Have any of you ever heard of or purchased a Poet's Market?  It's a wonderful resource for serious poets.  Search for Poet's Market, the 34th edition, which is the 2021 version.  I'm not sure what the latest version is.  However, an older copy will give you much valuable information and many of the same markets out there for poetry.

There was no sunrise this morning
There was only grey and rain, yet,
You will find that I won't complain,
For I love these thunderstorms and rain.

In the distance, on the overpass,
Through the smoke-like grey
A bus drives in the drizzling rain.
It is a beautiful, dreamy scene.

The faint sun strived to shine,
Yet all that it could manage is a glow
Turning dark grey to a lighter shade
Beneath the layers of heavy clouds.

Grey has long been a favorite color, and
Blankets of it can't help but comfort, so
You will find that I won't complain,
For I love the thunderstorms and its rains

And the dreamy comfort grey can bring.

Our town’s fire had burnt for years.  
Where all could come and share
It was the very center of our town

Massive rains, it happened one day,
And the floods put out our local fire
Sad but together all sat down in the ashes

But then single shout went out
“An ember over here glows.  It grows!”
Our community began a gentle blow

At first there was only grey smoke
Yet, then a mighty red coal glowed
As flames began to grow and grow

A cheer went up all around our town
We gathered wood from every home
Put it on the fire to help it grow and glow

Soon there was a bright and steady blaze
Each one began to dance and to sing
"As one divided, we fell, in unity we rejoice!"

The moral of the story, as they say, is
To learn to know, love and trust with no delay
Work to build your community the right way

Choose the most stable of materials
From every color, tribe, and home
For that will endure as the strongest

To rebuild your fire

There are no lizard people who walk our streets
Living in the country, living in the cities, or suburbia.
There are only lizard brains.

People in this country are not eating cats and dogs
Not in the country, not in the cities, not in suburbia.
There are only those with cannibalized brains.

Ask yourself: Who has the brain worm?
Who is in mental decline?
Who among us really is Mr. & Mrs. Kook-Among-Us?

The winter bites into the flesh.
Breath that is stolen by its icy fingers,

And the night's frost hanging in the air
Forms into an iron fist as it closes in.

Her name is pressed into cracked lips
And you desire the arms of your lover

With whispers of "summer, summer."

Love can be like watching clouds.
You spot one that makes you smile, and
You feel a little excited at the same time.
You know that it can and will transform
Becoming something more than it is.
And so you watch and wait for something,
You never know what "something" might be.
As you look at changes as it grows and morphs.
But clouds also can and do swiftly fade away.
What was one thing simply becomes nothing or
Changed to something no longer recognizable,
Nor try as you might can you come to understand.
And slowly you remember this truth about clouds:
Clouds are made of water droplets or ice crystals
That floats in the sky; and love is at times mere vapor.

We strut up and down the page.
Our poems are all the rage.
Our advice is more than sage
As we prance on poetry's stage.

Everyone reads our words, now.
Parades are given in city and town
To make our offspring proud.
Such a thing could happen.  How?

Yet, everybody surely knows
For neither fancy poems nor proses
Was such glory never shown!
When with a **** I am shaken.  Woe,

For I suddenly am awakened.