Today’s choice

Previous poems

Tina Cole

 

 

 

What Mr. Pig Did
After Paula Rego   Prince Pig and his First Bride     2006
 
Mr. Pig modelling his best Sunday suit of farmyard smells,
flees from the cook’s cleaver to find himself a sow.

This snorty, stinky, porker seeks a succulent female
but finds a golden version of that wonderland Alice

losing herself to the canopy of stars expanding above,
eyes wide, mouth shut. She is clever, passes off her repulsion

as the chill she always feels inside and out, knowing
his simple brain will believe her. His loathsome heaviness

begins a performance of sucking and licking, filthy trotters
kicking hard as a Channel swimmer. He fumbles over the hump

and bowl of her, fearful tusks moving closer to steal ludicrous kisses
that snouty lips can hardly manage. And then that little kettle squeal

like cats fighting in the garden late at night is almost more
than she can bear. They will stay tangled like this until it’s over

or until Alice draws a butcher’s knife from beneath her galaxy
of foaming petticoats      waits for blood to cool, clot, coagulate.

 

 

Tina Cole has three published pamphlets, I Almost Knew You, (2018), Forged/ Yaffle Press, (2021) and What it Was/ Mark Time Books (2023). Her published poems have appeared in many U.K. magazines, one in The Guardian newspaper and in several poetry collections. She is also a past winner of a number of national poetry competitions 2010 – 2023. She completed an M.A. in creative writing at Manchester Metropolitan University in 2024.

Jemilea Wisdom-Baako

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Zelda Cahill-Patten

      Street-preacher She looks at me with that fearsome oil-sheen in her eyes, the weighty conviction of milk-heavy gaze and breasts, telling me (the spittle-flecked words like Words made flesh) of her Father, how he is unseen, felt unstirring in the...

Maeve McKenna

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Abigail Elizabeth Ottley

      Widows Walk Evenings she puts on her second-best hat skewered with a tortoise shell pin, buttons up her heart in a mauve mohair coat sallies forth to pick a bone with the moon. On the red-leaded step she scans the stars imagines them white sparks...

Guy Elston

      You Call This Summer More like a chicken bone tossed to a pigeon. More like a half-portion of peanut butter slicked in the jar we never throw out. I pedal through birds in Tommy Thompson, all strong enough to fly south soon – if I check the water...

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      My Heaven is Inside My Body My heaven is inside my body, my heaven is a great many, like stars in the night sky, with silver towers, huge edifices that look like sapphires, golden palaces, gardens of crystal. My body is bigger than the universe,...