Today’s choice
Previous poems
Robin Vaughan-Williams
Does anybody want any money?
I’ve got all this money lying around.
Have you got anything you can do with it?
I asked Josie but she doesn’t want it.
Klio says the extension is already paid for.
Geoff has a job and wants to pay his way.
Craig says he wouldn’t take blood diamonds
so why would he take my money.
Sangita thinks our family may have benefitted from slavery
and ought to make repararations.
Jim says he could screw it up for stuffing the money cushions
in his Hidden Comforts exhibition. But he wouldn’t spend it.
Jemma would stuff it up her nose.
Lyra is trying to live without money altogether.
Troy says it’s too much. Aisha says it’s not enough.
Not enough for a deposit. Not enough to live off.
Enough to blow but not enough to make up for lost benefits.
I gave it to Pati but they gave it back with interest.
Now Craig thinks I’m a moneylender
and Lyra is tearing the curtains in the temple.Alex doesn’t have any plans.
Alex doesn’t have any plans. She doesn’t know what she’d do with
it. I might give it to her anyway. Everything tastes better with
money.
Robin Vaughan-Williams (Instagram: @robinrvw) is the author of The Manager and How to Fix a Human. He runs collaborative poetry improvisation workshops and his poems have appeared in places like Anthropocene, Dream Catcher, Under the Radar, and Obsessed with Pipework.
Erwin Arroyo Pérez
Here, in my Manhattan room / insomnia tugs at me like a half-closed taxi door / letting all the echoes in
/ an ambulance carries the last breath of an asthmatic man
Hannah Linden
Formed into darkness
an octopus squeezes around
the spaces of a shipwreck.
Kweku Abimbola
My father walks backwards
better than most walk forward—
so whenever he sewed his steps into the living
room carpet, I rushed to mirror my moon-
walking, until he froze,
froze like he’d been caught
by the beat.
Paul Bavister
We found our eyes first,
as they swirled through fragments
of black jumper, dark pine trees
and an orange sunset sky
Anne Donnellan
I prayed for resurrection
that the sun in the sky
might dance Easter morning.
Philip Gross
Enough of scorch, scald, sore- and rawness.
Sometimes flesh longs for eclipse.
Nick Allen
she told me about the still hours
spent at the coast watching the east
Phil Vernon
Because we were four
and I only had strength to carry one
and knew no other way
I carried the one who called out loudest;
threatened us most.
Patrick Deeley
As you rummage of a morning
among dust-furred personal effects
jumbled in an old
wooden suitcase under a bed . . .