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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · 11d

Excited & grateful for my poem “Every Poem About This Season Now Becomes a Lie” to appear in this outstanding new issue of @whaleroadreview.bsky.social

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Catherine Rockwood @martin65.bsky.social · Aug 19

"There are so many ways to fail at this, day
after day so many ways I fail to see
coming. It's a statue, I say, he's not real,
but what echoes up the shaft of history
is hunger"

-- Brian Simoneau, "Mercy," at @versedaily.bsky.social

www.versedaily.org/2025/mercy.s...

www.versedaily.org

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 19

thanks very much!

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 19

Happy to see my poem “Mercy” featured on @versedaily.bsky.social over the weekend! Please click through if you’d like to read about my daughter’s moment of terror in a 16th-century castle: www.versedaily.org/2025/mercy.s...

The first 8 lines of my poem “Mercy” on Verse Daily:

Today's poem is by Brian Simoneau
Mercy
—St. Mawes Castle, Cornwall

The moat beneath us gone to garden, sea rose
and Cornish heather, the old guardhouse peddling
ice cream and trinkets, we crouch through a doorframe
and notice wood and stone engraved to flatter
the king whose coffers built this little fortress
protecting the harbor and its deep-water
inland passage. A stairway curls down the wall
and a hole in the floor makes my daughter scream:

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 19

Many, many thanks to @jpdancingbear.bsky.social for featuring my poem at Verse Daily over the weekend!

Verse Daily @versedaily.bsky.social · Aug 16

Today's poem is "Mercy"
by Brian Simoneau
from American Literary Review
All Subscribers got to hear this poet from their inbox!
www.versedaily.org/2025/mercy.s...

www.versedaily.org

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 6

Anthony Robinson, “I Am the King of Infinite Space,” Failures of the Poets (Canarium Books, 2023)

#sealeychallenge
#thesealeychallenge

On a desk, a paperback book of poems: Failures of the Poets, Anthony Robinson.

"I AM THE KING OF INFINITE SPACE"

We were young & we were shattered.
We took our lives & we settled down.

"I like your town & your trees & your
bodies of water" the way the music
drains out across a field. No vision here.

The house we built no more
than a maintenance shack. Insect shells.
Dry road. No visions.

I don't believe I understand. God
was happening all at once & even
though we didn't believe, he made us
good in the wind, made us something big

& dead & so comes love, so comes
this anniversary. So comes again
up, empty, open on the face of the waters.

Open across the breadth of the sea.

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 4

Erika Meitner, “Invitation to Tender” from Useful Junk (BOA Editions, 2022)

#sealeychallenge
#thesealeychallenge

On a desk, with a #2 pencil, a paperback book: Useful Junk, poems, Erika Meitner, with the cover art “Masculine Still Life” by Genesis Belanger.

Invitation to Tender

My friend Danielle tells me
to use a slightly more capacious
we in my poems & I look up
capacious: ample, roomy, vast,

immense & think of the church
marquee across from Publix:
God is real & loves you since
the you is all of us & we don't

deserve this enormous Earth.
Along the beach here people
walk the wrack line, heads
bowed or plant themselves

on their knees in one spot
searching for washed-up
shark teeth in the shell hash.
Our configurations of attention

are sometimes surprising—
is it capitalism or adoration
that tells us we can inhabit
anything? There are many

ways to participate in
(egress from?) this world.
See the molten sun dropping
into the Gulf? The lightning

in the distance blinking
the clouds, trying to warn us?
There are still loggerhead
nests roped off with tri-

angulated wood stakes &
orange caution tape though
just today the Endangered
Species Act was weakened

to clear the way for mining
& drilling & development.
Every day at dawn volunteers
walk the beach to count

hatchlings, release any left
behind into the Gulf so they
don't get eaten by predators.
If there is an invitation to

tender it is written in drift
toys & sea glass—dunnage
swept in by the tide & left
right at our feet. We can all

procure. We can all excavate.
We can all strip down to our
softest parts & (satisfy the
client) make our best offer.

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Aug 1

Matthew Henriksen, “Requiem For Now” from The Absence of Knowing (Black Ocean, 2015)

#thesealeychallenge

On a desk with a #2 pencil, a paperback book with [Matthew Henriksen] [The Absence of Knowing] printed in a sans serif font on a sky-blue rectangle on a white background.

Requiem for Now

Try
I tell myself

Not to impose a narrative
When I cannot see where my wife looks in a mirror

Our first plan belonged to us
Our daughter protests for eggs
Her feet tiny heart bird claws

Our second plan belonged to marriage
Where blood circles the moon
We liked to live in the open parts of plants

I don't need to tell a story

My daughter laughs out a window's mouth
Talks like trying to count the air
Her repetition wringing worry out

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

B.K. Fischer @bkfischer.bsky.social · Jan 19

As we go off the cliff, I’m taking some books with me, including Maria Zoccola’s Helen of Troy 1993. Check it out, and her roundup in Electric Literature of poetry books that build immersive worlds, apocalyptic and otherwise, with a nice mention of Ceive. electricliterature.com/9-poetry-col...

9 Poetry Collections That Build Immersive Narrative Worlds - Electric Literature

These poets build entire worlds inside their pages

electricliterature.com

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · Jan 15

Keith Abbott

IN LIVING SILENCE

If to be human
is a conflux
of apparitions
then the tongue slides out
of the mouth
& waves once before
disappearing around the corner

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Jan 14

If you’re looking for a break from the heaviness of these weeks, please consider joining me, Christina Cook, Marcia LeBeau, & Taté Walker for the Pen Parentis Literary Salon tomorrow, Tuesday January 14, at 7pm ET. We’ll be reading a few poems and talking about our writing & parenting experiences.

Promotional graphic for the Pen Parentis Literary Salon featuring Marcia LeBeau, Taté Walker, Brian Simoneau, and Christina Cook, Tuesday, January 14, at 7pm ET.

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Amorak Huey @amorak.bsky.social · Dec 13

Honored to have a poem featured on The Slowdown podcast today -- www.slowdownshow.org/episode/2024...

1260: Fade Away by Amorak Huey

Today’s poem is Fade Away by Amorak Huey.

www.slowdownshow.org

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Chen Chen @chenchenwrites.bsky.social · Dec 13

there are
tears which happen in a day
that it would take
a lifetime to explain.

—Mary Ruefle, from “Trollope”

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Alina Stefanescu @alinaetc.bsky.social · Dec 10

I remember the first time I read Nikki Giovanni’s “Allowables” — being overcome by the extraordinary thing she taught me about my own fear, its murderousness. And she did this not by standing above me, but by turning quietly and saying: see what we did?

ALLOWABLES
I killed a spider
Not a murderous brown recluse
Nor even a black widow
And if the truth were told this Was only a small
Sort of papery spider
Who should have run
When I picked up the book
But she didn't
And she scared me And I smashed her
I don't think I'm allowed
To kill something
Because I am
Frightened

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · Dec 10

RIP Nikki Giovanni 💜 my favorite poem of hers, one I shared with my students every year

::A Journey

It’s a journey . . . that I propose . . . I am not the guide . . . nor technical assistant . . . I will be your fellow passenger . . .

Though the rail has been ridden . . . winter clouds cover . . . autumn’s exuberant quilt . . . we must provide our own guideposts . . .

I have heard . . . from previous visitors . . . the road washes out sometimes . . . and passengers are compelled . . . to continue groping . . . or turn back . . . I am not afraid . . .

I am not afraid . . . of rough spots . . . or lonely times... I don’t fear . . . the success of this endeavor . . . I am Ra . . . in a space . . . not to be discovered . . . but invented . . .

I promise you nothing . . . I accept your promise . . . of the same we are simply riding . . . a wave . . . that may carry . . . or crash . . .

It’s a journey . . . and I want . . . to go . . .

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Jessica Cuello @jessicacuello.bsky.social · Nov 29

A piece that I wrote for teachers and it's 100% TRUE

Thanks @sfreligh.bsky.social for the prompt.

@porcupinelit.bsky.social is a journal for teachers. Thanks @writesloud.bsky.social & @readinstead.bsky.social

Now is a good time to support teachers, particularly in the public schools

Why We Resented the Teacher Inservice Speaker Who Was Paid $30,000 for the Day

Jessica Cuello has been awarded The 2022 Nina Riggs Poetry Prize, two CNY Book Awards, The 2016 Washington Prize, and more.

www.porcupineliterary.com

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Riot in Your Throat @riotinyourthroat.bsky.social · Nov 29

All of our books are on sale for $10!!! Snag them today, before our holiday sale ends! (Note, Another Life by Frances Klein will ship late January 2025!)

riotinyourthroat.com/book-catalog/

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

River River Books @riverriverbooks.bsky.social · Nov 29

Y’all we have a recommendation and it is that you buy at least ONE book directly from a small press today—not bookshop, not Amazon. Help keep small presses open.

@juneroadpress.bsky.social @sundresspub.bsky.social @bellepointpress.bsky.social @lightscatterpress.bsky.social @bullcitypress.com

Circle of books graphic and the text:

Buy a small press book today

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 26

thanks very much for sharing, Rebecca!

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 26

Sara Eliza Johnson, “The Abyssal Zone” & “Lazarus” from Vapor (Milkweed Editions, 2022)

The Abyssal Zone

Sometimes it's seaweed in your throat you can't cough out
or an inkeloud expanding in your skull. Sometimes it's primal

like the force of an oyster making a pearl to protect itself
after a harvester surgically implants its poison, or the heart

growing a tumor that can't be extracted without killing you,
or pressure crushing your lungs to fists deep underwater.

Sometimes, you sink so far down from the sun your tongue
bloats like an anglerfish floating in a well, lost, unable to breathe

or speak, but each day you feel it trying to say something
about the shining dead language it once knew, watch its cells

burst into blue specks of light when you open your mouth.
A tiny syllable. Then darkness again. But each time a little bluer,

a little more like the home you've forgotten, my stranger
looking back at me from the mirror, just wanting me to reach through and hold you.

Lazarus

Through the mist I see as the first mammals
once saw through their forests, dark photons
translating matter into shape:
shadowflower, shadowstone, the ripple
of bees and their shadowblood weeping
inside the trees. My first eye stares back at mine
and into my chest pours a weight, an infinite
pressure inside my heart or left lung like an extinction echoing backward
into the first cell of its animal,
my body colder in that spot.
A thumbprint blooms between my breasts where a stranger once pressed
and being so alone
I open like a grave.

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 26

Yet another reason I love @blacklawrence.bsky.social: the editors are donating $1 to the ACLU for every book sold on the Black Lawrence Press website through the end of 2024 (including my poetry collection No Small Comfort)

No Small Comfort - Black Lawrence Press

Brian Simoneau reads for the Black Lawrence Press Virtual Reading Series https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPi9C3C4DwU

blacklawrencepress.com

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 26

My poem “Suburban Eclogue” from issue 42 of Post Road

Walk with me down the block.
Notice the rows of maples, perfectly
straight, evenly spaced from the road
and one another, precise lines
running yard to yard, remainder
of careful plans, prosperity's
spread to what once was forest, once
farm—every golden age remade
over and over, parceled out
and subdivided when footpath
turned bridleway turned turnpike turned
trolley turned traffic. History
sped up with each expanding step
but look: I have found in my house
a spot where, lying on the floor,
I can see no other house, no
poles, no wires stretching away
along the road, no road at all
but only tree, only sky, bare
limbs framed in my window the way
the first name on the deed thought his
prospect would always stay unchanged
in all the ways it changed with him.
We can utter our every wish
and scrutinize all the old maps,
but we must come to understand
there is never a going back
and too: future versions of us
will walk this very block (ruins
unearthed from layers of fallout
or avenue of steeples, steel
and glass) and they will imagine

this moment of chalk-drawn sidewalks
and mulch-bordered lawns, worthy days
to recall, a glimpse of something
a new angle might help them find.

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 26

Honored & grateful to learn the editors at Post Road have nominated my poem “Suburban Eclogue” for a Pushcart Prize:
www.postroadmag.com/2024/04/22/4...

The cover of issue 42 of Post Road: cover art is “Restored to Mint” by Vincent Dion, a photo of a pale blue 1970s-ish Chevy that’s been junked—shattered windows, hood detached, front tire lying among weeds and wildflowers in the foreground.

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Reposted by Brian Simoneau

Airea D. Matthews @aireadee.bsky.social · Nov 21

Poems remind us of our humanity because, sometimes, the lines break. Just like humans do.

And what comfort to know you can break and still be understood.

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Brian Simoneau @briansimoneau.bsky.social · Nov 18

“I am no less grateful for / the berries than for the thorns that are // meant, I think, to help”

—Carl Phillips, “All It Takes” from The Rest of Love (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2004)

ALL IT TAKES

Any force—
generosity, sudden updraft.
Fear. Things invisible,

and the visible effects by which
we know them. Human gesture.
Betrayed, betrayed. The dampness of fog as

understandable by how, inside it, from within their
thicket of nowhere left to hide—
that leafless the winter berries, more than usual,

shine. First always
comes the ability to believe, and then the need to.
The ancient Greeks; the Romans after. How they

made of love a wild god; of fidelity— a small,
a tame one. I am no less grateful for the berries than for the thorns that are

meant, I think, to help. As if
sometimes the world really did amount to
a quiet arrangement. Cut flowers. Make

death the one whose eyes are lidless. And
—already— you are leaving. You have crossed the water.

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