelamer.bsky.social
26 followers 4 following 110 posts
Official Bluesky of Sean Eaton, poet from New England, USA.
https://www.writerscafe.org/sea2sea
https://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/view/sea2sea
Posts Replies Media Videos
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Oh, BTW, anyone dismissing Cuba or Venezuela as dictatorships is going to Hell when they die, full stop. So be prepared for that.
December 2, 2025 at 9:40 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Maria Corina Machado is one of the most evil people in existence I'm aware of right now. The maniacal grinning and sheer glee as she sells out her countrymen to Trump for a chance at power really amazes and disgusts me.
December 2, 2025 at 9:39 PM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
komaniecki.bsky.social
The last half of this paragraph reads like something one of the characters on 30 Rock would write while trying their hand at the next Great American Novel
themountaingoats.bsky.social the Mountain Goats @themountaingoats.bsky.social · 16d
when the full Olivia Nuzzi book streets Bluesky is going to collectively experience something akin to the ecstasies of the Bacchae
Like all men but more so, he was a hunter. In a literal sense, he used not a bullet but a bird. It was not about a chase but about a puzzle of logic and skill that amounted to a test of his self-mastery. He was the mouse and the architect of his maze. The giver of his own pleasure and torment. He desired. He desired desiring. He desired being desired. He desired desire itself. I understood this just as I came to understand the range of his kinks and complexes and how they fit within what I thought I understood of his soul.
November 17, 2025 at 6:14 PM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
dianacao.bsky.social
new poem—thank you @yalereview.bsky.social
Sometimes you have to be still and suffer, my teacher says about writing, but I have an active suffering that calls me to run after it. Keep up, says the feed of bad news. It's dangerous to see others as an abstraction. I don't need to hate anyone as an abstraction because I have my mother—I hate my mother. She who keeps stealing the car keys is very real. I see her; I know Terror. What does it mean that I know just where to find a sugar baby but not a nice companion for my Terror? What does it say about me that I'd rather be a sugar baby than a nice companion for my mother? I don't actually know if that's true. But when I'm in a car chasing my mother down I-95, wind slicing through the papers in the backseat, I'm not thinking about writing, or about suffering, even if that's what this is.
February 2, 2025 at 8:58 PM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
sjane.bsky.social
"...Imagine wanting
only what matters over time."

a poem by @dianacao.bsky.social in Waxwing.
Patina by Diana Cao "....Imagine wanting only what matters over time."
November 27, 2025 at 7:37 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
"Blast Music", by Sean Eaton, published in Packingtown Review #poetry #Gaza #bombs #poetrycommunity
www.packingtownreview.com/issues/24/ea...
"Blast Music" by Sean Eaton | Packingtown Review - A journal of literature and the arts
Poetry:
www.packingtownreview.com
November 26, 2025 at 12:30 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
The introductory poems to the first and second halves of Susan Stewart's 1995 book "The Forest" #poetry #poetrysky
Untitled poem number one, by Susan Stewart, from her book "The Forest" "What haunts are not the dead but the gaps left within us by the secrets of others." So says the book ofthe phantom where I read the fable ofthe mother's arms, the look behind a fret of limbs, how dread and hope are wound. The voice fell back and back and down, back to its source beneath the ground. Tell me, lonely singer, then why the phantom fades again there on the threshold of our seeing. Untitled poem number two, by Susan Stewart, from her book "The Forest" We needed fire to make the tongs and tongs to hold us from the flame; we needed ash to clean the cloth and cloth to clean the ash's stain; we needed stars to find our way, to make the light that blurred the stars; we needed death to mark an end, an end that time in time could mend. Born in love, the consequence— born of love, the need. Tell me, ravaged singer, how the cinder bears the seed.
November 18, 2025 at 9:15 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Buffy Sainte-Marie - Moratorium #music #tunes #1960s #protestsongs www.youtube.com/watch?v=xg3b...
Buffy Sainte Marie - "Moratorium"
YouTube video by NativeAmerican4Life
www.youtube.com
November 17, 2025 at 10:25 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
It's nauseating watching the most powerful women in the country smugly play the sex card endlessly rather than even once accept accountability. Kamala lost because because she ran a conservative campaign on a liberal ticket. Trump won because he ran a conservative campaign on a conservative ticket.
November 17, 2025 at 7:44 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Heartburn Hotel
November 15, 2025 at 4:44 PM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
yrfrenbren.bsky.social
Obsessing over a Linda Gregg poem again

“I don't expect the light / to save me, but I do believe / in the ritual.”
#poetry
The Light Continues Every evening, an hour before / the sun goes down, I walk toward / its light, wanting to be altered. / Always in quiet, the air still. / Walking up the straight empty road / and then back. When the sun / is gone, the light continues /high up in the sky for a while. / When I return, the moon is there. / Like a changing of the guard. / I don't expect the light / to save me, but I do believe / in the ritual. I believe / I am being born a second time / in this very plain way.
November 12, 2025 at 1:04 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
The incredible poem "Refugees" by Brian Bilston brianbilston.com/2016/03/23/r...
#poetry #refugees #poetrysky
Title: "Refugees" by Brian Bilston They have no need of our help So do not tell me These haggard faces could belong to you or me Should life have dealt a different hand We need to see them for who they really are Chancers and scroungers Layabouts and loungers With bombs up their sleeves Cut-throats and thieves They are not Welcome here We should make them Go back to where they came from They cannot Share our food Share our homes Share our countries Instead let us Build a wall to keep them out It is not okay to say These are people just like us A place should only belong to those who are born there Do not be so stupid to think that The world can be looked at another way (now read from bottom to top) The world can be looked at another way Do not be so stupid to think that A place should only belong to those who are born there These are people just like us It is not okay to say Build a wall to keep them out Instead let us Share our countries Share our homes Share our food They cannot Go back to where they came from We should make them Welcome here They are not Cut-throats and thieves With bombs up their sleeves Layabouts and loungers Chancers and scroungers We need to see them for who they really are Should life have dealt a different hand These haggard faces could belong to you or me So do not tell me They have no need of our help
November 14, 2025 at 2:51 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
The Packingtown Review has published my poem "Blast Music" in their new Fall 2025 issue, readable here:
www.packingtownreview.com/issues/24/ea...
It took a long time to find a home for this political poem, so I'm honored they chose it.
#poetry #poetrysky #poetrycommunity
"Blast Music" by Sean Eaton | Packingtown Review - A journal of literature and the arts
Poetry:
www.packingtownreview.com
November 11, 2025 at 10:15 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
"Telemachus", by Ocean Vuong, from his book "Night Sky With Exit Wounds" (2016) #poetry #poetrysky #favoritepoems
Title: "Telemachus", poem by Ocean Vuong Like any good son, I pull my father out of the water, drag him by his hair through white sand, his knuckles carving a trail the waves rush in to erase. Because the city beyond the shore is no longer where we left it. Because the bombed cathedral is now a cathedral of trees. I kneel beside him to show how far I might sink. Do you know who I am, Ba? But the answer never comes. The answer is the bullet hole in his back, brimming with seawater. He is so still I think he could be anyone’s father, found the way a green bottle might appear at a boy’s feet containing a year he has never touched. I touch his ears. No use. I turn him over. To face it. The cathedral in his sea-black eyes. The face not mine — but one I will wear to kiss all my lovers good-night: the way I seal my father’s lips with my own & begin the faithful work of drowning.
November 10, 2025 at 10:09 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
The Fall 2025 Issue of Plainsongs is now available for purchase, in both PDF and Print copies! It features my poem "Night Weeding" www.corpuscallosumpress.com/shop

#poetry #poetrysky
November 9, 2025 at 12:07 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Rereading "The Forest" by Susan Stewart, and wow, it's incredible #poetry
November 5, 2025 at 12:02 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
"Feathers or Lead" by Jack Gilbert, from his book 'Refusing Heaven' (2005) #poetry #poetrysky #favoritepoems
"Feathers or Lead", poem by Jack Gilbert Him, she said, and him. They put us in the second car and followed her back to the villa. Our fear slowly faded during the weeks. Everyone was kind but busy. We could go anywhere on the first floor and on the grounds this side of the fence. They decided on me and sent the other boy away. Before I had only glimpsed her at the upper windows. Now we ate together at opposite ends of the table. Candlelight eased her age, but not her guilt. Once she said the world was an astonishing animal: light was its spirit and noise was its mind. That it was composed to feed on honor, but did not. Another time she warned me about walking on the lawns at night. Told me of heavy birds that flew after dark croaking, "Feathers or lead, stone or fire?" Mounting people who gave the wrong answer and riding them like horses across the whole county, beating them with their powerful wings. We would play cards silently on rainy days, and have sardine sandwiches at four in the morning, taking turns reading aloud from Tolstoy. "What need do we have for consulates?" she said once before going upstairs, the grand room beginning to fill with the dawn. "Why insist on nature? A flower must be red or white, but we can be anything. Our victories are difficult because the triumph is not in possessing excellence. It is found in reluctance." Month after month we lived like that. And with me telling her what it was like out there among the living. She was steadily failing, like a Palladian palace coming apart gracefully. The last morning she stooр by the tall windows. "I will not give you my blessing," she said, "and I refuse you also my reasons. Who are you, who is anyone to make me just?" When they came for her, she smiled at me and said, "At last."
November 4, 2025 at 11:02 AM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Ruth Stone is my favorite poet. Her late books, where she turns her attention to the world at large, are ravishing. #poetry #RuthStone #poetrysky #literaturesky
September 26, 2024 at 7:04 PM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
I'm a little late for the season of witches, but this song by Black Country, New Road is a year-round favorite #music #tunes #poetry www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgZn...
Black Country, New Road - 'Turbines/Pigs - Live at Bush Hall' (Official Audio)
YouTube video by Black Country, New Road
www.youtube.com
November 1, 2025 at 10:21 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
I never buy books I haven't read, but on reading my library's copy of "Messenger: Selected Poems" I was so enraptured by her excepts from "Kyrie" that I promptly bought the full book to read. No regrets. Ellen Bryant Voigt's writing is gorgeous and lyrical. #poetry
November 1, 2025 at 5:37 AM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
effervescentvoid.bsky.social
Stuninng Victoria Chang poem: yalereview.org/article/vict...
Victoria Chang: “The Swan”
A poem by Victoria Chang: “The thin shirtless / man fishing by / the river. The woman // by his side, smoking.“
yalereview.org
October 26, 2025 at 12:50 AM
nomdelamer.bsky.social
Everyone parroting the lies that Maduro is related to narco-trafficking is enabling fascism. Maduro's only crime is refusing to collaborate with US imperialism. This is about Venezuela's oil and oil only, Trump admitted it last year, and anyone saying differently is a guilty SOB.
October 31, 2025 at 8:47 PM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
kebrightbill.bsky.social
Graham "totally not a Nazi" Platner also posted a shit ton of homophobic bullshit on reddit within the last decade.
Maine Senate candidate Graham Platner admits using ‘indefensible’ antigay slurs in unearthed Reddit posts
"Today I find that stuff abhorrent," Platner told The Advocate. "And I am sorry that I ever used it.”
www.advocate.com
October 23, 2025 at 1:29 AM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
samhalpert.bsky.social
For a man who ran on a slogan of “not me, us” Bernie seems very invested in the idea that the movement needs this one specific guy. Esp after Fetterman NO ONE should be expected to just trust that Platner is who he says, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. Condescending take Senator.
axios.com Axios @axios.com · Oct 23
Sen. Bernie Sanders is doubling down on his support for Maine Senate candidate Graham Platner, saying there might be "one or two more important issues" than the Marine veteran's tattoos.
Exclusive: Bernie Sanders slams media's coverage of Graham Platner
"I'm not overly impressed by a squad of media running around," Sanders said.
www.axios.com
October 23, 2025 at 2:45 AM
Reposted by Sean Eaton (Poet)
zorrolittotheelder.bsky.social
Platner covered it with a peel and stick!!!!!!

@grahamformaine.bsky.social is a LYING NAZI.
bruceshark.bsky.social Bruce Shark @bruceshark.bsky.social · Oct 22
Covered with a STICK ON TATTOO.

I know what they look like, the telltale wrinkles, the sticky edge.
A new tattoo is red, puffy, and covered with protective salve and clean wrap.
This is a lick and stick 🙄💀

nazi asshat is a liar AGAIN
Fake stick on tattoo
October 23, 2025 at 1:49 AM