Today’s choice
Previous poems
Dylan Foster
Sabbatical
there’s not much you can do
when the planets
are telling you to stop
and gravity, who
only wants the best from us,
says
get down to the ground, that
you are
wanted, and so
you obey, become as
asphalt or fertiliser. you press yourself
into the earth suppress your
own need. your limbs turn to
branches then learning new
ways to grow and eventually
you’re there long enough that
everything you write and
do is mirrored
by the stars again.
Dylan Foster is a poet based in Surrey, U.K. When not writing he can be found hiking or playing the marimba. He has previously been published in Cordite Poetry Review.
Jeff Skinner
Can’t hear yourself think only the bass line
of a heart thumping. Your head’s clamped.
Chalice Am Bergris
It is not like an egg cracking
or an exquisite shiver of shattered glass.
Piers Haben
When I lost loved ones last year
I thought my childhood fears would return.
Lesley Burt
There’s a house in a suburb of between-the-wars pebble-dash & bay windows, where the soundtrack is sighs, tuts & bellows, the clash of plates & jangle of cutlery.
Gabrielle Meadows
She gets into your bed
like when she was little.
Flowers grow out of the wardrobe,
moss claims the windowsill
Alice Huntley
I had a leaf in my hair when I arrived
the receptionist thought it was a hairclip
Gemma Blakeley
My Dad Complains That The Hedges Are Overgrown
and the word bemuses me, implying as it does
the concept of excess in what can only be good.
Nick Cooke
Molluscous receivers, would that you could
turn your talents inwards, and pick up
all that goes on in the cerebral swamp . . .
Luke Moran
There’s a
flash of colour
from the hedge.