Today’s choice

Previous poems

Gareth Culshaw

 

 

 

THE APPRENTICE OF GROUNDHOG DAY

I tried to work from a van. Sitting in the passenger
seat listening to a guy whistle. His frown, a cloud
he lost when his mother died. Each wrinkle
he laid as mortar on a wall. More bricks, more weight.
I’d watch from somewhere my eyes didn’t see.
I knew my life was years ahead from now.
All this was an experience. A jail-term. Clapped
by a system like using an umbrella in the sunlight.
I thought I heard a bird singing, but it was his whistle.
And a radio that took me back to the kitchen at home.
I tilted the shovel. Made more mortar. His whole life
sat in a pint of moonlight. Sand and cement were names
of exes. The spirit level balanced his newspaper.
He’d headline his own thoughts at dinnertime.
Munching on a pasty like a horse with a carrot.
I never knew his future. Just his past as I wheeled
it in a wheelbarrow.

 

 

Gareth Culshaw is an Autistic poet from N.Wales. He has four poetry collections. His latest, Some Things That Have Happened So Far, Backlash Press, 2023.

Simon Williams

What were these fairies called
before we knew of hummingbirds?
Bumblebee moth because of the size?
Reed-nose moth because of the proboscis?

Daniel Sluman

just as the night sky shifts
beyond the minds

of the animals outside

the ceilings
we are pressed beneath change

in aspect & colour

Farah Ali

Notes from nature on how to survive this:
 
1. Learn crypsis and mimesis be a gecko or a mossy frog
 
2. Method actors sway like dead-leaf mantises on branches