Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ryan O’Neill
at the drop-and-go
we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles
lift my case from the boot
practice my cold show face
drain emotion like wine from
the christmas market we bought crepes at
dropped a claw over a stuffed Pikachu
where you promised this would be our year
trace the rim of my glass at the airport bar
small wet moons form on the table
spidery foam dries on lip
departure board blinks i drop my empty
wave back at no-one like it’s winter jacket time
and cosy corner pubs helping me pack real slow
Ryan O’Neill is an Irish poet and writer from Cork, Ireland and based in Cardiff, Wales. His work has featured in Ink, Sweat & Tears and These Pages Sing and you can find him on both Instagram (roneill9414) and X (@Roneill1994).
Irene Cunningham
Lavender seeps. I expect my limbs to leaden, lead the body down through sheet, mattress-cover, into the machinery of sleep where other lives exist.
Graham Clifford
The Still Face Experiment
You must have seen that Youtube clip
where a mother lets her face go dead.
Her toddler carries on burbling for twenty to thirty seconds until she realises there is nothing coming back to her.
Susan Jane Sims
After you died,
someone asked:
What was it like
in those final sixteen days
waiting for your son to die?
Jane Frank
I imagine returning to the house.
Furniture is piled up in the rain—
the ideas that won’t fit.
Ilias Tsagas
I used to dial your number to hear your voice. I would hold the receiver for a long time as if your voice was trapped inside . . .
Jim Paterson
Shove it, that farewell
and the sky shimmering with frost
and the waves wrecking on the shore
Philip Rush
Tom’s advice, mind you,
was to drink hot chocolate
last thing at night
on a garden bench
beneath the moon.
Rosie Jackson
Today, I talked with a friend about death
and what it means to have arrived in my life
before I have to leave it . . .
Mariam Saidan
they said sing in private,
Zan shouldn’t sing.