💥 Last-Ditch Poetry Deals Where You Get Books and Jeff Bezos Pays for It 💥
It’s the bitter end of National Poetry Month, and we’ve got one last trick up our irreverent, ink-stained sleeves: Amazon is discounting the hell out of some of our most powerful poetry collections—and here’s the delicious part—when you use our links, Amazon still has to pay us full royalties. That’s right. You get a beautiful, fierce, soul-scorching book for cheap, and the billionaire who tried to trademark “climate pledge” still cuts the check.
So if you’ve been clutching your wallet and whispering “late-stage capitalism,” now’s your moment. Load up on indie poetry, support small presses and writers (many of whom are womxn carving space in a literary world that still tries to hand us crumbs), and let Bezos eat the loss. It’s practically feminist activism.
🔥 THE POETRY—SO GOOD IT MIGHT CURSE YOUR EX:
💔 Ventric[L]e by Jerrod E. Bohn
A deep dive into love poems that turn into little emotional prisons. Ever write your lover into a stanza so tight they left you? This book knows.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos weeps)
🦴 Who’s Going to Love the Dying Girl? by Bree Rolfe
Chronic illness, loss, rage, and beauty—this debut pulls no punches. Rolfe’s voice is unflinching, sharp as hell, and unapologetically alive.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos winces)
🌒 Night Hag by Amy Baskin
Lilith walks so your ex-boyfriend’s fragile ego could trip over her heels. A poetic reclaiming of the demonized woman. Baskin channels myth, agency, and glorious, glowing rage.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos shudders)
🌲 The Invisible World by Matt Daly
For the poets thinking about ancestry, accountability, and healing. Daly wrestles with Puritan roots while falling in love with wild places. It’s an exorcism through language.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos glances nervously at trees)
🌊 Water Signs by Liz Kellebrew
Written mid-ferry ride with poems that hum between tide and sky. Eco-poetry that makes you want to hug a sea otter and smash the patriarchy.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos can’t swim anyway)
🖤 Black Wool Cape by Alison Carb Sussman
Starts in Israel, winds through madness and memory, and refuses to behave. Lush, unrelenting, and haunted—in the best way.
👉 Buy it here (Bezos hides under his black cape)
This is your permission slip to stockpile radical verse, feel good about it, and siphon funds from a trillion-dollar monster while you're at it. Poetry isn’t dead—it just has better politics now.
Read loudly, love fiercely, and don’t wait ‘til next April.
With sass, ink, and unapologetic rage,
Unsolicited Press
