We strongly encourage all of you would-be “poets” without a long and distinguished history of publication in the finest of Pobiz’s literary journals (i.e., the unblurbables) NOT TO SUBMIT YOUR TRASHY, ILLITERATE SCRIBBLINGS TO US!!!!!!!!!!! Submissions by such nobodies WILL NOT BE READ, EVER!!!! UNDERSTAND BOZOS?

Now that that’s out of the way, the best answer we can give writers who would like to know before submitting to us whether our journal is the right venue for their work is to purchase (at the full retail price) then read, read, and read as many of our back issues as you can possibly afford to purchase, in order to get an idea of what we’re looking for. Yes, we already know exactly what that is, as reflected by what we have already published again and again and again, and you won’t change our minds or tastes. Furthermore, the hordes of you purchasing and reading many, many back issues in the hopes of someday being somebody in PoBiz (yeah right!) keeps the lights on up in this bitch.

That being said, WE GET FAR MORE POETRY IN ONE HOUR THAN WE COULD EVER READ IN A TRILLION YEARS. On top of that, we abhor reading contemporary poetry (DAH! That’s why we charge such a high submission fee for our quarterly poetry contests.). I mean, who the fuck reads poetry in the age of the iPhone? Still, we might just deign to read your submission, as long as you can provide us with proof of purchase of at least fifteen of our back issues and pay us a modest per-line reading fee.


Please be aware that we neither have the time nor the inclination to give you constructive feedback on your work or to engage in any sort of editorial work that would result in the publishing of your “not-ready-for-prime-time” submissions. While editors and publishers of other genres (namely the novel) do this sort of thing, novels sell, whereas books and journals of poetry do not. Hence, there would be no return on our investment to make it worth our while to help you. Yes, you may technically consider us “editors,” but what we mean by that moniker is that we are always more than happy to publish the already finished and finely polished work of high muck-a-mucks in PoBiz, like everything ever written or that ever will be written by the illustrious Heather McHugh and the incomparable Henri Cole. Those people are SOMEBODIES, whereas most of you are not.


On a final note, to you fucking byotches who insist on mixing prose and poetry in the same envelope, YOUR SUBMISSIONS WILL BE SUMMARILY USED AS TOILET PAPER BY OUR STAFF AND EDITORIAL BOARD!!!!!!!



Two websites stood in my view: and
Good poetry websites are few,
But one thing I knew:
I wasn't going to be a moderator's pet. looked cute
With its modern poetry quotes,
But I chose the other route—
For was more astute,
And poets at each others' throats. was unctuous and dull
And high on pretence,
While was affable
While seeing through po-biz bull—
And that made all the difference.


Expense Account *


Oct. 1-------Ad for female secretary-----------------$20.00

Oct. 4-------Violets for new secretary------------------ 8.50

Oct. 6-------Week's salary for new secretary---------350.00

Oct. 9-------Roses for secretary------------------------25.00

Oct. 10-------Candy for wife-----------------------------8.95

Oct. 13-------Lunch for secretary-----------------------25.00

Oct. 15-------Week's salary for secretary---------------500.00

Oct. 16-------Movie tickets for wife and self--------------17.00

Oct. 18-------Theater tickets for secretary and self------200.00

Oct. 19-------Ice cream sundae for wife---------------------4.95

Oct. 22-------Mary's salary-------------------------------900.00

Oct. 23-------Champagne and dinner for Mary & self------150.00

Oct. 25-------Doctor for stupid secretary-----------------3500.00

Oct. 26-------Mink stole for wife--------------------------7200.00

Oct. 28-------Ad for male secretary--------------------------25.00

Total expenses for month 12,934.40


Instructions: Read and discuss the above text, in terms of its historical, social, feminist, cultural, Marxist, and formalist contexts.


*Based upon material that originally appeared in: Ralph W. Rader, "Fact, Theory, and Literary Explanation," Critical Inquiry, 1 (December, 1974), 251. Tweaked by Jerry Siegel.

What Has Happened?--Bertolt Brecht

(Bertolt Brecht, pretending to play the clarinet with the cabaret-clown Karl Valentin [playing the tuba] and Valentin's performing partner, Liesl Karlstadt [in drag as the conductor] in a comic spoof of the Munich Octoberfest, the "Schaubude" or sideshow booth, entitled Oktoberfestschaubude [ca 1920-1921]. The photo shows the satirical banners for various circus-like attractions, all intended as a spoof of the popular annual Octoberfest in southern Germany--Wikipedia)

“Scholars show their discoveries and hide their decorations.”

(Close-up of Bertolt Brecht “playing” the clarinet.)


Land of The Living Dead: The Great Vanity Publishing Network & Cover-up

(Note: This anonymous post also appears on and was the impetus for this snarky, brainchild blog. Thank you, Mr/Ms Anonymous, whoever you are! You are BRILLIANT!)

Christopher [Woodman] is like a character in a John Grisham thriller. The law firm of American Poetry, Inc. is a great Vanity Publishing Network and the cover-up is more horrible than the crime.

If not John Grisham, then the Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or Dracula, or a terrifying scenario more horrific, where poets are zombies who feed off innocent flesh: the minds, hearts, souls and money of ‘paying poetry customers,’ the would-be poet and hasty poetry reader who has scanned a few contemporary poems and said to themselves “I can do that.”

The living dead of Poetry, Inc. are no longer concerned with Poetry and its readers, Poetry and its history, for all “readers” are now would-be poets willing to pay for the privilege of being ‘poets’ in a shadowy realm of ‘contemporary anthology’ pretense, manufactured by the lawyers of Poetry, Inc. You sign on the dotted line at the nearest MFA recruitment center and agree to participate in the game: you agree to never ask why it is always night, why some things are just ‘not discussed,’ why the poets wear blank looks and carry black appointment books and blithely abet the pyramid scheme of money-laundering for the secret muse.

Woodman met a ‘respected’ official of the poetry world, a gentleman calling himself ‘editor’ and ‘poet,’ warm his voice, with unctuous flattery, but once, when Woodman looked away, this smiling editor, with teeth shining like ice, suddenly lurched towards Mr. Woodman’s neck. Woodman looked up in horror. Was it a dream? The ‘editor’ drifted back into the night, complaining he was busy, and had so many clients who needed his expertise. Woodman followed, and met up with a woman who hissed at him like a snake, warning him to leave the gentleman ‘poet’ alone. Woodman went to Policemen and Writers, to the Academy of Poets, Toads, and Spiders, seeking help. Every policeman and toad he encountered had the same blank look and—could it be?—he heard the hissing sound of that woman in a nearby room…

Madness, I tell you! Madness! The record of Woodman’s complaint! Gone! It was all a dream! Come away, Christopher, come away! In the shadows, here, down by the earthen lake, your fate awaits you, the raven flies and beneath the hidden moon, she is waiting, the proper one, with the ghost-white guidelines in her slender hands…the icy caress of the secretary muse…of Police & Writers...Poets.Ogre...

Poetry, Inc.!