Today’s choice

Previous poems

Rich Yates

 

 

 

The Bird

The bird
crept up on him, threw its voice into an empty tree,

he started to notice the aliveness of things,
wondered how

he had slept through his adult life
without ever having inhabited a bush.

The bird
followed him into a glade, revealed

certain important objects, a surging eyeball,
fully encased, a weapons-grade flask, army slacks

ideal for losing himself in,
he was rabid for the hunt.

The bird
was pleased with his progress, sent dispatches to other birds

on how he filled the air
with a librarian’s conceit,

recorded everything
in notebooks and photographs, a wayward inheritance.

To his family
it was nothing more than the latest hobby,

but quietly, assuredly, on those hot and cold days,
he learnt

how to hold the enemy in his crosshairs
and choose mercy.

 

 

Rich Yates is working on his first collection of poetry. His poems have so far appeared in Viper’s Tongue magazine. He is a proud Essex boy, works in conservation where he can enjoy the quiet beauty of the saltmarsh, and is a keen musician.

Magnus McDowall

We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road,
two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell.

We were talking from the chest, walking backwards
crackling air above our heads like streetlights

Sarah Boyd

He’s a house of cards, a delicately balanced pyramid
held together by hearing aids and dusty bifocals and
wobbling dentures and ageing pacemaker and
shirt with three buttons missing in action and

Samantha Carr

You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an
aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps

Helen Akers

we’re trying to construct a frame for this
‘highly reactive impulsive emotion’
the nurse is looking into it   

Jenny Robb

By the light of a wolf moon,
my father turns mad.
Anne whispers to a girl in the wind,
and a friend blows into my life.