phillip crymble
@phillipcrymble.bsky.social
1.2K followers 150 following 1.3K posts
poet | phd | umichwriters alum | fiddlehead poetry editor | record collector | author of not even laughter | one-armed bandit | he/him
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phillipcrymble.bsky.social
No screeners for this issue, folks. I’ll be reading and responding to every poetry submission.

If you identify as disabled, please submit!
fiddlehd.bsky.social
Disability: The Revolution!

Special Issue Call for Submissions, Deadline November 30, 2025

If you identify as disabled and would like to answer this call, please submit! We would love to hear from you.

See the full call and instructions on how to submit here: thefiddlehead.ca/revolution
A purple graphic for The Fiddle’s special Summer 2026 disability issue. At the top of the graphic is The Fiddlehead’s logo. Below is a purple image with two transparent light purple circles overlapping like a Venn diagram. On top of this, in white, is the work Revolution. Below is the text: call for submissions from disabled writers. Deadline November 30, 2025. Thefiddlehead.ca/revolution
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
A Larkinesque vignette by Tom Paulin, whose new collection was just shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize.
Pot Burial

He has married again. His wife
Buys ornaments and places them
On the dark sideboard. Year by year
Her vases and small jugs crowd out
The smiles of the wife who died.
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Ha! Still a Pearl Jam recording, tho.
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
A Louise Glück miniature that appeared in The Threepenny Review in 2023. To my knowledge, it remains uncollected.
Passion and Form

Ah, they have kissed!
The rhyme
Comes in unnoticed.
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
So much going on in this remarkable poem by Joshua Mehigan.
A Contract

Their love ran out in March; their lease, in June.
He moved where cash allowed, took the room strewn
with near-junk unseen since their wedding day.
Home, then, was like a drawer where one might lock
loose pieces of a fallen antique clock.
She lived in bed, ate oatmeal from a tray,
read comics like a child bored with a cold.
He searched the bars for something nice to hold.

Then, drunk, he'd close his eyes and trace the day,
the day's soft flicker, down to a shrinking dot,
as though a ship were burning, far away. 
She saw his razor on the sink, the cot
folded, the room he slept in not at all,
where once she'd wrapped him, waiting, in a shawl
and, warmed at last, he could pretend to wake.
He waited now, unseen, for no one's sake.
Reposted by phillip crymble
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Another early poem by Cole Swensen. Can't get this one out of my head.
War on the Past

Love is just a clue.

If we win the world
can come back
to the world, speechless

aligned, cell within cell

You must put the objects
down on the table
and walk casually from the room
you cannot re-enter

until we get it right.
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Another early poem by Cole Swensen. Can't get this one out of my head.
War on the Past

Love is just a clue.

If we win the world
can come back
to the world, speechless

aligned, cell within cell

You must put the objects
down on the table
and walk casually from the room
you cannot re-enter

until we get it right.
Reposted by phillip crymble
knifeforkbook.bsky.social
Ten Years in the Making. Poetry. Well-served. #KFB10

knifeforkbook.com
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Mine was a Player's Navy Cut in a culvert by the A&P.
Reposted by phillip crymble
alinaetc.bsky.social
I remember my first cigarette. It was a Kent. Up on a hill. In Tulsa, Oklahoma. With Ron Padgett.

- Joe Brainard
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Wallace Stevens was born on this day in 1879. This uncollected poem by David Ignatow was written to commemorate his centenary.
WALLACE STEVENS

In Memoriam, 1879-1979

On an Ordinary Evening

by David Ignatow

I am back to walking alone
through silent streets lit by colorful windows
of the homes of responsible men and women,
and I refuse responsibility.
I am weeping without tears,
with hands jammed into pockets
under trees smelling of leaves
and grass of the gardens -- 
smelling the silence of stolidity
and peace and wanting no peace
until it is written in my poems.
Reposted by phillip crymble
janehuffman.bsky.social
It is October, so here is my poem, "October," published in Swamp Pink this month. Thank you to the editors, and thank you for reading. 🍁🍂 swamp-pink.charleston.edu/featured/oct...
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Thought Cleveland was going to tie it for sure after that error in the 9th. If they had any chance of winning the series they needed that first game and they got it. Hell of a pitching performance.
Reposted by phillip crymble
amandaleduc.bsky.social
Disabled friends! I am thrilled to be overseeing @fiddlehd.bsky.social's Summer 2026 issue--DISABILITY: THE REVOLUTION.

Our theme is REVOLUTION and you can interpret that as widely as you like. If you identify as disabled and want to answer this call, please submit!

thefiddlehead.ca/revolution

[Image description: White text against a purple background: The Fiddlehead, Atlantic Canada's Literary Journal. Disability: The Revolution. The Fiddlehead's Summer 2026 Special Issue. Call for Submissions from Disabled Writers: Deadline November 30, 2025.]
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Jays win American League East!
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Grand Slam! 5-1 Blue Jays!
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Pop. 1280 is also excellent. So's Savage Night.