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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary
@susanlleary.bsky.social
2.5K followers 1.6K following 920 posts
Poet | MORE FLOWERS (Trio House Press 2026) | DRESSING THE BEAR (Louise Bogan Award, Trio House Press) | A BUFFET TABLE FIT FOR QUEENS (Washburn Prize, Small Harbor Publishing) + 2 📚| Mayah 🐶 | www.susanlleary.com
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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · Aug 14
🌸COVER REVEAL🌸 for MORE FLOWERS & it’s a beauty! I’m grateful to so many: @triohousepress.org, @krisbigalk.bsky.social, @natashakane.bsky.social & to @fascicles.bsky.social, @kcbrattpfotenhauer.bsky.social, & @cynthiamhoffman.bsky.social for their kind, generous words!

Pre-order link in comments!
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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · 31m
“…touch is the body’s first language.”

—I.S. Jones in BLOODMERCY ♥️

@ampoetryreview.bsky.social
BETWEEN GRACE AND MERCY we learned mercy so young: a beetle with its hind legs crushed. a dog impaled by a rusty fence. a hare thinking it was clever enough to reach the other side of the road. a veil of light drapes each moment— red, tangerine, azure, lavender, each waiting to reimagine the sky. the beetle frantic to undo what sudden brute force divided its from legs still moving towards a song. with the beetle, it was simple. Cain crushed the small creature with the heel of her foot, splayed open like a wish. people think suffering is meant to be purposeful, otherwise why name it. maybe i am nostalgic for what wounds best. the hare & tire & the asphalt. the asphalt gowned in viscera makes a new animal. a dog leaps too low & yelps all evening for Baba into the orange-pink sky. all day blood weeps into the rust. rust twisted deep into the animal. i take the dog's face in my hands. touch is the body's first language. blood is the body's first covenant. kill it, says a sister. you kill animals all the time. i kiss the dog's eyes closed.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
stonecirclereview.bsky.social
Stone Circle Review @stonecirclereview.bsky.social · 13h
“A poem is a means of bringing the wind in the door, so to speak.”

-- Charles Simic
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
christinadaub.bsky.social
Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 13h
Someday, if I am Lucky

#poetry
by Matthew Nienow
@alicejamesbooks.bsky.social
Short poem by Matthew Nienow: Someday, if I am Lucky From his book, If Nothing Alice James Books, 2025
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
veronikafuchs.bsky.social
Veronika Fuchs @veronikafuchs.bsky.social · 12h
Louise Glück, I love you
🤍
Text: Under Taurus We were on the pier, you desiring that I see the Pleiades. I could see everything but what you wished. Now I will follow. There is not a single cloud; the stars appear, even the invisible sister. Show me where to look, as though they will stay where they are. Instruct me in the dark.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 1d
Monday with Jane Hirshfield
Obstacle This body, still walking. The wind must go around it.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 8h
it’s getting close to third Thursday, and you know what that means…a Night Light event with some amazing poets!! sign up below to hear these inimitable readers do their thing in just a couple days’ time :) 💡
NIGHT LIGHT THURSDAY 10/16 9PM EASTERN ZOOM ERIKA GILL MICHAEL WASHINGTON HOLLI CARRELL BENJAMIN NIESPODZIANY KIIK ARAKI-KAWAGUCHI
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
litbowl.bsky.social
Litbowl @litbowl.bsky.social · 5h
From Lucille Clifton's book, How to Carry Water: bit.ly/howtocarrywater

#poem #books #writing
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
kossworks.bsky.social
Koss (she/they/Aquarian) @kossworks.bsky.social · 1d
Elegy for Jennifer Martelli
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
leguinbot.bsky.social
Ursula K. Le Guin Bot @leguinbot.bsky.social · 1h
You will die. You will not live forever. Nor will any man nor any thing. Nothing is immortal. But only to us is it given to know that we must die. And that is a great gift: the gift of selfhood. For we have only what we know we must lose, what we are willing to lose.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
newpages.bsky.social
NewPages @newpages.bsky.social · 1h
Submit your boldest poetry manuscript by November 30!
The Wishing Jewel Prize from Green Linden Press offers $1000 + publication for innovative work. $25 fee.

#PoetryContest #InnovativePoetry #CallForManuscripts #WishingJewelPrize
Call for Manuscripts: The Wishing Jewel Prize for Poetic Innovation
Submit innovative poetry manuscripts for the Wishing Jewel Prize. $1000 award + publication. Deadline: November 30. Open reading period.
www.newpages.com
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
janezwart.bsky.social
Jane Zwart (she/her) @janezwart.bsky.social · 1h
It broke my heart to write this poem, and I would give it back if I could reverse my brother's death or my mom's diagnosis. But it doesn't work like that. So I'm trying to open my hands to the joy of having a poem in @thenation.com. Thank you, Kaveh Akbar, et al.
www.thenation.com/article/cult...
What We Talk About When We Talk About Cancer
www.thenation.com
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Han VanderHart @hanvanderhart.bsky.social · 45m
I know I am not a nymph in exhumation

but would you please explain
this half-remembered light

Donika Kelly

#poetry #booksky
@graywolfpress.bsky.social
I mean I push the wet dirt with my mandible I mean jaw Jaw Y'all I know I am not a nymph in exhumation but would you please explain this half-remembered light Donika Kelly, The Natural Order of Things
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
chowleen.bsky.social
eileen chengyin chow @chowleen.bsky.social · 1h
I am the man. I suffered,
I was there.
-Whitman

In Baldwin’s hand, cover page for the manuscript of Giovanni’s Room
#everynightapoem
GIOVANNI'S ROOM novel by James Baldwin I am the man. I suffered, I was there. Whitman.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
megmcdermott92.bsky.social
Megan McDermott (she/her) @megmcdermott92.bsky.social · 1d
"...life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end." - Virginia Woolf
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
mayacpopa.bsky.social
Maya C. Popa @mayacpopa.bsky.social · 2d
Raymond Carver:
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
literarymama.bsky.social
Literary Mama @literarymama.bsky.social · 2d
"imagine if we allowed people to engage w poetry the way we expect people to engage w music. Nobody plays you a song they love or sends you a playlist & then says, get back to me w meanings of all of these songs."

@maggiesmithpoet.bsky.social on our 50th episode of This Mama Is Lit!
Maggie Smith: My Work is Play
Holly and Amanda chat with Maggie Smith, author of Dear Writer, about applying poetic license to writing and beyond, embracing the beginner's mind, and aging in reverse through creativity.
open.substack.com
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
evecastle.bsky.social
Eve Castle @evecastle.bsky.social · 2d
The Peace of Wild Things
—Wendell Berry

#Poetry #SmallPoemSunday

May all find a moment of peace in nature today. At minimum go stand below a tree and look up toward the sky for a full minute. #Peace
The Peace of Wild Things Wendell Berry When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. from Openings: Poems (1968)
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
alinaetc.bsky.social
Alina Stefanescu @alinaetc.bsky.social · 3d
The music that is inside me.
The music that is in silence, in possibility
May it come and amaze me.

— Paul Valery, Notebook VI
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
leguinbot.bsky.social
Ursula K. Le Guin Bot @leguinbot.bsky.social · 2d
Neither grief nor pride had so much truth in them as did joy, the joy that trembled in the cold wind between sky and sea, bright and brief as fire.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
ezhang77.bsky.social
Elena “Eraserhead baby” Zhang @ezhang77.bsky.social · 2d
Jon Boisvert

#smallpoemsunday
@tomsnarsky.bsky.social
TRANSPLANT Father receives another transplant today. This time, it's a beehive. It feels good to drink the rain, he says, & better to eat the Aowers. He's been in the meadow for hours now, getting so big & brave.
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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · 2d
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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · 2d
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susanlleary.bsky.social
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · 3d
“Everything ends up being an ode to death.”

—Martha Silano in TERMINAL SURREAL (@acrebooks.bsky.social)
DEATH POEM Death is the one-day-alive mayfly clinging to a watering can. When the grass turns brown, how can I not think of death? In my heart, death lives like a mama raccoon with her two young. We haven't figured out a way to undo death. Death awaits the pigeon on a roof, says the Cooper's hawk. It's not cool to mention corpse beetles when there's a death. Did you know there's a death's-head hawkmoth? A scrub jay squawks death, death, death! Dragonflies and death: they live about six months. Eating is for sure some kind of elaborate death feast. Sometimes death is invisible, especially when we laugh. Our planet: one big tribute concert to death. Death be not proud, says John Donne, but death is proud, I think. Everything ends up being an ode to death.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Han VanderHart @hanvanderhart.bsky.social · 3d
Everything that we've known, and come to count on,
has fled the world.

Charles Wright, from Sestets 🍂
Our Days Are Political, but Birds Are Something Else Tenth month of the year. Fallen leaves taste bitter. And grass. Everything that we've known, and come to count on, has fled the world. Their bones crack in the west wind. Where are the deeds we're taught to cling to? How I regret having missed them, and their mirrored pieces of heaven. Like egrets, they rise in the clear sky, their shadows like distance on the firred hills.
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Reposted by Susan L. Leary
flyrobynfly.bsky.social
Robyn Schindeldecker @flyrobynfly.bsky.social · 3d
These lilacs clearly didn't get the memo that it's October.
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