Today’s choice
Previous poems
Clara Howell
The Basement
The way a halved peach breathes, then rots
from the inside out.
Her tongue, a swollen garden of secrets.
The corners of her eyes
reach toward her burning shoulders.
Clara Howell is a poet born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. Clara finds poetry as an opportunity to connect the ordinary with the extraordinary by putting her most honest and raw experiences on the page. Clara’s work has been previously published in Shot Glass Journal (Muse Pie Press), Anti-Heroin Chic, Cathexis Northwest Press, Route 7 Review and The Orchards Poetry Journal.
Pat Edwards
Various kinds of pin and their uses This pin is for piercing the tube before we medicate the cat in the fur on her neck. She hates us for doing this, senses we are coming for her with our toxins. This one is a safety pin. I open it, slide five or...
Marty McKenna
i excuse myself from you tonight. there is low cloud on the fields as the sway carries these hands between this and the next stop. i’ve fallen for an other, make eye contact; deliver it through sight. i recognise my place by the trees; wonder...
Lisa Perkins
Oktoberfest Gretel nurses a knot at a table for two in a dive bar in Berlin. Bloated shadows crawl above the industry of night. He’s late. Nerves ripple crumbs, popcorn for the crows. Habit makes a ghostly work of worry, she orders something...
Corinna Keefe
Good God Corner, Harlech It’s all Good God Corners around here all hairpin bends and sharp breaths in perpendiculars and parallels that pull you out to sea a riptide of light reaching down from the hills toppling the little train into the water. I...
Jubilee Suite: Sanah Ahsan
fresher At the freshers week party bodies pack sweaty into free-floating balloons. A chorus of down it from thirst you almost know. You unwillingly gulp the cold. Mum worked Saturdays to afford you here. Puke crawls up the back of your throat. Swallow...
Jubilee Suite: Gboyega Odubanjo
Obit. (After César Vallejo) i will die in london in the neighbourhood i grew up in outside the town hall on the high street. i will have been stabbed and my killer will look just like me so no-one will look for him. my body will remain dead in daylight...
Jubilee Suite: Jayda David
The Queen is a Bloodclart the queen is a Bloodclart dissect the monarchy, pull it apart, reveal the truth that they wish they could conceal; raping, pillaging, stealing, imperialism, colonialism, racism. they protect those with the same face as...
Jubilee Suite: The Repeat Beat Poet
Tommy Builds A Cocktail Tommy spied a sun-dried palm tree in an untouched garden with crusty dark skin and cracks riddling all along its side, weeping out of its shell he aimed for a branch and down a coconut fell it didn’t implode on...
Jubilee Suite: Hansika Jethani
Rallying Cry they ask me where i am from / and i do not know how to answer / because how do i tell them the story of my truths / when the all the sentences attached to them / have been conveniently buried / before they could reach the mouths of...