Today’s choice
Previous poems
Chrissie Gittins
My Brother Teaches Me How To Open And Close A Door
When you’ve used one handle to open the door,
use the other handle to close it.
That way the draft from the open window
won’t whip it closed and wake everyone up.
Even now he still teaches me –
keep your phone safe from thieves,
protect your muscles and bones,
sprinkle ground eggshells around your tomatoes.
His arm is always around my shoulder –
as the garden birds abandon his feeders for insects,
as he searches for a recipe for his plentiful courgettes,
as he lies awake at night making lists and lists and lists.
Chrissie Gittins‘ collections are Sharp Hills (IDP), I’’ll Dress One Night as You (Salt) and Armature (Arc). She appeared with her fifth children’s poetry collection on BBC Countryfile. Her second short story collection was shortlisted for the Saboteur Awards. Her work has featured on BBCR4 and the Poetry Archive. She is a Hawthornden Fellow. @ChrissieGittins
Laura Theis
truth bomb listen I grew up in a suburb where each street was named for a fairy tale in the land of dark forests and grimm siblings and in my mother tongue which brought you rapunzel and rumpelstiltskin no story ends in a twee happily ever after...
Marcello Giovanelli
Diggers We brought two diggers home, furious black engines, charged and alive, fire eyes with a touch of white. Outside, they clawed the earth, ripped back its skin, made visible its bones, a kingdom of limpet arms, divorced fingers outlining...
Thea Ayres
The Farmer’s Daughter As a girl, I would stretch my Easter treats out until my birthday, birthday treats until Halloween Halloween treats until Christmas, Christmas treats until spring, conserving my quarterly reaping as though sweets were root...
Beth McDonough
Braefoot point The undertread mush swallows chorused gold dropped from the bow of singing beech. Across the track's split, dark haws bloat, as drumming sticks drip to catch black at the hedge's throat. There must be new ways to be nowhere between...
James McDermott
Virus six dark the idiot’s lantern shows me rainbows you branded sick which made me wear masks wash hands as if Lady Macbeth breathless gagging until I spit it out blue eyes turn to pansies fag butts syringes before a ten year talk...
Elizabeth McGeown
The Ultimate Painting - Study for Portrait VII (Francis Bacon) A found poem using the text describing Study for Portrait VII on moma.org Seated on a throne-like gilded chair He endeavoured The image of open mouthed terror is a recurring...
Sarah Radice
Being Autistic I am handed a racket and ushered onto court. An avid tennis fan, I am awed by being in the place champions are made. But I realise that, although I’ve grasped most of the rules by watching tournaments on tv - in the safety of my...
Sarah J Bryson
Knitting It’s Grandma Gibson who starts me off gently correcting me, praising the stitches pointing out how it’s written on the pattern. Shows me how to cast on. Then Mum’s Mum, Grandma Gasson tries to improve my grip, gets me to wrap the wool...
Gareth Writer-Davies
Kenwood Chef I blow dust (an epidermis of powdered sugar) from the plastic body and think of what Mother conjured from spatula whip and grinder (each task with its own attachment) never tiring helping hands that saved time for the hundred and one...