Call for Submissions: Poetry With Spit, Spine, and Something to Say

No Gods No Masters: Punk Poetry — The 10th Thematic Slimline Anthology from The Broken Spine

Submissions Open Throughout February 2026 | Publication Later That Year

‘now that pimps have blue plaques here come the tourists dressed as our mothers’

Joelle Taylor

In February 2026, I’ll be reading for No Gods No Masters: Punk Poetry, the tenth slimline anthology from The Broken Spine.

This one’s political. This one’s pissed off.

I’m looking for poetry that smashes systems, stinks of the underground, and says what you actually mean. Don’t hide behind metaphor. Don’t lace it with lyrical fluff. If it could be read aloud at a DIY basement show or printed crooked in a zine stapled on your mate’s floor, send it.

This is poetry that screams, but knows exactly what it’s saying.

This is punk

I want poems that reflect the ethos of punk as it lives now, not the museum-piece idea of what it once was. That means:

  • Anti-establishment and anti-authoritarian
    Poetry that confronts power, institutions, systems that crush people, whether governments, churches, bosses, borders, or binaries.
  • Do-it-yourself or get out
    We value self-made voices, zine-makers, band lyricists, kitchen-table radicals. This is poetry for those who never waited for permission.
  • Gritty realism
    Write about the job centre, the back alley, the late bus, the eviction notice, the burnt spoon, the failed protest. No middle-class metaphors.
  • No to convention
    Break the line. Break the form. If it’s clean and polished, you’ve probably missed the point.
  • Satire and irony that cuts deep
    We want wit, sarcasm, venom. Be funny like you’re furious. Be smart like you’ve got nothing to lose.
  • Focus on the everyday, the overlooked, the trashed
    Elevate the bin, the bedroom, the looted Tesco, the broken body, the kebab on the pavement. Punk is about making the mundane matter.

My editorial note

I’ll be editing this alone, as ever. I want poetry with backbone. If it’s afraid to name names, don’t send it. If it thinks rhyme equals rebellion, definitely don’t send it.

I’m not interested in overwritten or over-imaged work. Precision matters here. One cutting line is worth a thousand similes. If you think poetry has to be pretty to matter, this collection will not be for you.

What I want

  • Short, sharp, punchy pieces with teeth
  • Real politics: housing, gender, class, trans rights, police brutality, privatisation, protest
  • Angry poems that don’t apologise for their volume or their voice
  • Work rooted in punk scenes, DIY cultures, queer rage, and the lived experience of not fitting in
  • No Gods. No Masters. No fence-sitting.

Inspired by

This collection is in conversation with:

  • John Cooper Clarke — machine-gun delivery, wit sharpened like a shiv
  • Kathy Acker — sexually transgressive, experimental, unapologetically literary
  • Attila the Stockbroker — performance poetry meets class politics meets satire

Submission guidelines

  • Submissions open 1 February, close 28 February 2026
  • Submit up to 2 poems
  • A5 page size only
  • Times New Roman, 10pt, single-spaced
  • Titles must be bolded and italicised
  • Left-aligned only—justified text will be rejected
  • White space welcome; no shape poems
  • No identifying info in the file—blind submissions only
  • Work posted on social media is fine; work published elsewhere is not

Submission fee and what it supports

A £3 submission fee is required. This pays for:

  • Cover design by someone who gets the aesthetic
  • Canva, Zoom, social scheduling tools
  • Contributor copies for those in financial hardship
  • Keeping the press alive so we can publish work that doesn’t kiss the ring

I don’t take a cut from submissions. The money goes back into the work.

Contributors will be offered copies at 50% of the cover price.

If selected

You’ll receive:

  • A PDF of the collection
  • Promo artwork to spread like a sticker on a lamppost
  • Access to The Broken Spine’s Past Contributor Directory
  • 50% off contributor copies

Timeline

  • Submissions open 1 February 2026
  • Submissions close 28 February 2026
  • Contributors notified soon after
  • Publication scheduled for 2026
  • More details as the revolution unfolds

Final word

No Gods No Masters is a space for rage, resistance, and DIY poetry that punches up. It’s for the people who never got a seat at the table, so they built their own, out of scrap wood and spit.

If your poetry belongs in a zine, screamed through a PA, or graffitied on a cop shop wall—send it.

‘Fucking days are fucking long
Fucking gets you fucking down
It’s evidently Chickentown’

John Cooper Clarke

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