banner
LightNews
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé
@toddedillard.bsky.social
6.9K followers 1.4K following 5.1K posts
“Ways We Vanish” from Okay Donkey, “Ragnarök at the Father Daughter Dance” from Variant, finalist for the Donald Hall AWP Prize, poems in Threepenny, Southern Review, APR, HAD, etc.
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
Pinned
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · Sep 2
my issue of Threepenny is here! here’s my poem “Present Tense,” I would love for you to give it a read!

“I know this so loudly I don’t
hear, at first, my father’s silence.”
Present Tense by Todd Dillard My father’s telling me about his dog, how it fell into a well when they were walking down a wooded path. His dog ran across some rotted planks, the planks splintered, “And whoosh!” my father says. “No more dog.” I look at the clock and remind my father it’s three A.M. “I’m not finished,” he says. He tells me about the rope he bought, the bucket, how he knotted the rope to the bucket, lowered it down, and yelled for the dog to get in. “But all I pulled up was more barking.” “Dad,” I say. “This never happened.” He says he can’t remember how long he tried to get the dog to shimmy into the bucket. Just that at some point when the sky turned tawny—“Dad—“ as a pitcher of sweet tea—“Dad—“ he decided to give up. “Dad,” I say. “It’s late. I’m tired. And you’re dead.” “Dammit, son,” my father says. “Let me finish!” My father tells me about filling the bucket with dirt and pouring the dirt into the well. And I know what he’s getting at, I know he’s going to tell me bucket by bucket he filled the well and the dog jumped out. He’s going to say something about how the dog led him home through the dark. I know this so loudly I don’t hear, at first, my father’s silence. “Dad?” I say. “Dad, are you there?” I keep lowering the bucket but all I ever pull up are leaves. Red leaves. Lately, some gold.
60 110 460
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4h
Jeremy I want you to sit with your words, and what you identified them as, then sit with my words, and then perhaps infer if maybe I was having a little bit of fun
1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4h
you don’t sound afraid
1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 6h
love a good prose poem. love treating the meaning of life like a slice of pie tucked into circus arson.
11
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 6h
you know how sometimes happiness is stovetop and reptile cake, that
7
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 6h
the first chilly day of fall every year my wife makes a pre-thanksgiving dinner and then tonight she decided to make a teenage mutant ninja turtle cake for our toddler too; what I am saying is you can't always make yourself happy, but sometimes you can place yourself in happiness's driving path
1 24
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 13h
🥰
1
Reposted by pumpkin spice Toddé
davigray.bsky.social
Davi Gray (she/they) @davigray.bsky.social · 14h
😍 Better than literally every piece of so-called "AI" so-called art.
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 14h
toddler asked me to draw him a dinosaur so I banged out this pterodactyl who realized he left the oven on and he’s hours from home and it’s raining
a cartoonish pterodactyl sitting on a branch with huge eyes getting rained on
1 2 15
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 14h
oh dang I thought the bellybutton was pterodactyl-ly (and thank you!)
1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 14h
toddler asked me to draw him a dinosaur so I banged out this pterodactyl who realized he left the oven on and he’s hours from home and it’s raining
a cartoonish pterodactyl sitting on a branch with huge eyes getting rained on
4 3 49
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 2d
how do I explain to my cat that running into another room where she is alone does not constitute an emergency
1 4 29
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 2d
it's officially cold enough to wear my fuzzy socks with built in treads, praise be
2 21
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 2d
first instance of Cage bait
3
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 3d
peak content right
1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 3d
“can seem deeply uncool” shows such weaknesses, you can’t even commit to the bit
bendwalsh.bsky.social
bendwalsh.bsky.social @bendwalsh.bsky.social · 3d
wtaf are you talking about
3 15
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 3d
thanks!
1
Reposted by pumpkin spice Toddé
coconnor8.bsky.social
Charles O’Connor @coconnor8.bsky.social · 3d
Read yourself a poem
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · Sep 2
my issue of Threepenny is here! here’s my poem “Present Tense,” I would love for you to give it a read!

“I know this so loudly I don’t
hear, at first, my father’s silence.”
Present Tense by Todd Dillard My father’s telling me about his dog, how it fell into a well when they were walking down a wooded path. His dog ran across some rotted planks, the planks splintered, “And whoosh!” my father says. “No more dog.” I look at the clock and remind my father it’s three A.M. “I’m not finished,” he says. He tells me about the rope he bought, the bucket, how he knotted the rope to the bucket, lowered it down, and yelled for the dog to get in. “But all I pulled up was more barking.” “Dad,” I say. “This never happened.” He says he can’t remember how long he tried to get the dog to shimmy into the bucket. Just that at some point when the sky turned tawny—“Dad—“ as a pitcher of sweet tea—“Dad—“ he decided to give up. “Dad,” I say. “It’s late. I’m tired. And you’re dead.” “Dammit, son,” my father says. “Let me finish!” My father tells me about filling the bucket with dirt and pouring the dirt into the well. And I know what he’s getting at, I know he’s going to tell me bucket by bucket he filled the well and the dog jumped out. He’s going to say something about how the dog led him home through the dark. I know this so loudly I don’t hear, at first, my father’s silence. “Dad?” I say. “Dad, are you there?” I keep lowering the bucket but all I ever pull up are leaves. Red leaves. Lately, some gold.
1 3 7
Reposted by pumpkin spice Toddé
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · Sep 2
my issue of Threepenny is here! here’s my poem “Present Tense,” I would love for you to give it a read!

“I know this so loudly I don’t
hear, at first, my father’s silence.”
Present Tense by Todd Dillard My father’s telling me about his dog, how it fell into a well when they were walking down a wooded path. His dog ran across some rotted planks, the planks splintered, “And whoosh!” my father says. “No more dog.” I look at the clock and remind my father it’s three A.M. “I’m not finished,” he says. He tells me about the rope he bought, the bucket, how he knotted the rope to the bucket, lowered it down, and yelled for the dog to get in. “But all I pulled up was more barking.” “Dad,” I say. “This never happened.” He says he can’t remember how long he tried to get the dog to shimmy into the bucket. Just that at some point when the sky turned tawny—“Dad—“ as a pitcher of sweet tea—“Dad—“ he decided to give up. “Dad,” I say. “It’s late. I’m tired. And you’re dead.” “Dammit, son,” my father says. “Let me finish!” My father tells me about filling the bucket with dirt and pouring the dirt into the well. And I know what he’s getting at, I know he’s going to tell me bucket by bucket he filled the well and the dog jumped out. He’s going to say something about how the dog led him home through the dark. I know this so loudly I don’t hear, at first, my father’s silence. “Dad?” I say. “Dad, are you there?” I keep lowering the bucket but all I ever pull up are leaves. Red leaves. Lately, some gold.
60 110 460
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
I’m from spring and the fam is from Conroe and the woodlands and tomball

I guess the real test is Humble or Kuykendahl tho!
2
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
pee is more serious than tinkle and refuses to subscribe to patriarchy like piss so I would not only say yes but would argue there is revolution in using pee in a poem
1 1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
the only h I’ve heard from my countrified family of Houstonians is when they call it aitch town
1 2
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
I love all you New Yorkers. This ain’t that.
1
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
you stun

(also you stun me bb love you)
1 4
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
just told my wife not to turn her wawa into a womp womp, am I officially more Pennsylvanian than Texan now
5
toddedillard.bsky.social
pumpkin spice Toddé @toddedillard.bsky.social · 4d
Houston
merriam-webster.com
Merriam-Webster @merriam-webster.com · 4d
What’s the word where you’re from that, when pronounced exactly as it looks, identifies a tourist immediately?
6 16
Reposted by pumpkin spice Toddé
keithwdickinson.bsky.social
Keith W. Dickinson @keithwdickinson.bsky.social · 4d
Today is a day when arts degrees are worthless, but the product of those degrees is so valuable it would kill an entire industry if they were made to pay for it.
theverge.com
The Verge @theverge.com · May 26
Nick Clegg says asking artists for use permission would ‘kill’ the AI industry
Nick Clegg says asking artists for use permission would ‘kill’ the AI industry
Paul McCartne, Elton John and others signed an open letter.
buff.ly
420 9.8K 26K