Today’s choice
Previous poems
Nathan Curnow
A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud
-the PhD title of Brian May from Queen
I like to think it’s a story about himself and Einstein
floating in zero gravity, Albert sailing through the capsule
toward his drifting pipe, Brian playing We Will Rock You—
two wild-haired sons on a one-way mission
live-streamed back to Earth, voyaging into Sagittarius A
for the black hole’s ancient thoughts.
Albert’s all a-giggle, barrel-rolling like a seal,
while Brian traces Gemini with the neck of his guitar.
Conversations loop back to Freddie and the stage
of Austria, how destiny, chaos, science and dust
landed them here and there, which is far behind already,
the calm wanderers sailing on, delivering lessons
about the multiverse and the mysteries of stadium rock.
A riff generates a reaction, sets fire to sails in the bay.
An equation must be neat, hum with horror until
our Saviour wakes to the lowing of cattle.
The broadcast breaks. Our pioneers lost in data and debris
arrive at new Bethlehems birthing, being
torn from those that failed. Brian and Albert shatter,
their thesis considered, renewed—
a story of stars chewing story, earworms
creating the devouring hole.
Nathan Curnow is based in Ballarat, Australia. His poems have appeared in The Rialto and the New Nottingham Journal and his latest collection is A Hill to Die On.
Note: The phrases ‘two wild-haired sons’ and ‘the calm wanderers’ are taken from the poem Naming the Stars by Australian poet Judith Wright, first published in 1963.
Paul Short
Sleep.
Elusive as lucid dreams.
Closed eyes teem wotsit-orange,
spiderweb scarlet &
thatch-brown
Ash Bowden
Out again with the pitchfork churning
compost into the old green bin, stinking
and silent as an ancient earthen vat.
Mallika Bhaumik
This is not a frilly, mushy love letter
to a city whose allure lies in defying all labels and holding the mystery key to a man’s heart, though none has ever been able to lay an absolute claim on it,
Jena Woodhouse
Around midnight, the hour when pain
reasserts its dominance, a voice
behind the curtain screening
my bed from the next patient’s:
an intonation penetrating abstract thoughts
Kate Bailey
They’ve mended the park fence again,
patched it over with the usual ugly metalwork,
like a riot barricade.
Ibrar Sami
Across the barren land
where blood once played its savage Holi,
the fearless migratory birds
have returned again.
Anyonita Green
It wobbles slightly, red wine jelly.
I peer at it, nose close enough
to smell the iron, the scent of coagulant,
inhaling through slightly parted lips
Soledad Santana
Seen as she’d hung her cranial lantern
from the roof of her step-father’s garden shed,
the parabolic formula was skipped; like two calves, we followed the fence
to the end of the foot-ball pitch.
Claire Harnett-Mann
Behind the block, the night tears in scrub-calls.
Fox kill scores the morning,
ripped by prints in muck.