Today’s choice

Previous poems

Gemma Blakeley

 

 

 

My Dad Complains That The Hedges Are Overgrown

and the word bemuses me, implying as it does
the concept of excess in what can only be good.

Why do we crave these straight lines and
clean edges? The hedge itself

is a border, a defining.
A this is mine.
And this is yours.
A there and here.
An us and them.

Why not let it keep a little wildness?

Not for me this lopping and shaping,
this trimming and taming,
ruling and restricting-

Hear this- there are things
which cannot be governed, like
certain tendrilous tendencies
of a hedgerow heart
and those sacred things which live inside…

Father, I will not reach for the blade.
There is no such thing as too alive.

 

 

Gemma Blakeley is a teacher, mother, nature-lover and aspiring writer. She will have her first poetry published in Black Bough Poetry‘s Winter 2026 Anthology later this year. She lives in Shropshire with her husband, two children and the cat.

Amirah Al Wassif

Beneath my armpit lives a Sinbad the size of a thumb.
His imagination feeds through an umbilical cord tied to my womb.
Now and then, people hear him speaking through a giant microphone—
Singing,
Cracking jokes,

Mark Smith

In the portacabin that morning, men smoked
and looked at last week’s paper again.
There was no water to fill the urn.
The first job – to get connected

Toby Cotton

A blustery day –
the wind too strong for kites
or for lifts to the sky.
“To a thoughtful spot,” it cites
and pins me to the earth.

Jane Frank

The leaves are a colour you’ve never seen
but that I will learn to expect
and there’s a fracas-induced full moon