This poem was as unexpected as a story plot! I loved it.
This was a poem that mixed physics with philosophy, loss with whimsy and caught voters unawares with its perspective and observation. It is for these reasons and many more that Paul Chuks’ beautiful, brilliant, evocative ‘Reimagination of Gravity’ is the IS&T Pick of the Month for July 2025.
Paul Chuks is a freelancer, poet, and storyteller. He is of Igbo descent and resides in Nigeria. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Strange Horizons,The Atlanta Review, Hobartpulp, Maudlin House & elsewhere. He is a senior editor at Mud Season Review.
Reimagination of Gravity
Newton didn’t discover gravity
The apple did. He had sat
Under the tree for many
Years, until the day the
Apple fell. This is how we
Betray nature. In this poem
I plant a tree & sit under it
For many years. The year
Is counted by the length of
Each line. Some lines are
Not equal with the others
Like the fingers in Orwell’s
farm, like the year my
Father became a song I couldn’t
Sing. Too many people are silent about
Loss, until a poem drops, like the apple.
The question arises, who discovered the
loss, the poet or the poem? By my logic;
the poem. Because it speaks, unlike
the apple. For instance, you read this poem
in its own voice but look at the apple
& see a deaf thing. If I speak of my father
I must count every fallen fruit as an instance of
Loss, I must write an ode to Newton’s apple
For every poem is a reminder that we all fall.
Voters’ comments in answer to ‘Why does this get your vote?’ included:
I love the philosophical leaning of the poem and how the poet merged philosophy with physics, particularly Newton’s discovery of gravity. What the poet does with “the apple” is beyond poetry, beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.
It captures the silence of loss while simultaneously challenging an age old scientific law. A good blend, in my opinion.
‘Reimagination of Gravity’ gets my vote because it reads so tender & centres Newton’s apple as a metaphor for the poem—not the poet—discovering loss.
Wonderful way of observation
‘Reimagination of Gravity’ has a gravitational pull, for me, hence why it’s getting my vote.
The poem’s depth
It’s distinct and stirs ones curiosity
Beautifully written and evocative piece.
This poem touches on the subject of loss and plays around the gravity similarity, quite well
Simply because it ushers in a new perspective of the fall of the apple
Because it draws on angles that I did not avert my mind to before.
He writes with grace, intellect and passion
It is a brilliant poem poignant with deep incursions in the mind. Enjoyed reading it.
It’s brilliantly written and reaches me in a way that only a few other poems have been able to.
The realism and imagery are most striking to me.
It bears a philosophical edge.
It is outstanding in its usage of the fall of the apple to talk about death.
It’s historical allusion & metaphorical use of the apple is beautiful.
On shortlisting, Helen Ivory wrote:
‘Reimagination of Gravity’ by Paul Chuks talks about death in a slanted but ultimately devastating way. The poem is playful in that it talks about itself and the way that metaphors and poems work, but the loss is not playful at all. It’s moving, harbours a deep truth, and as real as gravity.
THE REST OF THE JULY 2025 SHORTLIST
Picnic
Tempting death with every cobblestoned step
his face was a collection of broken records — I was
devouring a cheese baguette with grape jelly —
Alas, my desires are always replaced by hunger /
now we avoid each other at the King Streetcar
— Quite often.
Susana Arrieta is a Venezuelan poet and visual artist who lives in Toronto, Canada. @susanamakesart (Insta and bsky)
*
my friends are many-legged
the silence is made up of the ticking
of the clock that matches the slow
drum of my heart. my sole companion
is the empty-eyed stranger who seems
to have gotten stuck inside the window,
her hand always pressed against mine,
only the thick glass between us.
the window is a derivative landscape
painting: streaks of blue for a sky,
splashes of brown and green that
make up an oak tree, slender arms
that hold up an orchestra of tiny
red robins. darker scribbles
crawl across the canvas too:
a mass of miniature stick figures
overflowing the tarmac campus
square like tiny, identical ants.
i wish i could cup some of that vast
blue expanse and bring it to this side
of the smudged glass where my fraying
single-size mattress, sheets woven
from cobwebs, is accompanied by
nothing but jumbled up roots that
have gotten to my head, are now
creeping into my nervous system
with nothing to impede them but
untouched textbooks, empty pizza
boxes and tiny, slimy creatures that
have found themselves a home.
Lola Dekhuijzen is a poet from Amsterdam, whose work explores themes of identity, trauma, and intimacy. She is interested in the ways art allows us to heal. IG: @imissyourgingerhair
*
Just in Case You’d Forgotten
there are some lives
lived poolside
and others that
mostly consist of
a bent back in a field –
some are chauffeured
some are piled into the backs of trucks
driven fifty miles
from border to farm
on rough roads –
some lives make deals
others deal with what’s dealt them –
all are dripping wet –
a few from beads of chlorine
most from sweat
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and The Alembic. Latest books, Subject Matters, Between Two Fires and Covert are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos.
*
Ulster Museum
After ‘The Supper at Emmaus’ by Caravaggio
On the road to Belfast today, I failed
to recognise my father. I saw a flamingo
by the Tamnnamore turn off, but paid
little regard as it took off, legs stretched
out behind like a hyphen; clearly knowing
each turn and knoll of the M1, how to cut across
Malone, where to park under the horse chestnuts.
In Botanic Gardens we stalked the roses
and forget-me-nots, sat a while under the pergola.
I did all the talking. We strolled to the gallery
to see the painting. The bowl of fruit
precarious, poultry with bare bone legs,
the hand of a shell-hearted pilgrim
reaching out to us, Christ’s halo a shadow,
his holiness bright, the moment of truth.
We sat longer than we should have,
enjoying this Resurrection on the fourth floor
of the Ulster Museum. The flamingo
reclined, eyes half-closed, yet taking it all in,
words inadequate at a time like this
and all the questions answered, eventually,
by the knowledge that arrives in silence.
Eithne Longstaff was born and brought up in Co. Tyrone, and now lives in England. A former engineer, she is relishing her second career as a poet. Her work has been published in Dreich, Rattle, One Art and is forthcoming in Magma.
*
Mark Wyatt now lives in the UK after teaching overseas. His work has recently appeared in Exterminating Angel, Greyhound Journal, Ink Sweat and Tears, Osmosis, Sontag Mag, Streetcake Magazine, and Talking About Strawberries All Of The Time. More here: https://orcid.org/0000-0001-