October 2026 packs a lot into thirty-one days for poets — first-book prizes, single-poem contests, translation awards, and a few big travel opportunities all close this month. Below is a curated roundup of poetry contests October 2026 and related calls we verified on official contest or publisher pages. Always double-check guidelines (fees, eligibility, and formatting) before … [Read more...] about Poetry Submission Deadlines October 2026
The Soul’s Superior Instants, By: Emily Dickinson
The Soul's superior instantsOccur to Her alone,When friend and earth's occasionHave infinite withdrawn. Or she, Herself, ascendedTo too remote a height,For lower recognitionThan Her Omnipotent. This mortal abolitionIs seldom, but as fairAs Apparition—subjectTo autocratic air. Eternity's disclosureTo favorites, a few,Of the Colossal substanceOf immortality. … [Read more...] about The Soul’s Superior Instants, By: Emily Dickinson
Two Lengths Has Every Day, By: Emily Dickinson
Two lengths has every day,Its absolute extent—And area superiorBy hope or heaven lent.Eternity will beVelocity, or pause,At fundamental signalsFrom fundamental laws.To die, is not to go—On doom's consummate chartNo territory new is staked,Remain thou as thou art. … [Read more...] about Two Lengths Has Every Day, By: Emily Dickinson
The Future Never Spoke, By: Emily Dickinson
The Future never spoke,Nor will he, like the Dumb,Reveal by sign or syllableOf his profound To-come.But when the news be ripe,Presents it in the Act—Forestalling preparationEscape or substitute.Indifferent to himThe Dower as the Doom,His office but to executeFate's Telegram to him. … [Read more...] about The Future Never Spoke, By: Emily Dickinson
I Bet With Every Wind That Blew, By: Emily Dickinson
I bet with every Wind that blew, till Nature in chagrinEmployed a Fact to visit me and scuttle my Balloon! … [Read more...] about I Bet With Every Wind That Blew, By: Emily Dickinson
Down Time’s Quaint Stream, By: Emily Dickinson
Down Time's quaint streamWithout an oar,We are enforced to sail,Our Port—a secret—Our Perchance—a gale.What Skipper wouldIncur the risk,What Buccaneer would ride,Without a surety from the windOr schedule of the tide? … [Read more...] about Down Time’s Quaint Stream, By: Emily Dickinson

