I carry poem books in my tote. I read on the bus, in bed, and in line at the coffee shop. Some got coffee stains. A few got tears. I’m not shy about dog-ears. I’m not gentle, but I care.
You know what? Gay poem books saved a few rough mornings this year. They also pushed me. Some lines felt sharp like glass. Some felt warm like laundry. Both are good.
I’m Kayla. I read a lot, and I talk about it like a friend who won’t hush. Let me explain.
I jot fuller reviews and reading diaries over at Gay Book Reviews, if you ever want to tumble deeper down the poetry rabbit hole. If prose is more your mood this week, I also tracked the novels in my stack in a piece on books with a gay protagonist—what I read, what stuck, what stung.
Quick Picks If You’re Short on Time
- Crush by Richard Siken — fever love poems; fast, messy, hot.
- Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong — tender, war and family and boys; soft light everywhere.
- Don’t Call Us Dead by Danez Smith — urgent, brave; poems that sound like a voice on stage.
- The Tradition by Jericho Brown — clean craft; the “duplex” form hits like a drum.
- A Hundred Lovers by Richie Hofmann — cool museum mood; quiet and sensual.
- Indecency by Justin Phillip Reed — punk energy; thorny and rich.
- Feeld by Jos Charles — old-time spelling; smart and strange; take your time.
- Nepantla: An Anthology for Queer Poets of Color (ed. Christopher Soto) — many voices; some you’ll keep forever.
Now, let me slow down and tell you how they felt in my hands.
Crush by Richard Siken — Panic, Kisses, Car Crashes
I read Crush on a train to Milwaukee. Wind shook the windows. My heart did the same. Siken writes like he’s running and can’t stop. The line breaks feel like skipped steps. It’s drama, yes, but it’s real.
- What I loved: speed, heat, images that stick to your ribs.
- What bugged me: sometimes the rush blurs the scene. I wanted one clean breath.
I marked “You Are Jeff.” It’s wild. It’s like a movie cut fast. Think jump cuts and headlights.
For a critical lens, I later paired my reading with the Poetry Foundation’s deep-dive on Siken’s debut, “Crush.”
Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong — Soft Knife, Soft Hands
I read this late at night with a small lamp. Vuong writes about his mother, war, and boys he loved. The sounds feel like a whisper you lean toward. Meter is loose, but the rhythm lives.
- What I loved: gentle light, memory, care.
- Tiny gripe: a few lines got airy for me. I re-read to catch the thread. Worth it.
One poem, “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong,” sat with me for days. I wrote a note in the margin: “Call Mom.”
Curious how the mainstream press received it? Skim The Guardian’s review of Night Sky with Exit Wounds for another angle on the collection’s soft power.
Don’t Call Us Dead by Danez Smith — Alive on the Page
I first heard Danez on YouTube, then I read the book. My living room felt like a stage. Their poems move like spoken word, but the craft is tight. It’s grief and joy and rage. It’s also jokes. That balance? Hard to pull off.
- What I loved: voice, pulse, courage.
- What didn’t land: a couple pieces felt like they were built for a mic, not the page. Still strong.
“summer, somewhere” is a poem I bring to friends. We sit quiet after.
The Tradition by Jericho Brown — Form with Teeth
I read this during Pride month, on my porch, lemonade sweating on the table. Jericho Brown makes a new form, the “duplex.” It loops lines in a way that feels like a chant. The craft nerd in me smiled.
- What I loved: clean lines, hard truth, those refrains.
- Small note: a few poems felt formal when I wanted mess. That’s me, not the book.
When I teach poetry club at the library, we use “duplex” as a drill. It works.
A Hundred Lovers by Richie Hofmann — Gallery of Desire
This one is pale marble and warm skin. I read it in the museum café, which fit the vibe too much. The poems are short, spare, and tender. You’ll see glass, water, gold, and a neck you want to kiss.
- What I loved: restraint, detail, elegance.
- What bugged me: at times it felt very polished. I wanted one crack.
Still, I kept turning pages with a small smile. That says enough.
Indecency by Justin Phillip Reed — Static and Spark
I read Indecency with a pencil, underlining like mad. Reed writes with muscle. The syntax twists, but the feeling lands. It’s sex, race, body, and noise.
- What I loved: pressure, play, surprise.
- Heads-up: some lines knot up. Read out loud. The knots loosen.
I wrote “holy” next to three different stanzas. That’s rare.
Reed’s raw engagement with desire also nudged me to think about how that same fire shows up in our digital lives. If the idea of fleeting, no-strings hookups intrigues you, especially in a queer context, check out Snapsex — a thorough review that lays out how the Snapchat-style dating site works, what kinds of users you’ll actually meet there, and whether the spark is worth the swipe. On the flip side, if tactile connection feels more nourishing than another endless scroll, take a peek at Rubmaps Bayonne — it’s a handy guide to Bayonne’s gay-friendly massage parlors, breaking down which spots are legit, what services are on the table, and smart tips for staying safe and totally above board.
Feeld by Jos Charles — Old Words, New Body
This book looks odd at first. Spelling bends. Words look like they stepped out of a medieval text. But the heart is clear. It’s about a trans body and the world around it. The strange spelling slows you down, which is the point.
- What I loved: brave form choices; tender core.
- What bugged me: the slowdown can be heavy on a weekday. Save it for a quiet hour.
I kept a sticky note key for myself. It helped. Nerdy, but hey.
Anthology Time: Many Voices, Many Doors
- Nepantla: An Anthology for Queer Poets of Color — This lives on my nightstand. It feels like a house party with poets. Some pieces hit like a bass drop; a few felt thin. That’s the deal with anthologies. But the highs are very high.
- We Want It All: An Anthology of Radical Trans Poetics — More edge, more experiment. Not every poem is my lane, but the map got bigger. I’m glad I walked it.
I like anthologies when I’m restless. Open anywhere. Find a spark.
A Quick Note on Reading Style (Mine, at least)
I read poems out loud. Soft voice. Line breaks matter. They’re like cuts in a film. I also mark beats, like a drummer in a small band. If a poem feels flat on first pass, I give it air and try again.
Small tip: I keep sticky tabs in three colors—blue for “wow,” pink for “ouch,” yellow for “come back later.” Silly? Maybe. Useful? Yes.
Who Should Read What?
- New to gay poems? Start with Night Sky with Exit Wounds or The Tradition.
- Want heat and chaos? Crush.
- Want a book that talks back? Don’t Call Us Dead.
- In a mood for soft luxury? A Hundred Lovers.
- Need grit and spark? Indecency.
- Craving a challenge, but a good one? Feeld.
- Want a sampler? Nepantla.
What Bugged Me Across the Shelf
- Fonts. Why so tiny, publishers? My eyes begged for mercy on the bus.
- Cover blurbs that say nothing. Tell me what it feels like, not who studied where.
- Trauma packaging. Pain is real, and it’s part of queer life, yes. But I want joy, mess, jokes, and lunch dates too. Some books bring that balance; some lean one way.
I know I’m picky. I’d still buy all of these again.
Price, Print, and Where I Found Them
I grabbed used copies of Crush and Indecency at my local shop. I borrowed Feeld and The Tradition from the library (long hold list, worth it). I bought Night Sky and Danez Smith new, because I wanted to support