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pinholepoetry.bsky.social
@pinholepoetry.bsky.social
a digital poetry journal launched in April '22 We love the upside-down view and the fact that some art can only happen in the dark. pinholepoetry.ca
198 followers170 following118 posts
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Our next newsletter will go out this Friday, October 11 to coincide with our issue launch. If you are a Pinhole Poetry contributor and you have news to share with our community, send us an email by Oct. 8 with relevant links and/or images.

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VZbookgaga.bsky.social

"then glow-in-the-dark constellation guides him over the bridge from awake to somewhere-else i cannot know" #TodaysPoem#poetry@pinholepoetry.bsky.socialtinyurl.com/ren39n46

· P I N H O L E • P O E T R Y
· P I N H O L E • P O E T R Y

j tate barlow Here’s the church,here’s the steeple.Open the doorsand see all the people.*all the peoplesometimes it’s all so simple childwants a song againat bedtime and another or a favourite fingerp...

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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Josiah Nelson shares ‘One Poem’ with us today, thoughts on where he finds creative success, what he’s working on now, & some poems he’s been thinking about (including a piece by his July 2024 Pinhole issue mate contributor Paula Turcotte!) pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

I think I feel most satisfied when I sit with a poem for a long time, and arrive, suddenly, at some moment of insight... I often sense possibilities in opening lines, and that's how poems usually start for me: I sense some inchoate potential for something curious in a phrase and just go with it. Making that potential material is success to me, and I think that has to do with sticking with an idea, being patient that something will happen. It always feels like magic when it does.
JOSIAH NELSON One Poem If you want to remember her do not write a hundred poems. Aim for one. Use perfect words, angular and sweet, a little like her look. Describe the early moments in her parents' kitchen, eating peaches and cream, how her mother said her legs were so pale, and she turned away to say, Don't draw attention. Render the nights you sat apart at a crowded table of friends, how you both kept lifting your eyebrows to say Hi. Consider comparing her voice to a magpie's flight lilting up and down, but decide against it. Keep trying. Find the right metaphor for the sadness that never leaves her, the one that sings
that never leaves her, the one that sings through you too. Make the poem hurt so softly, like the thin string of a hangnail or a bruise you can't help but press. Talk about stars, how they saw both of you addressing the space between bodies of light. But give yourself time to sit with the ending. Have a hundred epiphanies. Stare at the moon. Get up at 2am to jot a note in your phone. See whether it makes your body shiver all over, like her fingers once did. Lean into the truth like touch: You must write a final line that salts the whole poem like her skin on your lips.
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Atma Frans shares her poem ‘How Joy has Drive its Roots Into Me,’ along with her thoughts on revision, creative success, and the good advice she once received from Robert Bly. Thank you for sharing your poetry and time with us Atma! pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

Robert Bly told me in a beginner's workshop to start a poem with the first image that comes to mind and to trust the words that spring from it, to follow them till they carry you to a new place (and then to discard the initial stanza). Nearly a decade later, I still consider this advice useful, the idea of surrendering to language, and to continue the poem till you arrive at a surprise or a discovery.
ATMA FRANS How Joy Has Driven its Roots Into Me I could tell you about the first strawberry of the season, the surprise when the flesh broke under my teeth, wielding its sweet flavour, how there is only one ocean, called by many names, how sometimes a bald eagle will pause on a beach, talons gripping the pebbles, a breeze in its brown feathers, how the colour of dusk is the same wherever I am, a specific blue between cobalt and ultramarine, how the absence of pain fills me with light, how for days, l've been carrying stillness, how I woke one morning, my tendons no longer tender and bruised, humerus no longer grinding against my scapula, how rain was soaking into dust, turning a desert into a field of fragrant colour, insects above the sudden blossoms, how I became all tongue.
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21/31: PINHOLE POETRY VOLUME TWO SELECTED edited by Erin Bedford (2024 @pinholepoetry.bsky.socialtinyurl.com/bdzf56ax#TheSealeyChallenge#SealeyChallenge#31Books31Days#todayspoem#poetry

The poetry collection/chapbook Pinhole Poetry Volume Two Selected sits on a colourful quilt.
The poetry collection/chapbook Pinhole Poetry Volume Two Selected sits on a colourful quilt, open to a selected poem.
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Susan Wismer shares their poem ‘From the Edge’ today, along with some thoughts on revision, creative success, and how their garden and getting outside every day keeps them connected to the creative act. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and poetry with us Susan! pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

My queer identity means that the place where I live has always been an edge-walker. At this age and stage of living, I have an even stronger and more poignant sense of what it means to live from the edge'. Beyond where I am is filled with mystery—what will come next? With me here now are my sorrows and concerns about human life on this Earth at this time... With me here also, all that I love. Passionately and without reservation.
SUSAN WISMER From the Edge one hand firm on dark earth flattened grass the other is hanging sends fingers to touch under the lip call it hag what remains sunrise, lichen, tree trunk,
sunrise, lichen, tree trunk, semblance of mountain, rounded cheekbones traced contours: your face, my lips our mouths, how we seek open seawater, dark metal salt for the tongue, volute the shell of your ear pearled singing from the shimmering edge of the world these last years.
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Sara Krahn shares her poem ‘Midsummer,’ and what inspired her to write it. She also talks about her revision process, what she is working on now, and a poem by Osip Mandelstam that she carries with her through life. pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

...when I look at a Colville painting... I want to keep moving towards it. It creates a kind of momentum within me, within my imagination. I was especially drawn to "Veranda" because of how mundane and utterly ordinary the whole scene is. A couple relaxing out on the deck, enjoying a summer day. That's it. Except for, that's not it. It's a trick. There's always something more going on below the surface of things. The seemingly ordinary scene is always on the verge of something. I wanted to capture that verge.
SARA KRAHN Midsummer after "Veranda" (Alex Colville, oil on canvas) The light. That dog—it's a lot. I won't do without any of it. He thinks about the way the cold sea looks beyond her swimwear-yellow like a wasp. She's removed, peruses Saturday sales in the whisper of newspaper tents above the snoozing animal barely breathing in this heat. The man is naked, mostly, save the time wearing his wrist. Bare skin ripples his shoulders like sand.
The colours of their middle-age are a midsummer tease, matching hues, bluing into blue into bluish-white in the distance. So here we are too, a gallery of gazes looking on these affairs-easy chairs on the veranda. But what about that dog again. Midnight stain on bright grey foreground, lazy stomach falls and rises again in shadows, muscles haul bones, heavy eyes cloaked in the daydream. Breathing just beneath: the black promise of sleep.
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Bbextatic.bsky.social

Curious about me, my writing and my poem recently published by Pinhole Poetry? Check my interview with them here: pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...@pinholepoetry.bsky.social for creating space to share and learn more about the poets in the July 2024 issue!

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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Rebecca Wood shares her poem ‘Small Screen Safety’ today, along with some thoughts on revision, some writing advice that has helped her, and what she is working on now. Thank you for sharing your poetry and time with us Rebecca! pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

This poem is an exploration of what it means to engage with intimacy and connection when closeness to another person holds an impossible amount of risk. I wrote this piece while undergoing an extremely immunocompromising MS treatment a few years into an ongoing pandemic. These words came together while thinking about how my desire and perceived desirability can only exist in ways that prioritizes my safety and how that complicates wanting.
REBECCA WOOD Small Screen Safety lips parted sensuous silent solitude still frame light curve quiet capture leading lustful longing idea of me no illness in image my body in angles strategic skin on screen safely separate frames of desire simple wanting no needs
no navigating pain no access reality no uncontrollable body behaviour no reckless reacting vulnerability no confronting embarrassment instead isolated imagined touch touching myself safe in solo pleasure buffered connection risk distant comfort in controlled perception gnawing knowing safe in a fantasy serving this moment not really what I want
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social

Olivier Faivre shares his poem ‘your isla bonita is my liquid soliloquy’ with us today, along with the questions that writing asks of him and some thoughts on revision and creative achievement. Thank you for sharing your poetry and time with us Olivier. pinholepoetry.ca/an-interview...

Olivier Faivre shares his poem ‘your isla bonita is my liquid soliloquy’ with us today, along with the questions that writing asks of him and some thoughts on revision and creative achievement. Thank you for sharing your poetry and time with us Olivier.
your isla bonita is my liquid soliloquy clockwise from top left: heat, sky, land, sand, water the wet depressions of footprints disappearing waves always patiently licking (the beast Time hiding in clatter) into what delicious riot of things are we rushing? but here's my wife: who is this willowy woman? then outside the bar: the night was a curtain of rain now: she ambles in a blinding rustle of fingers and thighs thank you for being here —please accept my tautologies pero permitanme repetir: the beach is a jagged cut the coast moves its fractal tentacles our son runs naked like a flame the cruel sun chisels a cat-faced god et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le poème de la mer aren't our waking hours but the sap of dreams idling? ground volcano stuff slipping between my toes the too-sweet wind waiting like a suitor etc. etc. stop: this much blue is blindness day: the sun moved in front of the stars we go past the plant pantomime the civil cacti! the curvaceous succulents!
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pinholepoetry.bsky.social
@pinholepoetry.bsky.social
a digital poetry journal launched in April '22 We love the upside-down view and the fact that some art can only happen in the dark. pinholepoetry.ca
198 followers170 following118 posts
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