Shana Roark is a poet—and she’s always been aware of it.
This New York public school teacher chose to leave her job to chase her dream of being a poet. Now, she creates poems for strangers as they stroll through the city.
At just 26, Roark has set up shop with a vintage 1969 Olivetti Letter 32 typewriter and tables in spots like Central Park South and Williamsburg, charging $55 for her poems covering any subject imaginable.
On a fortunate day, she can produce around 30 poems, bringing in about $1,650.
“It’s such a beautiful experience that not only connects with others, but transforms that connection into art,” she shared.
Originally from Kentucky, Roark spent three years teaching English and special education at a charter school in Brooklyn. But the poet within her felt unfulfilled.
“I’ve been scribbling poems since I was a child, using napkins and the edges of notebooks,” she recalled.
She first began selling poetry on the streets six years ago, initially with a sign that read, “Pick a subject and price, get the poem.” Two years later, she turned it into a full-time venture, standardizing prices to $55 for in-person pieces and $125 for more in-depth requests.
This week, she whipped up an ode inspired by Alexander Hamilton.
“The red headlines are like the ribbon on my typewriter,” she wrote in her 18-line piece.
The process of creating a poem typically takes her between five and 15 minutes.
Clients often seek poetry for special occasions like birthdays or weddings. Sometimes, it’s even a dinosaur request from a child. But others delve deeper.
“Some want answers to personal dilemmas, maybe something philosophical,” Roark explained. “My friends joke that I’m like a therapist who isn’t responsible for all their issues.”
One unforgettable experience was writing for a medical student grappling with a patient’s death—after talking for about an hour, it left a lasting impact on her.
Her themes often revolve around love and loss, and her poems can move people to tears.
Roark has written thousands of pieces, with many customers returning for more.
For those who can’t visit her in person, she launched an email order service called Poetry Club in 2024.
A recent viral video on social media helped boost her subscriber count from 200 to 2,000, capturing a moment when a local official confronted her about selling poetry without paperwork near Central Park.
“Can’t find a real job?” someone questioned her last year. “Do you rely on your boyfriend or your parents for rent?”
Roark kept typing as the inquiry persisted, responding subtly, “Are you a poet with no words?”
“I won’t waste my words,” she said calmly.
Like any small business owner, she faces challenges. Over the past two years, she’s gone through two typewriters, both valued at around $240, which were unfortunately stolen.
Yet, she perseveres.
“It’s wild to think this street corner has evolved into a vibrant world of poetry,” Roark reflected. “It’s been a slow, odd, and beautiful journey transforming poetry into a livelihood, and for that, I’m thankful every single day.”
