Do you hate “poet voice”? The droning cadence. The leaning on meter and emphasis. The dull, lifeless result? Me too!
There is another way! Listen to me reading my poem (upthread) and be delighted!
#poetrycommunity #poetvoice #notpoetvoice #reading
Photograph of an art book featuring a quote from Anselm Kiefer. The text reads “Art is longing. You never arrive, but you keep going in the hope that you will.”
I visited the British Library the other day. Of all the books and all the pages in the place, this one presented itself to me.
Screenshot of a page on the Full House Literary website featuring a poem by Ben Blench, entitled "How to survive the apocalypse"
I'm super happy to be able to share this link to one of my poems, just published in the "Featured Creators" section of the @fullhouselitmag.bsky.social website.
Go there! Read it! Or listen to me reading it to you, if that's the kind of thing you're into.
www.fullhouseliterary.com/poetry/how-t...
Photo of the first page of a book by Jeanette Winterson. The text reads: “You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal home, passing beyond the seas' double rocks and now you inhabit a foreign land. Medea”
Incredible sequel. Edge of my seat!
Really good record!
Florence Pugh has let herself go
the grief the grief the grief the grief
Cover of DEVASTATION SONGS, an Anthology of Kaiju Writing on Broken Sleep Books
Text of a poem by Bex Hainsworth, entitled Globster: Something has washed up on the shore. A mass of greying flesh, a lumpy silhouette, with one string of carcass that could be a tentacle, or embedded kelp, or a plesiosaur neck. With the gravity of the uncategorisable, saltwater is drawn around its chthonic body, retreats, then returns for cyclical scrutiny. Barnacle stars scattered across a sky of black skin lead to a translucent flap, like the bulb of a jellyfish. It could be an eye, or some other bloated organ, slumping above a clump of jagged shells, maybe teeth, maybe swallowed bones. A curved tool, like a beak or a claw, jabs two briny points into oozing sand. The stink of death keeps the gulls wary. There is a net, orange, obscene, wrapped around its slender end. Blubber bursts through tight diamonds of woven chains stretching back into the sea, like Genesis. One flabby island bears scars, perhaps a predator, perhaps a propeller, and another is frothy with plastic loops, squeezed by canless ripples. Its dark, sleek hide shines like a mirror. We should recognise monstrosity.
Text of a poem by Bex Hainsworth, entitled Globster: Something has washed up on the shore. A mass of greying flesh, a lumpy silhouette, with one string of carcass that could be a tentacle, or embedded kelp, or a plesiosaur neck. With the gravity of the uncategorisable, saltwater is drawn around its chthonic body, retreats, then returns for cyclical scrutiny. Barnacle stars scattered across a sky of black skin lead to a translucent flap, like the bulb of a jellyfish. It could be an eye, or some other bloated organ, slumping above a clump of jagged shells, maybe teeth, maybe swallowed bones. A curved tool, like a beak or a claw, jabs two briny points into oozing sand. The stink of death keeps the gulls wary. There is a net, orange, obscene, wrapped around its slender end. Blubber bursts through tight diamonds of woven chains stretching back into the sea, like Genesis. One flabby island bears scars, perhaps a predator, perhaps a propeller, and another is frothy with plastic loops, squeezed by canless ripples. Its dark, sleek hide shines like a mirror. We should recognise monstrosity.
Having a great time getting stomped into a pulp by the monsters in DEVASTATION SONGS, the @brokensleepbooks.bsky.social anthology of Kaiju writing. Too many good ones to highlight so here's an especially stomach-turning monstrosity by @poetbex.bsky.social
It was @regretteruane.bsky.social!
bsky.app/profile/regr...
Now playing: Baltimora - Tarzan Boy, because oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
open.spotify.com/track/6FwMGM...
Interested in poetry in games / games in poetry - including in historical games? Check out the call for papers for our annual conference (Multiplatform) below, which will take place in Manchester in mid-June.
manchestergamecentre.org/events/2026/...
Rewatching Maarva’s “Fight the Empire” speech. All of #Andor is great, but this bit is especially powerful.
youtu.be/TaKrm5txGCQ?...
I have just been made aware of the Swan Car: louwmanmuseum.nl/en/car/brook...
It's got electric bulbs in the swan’s eyes that glow eerily in the dark! It has an eight-tone, keyboard-operated Gabriel horn! You can shoot steam out of the swan’s beak!
Last summer, on behalf of Granta, Sheila Heti underwent ketamine, DMT, and LSD/MDMA treatments.
Her essay about these drug therapies is free to read online until Monday, along with the rest of Granta 174: Therapy.
In case you missed it earlier in the week — maybe other things are occupying your attention these days? — anyway, I had a sweet little poem published by the lovely people @atriumpoetry.bsky.social. It's about the terrible love and fear of being a dad.
atriumpoetry.com/2026/02/03/b...
There’s another great bit where Willie Thorne sends John a text calling him a twat
Text from John Virgo’s autobiography: Once I got to the This Is Your Life studios they handed me a glass of champagne and I felt a bit better. Finally, the time came for us to do the show. My daughter and son came out, then my siblings and other relatives and friends came in one by one. Next up some of my snooker friends joined us. Alex Higgins was one of them. When he walked on we had a big hug but as he shook my hand he whispered into my ear, 'You're still a cunt'
Legends, both. This bit from John’s autobiography will stay with me forever LOL
I don’t get published much, so it’s extra exciting when I do. Thanks very much to Atrium!
I, too, recommend this awesome anthology featuring incredible work by some astonishingly talented poets, hem hem
I'm super stoked that the next issue will feature my poem, inspired by watching far too many episodes of Fear the Walking Dead after my daughter and her friend made me sign up for Amazon Prime so they could watch White Chicks, which they then gave up on half way through.
Celebrate Ivor Cutler’s birthday by watching one of the most divine pieces of television ever made.
Dave Allen *and* Ivor Cutler, how could you possibly resist?
youtu.be/6RX1fMWkims?...
Garbled English transcript of a Dutch voicemail. The text reads: The heaven is a belt in for bumpness..,...•. 111 "...... Still to it, nit tango, price of the fear, telephone contact, if you can, Duncan Jahir, achheif, not that you need me, telephone is more..... 111• So, it's ain un feder to hand.. The heaven is a belt inf
Garbled English transcript of a Dutch language voicemail. The text reads: hand.. The heaven is a belt in for abundance, you'll be talking about. Some a meton, spray for a muyer virodna, and it's spray for name, incident, yo, contact, and of maniram, from stone, and onsimisi.. Spelt to it, need long ago, priced of a fear, telephone contact message, you can..! going here you need me telephone
Found poem in an English language transcript of a Dutch voicemail
Thank you for reading and sharing today's poem - My Sister Went to Live on the Moon by @suefinch.bsky.social
