HeyJaredPoems for Persons of Interest
The Substack home of PFPOI, featuring poems and other writing from Editor-in-Chief Alex Rettie
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 27, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 12, 2026
Latest issues
SUBMISSIONS AND A CONTEST! (opens the original)
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DECEMBER ISSUESubmissions for Poems for Persons of Interest’s December “Home” issue open October 1. We’re looking for poems in any style, and are happy to consider work not directly related to the issue theme. Find out more here. SHORT POEM CONTESTSome of you may be aware that our Poetry Editor, Sarah Adeyemo, is facing medical expenses related to the unfortunate triple whammy of malaria, typhoid and appendicitis. Medical treatment isn’t free in Nigeria, so as a way of raising funds fo
Recollection (opens the original)
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RecollectionText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe morning’s second coffee gives its little glow To everything about me in the room. I would know Again the gentle, desperate joy of fatherhood reflected in my sons’ four eyes. How very good It is to have at least these favourite photographs As stand-ins for the touch of skin on skin, The laughs At bath and bedtime race past the wasted years. From the inlaid table, calmer than any fears, Christ and his mother ga
The Dyad (opens the original)
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Some scoundrel once called me a “less cheerful Larkin,” which inspires me to try for something else - a less twee Betjeman, perhaps. The DyadText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedYou were always Mother, And I was only me - Each across from the other, Having toast and tea. The radio chimed its warning Of the World News at 9 As it would each weekday morning Till the ending of all time. "We shan't go to the park today," You said, and I agreed: If Mommy didn't want
Publication Day! (opens the original)
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Mourning (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published“You have a call from California, Frank.” Kev didn’t know what it was all about until he heard the whisper shift to shout: “Pay for the funeral? What am I, a bank?” He slammed down the receiver. “Well, she’s dead.” What woman could have died that Frankie knew? All his friends were men, and they were few. “Someone I know?” Frank smirked, and shook his head. “You never got that unlucky, doll,” he s
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