Thunderclaps
poems by
Jacob Butlett
~60 pages, $14 (+ shipping)
Projected Release Date: January 2027
An Advance Sale Discount price of $8.50 (+ shipping) is available HERE prior to press time. This price is not available anywhere else or by check. The check price is $12.50/book (which includes shipping & sales tax) and should be sent to: Main Street Rag, 12180 Skyview Drive, Edinboro, PA 16412.
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Jacob Butlett is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominated author with two MFAs in Creative Writing (Poetry and Fiction). In 2017, he won the Bauerly-Roseliep Scholarship for academic and literary excellence. In 2019, he was a finalist in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards residency competition. In 2023, he received an Honorable Mention for the Academy of American Poets Prize (Graduate Prize) at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale (SIUC), sponsored by the Academy of American Poets. He is the author of two full-length poetry books, Stars Burning Night’s Quiet Rhapsody (Kelsay Books, 2024) and Languish (Kelsay Books, 2026).
Jacob Butlett’s compelling poems–about the desires, fears, and longings of a young gay man–describe a life that can be as harsh and as painful as “a rosary of razors.” But the poet’s rich imagination also reveals his deep connection to the natural world, where stars move “across the river, as if magically, as if only for me.” These honest and magical poems will reward your attention. ~Eric Nelson, author of Horse Not Zebra (Terrapin Books, 2022)
Jacob Butlett’s Thunderclaps is vivid, emotional, and powerful, with images such as “the tail drooping from the upturned/beak like a second tongue.” the poem “Nightmare of a Future Breakup” is ravishing and remarkable. “Depression is” is a perfect example of the abecedarian form, one of the best I’ve ever read. this collection is a black hole, giving you no choice but to continue reading, smacking you in the back with an unforgivable thud. ~john compton
The poems in Jacob Butlett’s Thunderclaps trace the precarious pathways between tenderness and violence, hope and loss. Here, a man searches for love and acceptance while navigating a world shaped less by peace than by conflict—a startling landscape in which predator and prey are one, and the toxic masquerades as the benign. With a gift for metaphor and a sharp ear for sound, Butlett ushers readers toward unsettling truths we’re often reluctant to face. ~Robert Fillman
Windbreak
This is my secret: I don’t want to die
alone in this riverside town.
All I want is to stand here with you,
my past self, a boy who doesn’t
want to be misunderstood.
Thunderheads, yes, hunker down
inside our hearts. Heartbeats echo
across the sky, swollen with these
slabs of cloud that scour air with each
sputtering crackle & boom, with each
rain-spat shadow over sun, whose last
fragments we pocket. We thumb
the jagged edges, these shards
we know we can’t reassemble.
At least, not for the time being.
Winter wind tears into my neck,
claws down my back. Lightning-scarred,
the sky shatters into pillars of rain.
Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.
Let me be your windbreak against
shadows that say we do not belong.
Loneliness
You sink into your seat at Blue Bricks, a bar downtown.
While you wait for your beer & burger at a table facing
a window full of late summer sun, you notice pedestrians
holding hands. You long to hold hands with a man.
Behind you, people flirt, play games of pool, clink glasses
around bowls of fries. You come here every week, hoping
you might find a boyfriend. If only you were brave enough
to approach a man—like this one in the corner, in the tight
blue T-shirt & jeans. You want to buy him a beer, chat about
whatever comes to mind. You’ve never seen him before,
except perhaps in dreams each night as you fall asleep
in your basement apartment. You want to stand up, turn
to him, imagine he’s waiting for you. He’ll ask for your
number, or maybe not. Doesn’t matter. You’ll rise from your
seat, break your silence, hide your loneliness behind a smile.
Depression is
a sparrow inside my ribcage,
beating its wings, razor-edged,
crying out, desperate for
death. I slump in bed as
evening light slinks through my blinds,
forcing shadows against the walls like
ghosts hanging from the ceiling,
hazy in the spinning fan’s buzz.
I close my eyes. The bird rests its claws
just below my lungs,
killing me, though in fear.
Light bleeds over me. Numbness
melts into my blood & bones,
neither cold nor burning but there,
once a hatchling of sorrow, now heavy,
perched on my heart. The bird tries to
quiet down, tries to escape,
ripping into my thoughts. I’m nearly hollow,
staring at darkness, darkness.
The bird, though, will work its way out
under all its suffering, lost,
virulent. Why hold malice against it?
When will I, too, rise again?
X-ing out the days until I’m better,
you won’t see me giving up on myself.
Zealous, hope molts light inside me.
