Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jim Paterson
One For The Crow
A Tuesday morning in November
out on the street taking in the bins.
As a flight of crows flashed past
the street lights went out.
My neighbour, very good at counting,
said it was a coincidence,
but it looked as if the crows
put the lights out.
I asked him to put a figure
on how sure he was of that.
Jim Paterson worked in the Scottish Highlands for many years, now living in Perpignan, France. Recent work in City of Poets, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Poetry Bus, Antae Journal. Two pamphlets, Grit 1 and 2, upcoming book, RSVP, with Michel Borla. https://jwdpaterson.wordpress.
Josephine Balmer
Shadowtime Romney Marsh, Kent, February, 1287 That night a slice of moon rose, mottled red like a scratched wound. The sea was torched, wind-charged. We heard the tide roar twice across the Marsh and knew it was here, the hour of the dead. Hulls...
Chris Cusack
from: Seize i. I fear my poor old soul may be a fixer upper. I strive to find out – it’s that forensic streak I have, I suppose – by too often drinking on an empty stomach. There’s a view afoot, I think, that a proper soul needs proper seasoning....
Mick Gidley
Home Front For days after the children leave for their homes in the South we discover unexcavated battlefields, nonsensical as Towton. Small formations of infantrymen guard the lower book-case shelves, lone snipers lurk behind the curtains, and...
Alison Cohen
Roses The postman was my friend, rang the bell, wouldn’t leave until he’d reached me, handed me broken stems of roses — thorny with their heads at crooked angles, buds that tried but only turned to rusty paper. They’d found you by the postbox...
Paul Stephenson
Voicemail Sarah is away next week so would like to speak to me today if it’s convenient and not too much trouble. She wants to go over some of the finer details and explain how things will generally go from here. Sarah needs to check she’s...
Olga Dermott
Seagulls They would shred morning open from 3 a.m, jangling keys in their beaks, an hour after the last scatter of drunks had sung their way home. Every layer of black plastic flayed, pavements strewn with rot, the week split open like the belly...
Adrian Slatcher
Miss Blackbird Good morning bird I hear a blackbird in the morning I hear a blackbird in the morning Sat out eating my breakfast I see a blackbird in the morning I see a blackbird in the morning Gathering sticks and twigs I smile at a blackbird in...
Emily Wilkinson
Coffin Road Boots and minds pound heavy up the steep grassy track. We speak of how many men it would take to shoulder grief’s weight, pale with effort and the thought of body within box hauled high over stone, ground and mud. It is hard enough to...
Josie Moon
from Ache After the world ended A rain of fire woke the night. Under blazing umbrellas a rat-like scurry ensued. Dawn rose bleak; the sun eclipsed by a black ring, a circle of surprise. From the sky came a red mare riding the clouds, descending on...