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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · 11d

Love this from @onlypoemsmag.bsky.social

Diagnosis by Nikita Deshpande

www.onlypoemsdaily.com/p/diagnosis-...

Diagnosis by Nikita Deshpande

"I come from a long line of time travellers"

www.onlypoemsdaily.com

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Mr Natural @neilmatheson66.bsky.social · 12d

John Connelly - Autumn Wey.
Acrylic on Canvas.

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · 17d

Also online here: 32poems.com/poem/seth-pe...

Seth Peterson | 32 Poems Magazine

32poems.com

Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · 17d

32 Poems really is a great little journal. Thanks to George David Clark and team for selecting this one

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · 22d

One of my favorite poems so far in the 2025 Best American Poetry

Alison Pelegrín @southernreview.bsky.social

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Jane Zwart (she/her) @janezwart.bsky.social · Sep 2

Thank you to Wendy Lesser for making a spot for "Being and Time" (my poem, not Heidegger's treatise) in Threepenny Review.
Extra happy because my poem gets to hang out with one by @toddedillard.bsky.social.

See a more accessible version at https://www.threepennyreview.com/being-and-time/

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · Aug 17

Tiana Clark ♥️

from EQUILIBRIUM (Bull City Press)

Day 16 - #SealeyChallenge

@bullcitypress.com
@sealeychallenge.bsky.social

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Raymond Gibson’s ghost @raymondgibson.bsky.social · Aug 24

W.S. Merwin

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

James Penha @jamespenha.bsky.social · Aug 21

@maggiesmithpoet.bsky.social reads an extraordinary poem that takes us on a turn beyond itself at the finish. Wow. “Bonfire Opera” by Danusha Laméris at @slowdownshow.org www.slowdownshow.org/episode/2025...

1335: Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris

Today’s poem is Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris.

www.slowdownshow.org

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Aug 20

“When it comes back, there’s no reference at all to your suffering.
So your voice dies away. You stop trying, not just with the sun,
but with human beings. And the small things that made you happy
can’t get through to you anymore.”

-Louise Glück

www.threepennyreview.com/olive-trees/

Olive Trees – The Threepenny Review

www.threepennyreview.com

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Aug 17

One of the great things about humans is we can learn anything. You can learn violin! You can become a pilot! But it all takes deliberate practice. Feedback is part of getting better, not “hazing,” so yeah this person sounds like they just don’t want to try very hard

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Aug 9

This is exciting. @maggiesmithpoet.bsky.social did an excellent job filling the big shoes of this podcast and I loved every poem she selected 👏

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phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · Aug 9

Beth Ann Fennelly

Poem Not to Be Read at Your Wedding

You ask me for a poem about love
in place of a wedding present, trying to save me
money. For three nights I've lain
under glow-in-the-dark-stars I've stuck to the ceiling
over my bed. I've listened to the songs
of the galaxy. Well, Carmen, I would rather
give you your third set of steak knives
than tell you what I know. Let me find you
some other, store-bought present. Don't
make me warn you of stars, how they see us
from that distance as miniature and breakable
from the bride who tops the wedding cake
to the Mary on Pinto dashboards
holding her ripe, red heart in her hands.

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Dec 31

“See how the sky sits like a tombstone on the roofs”

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Aug 3

Such a good one by Dante Di Stefano

“we have our eyes focused on
our children who are splashing
& turning somersaults &
& cannonballing beside

us in this chlorinated
heaven we are all floating
through”

Rattle Poetry @rattlepoetry.bsky.social · Aug 3

No one at the public pool
looks like Sydney Sweeney …

—Dante Di Stefano

American Eagle Unsonnet by Dante Di Stefano - Rattle: Poetry

No one at the public pool looks like Sydney Sweeney, not the dad barking at his back- stroking daughter in […]

www.rattle.com

Reposted by Seth Peterson

Chelsea Dingman @chelsdingman.bsky.social · Jul 27

Jennifer Chang

The Innocent
For weeks we watched for hatchlings to come of three smug eggs tucked into a nest, the nest tucked into the crook of a neighbor's honeysuckle. Time nodded, was nodding— the shred of living, how offhand the wind teeters toward erosion. Hard at work, on guard in two backyards, the robins mothered and fathered their territory daily. And beyond, our block's alley stretched, aimless as fields, where watching happens by accident, by nature. They'd squawk on a streetlamp, a cedar fence, our back stoop, warning off the tabby, my two young sons, everyone stuck at home. I lost my mind with watching and thought it grief or egotism, the bruise of yesterday, not least the sky unraveling another season. It was easy to mistake the bared skeletal pinions as lawn clippings, old leaves. That circle in the grass, a massacre of feathers. That terrible cat. It was easy to lose my mind.
One neighbor said, Let's not tell the children, why know the world as always fated toward remnant. Another said, Go,
take the nest, set it under glass, and make it a lesson.
Instead, I watched our habits pass, the honeysuckle fade from sickly sweet to nothing but heat.
Call it science. It's summer again, and then everything's remnant. What did we do those days, stuck at home, my sons might someday ask. We lived or tolerated living. We looked away from death.

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Jul 23

Idk if journals like to hear this or not, but I just had one accepted that’s been rejected 34(!) times. I didn’t give up on it bc it felt perfect to me and had some positive feedback. Don’t give up!

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Maya C. Popa @mayacpopa.bsky.social · Jul 21

Friends, I wrote a piece on poet Laura Gilpin, who died of glioblastoma in 2006.

She is best known for “The Two-Headed Calf.”

With gratitude to the Poetry Foundation for allowing me to try to restore this remarkable healthcare practitioner/poet’s legacy.

www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/170...

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Tara Skurtu @taraskurtu.bsky.social · Jul 10

Poem by Fanny Howe. ❤️

Il won't be able to write from the gravel
Fanny Howe
I won't be able to write from the grave so let me tell you what I love:
oil, vinegar, salt, lettuce, brown bread, butter, cheese and wine, a windy day, a fireplace, the children nearby, poems and songs, a friend sleeping in my bed—
and the short northern nights.

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Andrew Hemmert @andrewhemmert.bsky.social · Jul 21

Incredibly I have six sonnets in the new issue of The Missouri Review. I've included two of them here. Thanks as always to the editors for including my work! These ones are full of space and Florida and vanishing, so a good summation of my obsessions.

Front cover of the new issue of Missouri Review. A person with long hair in a bun and a missing torso looks down on a grey city scape that they tower over.

Sagittarius A*

In the pool a dead June bug floated towards me and I ducked
beneath it. Underwater I watched it turn in the current
how a star would watch a lost astronaut tumbling along
in the vacuum of space. I find the term vacuum unfair
to space. It contains after all most of everything.
We're the noisy exception—our colliding satellites,
our deep space probes and gold records proving to ourselves
we will outlast ourselves, if only in the vacuum. What's gold
to a universe full of gold? What's a lonely record
to a universe of collapsing stars? Last time I listened
to “Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground,” I felt the song
hurtling further away from Johnson’s burned house,
hurtling further away from Jesus's name, from the holes
in God’s hands, those two voids. I sank into that voice like water.

Of Those Hidden Stars, Minimalist Zodiac, Tell Me

In Florida the night cactus is preparing to bloom,
and I'm cooking breakfast wondering what new flowers
have emerged yellow along my fence line—lighthouses
someone built while I was sleeping. The night cactus blooms
only once a year. It looks like a sky temporarily
absolved of light pollution. Will we stubbornly cling
to the old constellations, or invent new ones reflective
of those hidden stars? Minimalist zodiac, tell me
how in these days anyone can without despair remain
open to the world. Tell me how to look for constellations
without wondering which shape will be the first to lose
its attendant animal. I am dicing tomatoes
and cracking eggs. I am sleeping through extinctions. The night
cactus, in brutal heat, readies its zodiac of blooms.

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Reposted by Seth Peterson

Liz Edwards @lizaledwards.bsky.social · Jul 20

shout out to this crow who just dunked what seems to be a whole churro in the bird bath

Crow standing on a balcony railing with a churro

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Jul 21

Bob Hicock is like the Chuck Norris of the literary world. He’s in journals that haven’t even launched yet.

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The New Yorker @newyorker.com · Jul 11

Sniffing something that you haven’t encountered in years—Play-Doh, fresh-cut hay, your grandmother’s laundry detergent—can be as vivid a sensory experience as it was the first time, while also being almost psychedelically nostalgic.

Remembrance of Scents Past

At museums, curators are incorporating smells that can transport visitors to a different time.

www.newyorker.com

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Jul 7

Psyched to have TWO poems in @havehashad.com today

I’ve been holding onto this one for a while

“You know that your family is waiting, going on without you, their laughing teeth suffused as if with starlight.”

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Seth Peterson @sethpeterson.bsky.social · Jul 7

Funny thing is, I wrote March of Progress and immediately thought it sounded like a @havehashad.com poem

HAD @havehashad.com · Jul 7

two new poems today from Seth Peterson. both amazing, both feel real perfectly "HAD-y." I might be a tiny bit partial to the second:

MARCH OF PROGRESS

When the country was polled on the topic
of “manliest hobby,” a holiday was declared
for woodworking...
https://www.havehashad.com/xb6g8

Two Poems by Seth Peterson

Depiction of the Afterlife as a Frantic Search for Car Keys It happens to you suddenly, a dagger dissecting through your stupor. Just a moment earlier, you were elsewhere, meticulously planning the…

www.havehashad.com

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