Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sandra Noel
All that unpicking at the mercy of wind
The tide unpleats from her godet,
zig-zags in running stitch
round the base of the côtil.
Her quick fingers unravel raw edges,
unpin seed potatoes,
rip daffodil seams.
She pulls hems from fence posts,
tacks white sides of sheep,
chalking rows in double backstitch.
Grey folk watch from the ferry.
She gathers up the red sky,
turns it inside out.
Sandra Noel is a Jersey born poet with a passion for the sea. She has poems in magazines and anthologies throughout the UK. Her debut collection Into The Under was published in July 2024 by Yaffle’s Nest, Yaffle Press.
Laura Stanley
Tomorrow Tomorrow the birds reverse. Owls swing from branches, geese fly bellies to the sky, and pigeons shuffle ‘round roads on their backs. Tomorrow twitter explodes. Soaring views on videos. Televised debates. Think-pieces. Memes. Tomorrow...
Eilín de Paor
You, with the Lego Grip around your Pint We feel you overseeing, through the thrashing of the dancers – weighing, sizing, rating like a coil-sprung cat. From the comfort of your bar stool, your scalpel gaze dissects us, discards the parts deemed...
Lucy Ashe
Dressed For hundreds of years I’ve been trying to get out That door. The front door. The one onto the High Street. At the end of the Dark Ages I make my first attempt. But Gilded net cauls, caging my ears, Catch on the door frame. I try again,...
Emily Bell
A night at St Thomas’ Church, Friarmere At first I’m afraid of the church’s dark eyes, thick leaded lines drawn chaotically in illegible strokes against dull brightness, darkness visible within and without. I can’t enter here— In daylight it’s no...
Anjana Basu
Sunday Thunder Something is angry behind the blue sunlit sky a growl crows fluttering in confusion and the wind tugging at my heels The scowl overhead Night growl from the blackness beyond something is angry Something behind the sky is angry...
Bert Molsom
Beside the Clun 10th March No bright sun this morning to paint the tops of the valley houses. The edges of the view blurred by the stagnant mist. Dawn is still recognised by birds, pheasants defining their territory, robin, blackbird, thrush...
Jenny Hockey
Holiday Cottage Remember I sat on the grass and sobbed, dust coating the shack’s three rooms, its festering rugs? Dishes not done. A valley view? All we could see was the wood and a lav in a hut fifty yards off. Water fetched from a stream and...
Saba Khaliq
Hanging with a Baby Serpent I’d like to believe my first dream was mystic I’d like to believe I was born good though naked Like the slimy baby serpent Slithering and hissing just to know himself Cracking and coiling in monsoon muds No pretence for...
Janet Harper
Snake I took a photo of a small snake on a path. Printed it in black and white to know its hexagons to understand its head, its tail. To conjure the moment when maybe I could hear it breathe, could have followed it into the smooth undertow of the...