Today’s choice
Previous poems
Chrissy Banks
Some of This Is True
Sun comes out, my body opens
all its folding doors, its windows.
Sun comes out, my body floats –
like feather, cirrus, floats across the grass.
Sun comes out. Under the apple tree
in the hammock, my body lays me down.
Sun comes out, my body sighs –
or purrs maybe – yes purrs.
My love returning home comes wandering
to where my body stretches out..
He brings me mango juice
brings plump black cherries.
He strokes the fur on my arm.
Chrissy Banks lives in Exeter and co-hosts Uncut Poets. The Uninvited is available from Indigo Dreams and Frank, from Smith/Doorstop. She won third prize in the Bridport Poetry Competition 2024. She has been published in Penumbra, Frosted Fire and Under the Radar.
Kate Hendry
So what if there’s a dead patch.
Remember the havoc
unfettered fire makes –
Christtie Jay
My Lord, let the record show
she remembered everyone else
before this. If you must, take her
in teaspoons
May Grier
I wasn’t to know
that it was a three-tusked
beast; that there was not one,
not two, but three
that grew the seed of me.
Daniel Hill
On her first day home, she took
to plucking the sky with tweezers—
latched on to clouds and waited
Sheila Saunders
Which is the subject?
Limp-leaved yucca
reluctantly dying,
the foreground figure
in its stony pot?
Trelawney
What is holding you back from building your wormery?
You can’t say there isn’t the time. Everyone has the time
when it comes to a wormery. Born with the right tools to hand.
David Van-Cauter
…4am and the birdsong begins, a wet January in a new city and I’m alone watching a man in Minnesota, murdered for protecting a woman from a fascist hit squad. . .
Tim Dwyer
Unexpectedly
My neighbour
opens her window
for fresh salty air
Paul Moclair
Their shore leave over,
. . . the spirits of the dead are bid farewell
until that time next year, when ritual
grants them reprieve again.