Today’s choice
Previous poems
Adam Strickson
Remedial
‘Intended for school students
who have not achieved the level
of necessary attainment’
He couldn’t play rugby – the oval slithered away
whenever he touched it and he fell in the mud
or more often was pushed with some viciousness.
One match as hooker and he was quickly unhooked,
dumped like a take-out tray chucked from a car.
He wouldn’t play cricket, knew the brutal sphere
held the force of musket bullets from Cromwell’s army
that once splintered the stones of Trinity’s church walls.
He’d seen the hard-red slam into a boy’s forehead
and drop him like an infantryman shot on the Somme.
All that was left on Friday afternoons – since his flute
playing was too whistly for the rump of an orchestra –
was ‘remedial basketball’, a sop for the sport-dumb
who would grow up to be lavatory cleaners, or poets,
yet still the ball was too heavy and the wrong shape;
it slipped from his hands like an oiled watermelon
and he was still pushed, still unhooked, a boy-mouse.
When just once he hit the backboard with the ball,
it missed the net, dripped like custard to the floor.
He’d heard of the Globetrotters, men taller than transit vans
with splayed hands that could slap stallions to the ground
so he trotted around, and once or twice feebly bounced
the black-veined orange monster, till it was time for the bus
and he could avoid balls of any shape or size for another week.
Adam Strickson has been published by Valley Press, Graft and Wrecking Ball. He has also been Poet in Residence for Ilkley Literature Festival and lives in West Yorkshire. He is a writer, a theatre director & a puppet maker, currently working with Balbir Singh Dance Company.
Jemilea Wisdom-Baako
It didn’t make me a woman darkened school skirt pleats the pungent smell of loss this initiation a twelve year olds guide to becoming ashamed it didn’t make me weak they...
Zelda Cahill-Patten
Street-preacher She looks at me with that fearsome oil-sheen in her eyes, the weighty conviction of milk-heavy gaze and breasts, telling me (the spittle-flecked words like Words made flesh) of her Father, how he is unseen, felt unstirring in the...
Maeve McKenna
Dream State Covers tight as clingfilm. Tell them you fell headfirst, steadied yourself, sucked out what was left in your throat, coughed that creamy polyethylene onto the pillow. Eyeballs infused with miniature blue irises plunge into the well....
Abigail Elizabeth Ottley
Widows Walk Evenings she puts on her second-best hat skewered with a tortoise shell pin, buttons up her heart in a mauve mohair coat sallies forth to pick a bone with the moon. On the red-leaded step she scans the stars imagines them white sparks...
Guy Elston
You Call This Summer More like a chicken bone tossed to a pigeon. More like a half-portion of peanut butter slicked in the jar we never throw out. I pedal through birds in Tommy Thompson, all strong enough to fly south soon – if I check the water...
Yuanbing Zhang translates Hongri Yuan
My Heaven is Inside My Body My heaven is inside my body, my heaven is a great many, like stars in the night sky, with silver towers, huge edifices that look like sapphires, golden palaces, gardens of crystal. My body is bigger than the universe,...
Day Seven of ‘Choice’ for NPD: ibizo lami, Stephen Walrond and Saleha
Play Partner It is never easy, spotting the red flags, amidst the intense joy, and very high highs of exploring a new partner. A mind is filled with thoughts. Like a seesaw, it tips Left, right, left, right Stay, go, stay, go. Go. You know what...
Day Six of ‘Choice’ for NPD: Adam Horovitz, Sibyl Ruth, Sue Finch, Amlanjyoti Goswami
Wile E. Coyote Pauses for Thought All these unthinking technocratic years shooting myself from giant rubber bands and pawing vitamins –the kind that build your limbs into flexible hillsides– down my ravenous throat and here I still am, a blurring...
Day Five of ‘Choice’ for NPD: Anne Symons, Alwyn Marriage, Vinita Agrawal, Carole Bromley
Invitation The flamingoes are waiting, poised pink rippling across the water. Bubbles rise around my feet disturbing frogs and fish. I balance on one leg to show that I am good enough to be a bird. Hands on hips, I flex my elbows, lower my shoulders,...