Today’s choice
Previous poems
Stephen C. Curro
calm river
again, his fishing line
caught on a tree
*
raindrops slide
down the window
death in the family
*
thick clouds
snowflakes dot
my dog’s fur
*
breaking clouds
flower petals pasted
to my windshield
*
Christmas dinner
with Mom’s new boyfriend
empty wine glass
*
scent of sage
desert clay disturbed
by footprints
Stephen C. Curro lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, USA, where he works as an educator. His fiction and poetry have appeared with Acorn, Scifaikuest, and Factor Four Magazine, among other venues. When he isn’t writing or working, he’s most likely reading a good book or watching bad monster movies. You can read more of his work at www.stephenccurro.com
David Thompson
Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.
Marcelle Newbold
Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness
perhaps enough solidness to knife
through a banana or other soft fruit
Britta Giersche
a wooden door slams shut in my brain
a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago
Abby Crawford
When I was born
the house was full
of stones, an old blacksmiths shed.
Rachael Clyne
And if a land loses its people and they
are exiled will a land feel their absence
Tom Nutting
They have been burying us,
not realising
we were seeds
of revolution.
Emily A. Taylor
I move my hand long
so yours will follow, and though
this moment tastes of tequila soda
paracetamol pillowed on a fizzing tongue
amnesia… pull me in anyway.
Steph Morris
No way would they let him keep that tag. They saw
a boy they must rename, must mark
from them, a boy whose limbs folded far too gently,
Eryn McDonald
It is here that the day breaks apart
Like ice on frustrated frozen pond
Here in the grounds of Ashton Court
I wish to bury myself amongst the green