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@ezhang77.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 7:17 PM

A poem of mine in the @robmclennan.bsky.social spotlight series (robmclennan.medium.com/spotlight-se...)

#smallpoemsunday
@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Iced Coffee The grief counselor counts the mangled eyes. The daughter slips attention. There is no evidence of escape. Everyone is crying. I forget your name and start to speak heartbeat.
@thaddevassie.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 6:35 PM

From Noah Falck's "Exclusions" (Tupelo Press, 2020)

for #smallpoemsunday
cc: @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Poem Excluding City, a poem by Noah Falck: The sky was a concussion of clouds and notorious for dropping everything at a moment’s notice. And the fog, how it removed everything and then it didn’t. People gathered in the distance and made history until it hurt. They devoured field after field with bad ideas and took pride in the groomed ruins. It was never a photo opportunity. The mood when the forest met the asphalt: Too little, too late.
@abstrusination.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 5:43 PM

#smallpoemsunday
The Red-faced Tyrant
after WCW

so much depends
upon

a red-faced
tyrant

glazed with self-
righteousness

placating angry
white men.
-Ann Howells

@tomsnarsky.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 5:28 PM

late to my own #smallpoemsunday party today but making up for it with this excellent blue Shenandoah poem from Sea-oath by @evaalterpoet.bsky.social (Hesse Press). I drive along the Shenandoah River every day & now I’ll always hear “the slinking wind over / the valley cattle tears”

Synclinal Ridge Shenandoah sunburn one harvest moon— child’s domain of Windy Hill grazing cows step stools in the barn. Common visitors— Greg his musician parents his brothers— all of us bound by the slinking wind over the valley cattle tears baked into bobcat soil. We stood at the swingset shrine and synonym confused I blinked my eyes into the purple swing wounded rust focus sharp elsewhere that adult instrument the violin— folk of Appalachia and home
@haikudiem.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 5:15 PM

yam digger
tell me what you know
of sorrow

#dailyHaiku reposts by Freeman Ng. Today’s 3-5-3 haiku was originally posted on Jun 27, 2024 and is a 3-5-3 rendition of a Basho haiku.

#daily #haiku #micropoetry #smallPoemSunday

@1andrewcollard.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 5:04 PM

Here’s a poem from my book Lo-Fi Citadels for #smallpoemsunday

@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

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@susanlleary.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 4:34 PM

For this week’s #smallpoemsunday, here’s one from BRINK WAS THE WORD I WAS LOOKING FOR, a collaborative chap between myself & @darkwebtofu.bsky.social!

Thanks to @diodeeditions.bsky.social for believing in these poems!

Read the rest here: diodepoetry.com/leary_susan_...

@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Soft Machinery Drowned lilies in a basin behind chapel doors. The feeling of a snail crawling down the throat. Of history, is it the metaphor or the body that dies? The float of seasons, a widening orbit, the book older and stranger. Standard are the ways we hurt each other, however slowly it may make us.
@deborahzafer.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 4:16 PM

For #smallpoemsunday, another September poem

This Jane Kenyon is so ❤️🔥 -
nothing like the rain outside my window

@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

September Garden Party
@abstrusination.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 4:02 PM

#smallpoemsunday
The Red-faced Tyrant
after WCW

so much depends
upon

a red-faced
tyrant

glazed with self-
righteousness

placating angry
white men.
-Ann Howells

@solitudehill.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 3:55 PM

Michael Longley, from Ghost Orchid
One of my favorites #smallpoemsunday
🙏 @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

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@raymondgibson.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 3:37 PM

@tomsnarsky.bsky.social
#smallpoemsunday

Francisco de Quevedo trans. Willis Barnstone

Described Is the Brevity of What Is Being Lived and How What Has Been Lived Seems to Be Nothing Where are you, life! Can no one answer me? My early days I simply wasted here; Fate has comsumed my temples, robbed each year, the hours have hid my madness thoroughly. How helpless not to have a clue of how and where my health and age have fled my gaze! My life is void, I'm haunted by old ways, and every cataclysm plagues me now. The past is gone; tomorrow hasn't come; unceasingly the now is racing by. I am a was, a will be, and a weary am. To now, tomorrow, and the past I tie diapers and winding sheet. I am a bed of torturing successions of the dead.
@neonpajamas.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 2:52 PM

Michael Earl Craig

(for Poem + Prompt, but also worthy of #smallpoemsunday)

cc: @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Three Assignments write a poem where you stand naked at the kitchen island holding a soccer ball between your knees while finely chopping a large pile of parsley write a poem where you’re drowning in a lake and you’re screaming but no one can hear you as a man nearby puts a fresh coat of white paint on a boathouse and from that boathouse: serge gainsbourg write a poem where you change the bird in line eleven from magpie to pine siskin and it makes all the difference
@rickehling.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 2:31 PM

#SmallPoemSunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Today a bit more #JaneHirshfield #Tin

“To be a train station of existence is no small matter.”

Tin I studied much and remembered little. But the world is generous, it kept offering figs and cheeses. Never mind that soon I'll have to give it all back, the world, the figs. To be a train station of existence is no small matter. It doesn't need to be Grand Central or Haydarpaşa Station. The engine shed could be low, windowed with coal dust under a slat-shingled roof. It could be tin. Another mystery bandaged with rivets and rubies. Leaking cold and heat in both directions, as the earth does.
@mikhailbazharov.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 2:23 PM

new work in CHEEKS, much gratitude to Michael Chang for including this one, with a nod to the great Fanny Howe...

#smallpoemsunday
@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

WHEN THE LAMB IS BORN she does not think to herself, I cannot wait to grow up and provide wool for socks! Truth be told, we don’t know what she thinks but experts are confident it is not that, which is enough to get me wondering why I’ve so long been tugged to be obedient to this world, been tugged to fret hard on the common good when we’re nothing but guttering flame between hurricanes––
@fakeourway.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 2:15 PM

Frank Bidart from Desire

#SmallPoemSunday
@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

HOMO FABER Whatever lies still uncarried from the abyss within me as I di dies with me.
@poetryman1.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 1:03 PM

In anticipation!😀

#smallpoemsunday
@tomsnarsky.bsky.social

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@luaz.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 12:01 PM

Hmm. #SmallPoemSunday and @tomsnarsky.bsky.social this is what I got today.
Ubiquity, Uniquity:

Ubiquity, Uniquity I always used to have to have a piano. People got rid of them. “Take it, it’s yours!” they would say. There was always somebody to help get the piano into wherever we lived. Once I had them I did little with them but plinket around a bit. But I did have to have a piano. Then I’d move, abandon that one, find another. I no longer have to have a piano.The last heavy thing I had to have was this desk. It was cheap, a gift from the Universe, solid oak, dovetailed drawers with hand carved pulls. If ever I move I will not find another its match. It is not like those pianos were.
@pearlpoet.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 11:49 AM

#smallpoemsunday noodling with magnetic poetry

here after rain soft moss colors light FAMILIAR STORM MAY REVERBERATE with the path fresh bloom OUR PRECIOUS LOVE would blanket wild dirt
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