Today’s choice

Previous poems

Patricia Minson

 

 

 

Wood Anemone

 

Between the trees dust shifts,
light fractures like a prism.
A cathedral silence greens the air.

The soil smells of damp books.

I see them — paper-thin,
spreading on the dark floor of the wood.
Still as a shut door.

Nothing moves —
not the nettles,
not even a rumour
of someone once there.

A nudge of wind tips
each flower cup.
They twitch, then settle …
like sleeves lined with lullabies.

White flicker. Then nothing.

No miracle. No change.

Just wind.
Just petals.
Just the usual business of vanishing —
a dry kind of wanting.

 

 

Patricia Minson is a writer and poet based in West Cornwall. Her work explores themes of inheritance, grief, and class, blending domestic detail with lyrical intensity. She was placed third in the 2025 Crysse Morrision Poetry Prize (Frome Festival), Highly Commended in the 2025 Wirral Poetry Festival Open Competition, and had two poems Commended in the 2025 South Downs Poetry Competiton.

Julian Dobson

Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain

is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging

Oliver Comins

Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.

George Turner

Some days, the privilege of living isn’t enough.
The weight of the kettle is unbearable. You leave the teabag
forlorn in the mug, unpoured.

Clive Donovan

If I were a ghost
I think I would shrink
and perch on wooden poles
and deco shades – get a good view
of what I am supposed to be haunting

Seán Street

There was a time when I took my radio
into the night wood and tuned its pyracantha
needle along the dial through noise jungles
to silent darkness at the waveband’s end.