Today’s choice

Previous poems

Peter Branson

 

 

 

Saving Face
Corvus carone, carone,
the carrion crow

Emerge, from way beyond the pale, one day,
clenched feet an amulet about your wrist.
You’re eight, like us, you say, toy wilderness
we occupy, a monster on your fist,
outlandish night. No tinge of blue, like ink
at school, your mourning suit’s impervious
to light, beak over-egged, dry slate, twin blades
a hammer horror inches from your sight.
A giant close to, unfathomable, good luck
or ill, your camouflage, our sense is rapt.
Old war film, blazing cockpit, pilot trapped,
take in the left side of your face at last;
like shrivelled plastic, knotted string, from ear
to nostril, neck to chin. We never ask.

 

 

Peter Branson, former English teacher, higher and further education lecturer and creative writing tutor, is a poet, songwriter & singer whose poetry has been published widely. His Red Hill, Selected Poems (2013)  and Hawk Rising (2016) were published by Lapwing (Belfast). He has won prizes & been placed in a number of competitions over recent years, including a ‘highly commended’ in the ‘Petra Kenny International’,  first prizes in the ‘Grace Dieu’ & the ‘Envoi International’ & a special commendation in the Wigtown. He was shortlisted for a recent Poetry Business Pamphlet and Collection competition, was first prize winner in the 2019/21 Sentinel Poetry Book Competition (Marrowbones – published July 2021) and won first prize in the Littoral Poetry Book Competition 2020/21 (The Clear Daylight – pub. April 2021).

Thea Smiley

      The Carousel See the painted horses galloping in circles-                                                      I am one of them, struck through the belly with a swizzle stick, a gold pole as golden                                                  ...

Benedicte Kusendila

      ESTUARY It is only the sun spitting rays Just the indefinite flight of a balloon that let go of its child It is only squinting, just a nod Just the chatter of a flock on the wire, hurried South It is only the last call Just glass breaking the...

Sonia Burns

      Stash Your spaces silently narrow - slowly clogging arteries, plaque formed out of photographs, boxes stacked and shelves furred up, records, CDs, DVDs. Kitchen stuffed with cookery books, spiralisers, coffee machines and avocado-half-holders;...

Sarah Crowe

      mary anning, fossil hunter she wore her dead sister’s name as a cloak to ward off the sea’s icy wrath trawled stony beaches sought curiosities with cut calloused hands chiselled and hammered jurassic rocks to display ammon’s horns, snakestones,...

Topher Allen

      The Gods Are Addicts It’s better to be cremated, the only way to heaven is as smoke. Burials are the devil’s idea to harvest bones, to set them ablaze and raise hell. Volcanic eruptions are his failed attempts to ascend. Kerosene-lamps know this,...

Andrea Holland

    How Young Bodies Work Grace…in that light was a promise of balance – Joy Harjo O timeline drop us here the moment you step from the subway on 23rd the boy spinning on his back / popping air O body sharpening skin into spin solo show staged on asphalt...

Clare M Coombe

      In love with You played Kylie Minogue and Lady Gaga on vinyl, because it was on trend again, and not just for our dads, and we thought it was cool to know all the words to Judas, because we’d studied theology and we had PhDs. And we danced...

Mandy Macdonald

      emerald earrings misfortune from nowhere stooped like a peregrine folded, weaponized slicing away before from after as clean as cutting butter or severing heads half the house is collapsed open to the weather defenceless, astounded the other half...

Maria C. McCarthy

      I whipped the clothes off her my mother’s retelling of the quick thinking that saved my skin. I remember reaching for the handle over-edging the table, tipping, scalding, Mum’s hands pulling dress, vest, knickers, stripping fabric before it fused...