Rattle Poetry

Diary of a Bug Guy by Mather Schneider - Rattle: Poetry Mornings, I fill my 50-gallon tank with the death juice. It sloshes as I negotiate rush hour. Moth guts on the windshield. Spraying for bugs at a woman’s house, spooky how she looks like a friend dead...

How do the bugs get in? he asks. They have their ways, I say,
as three Chihuahuas wiggle through the doggy door.

—Mather Schneider

War Begins Again by Tishani Doshi - Rattle: Poetry Oh, beautiful, beautiful, this time, we will pack a box of soil from home and run.

Oh, beautiful, beautiful,
this time, we will pack a box of soil
from home and run.

—Tishani Doshi

Why We Climb Mountains by Marti Noel - Rattle: Poetry The ledge invites and frightens, loose gravel scratching solid rock beneath your feet, until the grating sound—the rasp and rattle—

The ledge invites and frightens, loose gravel
scratching solid rock beneath your feet ...

—Marti Noell

Gated Community by Alexandra Oliver - Rattle: Poetry Look downhill: that’s where all the action is, across the big bridge: the clubs, the kids in bars. You know full well what the attraction is: their lives are much more interesting than ours.

You know full well what the attraction is:
their lives are much more interesting than ours.

—Alexandra Oliver

La Gioconda by Martha Silano - Rattle: Poetry I’m deaf, I’m in mourning; I’ve just had a 2nd child. I’m toothless, palsied, pregnant, paralyzed.

Clearly, I’m a reflection of the painter’s neuroses;
clearly, I have a toothache.

—Martha Silano

Paris by Luisa Muradyan - Rattle: Poetry Sitting in the cafeteria at Costco, I break apart my croissant slowly.

we can open this box of croissants and pretend
that the hallway covered in crayons
is a new exhibition at the Louvre

—Luisa Muradyan

Upon Meeting My Biological Father at the Age of 23 by Michelle Meyer - Rattle: Poetry He told me a story about the time he came to visit when I was four.

I’m four years old.

—Michelle Meyer

Build a Bear by Lori Jakiela - Rattle: Poetry The Spring my father was dying, my mother bought a teddy-bear pattern from Joann Fabrics.

Teddy bears in tutus, teddy bears in tuxes,
teddy bears with umbrellas and rubber boots
ticked away my father’s final weeks.

—Lori Jakiela

To Thousand Island by Sneha Madhavan-Reese - Rattle: Poetry The only time I tasted you was in a fast food restaurant on an elementary school field trip.

The only time I tasted you
was in a fast food restaurant
on an elementary school field trip.

—Sneha Madhavan-Reese

Note that the Critique of the Week schedule is going to be different the next three weeks:

Feb. 28th: Saturday at 11am ET
March 6th: No show at all
March 14: Another Saturday, time TBD

Back to normal after that.

Pentecost by Rachel Greve - Rattle: Poetry We sit in a pew with the convicted sex offender. He’s fifty-eight days out of prison, and after some negotiations, his PO has allowed him to be here. He may not use the bathroom without my husband’s s...

we are drunk on this thimble-full of wine: forgiveness.

—Rachel Greve

Confrontation by Drew Rollins - Rattle: Poetry Image: “Morning Route 23” by Joyce Polance. “Confrontation” was written by Drew Rollins for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, January 2026, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

Green-eyed are the trees
backbending in awe.

—Drew Rollins

Inheritance by DeMarcus Burke - Rattle: Poetry Son, where is my car? Son, I don’t have money for your mistake. Son, where is my credit card?

These women—
backbones bent like coat hangers,
wallets like open wounds—
love hard.

—DeMarcus Burke

Prayer by Keetje Kuipers - Rattle: Poetry Perhaps as a child you had the chicken pox and your mother, to soothe you in your fever

she did not yet want to leave your side
though she knew there was nothing more she could do

—Keetje Kuipers

An Ordinary Childhood by Morri Creech - Rattle: Poetry Our mother was a mousetrap under the stairs.

Our mother was a mousetrap under the stairs.
She used as bait the things she never said.

—Morri Creech

Try to Make Her by Morrow Dowdle - Rattle: Poetry Many villagers were convinced that something supernatural had occurred.— “Young woman in India fakes snake transformation to escape arranged marriage,” News Web Journal, February 14, 2026

Try to make her marry
the wrong man, and she
becomes more myth
than woman.

—Morrow Dowdle

Broken Egg Sunset by Melissa Lamberton - Rattle: Poetry I’ve never seen the sky this color sort of egg yolk around the edges, but pale as milk above, until deepening to a shade like that of flowers.

Fun today to discover one of my old poems (under my maiden name) resurrected in the Internet Age in @rattlepoetry.bsky.social. I was a teenager when I wrote this one; it reminds me of a time when I wrote unself-consciously for joy. Good roots to grow from. #poetry #writing rattle.com/broken-egg-s...

There Is a Hole in My Living Room by Manuel Paul Lopez - Rattle: Poetry There is a hole in my living room that my grandfather cannot climb out from. I bring him water sometimes, because I know he’s thirsty

I leave each glass of water around the hole in my living room like a vigil of glass and water alive with sunlight.

—Manuel Paul Lopez

“Honored Guest” Means, at The Sizzler, That I’m Old by Charles Harper Webb - Rattle: Poetry The lampreys at Corporate want me to think they think I’ve stepped out of a Chinese scroll—long white pigtail and flowing robes—

I’ll be lucky to outlive the meal.

—Charles Harper Webb

Allergy Dad by David Wanczyk - Rattle: Poetry He isn’t allergic to gluten, he’s allergic to sesame, so if you tell me one more time the bun is gluten-free

He isn’t allergic
to gluten, he’s allergic
to sesame …

—David Wanczyk

A Total Non-Apology by Rachael Briggs - Rattle: Poetry Don’t ask my view of humankind, of God. We’re eddies in the ocean mind of God.   I grin from […]

Don’t ask my view of humankind, of God.
We’re eddies in the ocean mind of God.

—Rachael Briggs

Morri Creech | Rattlecast 330 YouTube video by Rattle Poetry

Tonight's guest on the Rattlecast is 2025 Rattle Poetry Prize winner Morri Creech. Come for the rhymes, stay for the Prompt Lines! Join us live at 8pm ET.

Continental Divide by B.A. Van Sise - Rattle: Poetry Statistically, most of the babies born in this world are beetles. God, in fact, prefers them: one species of human, […]

Statistically, most of the babies born in this world
are beetles. God, in fact, prefers them …

—B.A. Van Sise

Letter Written to Pam Bondi by Julia B. Levine - Rattle: Poetry Can we agree that your body is the kind that knows how it hurts to be broken?   A man […]

Can we agree that your body is the kind
that knows how it hurts to be broken?

—Julia B. Levine

Mean Time by Peter E. Murphy - Rattle: Poetry She asked for a pillow. I brought her a fork. She asked for a cigarette. I brought her a sock.

Is this what you mean?
I said.
Is this what you mean?

—Peter E. Murphy

Family Album by William Trowbridge - Rattle: Poetry It’s from the 40s, the black and white photos, held fast at the corners with little black tabs: me in my diapers, me on my wooden pony, me in my father’s arms, dwarfed under his service cap, me in my ...

It’s from the ’40s, the black and white photos,
held fast at the corners with little black tabs …

—William Trowbridge

After a Winter of Grieving by Sam Hamill - Rattle: Poetry With the moon so bright, I could not sleep, the garden glowing in cold white light.

Don’t ask me where I’ve been.
The road out is the road in.

—Sam Hamill

January Report from the Food Pantry Coordinator by Jeff Sypeck - Rattle: Poetry The sign. The side door. Come inside. We’re here by nine or ten. She sobbed. Pack extra peas.

A pack of chocolate shakes, a pound
Of venison, a protein bar,
A couple sleeping in their car ...

—Jeff Sypeck

The Patient by Brandon Shane - Rattle: Poetry Holding a plastic bin to my friend’s shriveled thing as he mutters oh crap oh crap oh crap after suffering a cerebral hemorrhage a stroke, a seizure; this man had survived it all

and I wanted to touch his hand there
say, nothing’s shameful about living

—Brandon Shane

As If Haunted by the Terror, the Chatbot Says It Has No Description for the Woro Massacre by Ridwan Fasasi - Rattle: Poetry But the bullets in their forehead, lethal, looked as if they had conquered the living.

The safest place the body can be,
I believe, is against the world.

—Ridwan Fasasi