The Substation is a space to prepare poems to enter the real world.
Publications. Chapbooks. Full-lengths. Manuscripts. Submissions. Applications. Personal. Whatever the motive for serious dedication to your craft, the Substation is here to give you confidence your writing will achieve the goals you have.
In addition to peer review, a weekly livestream to discuss one member's poem will be held, with a private link to rewatch as often as desired.
Because our editing forum and streams are membership only, feel comfortable posting here without the public, and journals you may be submitting to, accessing the work.
Transform poems to poems that transform.
All are welcome to post in Writing Prompts/Free Write
Poems For Editing is open to Substation,
Poet Business Institute, and Premiere Members
Any post/user deemed inappropriate by diVERSES is subject to removal without consultation
A bare wood table.
Found my den
in an empty gray city
Double pained… staring through the window at my former office space, as emptiness possesses the reflection of my face.
windows in windows
the sun I glance at
glares back