Glass Poetry Press

Lol. Same

ICYMI ⬇️ ⬇️

Neal Allen Shipley asystole * dare I call you my king Midas beg you touch me again slither into this skin you cast for me * I dare you to come reach down my throat embalm my lungs my heart contorts in your palm * dare I tell you there is some flesh yet the space beneath my arms the small of my back * these teeth still enamel this tongue knotted muscle

Today on Glass!

"asystole" by Neal Allen Shipley!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

Neal Allen Shipley asystole * dare I call you my king Midas beg you touch me again slither into this skin you cast for me * I dare you to come reach down my throat embalm my lungs my heart contorts in your palm * dare I tell you there is some flesh yet the space beneath my arms the small of my back * these teeth still enamel this tongue knotted muscle

Today on Glass!

"asystole" by Neal Allen Shipley!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

psst -- did we mention we have 2 (TWO!!) poems in this amazing anthology? Huge congrats to all the poets, including Glass' Steven Sanchez (@icarus-flies.bsky.social) and Olivia Lehman (@oliviakaypoems.bsky.social)!!!

Golgotha Emma Bolden Flayed flat, a lion, a night burnished bright. There was a sea of cloth and fang. There was a woman who sang all night, a single note the birds caught in their beaks. There was a miracle or there wasn’t. There was the holy spectacle of belief. The people swore it meant something, the way they shook, the way terror thorned through the trees, but everything continued to exist, flat as a painting, as the open breaking through a wound. There was a sky. The blue-lipped the worms did their work. The people looked at each other and saw ignition, their own terrors crowning them in perfect, piercing arrows of flame.

i'm very honored to have two poems in the latest issue of waxwing, including this one, which feels ... timely. you can visit both poems and the rest of the issue, which i'm lucky to be a part of, here: waxwingmag.org

Today's the last day ⬇️ ⬇️

psst again - I'm on vacation and clearly forgot what day of the week it is 😁 The 28th is Saturday.

psst... Submissions for Glass: A Journal of Poetry close tomorrow (Friday 2/28/26)...

www.glass-poetry.com/journal/subm...

psst... Submissions for Glass: A Journal of Poetry close tomorrow (Friday 2/28/26)...

www.glass-poetry.com/journal/subm...

"Grief Theory"

www.glass-poetry.com/journal/2025...

Two new poems in @electricliterature.com :: both from my forthcoming @alicejamesbooks.bsky.social collection The Last Great Adventure Is You (2027)

electricliterature.com/two-poems-by...

Mikha’El Dan no whispers of whitman can we find elegance in all things in the suffering of him witness of the errant world bottle caps for brakes bags for dressers a blessing made at each stop a sacrifice I ride his bedroom a fictitious vagabond from Los Angeles to Long Beach three rosaries wrapped around his neck skinny as but heavy as a dollar for a bag of chips a dollar for a drink O I say now!

Today on Glass!

"no whispers of whitman" by Mikha’El Dan!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

Mikha’El Dan no whispers of whitman can we find elegance in all things in the suffering of him witness of the errant world bottle caps for brakes bags for dressers a blessing made at each stop a sacrifice I ride his bedroom a fictitious vagabond from Los Angeles to Long Beach three rosaries wrapped around his neck skinny as but heavy as a dollar for a bag of chips a dollar for a drink O I say now!

Today on Glass!

"no whispers of whitman" by Mikha’El Dan!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

The 2026-2027 Glass Chapbook Series Open Reading Period Finalists Danielle McMahon: revision /// ism Chelsea Christopher: Fragment Yan Zhang: Liú (流/留) Slater By The Sea: GAY POEM WITH BIRD Lily Daly: Bathtub Memory Penny Wei: Her Other Fragile Inheritances heather hughes: Trash Gyre Wedding Jordan Cobb: Letters to Mary Evgeniya Dineva: Tell Me About the Coldest Place on Earth Again Marylyn Tan: Unclench Dom Blanco: Inside the Infrastructure Brittany Micka-Foos: The Suffering Inventory Jeff Whitney: The Immortality of the Crab Laura Andrea: Downtown Puerto Rico Eneida P. Alcalde: Not Once Upon A Time Stories Rebecca Macijeski: How to Come Home Susan Stiles: Slender Palaces Andrea L. Hackbarth: eulogy [redacted] Z.D. Harrod: Between Men Mike Bagwell: Look It Said Without Speaking See What We Have Made

We're thrilled to announce the 20 Finalists from the 2026-2027 Glass Chapbook Series Open Reading Period! Congrats to all of these amazing poets!

Final decisions will be coming very soon. Watch this space.

FYI - I’ll be at AWP next week on this awesome af panel ✡️ ⬇️

How am I supposed to only pick three of these?!? 😍😍😍

Excited to make this list!

The 2026-2027 Glass Chapbook Series Open Reading Period Finalists Danielle McMahon: revision /// ism Chelsea Christopher: Fragment Yan Zhang: Liú (流/留) Slater By The Sea: GAY POEM WITH BIRD Lily Daly: Bathtub Memory Penny Wei: Her Other Fragile Inheritances heather hughes: Trash Gyre Wedding Jordan Cobb: Letters to Mary Evgeniya Dineva: Tell Me About the Coldest Place on Earth Again Marylyn Tan: Unclench Dom Blanco: Inside the Infrastructure Brittany Micka-Foos: The Suffering Inventory Jeff Whitney: The Immortality of the Crab Laura Andrea: Downtown Puerto Rico Eneida P. Alcalde: Not Once Upon A Time Stories Rebecca Macijeski: How to Come Home Susan Stiles: Slender Palaces Andrea L. Hackbarth: eulogy [redacted] Z.D. Harrod: Between Men Mike Bagwell: Look It Said Without Speaking See What We Have Made

We're thrilled to announce the 20 Finalists from the 2026-2027 Glass Chapbook Series Open Reading Period! Congrats to all of these amazing poets!

Final decisions will be coming very soon. Watch this space.

Emma Bolden | Contemporary History The trees spend the last of their coppers. Everyone’s selling their fists and my nose just bleeds and bleeds. In better times we have no idea we’re living in better times. Every blessing settles down in bed next to a curse. Sometimes I look out of my window and think, what’s so great about that? The blinds snap shut. A change in season changes nothing. Neither does my handful of Kleenex, red, red, red. When the first boy broke my heart, I imagined my actual heart, bleached bloodless, unpumping. My Sicilian grandfather offered to send him a black handprint and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t consider it. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t sometimes think revenge is a synonym for relief. Late November, and all around me the air conditioner still hums out its chill. It’s easy, if you’re not careful, to hear a threat as a comfort, as a song.

hiiii i'm super excited to have a new poem in the latest issue of @upthestaircase.bsky.social. i hope you'll give the issue a visit: www.upthestaircase.org

Alyse Bensel Obedient Plant Physostegia virginiana I once bent and remained there, like pipe cleaners, like baby dolls, like fabric flowers, the imitation mimicking the real thing. He twisted me every which way, commanding me to stay there. Oh, I was kept in check. When I spread my limbs, I propagated, populating the whole room with a thousand silent blooms. He ripped me out of the carpet, the walls, the floorboards. I survived underneath the foundation of his family’s cookie cutter home and its carefully maintained lawn. I carved a smile on my plastic face. I spat bloom after pretty bloom to distract him from the rhizomes that, no matter how hard he pulled, kept dividing into more runners. I made it out of there alive, a real, pliant girl, nothing better and more beautiful and surviving than a weed.

Today on Glass!

"Obedient Plant" by Alyse Bensel!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

Quite the weather day we had here, huh?

ICYMI ⬇️ ⬇️

Alyse Bensel Obedient Plant Physostegia virginiana I once bent and remained there, like pipe cleaners, like baby dolls, like fabric flowers, the imitation mimicking the real thing. He twisted me every which way, commanding me to stay there. Oh, I was kept in check. When I spread my limbs, I propagated, populating the whole room with a thousand silent blooms. He ripped me out of the carpet, the walls, the floorboards. I survived underneath the foundation of his family’s cookie cutter home and its carefully maintained lawn. I carved a smile on my plastic face. I spat bloom after pretty bloom to distract him from the rhizomes that, no matter how hard he pulled, kept dividing into more runners. I made it out of there alive, a real, pliant girl, nothing better and more beautiful and surviving than a weed.

Today on Glass!

"Obedient Plant" by Alyse Bensel!

www.glass-poetry.com/journal.html

Black and white roses and thorns. Text reads: THORNS. Presented by ALOCASIA. Deadline: April 10th, 2026.

ALOCASIA seeks work for an upcoming themed issue, THORNS, which will examine and reflect on lived experiences of queer domestic violence and intimate partner violence through the lens of horticulture and plant life.

Published writers to receive $50.
Deadline: April 10.

Find out more: ALOCASIA.org

WHAT A PRIVILEGE IT IS TO BE SO INSIGNIFICANT (part one) by Emma Bolden Last night I woke a fever, 2 a.m., I worried how to tell you what I can and can’t consume. My stomach turns me. If I write for forty days and forty nights, will I get to the bottom of me, a lake drained of its drink, a fish white-lipped there, gasping? Outside of my window and even at nighttide the azaleas slouch, indecent, fawning off their fuchsia threads against a broad swath of gray. In the dark I am invisible like a loom of stripped wires sparking behind a wall. I have nothing more to say to you because I have no you to say a thing to. A warped reel of birdsong whirls up my throat. By this age I wanted

to know the body as an object exquisite, jewel-cut and gold-set, a beautiful treasure beneath smooth hair. Now I am a table saw trying to be elegant, trying to know the world by dividing it, piece by piece. At night I lay down in the long bed and shiver up to the wild profusion of my own hair. Into the dark I set loose a flock of syllables. I watch every word’s winging, bright- beaked, luminous. I should’ve clipped them gone.

i'm so excited to have a poem in the latest issue of Radar Poetry. if you head to the website you can hear me read it, and the issue is a beauty--AND there's a stunning poem by @wordperv.bsky.social there, too!

www.radarpoetry.com/privilege

An Apology to Scream Over the Wind When You Stumble Upon a Horseshoe Crab at the Delaware Bay by Adam Gianforcaro I’M SORRY FOR DISTURBING YOU. FOR THE KIDS TWIRLING YOU BY YOUR TAIL AND LEAVING YOU BELLY UP. I AM SORRY FOR ONCE BEING A CHILD. I AM SORRY TOO FOR BEING A MAN. FOR THE NATURE OF MEN. THAT THE SHELLS…

a knockout of a scream from Adam Gianforcaro that I love more and more every reread

"I SAY I’LL BE BETTER BUT I WON’T BE BETTER. HUMANS SAY THAT A LOT. THE FIRST PART AT LEAST. ABOUT BEING BETTER. I’M SORRY ABOUT THAT TOO. WE SAY THINGS WE DON’T MEAN..."

https://www.havehashad.com/m7psu

Don't forget, subs are open until March 15. No fee to submit and we want to see your poems, your prose, AND your visual art!

asteralesjournal/submissions

New ventures :: Whether you have a poetry collection or prose work in-progress, a pitch or synopsis that needs work, or in need of fresh eyes and talking out a project, you can send me a DM or through www.rosebudbenoni.com/contact. We can discuss what you’re looking for, and I’ll give you a quote.

I feel this crush between fantasy & reality so much.

"you’re just a girl. in the reverie of / sinful dreams, that girl wishes for lover’s reprieve. we call it ecstasy of living."

Via @glasspoetry.bsky.social