Want to see your poetry in print? Then toughen up. The poetry world is brutal—editors are ruthless, rejections are constant, and nobody owes you a damn thing. But if you’re willing to put in the work, sharpen your craft, and play it smart, you can get published.
I’ve been on both sides—published in 50+ journals worldwide, with books out through international presses, and now handling submissions myself at The Broken Spine. I know what gets through the gate and what gets tossed before the second line.
This isn’t a motivational speech. It’s a hard look at what actually works.
Poetry isn’t just about craft—it’s about placement. If nobody knows who you are, they won’t rush to publish you. Forget the fantasy of landing a major journal first try. If you’re serious, start small and prove you can land acceptances before aiming higher.
Journals aren’t desperate for content. They’re drowning in submissions. The poets who get through the pile are either exceptionally good, or they’ve built credibility by being active in the scene—through indie journals, zines, or even just having a recognisable presence online.
It’s not enough to post the odd poem and hope someone notices. Editors need to see that other people have backed your work. Small presses like The Emma Press and Burning Eye actually look for emerging voices. Barren Magazine, Frazzled Lit, and Ghost City Press are also worth checking out—each has published strong, contemporary work and is open to new voices.
Local zines and grassroots journals will give you a chance before the bigger names will. A publication history—even in small places—proves you’re not just another hobbyist. Mineral Lit Mag, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Dream Noir are just some of the journals that have published my work and are known for taking on fresh talent.
It also helps to start your own thing. Founding The Broken Spine expanded my reach, made connections, and put my name in front of poets, editors, and publishers alike. Having a project that engages with other writers builds credibility faster than just throwing your own poems into the void.
Too many poets waste time submitting to places that aren’t a fit. I can tell instantly when a poet hasn’t read The Broken Spine before submitting. Editors have preferences, aesthetics, biases. If you send a traditional sonnet to a magazine that favours experimental free verse, you’ve already lost.
A smart poet reads at least three issues of a journal before submitting. Not just glancing at a few poems—actually reading. Does your style match? Do your themes align? If not, move on.
Rejection isn’t always about quality. Sometimes, a piece doesn’t fit the issue’s theme. Sometimes, another poem with a similar subject landed first. And sometimes, it’s just down to taste.
A submission is more than just hitting send. Sloppy submissions get binned before an editor even finishes the first stanza.
Most importantly: don’t send bad work. A first draft is never ready for submission. A third draft probably isn’t either. Poetry needs time to breathe, to be reworked, to be seen by fresh eyes.
A strong poem isn’t just about self-expression—it has to do something on the page. Striking language, fresh angles on old ideas, and the ability to make the everyday feel urgent all matter.
There’s a difference between minimalism and vagueness. A poem that strips language down to its essence can hit hard, but a poem that says nothing because the poet was afraid to be clear is just empty. Some writers get caught in the trap of thickly layered imagism, mistaking obscurity for depth. It rarely works.
Poetry needs purpose. Even if that purpose is abstraction, there has to be a reason for it. A poem can be loud, angry, delicate, or restrained, but it should never be careless. The best poems reward multiple readings—they don’t just dazzle with language on the surface but reveal something deeper each time.
Some of the best lines don’t belong in the final poem. That’s a reality a serious poet has to accept. If a line isn’t serving the overall piece, it has to go. Even if it’s the line you love most.
Emotional attachment clouds judgment. What feels personal, raw, or essential to the poet might be dead weight to a reader. This is why beta readers matter. The best feedback isn’t about whether someone likes a poem but about where it drags, where it confuses, and where it needs to be pushed further.
I build poems from component parts, moving lines around, testing structures, and seeing what fits. By the time a poem is “done,” it has gone through multiple versions. There’s no set number of drafts, but if a poem hasn’t been rewritten at least five times, it probably isn’t ready.
Editors reject good poems all the time. Sometimes, a piece doesn’t fit the issue’s theme. Sometimes, another poem with a similar subject landed first. And sometimes, it’s just down to taste.
Rejection isn’t a judgment on your talent. It’s one editor’s opinion. A rejection from one place doesn’t mean another editor won’t love it.
Poets who make it understand this. They don’t take rejection personally, and they don’t stop submitting.
The difference between a published and unpublished poet? Persistence.
Publication isn’t just about journals anymore. The best poets think beyond the page.
My latest collection, Tenets, is being adapted into an EP with music because poetry doesn’t have to stay confined to text. The right musical backing doesn’t drown words—it amplifies them. There’s power in hearing poetry aloud, in feeling its rhythm in a way that ink on a page can’t always capture.
Even if a poet never sets their work to music, they should still read it aloud. If a poem feels awkward spoken, it needs work. Poetry is sound as much as it is image.
The best poetry isn’t just pleasant—it unsettles. Too many writers want to be liked. I’d rather be heard.
I want my work to be read by people who aren’t afraid of what I’m saying. I’m rallying more and more, leaning into antagonism, because poetry should upset people. If it’s not making someone uncomfortable, it’s probably not hitting hard enough.
Safe poetry is forgettable poetry.
There are no shortcuts. Getting published means honing your work, knowing your audience, and submitting relentlessly. Thick skin is required. Rejection is inevitable. The only way to get through it is to keep going.
Hone your craft. Know your editors. Stay open to feedback.
Now stop reading this and go submit something.
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The Broken Spine is a poetry and arts collective proudly published on the coastal edge of North-West England. Founded in 2019 by Alan Parry and Paul Robert Mullen – two school friends reunited after twenty years through a mutual love of poetry.
