Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ewen Glass
Dog’s Life
Listening to a memoir
and discovering the writer’s dog
is on the same SSRI as you
is an odd feeling;
I don’t horn in on a dog’s life,
chase balls, sniff crotches,
but our brains work in similar ways
it seems: carrot, sticks, a reward
called being there.
Ewen Glass is a poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the likes of Atrium, Abridged, Poetry Scotland and HAD. Bluesky/X/IG: @ewenglass
Sue Spiers
I wrote a metaphor using eel
for blue-light reflections in water
on a flooded motorway
Oenone Thomas
Because I don’t know any other way
I replace my left hand
with a hook, my feet
with jackhammers, both
my eyes with spangled
mirror balls.
Adele Evershed
Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)
A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list
Sally Jenkins
Funny how Year 8 is doing bones
now, of all the weeks. In the prep room
we strip flesh off chicken wings
Chris Hardy
Memento Vivere We lived here once. The rain we heard fell everywhere. Silence except the wind across the ground. It’s best to keep quiet. Words are like dead seeds, they vanish when they’re said. * New Year’s Eve without stars or...
Siobhan Logan
There’s something wrong with the sky
it’s the colour of a bruise and smells
of burnt toast. Do you hear that noise?
Someone’s shredding the blue
Alex Searle
Something started you to wake,
Leaving sockprints in the parquet
H.J. Thomas
We ate it leaning against the rail
above the harbour –
black cherry,
melting down the cone
Stephen Keeler
Among the joys of love was when we got
our first apartment on a boulevard
above the trams and tree-tops and the wires
that cut the street like tangram puzzles and