Today’s choice

Previous poems

Steph Morris

 

 

 

Summers in black

Who’s idea was it? I think his, as I’d started
wearing everything from Oxfam. Among my finds

collarless shirts. There was I
and my clique, ourselves fearfully

fresh, seeking out lived-in things, clothing
with more history than us.

This although a year or two back
we’d so hated hand-me-downs.

So he started offering me his old clothes first,
trying to help his son – to understand.

And as my favourite colour became the colour
he wore for work, he gave me his old shirts,

all black of course, washed-out and worn-in,
collarless, just a circular band around the neck,

with a slit either side at the front
where the stiff white strip slipped in.

Obviously I wouldn’t be wearing that bit,
ever. But the shirts I lived in

all summer, loose, but still black,
a couple of buttons open, neck free,

something most Jesus and Mary Chain fans
didn’t have – something he could do.

 

Steph Morris’ poems appear in his chapbook Please don’t trample us; we are trying to grow!, in the anthologies Joy//Us, Poetry Prescription: Becoming, Up//Roar, and in various magazines and gardens.

Kathy Pimlott 

      Going down to do lights and curtains to fool any burglars Twilight: one after another security lights click on illuminating pathways, steps, empty front lawns, triggered by my benign progress, then, disappointed, click off. The sky is a layer cake...

Jane Spray

I’m just an ordinary dryad
not like fancy Eurydice   with her sun god father
keep things simple   I say   I don’t have her dilemmas

Paul Stephenson

The poem of the mask disguises meaning.
The poem of the diet lost seven words.

The poem of the snowman melted.
The poem of the invisible man.