Today’s choice

Previous poems

Gwil James Thomas

 

 

 

The Art of Walking Nowhere

Terrestrial locomotion
across concrete,
the inverted pendulum,
moving flesh and boot –
the touchdown
softened by slightly
worn inner soles.

Fascinated by gum stained slabs,
I sidestep snails and ants
and cut through the park,
before I cross a discarded plank
over the puddle to the exit –
some risks pay off,
if we can just keep moving.

With the sun on my body,
I shoegaze without sound  –
going nowhere in particular.

When I’m dead –
even this I will miss.

 

 

Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician from Bristol, England. Over the years his poetry has been published by Tangerine Press, Vipers Tongue, Paper and Ink and River Dog Zine, amongst others. IG: @gwiljamesthomas

Anne Ryland

Restless two-hundred-year-old village elder,
a ragged playground of words, or is it weeds –
fragments of chant to slaps of skipping rope.

Tim Brookes

In the charity shop I try on a coat
flocked with fake shearling,
shaved-soft almost: fibres
fired onto plastic to fool the wrist.

Kim Waters

You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,

Sylvie Jane Lewis

Being quiet and easily tired by being alive among people, I take
the cowardly route to community. I curate a digital garden of oddity.

At best my phone is a menagerie of queers: trinket makers, amateur
playwrights, witches, and, over and over again, my own personal monarchy.