Today’s choice
Previous poems
Lindsay McLeod Espinoza
Notes on Liminal Maps
Venus passed over the south node of the Moon today:
I don’t know what this means but I do know that dark
tons of metal carved a curve slower than belief
through dusking light beneath grey under-bellied
clouds as she held court above in that cold
filled blue space between them.
Lindsay McLeod Espinoza is a Scottish somatic educator and writer, living in Andalucia, Spain. Her work has been published in Ambient Receiver, Dialect anthology and long-listed for the Rialto prize and Poetry London Presents. She can be found online @gurubody.
Isabelle Thompson
Minimalist you play me Philip Glass on video call behind you I see trees in motion stopping and starting as the connection wavers the green fronds repeat the same movement minutely varied and the music builds its slender momentum there is so much...
Chloe Elliott
grey pennant [as taken from Dulux Paint] speaks easy. vomits up love, that pigeon wing cootie catcher. how easy – run of garlic like a spat-out oyster on bruschetta. I snap the necks of all the men in my life and they fizz. fluster out like the...
Rachel Burns
Duplex: Horses after Jericho Brown Horse running wild through post code black spots hooves ringing out through sink bin streets echoing through the ginnel, the red brick streets my last address I saw wild horses my last address, horses, horses,...
Tim Relf
Molehills Moles, my neighbour calls through a hole in the hedge the day we move in – we’ve got moles. I jump up and down on their molehills, he says. Doesn’t do any good, but it makes me feel better. Bin day’s Thursday – black bins this week,...
Gillie Robic
Traffic Your name kicks my arse nearly as far as the roundabout where Jenny and Kim lounge on the grass trying to get a tan. Fate gave them their pasty skin, or their parents did anyway, emoting shut-eyed karaoke in the snug of their local...
Ruth Beddow
Does it hurt? You were lying when you said it wouldn’t – the measles vaccine, the own brand tampon, rows of dead jellyfish on Dyffryn beach. Leaving that place to come home each summer, leaving home at the end of that summer and never coming back....
Julian Brasington
In a moment of absence The road whispers in a language not heard these seventy years the sea eats only its pebbles and can be heard calling its kinfolk who listen can listen now the sea can be heard and all the candy floss falls strangely silent...
Rachel Cleverly
Back to Work This morning I made eye contact with myself for the entirety of a 48-minute video interview. My manager asked me where I see myself in five years’ time. My Mum says I am careless. I forget to switch off the hob, walk around with my...
Jayant Kashyap
’Twas a long summer of thin air after Vera Iliatova’s ‘Cruel Month’ (2010) Of a drier Sahara. Of the sun living late into the nights; waking before dawn. Of cattledeaths and heatstrokes. Of brown cities in a gas chamber. Of distant, trailing...