Today’s choice
Previous poems
Kevin Denwood
After the Fall
The dead flies collected
on the windowsill
like punctuation.
Black corpses
against
flaking white gloss,
dotted
like bombs falling
over London
or Berlin.
Tiny UXBs
lying
waiting
wanting
to explode
back into life.
Kevin Denwood is a poet based near Carlisle. His work has appeared in Ink Sweat & Tears, Free the Verse and Poems, Tales & Other English Words. He writes about memory, ordinary objects and the peculiarities hiding in everyday life.
Jenny Hockey
Crouched above the stream he dug,
known by his kid-along brother
as the dry gulch, its circulation pump
rarely switched on
Hannah Coyle
Peach skin wrists,
Watch persists
Her through time
Suffusing.
Mike Anderton
The peach stone is in my pocket.
I keep rubbing it
while you talk about rain.
Anthony Lawrence
One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver
on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown
against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin.
Ewen Glass
Listening to a memoir
and discovering the writer’s dog
is on the same SSRI as you
is an odd feeling;
Raluca David
You said you’d never die
here.
Tony D’Arpino
like a lover
the bee visits the tree
every day
Sam Szanto
He had been told the trolley
would be in the corridor at noon.
He could get sandwiches.
It was normally for mothers only
Tess Jolly
When I went round the next day
with a bottle of wine, his wife said
he was bruised down both sides