Today’s choice
Previous poems
Clara Howell
The Basement
The way a halved peach breathes, then rots
from the inside out.
Her tongue, a swollen garden of secrets.
The corners of her eyes
reach toward her burning shoulders.
Clara Howell is a poet born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. Clara finds poetry as an opportunity to connect the ordinary with the extraordinary by putting her most honest and raw experiences on the page. Clara’s work has been previously published in Shot Glass Journal (Muse Pie Press), Anti-Heroin Chic, Cathexis Northwest Press, Route 7 Review and The Orchards Poetry Journal.
Sally Michaelson on Holocaust Memorial Day
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Anna Saunders
Telling the Bees Little vials into which the sun has poured I tell you all I know about the failing crop, a marriage party, a stricken cow. Last summer I tied a ribbon to the top of your home, whispered with a sweet tongue that a new master had come....
Andrew Nightingale
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David Belcher
A defence against all sabotage I shake out the creases from my coat, and climb the hundred steps leading to the feet of a bronze giant, its right hand raised, welcoming. I’m meant to lift my eyes, to take in its magnificence, to be stirred up into...
Holly Conant
The Slip Hold on tight to my writing hand, darling boy. Who knows how many words I have left. Don’t let me give them all to the page. Holly Conant is a new writer and mature student, currently studying at the University of Leeds. Her poems...
Sidrah Zubair
IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED We have detected a trojan virus! I have developed affinities for dying in peculiar ways such as being choked by the moonlight’s shaking hands or swallowing a cup of live rattlesnake babies Personal and banking information is at...
Jenny Mitchell
Vanishing Mother A jar of Pond’s cold cream glows in amongst her female debris on the dressing table; talc sprinkled with a lipstick smear across a comb. Tissues fluff out of a slit – half-done magic trick beneath a heart-shaped mirror, picturing the...
Caleb Parkin
Ecco the Dolphin Sega Megadrive, 1992 Ecco roves immaculate 16-bit oceans, pierces through jellyfish sparkling their assigned scores. Ecco rotates side on, a perpetual loading icon, flips through scrolling screens of digital habitat. Ecco is neat between...
Antonela Pallini-Zemin
Mix & Match but what if we mixed the smoke of my incense sticks & the smoke of your rolled-up happiness in a room only suitable for two? what if we mixed & matched your hundred fingers with my four fingerprints? what if we let my kundalini...