free verse

Poet Spotlight on: Odessa Grimm

Odessa Grimm, in their own words, is a poet who writes from the places people usually avoid – the quiet, heavy corners shaped by memory, trauma, and heartbreak.

Their work is raw and honest; sometimes, according to Odessa, it can be “uncomfortable” because they don’t believe in softening the truth to make it easier to hold.

When did you realize your writing voice had developed into your own?

It wasn’t just a single moment – more like when I noticed I stopped asking for permission to write and be myself. I realized my voice had settled in when I could read something and recognize it as something I was actually proud of.

How do you decide what goes into a poem and what to leave out?

I try to keep what carries weight and brings emotions out. If a line is only there to sound pretty, it usually goes. If it hurts a little, I leave it in.

What would your younger self think of your poems?

I think my younger self would feel seen – maybe a little exposed. Probably surprised the things they tried to hide became the very material I write about. There might be pride there but also a quiet kind of grief, realizing that the reason why I’m writing is because we lost our best friend.

What is a line from a famous poem that haunts you?

A line that stays with me is from Emily Dickinson:

“Tell the truth, but tell it slant.“

It lingers because it understands something essential about poetry that truth can be too sharp to face.

Angling it, shaping it doesn’t weaken it. It makes it survivable, and sometimes, more honest.

Do you believe poetry has the power to shape the world we live in?

I do think it can shape the world we live in but not in loud, immediate ways. It works slower than that. It changes how people see, and once perception shifts, choices follow.

A poem can name something someone didn’t have language for before, and that alone can alter how they move through life.

girls like me stop blooming
when we are told
your anger is unbecoming
your brightness is too much
your mouth is a threat
so we grey
quietly
& rot
elegantly.

-Odessa Grimm

Isabelle Palerma

The Woman who Couldn’t Die: a Blackout Poem

A prompt from Maureen Thorson.

“Write your own blackout poem. Maybe you’ll find something of interest in the Internet Archives.”

According to Claire McNerney, from The Writing Cooperative, “blackout poetry is a form of found poetry where the poet takes a text and removes words from it, creating a new text”.

Here’s mine:

She looked like a goddess,
no doubt,
in another way,
she seemed very much a woman.
She was primitive,
casual
in her childlike uncovering of her body,
in the unconcern of the eyes of others
when she bathed.
She knew that she was beautiful;
and she had knowledge of the power
of beauty.

She watched a wild goose fly overhead,
watched it as it disappeared from sight.
“Tell me,” she said, “where did I come from?”

Needling of apprehension through my body.
How much she should be told
was not easy to determine.
“From across the sea.”
“It must have been long ago.”
“Yes. It was long ago.”

Isabelle Palerma

The Rules of the Game: a Poem

A prompt from Megan Amber.

“the rules of the game.”

Nobody ever taught me the rules,
yet
it seems like everyone else was given
some kind of handbook
to follow.

I don’t even know if I have the same pieces
or even a game board.

I’m still circling back to square one,
trying to understand where I am
and why I’m here.
The rules of the game were never explicit,
and yet
everyone else knows how to follow them.

I’m lost as usual, searching
for something,
some kind of footing,
some kind of grounding,
but it isn’t a puzzle where you just
slide a piece in and it interlocks.

Nothing makes sense.
Like I said,
I’m lost
as usual,
and I’m stuck
searching for a rulebook,
some kind of handbook
to follow.

Isabelle Palerma

Where I’m From: a Poem

A prompt from thomaskneelandpoetry:

write a poem about where you come from.

From a place where a house feels less like
home
and more like
a museum.
From a mother whose voice pierced
and a father who used a belt
to prove himself.
From sibling rivalry and brothers
who were class clown and golden.
From a place where I was simultaneously
never enough & too much.
From a place where I was silenced,
so a pen became my voice.
From a place where I used metaphor
to express thought
because reality hit too close to home.
From a place where a house never felt like
a home.

Isabelle Palerma

Her Beauty in Full: a Poem

As April starts Global Poetry Writing Month, I figured I’d kick off the month with a poem of my own. The prompt comes from raeonpaper:

the moon’s yearning whisper.

The deterioration of her internal language
results in an abject pleading,
a fullness only seen from behind the gauze
of cloud,
the thin of cloth, the shape of pregnancy.
A moon’s desolate murmur.

She speaks in a low tone,
too soft for most,
yet those who listen
know.