Today’s choice

Previous poems

Iris Anne Lewis

 

 

 

Blodeuwedd ensorcelled by Gwydion

And so I went into the owl.

Eyes, green as moss,
darken to black. Oak tassels
spell-woven to feathers.
A blossom-soft body
wrath-scorches to brown.
Broom flowers harden to bone,
curve into beak, curl into talons.

Tiny red buds now remnants
of mouse, packed into pellets.
They stick in my craw,
spit out as vomit.

Shunned by sparrows, harried by crows,
doomed to fly lonely at night.

When he rides his spurs
through night-sighing woods
I loom out of trees,
my meadow-sweet face
moon-bright and savage.

 

 

Iris Anne Lewis is widely published. Featured in Black Bough Poetry and Poetry Wales she has won or been placed in many competitions. Her first collection Amber is available from Amazon or contact her on @irisannelewis.bskysocial; X and Instagram @irisannelewis.

Simon Williams

What were these fairies called
before we knew of hummingbirds?
Bumblebee moth because of the size?
Reed-nose moth because of the proboscis?

Daniel Sluman

just as the night sky shifts
beyond the minds

of the animals outside

the ceilings
we are pressed beneath change

in aspect & colour

Farah Ali

Notes from nature on how to survive this:
 
1. Learn crypsis and mimesis be a gecko or a mossy frog
 
2. Method actors sway like dead-leaf mantises on branches