Today’s choice
Previous poems
Lynn Valentine
A Bad Spell
The rowan by the house is cracked in two,
her bark ragged, grown good-for-nothing old.
Fungi feed haphazardly and once, a treecreeper,
his heart of white running like love on her trunk.
A calligraphy of twigs marks wind-spun air,
frail small artwork against massing rain.
I would climb inside the gap where the rowan
arches and parts, quench my mouth with sap
meld myself into her sex, bear blossom
and berries, a curse against storms.
Lynn Valentine lives in the Black Isle. Her debut poetry collection, Life’s Stink and Honey, was published by Cinnamon Press in 2022 after winning their literature award. Her Scots pamphlet, A Glimmer o Stars, was published by Hedgehog Poetry in 2021, She is working on her next collection for Cinnamon Press.
Matt Nicholson
Cousin
I didn’t know who the call was about,
just that it was past my proper bedtime
Karen Hodgson Pryce
All at sea on a serenity of sheep,
we played monopoly, box tatty and frail.
Its missing chance cards, no get-out-of-jail.
Nicole Knoppová
Mami, I find myself wishing your memory
were a bird of prey—
red-tailed hawk or black vulture . . .
Ali Murphy
One Winter’s Line
Between underpants and saggy bra,
she hangs her fallopian tubes out to dry.
Harry Gunston
night knocks inside my dream
at the end of the world
death house
where sawdust covers everything.
Isobel Williams
If you’re asking how to get invited
To draw at a sex club . . .
Clare Currie on Mother’s Day
After learning about the maternal instincts of seals, I took to listing postpartum offensives
Charlie Hill
What was he running from?
Well what have you got:
the blood-soaked news of course,
theme parks, leaf blowers, HR,
but also the language . . .
Jane Wilkinson on International Women’s Day
Queen Conch
My spirit animal is a sovereign sea snail. A part-time anchoress,
anchored to her cell.