Today’s choice
Previous poems
Daniel Rye
Fuglafjørður
I
This curved town
exhales fishy breath
gusted in tons
from berthed trawlers
gashing the quay
the north hauled to land
groceries shopped into cars
with studded tyres grinding
their knuckles home
lit by Christmas lights
rigging a netted constellation
from boat to house
II
When did the slowness
of this afternoon
merge with the chugging
boat engine in the harbour?
Metallic hammering and
calls of feeding gulls
chime out spells of work.
An elderly man in
peaked cap throws
a plastic hoop
up the bank towards
the school
where no children
are playing.
The town held still
between lowering cloud
and rippling fjord.
we have
all the time
we need
all the time
we have
Daniel Rye is a poet and musician living in the Faroe Islands. His writing reflects the experience of living in a country where you are never more than 5 kilometres away from the sea.
Pat Edwards
Watching the ‘Strictly’ Results Show on a Sunday night
Knowing what we know about the pain of the world,
who wins and who loses might feel like a betrayal.
Rebecca Gethin
Oh walk with me up the slippery lane
when the frost has turned to ice.
Jean Atkin
Wear a coat, you’ll pass through light rain at the wood-edge
under Helmeth. Sing loudly, so the snakes can hear you.
Caleb Parkin
Nature Is Healing
It constructs membranes
between its most powerful organs,
filters pathogens hidden in boats.
Sue Butler
When I read my poem about stretch marks
you said it was a funny thing
to write about. I felt a flare,
low down, an orange hazed ember
you’d have to blow into life.
Susan Darlington
. . . On the edge
of sleep it comes snuffling
through leaf litter and we forget
bed; the cold prickling
our bones.
Dechen Shaw
Monks spend days shaping mandalas
with coloured sand in intricate lines
as an offering, then blow them away.
Andrew Cannon
Wait, I’m talking.
It’s my turn.
Be patient.
It takes me a while.
I have to work it out.
Rhian Parker, Madailín Burnhope and mithago on Trans Day of Visibility
Your focused eyes on a box of plantain.
Deep concentration making them filled
more brown than white.
A different mouth asks if they sell iru.
-Rhian Parker
My cockatiel, Pippin, has learned to listen
for that particular resigned sigh of the bus
as it passes the living room window
and shrieks whenever he hears it.
-Madailín Burnhope
you wanna know if it screams like a man or a girl?
i want to rip a throat out
teeth bared
growling
guttural
it builds in the back of my throat
i scream like an animal
sick of losing siblings
-mithago