Today’s choice

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Matt Bryden

 

 

 

Lightly a god, if he wishes, can save a man, even from far off 

Now a blanket is spread, offerings
of chutney and shin bones, 

a taper held to the fire
that heats the tar beneath our boats.
 
A phial of bathwater discolours on a shelf,
unemptied since the day she was taken.

A pigeon in the role of catastrophist at the feast.
And Tiresias there, blindly 

reading auguries of birds 
from the mishmash of their sounds. 

 

Matt Bryden is a teacher and father living in Devon. His most recent publication is The Glassblower’s House (2023, Live Canon). He is Royal Literary Fellow at the University of Plymouth www.mattbrydenpoetry.co.uk

Janet Hatherley

      In my cookery exam, we have to prepare a family meal This is summer and Mum can’t put out her trot line with its hooks because of swimmers so I buy three mackerel from the fishmonger. I cycle to the school bus stop one arm on the handlebar,...

Jason Lovell

While children kneel at your cage in awe
edge offerings of cashew nuts, chopped fruit,
curse words into your magnificent beak,
mums settle carrier bags at tired wet feet