Poetry via voicemail. Missed calls you need to hear.
Open submissions accepted. Guidelines at http://voicemailpoems.org

by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Poetry via voicemail. Missed calls you need to hear. Open submissions accepted. Guidelines at http://voicemailpoems.org
Language
🇺🇲
Publishing Since
8/31/2016
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April 28, 2026
Saying I love you in my mother tongue is impossible. My mother never loved me in words. She gave up a continent for me, its contents traded for a feathered hope of better. For me, she went to scrub the floors in houses we could not afford, came home and scrubbed our floors, as well, then shopped, and cooked, and mended, and then scrubbed some more. The days all slipped into the slit between the scrubbing and the cooking, like errant peas dried in the gap between the cupboard and the stove, and there was never time for words. So now, my mother tongue sticks in my throat like the smell of bleach and cumin. I've had to learn three other languages just to find words to talk of love, and even so, sometimes I'll just offer to hem your trousers. ————————————– Ella B. Winters called us from England, UK. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems

April 28, 2026
The bells like a leviathan breach the membrane of the liquid dark, tumbling forth like a vanguard incited by adrenaline and the call of drumbeats. The God Paradox States: 1. If God is omnipotent and omnibenevolent, He has the power and also the desire to end evil. Through the open window, the January air bites at the alveoli lodged deep behind my sternum; moonbeams litter the asphalt in geometric shapes refracted by a million prisms all the way down. 2. If God is omniscient and omnipotent, He has the knowledge and also the power to end evil. 3. If God is omniscient and omnibenevolent, He has the knowledge and also the desire to end evil The night is austere, the world holding its collective breath for the dawn of sunrise and the gift of another day; I drive by the specter of the old cemetery, and the bells continue to toll calling the faithful back to God. 4.) Evil exists. 5.) Therefore… My unfinished Ph.D.in Nietzschean philosophy floats into my forebrain like an air bubble. “God is dead,” I tell the bells, recalling my catechisms from a former lifetime with a sardonicism that feels almost like mourning. “This is not for God,” the bells tell me. “This is just for you.” I drive and I listen to the notes dancing through the dark on the way to my ears – the chimes and the melody and the perfect fifths – as the night opens up ahead of me and the rest of my life beckons from right down the road. ————————————– Shannon Frost Greenstein called us from Jenkintown, PA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems

April 28, 2026
the vines awaken to greet the ripening day the sun climbs to its zenith scattering darkness from every corner you fold your sorrowing hands across your belly only yesterday there was a heartbeat your weary body tightens under the blaze of light yet your soul remains untouched by its ray ————————————– Aleksandra Jovičić Đinović called us from Serbia. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems
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Poetry via voicemail. Missed calls you need to hear.
Open submissions accepted. Guidelines at http://voicemailpoems.org
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