Today’s choice

Previous poems

Tim Brookes

 

 

 

Flock

In the charity shop I try on a coat
flocked with fake shearling,
shaved-soft almost: fibres
fired onto plastic to fool the wrist.

At home I snap it.
A dust of fur lifts, hangs,
then drifts onto the draining board,
the bulb, the bruised apples.

Kettle clicks. The day adds up
in what catches:
tin-lid nick, salt sting,
the flinch I don’t record.

Above the library we meet
in a room of hot carpet, wet cuffs.
Radiator tick-tick.
A laminated notice by the sink:
PLEASE RINSE MUGS
ringed with old tea.

 

On the table: a plastic tub
of instant coffee, white sachets,
a stack of paper cups
soft at the rim from thumbs.

No circle. Just a scatter,
knees, bags, paper cups,
space left like manners
and fear.

Someone’s brought finger Nice biscuits,
sugar stamped in little diamonds,
coconut-sweet, too delicate
to dunk.

A man worries a bus ticket
into a thin white curl.
Someone re-ties
the same shoelace, again.
When one voice breaks
we all lean a fraction,
one hinge between us.

Walking home, bypass wind
throws grit at my eyes.
Overhead the birds bunch, loosen,
bunch again,
a dark seam unpicked and re-stitched
by the air.

I zip the coat to my chin.
Static lifts the fine fur, makes it cling,
not one wing: many.
The flock opens, closes,
a mouth.
I don’t look up.

 

 

Tim Brookes is a poet and spoken-word writer/performer from West Yorkshire. His work focuses on place, memory and the pressure of systems on the body, mixing lyrical bite with everyday detail. His pamphlet Keep Taking Six from 100 (Yaffle Press) was published in 2023 his first collection The Holy Ordinary will be published in 2026 with Yaffle Press. He hosts Under The Lobby Lights and Soul Shed Spoken Word nights in Wakefield.

Johanna Antonia Zomers

      Last Winter on the Farm (Inspired by David Dodd Lee) Waxwings, I learned later they were called, the birds that wintered in the cedars. All day long they'd dart in and out of the huge tree that hung like a waterfall over our verandah in the Ottawa...

Remembering Gboyega Odubanjo

      Cousin dear cousin how are you over on that side. i hear you lot get a bit of sun and field. does the heat cling. we don’t get much on this side. i’m not sure if you get much smog. sometimes it looks like there’s more of us than there are but then...

Remembering Gboyega Odubanjo

      Classified we do not know the name   black boy   aged twelve   well-set with a good grasp of english  has run  described as agreeable no vices the young  fellow believed to be between eleven and fifteen has been reported  missing from listed...

Paul Stephenson

      Loving the Social Anthropologist Almería His country was hot, his economy informal. His method was covert – participant observation. Before dawn in the square, he would watch the men gather collecting in shadows and concentric circles – the...

Norman Finkelstein

    from After (John Ashbery, Worsening Situation) As one broken upon a wheel, or dropped from a great height upon jagged rocks, I have watched this murmuration, this perturbation, and have felt my limbs grow numb, however great my desire for flight. Will...

Brân Denning

      they define ‘hiraeth’ as a kind of doomed longing - your childhood bedroom is someone else's now and your hometown doesn't exist - they see dandelions, a beloved film, their grandmother's hands, safe old gummy nostalgia recurrent as a mourning...

Simon Alderwick

      gratitude I if I had to tell you about my friend John he’s got a daughter, same age as mine he’s listening to GoGo Penguin in his favourite chair nothing else about his day is optimal but he’s leaning forward, head in prayer there’s a lot of...

Sarah James/Leavesley

      The Half-a-man The giant statue in the main square is weeping sky-blue and sun-yellow tears. Later, leaf-green, then blood-red…soon a technicolour dreamcoat’s worth of crying. Only, this is real. Overnight, the statue loses a leg, next, a finger,...

Nina Parmenter

      I am Jealous of the Rain   smug smug rain has millennia to finish sculpting could take six lifetimes over the angle at the brink of a whorl smirking smug smug rain invites us to see its progress feels no need to grant us insight or god forbid ask...