Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ryan O’Neill
at the drop-and-go
we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles
lift my case from the boot
practice my cold show face
drain emotion like wine from
the christmas market we bought crepes at
dropped a claw over a stuffed Pikachu
where you promised this would be our year
trace the rim of my glass at the airport bar
small wet moons form on the table
spidery foam dries on lip
departure board blinks i drop my empty
wave back at no-one like it’s winter jacket time
and cosy corner pubs helping me pack real slow
Ryan O’Neill is an Irish poet and writer from Cork, Ireland and based in Cardiff, Wales. His work has featured in Ink, Sweat & Tears and These Pages Sing and you can find him on both Instagram (roneill9414) and X (@Roneill1994).
Sandra Noel
The tide unpleats from her godet,
zig-zags in running stitch
round the base of the côtil.
Matthew Caley
supposedly: if I am to render
‘a man’ then
this ‘man’ must I guess resemble me‹›
Jenny Robb
The nun in charge of the children is thin, her back straight as punishment.
Ken Evans
You try doing star-jumps, steps,
or squats, in knee-high wellies.
Joe Williams
I was born in a town of shadows.
Anne Symons
She was only a little woman
five feet nothing in nylon stockings.
‘If I stood sideways they’d mark me absent.’
Ben
When she said ‘could’, it was clearly in italics
and when she said ‘one day’, the creak of glaciers
shuddered around its edges.
Dragana Lazici
the days are long but the years are short.
seconds are tiny kitchen knives in my back.
i stopped reading Dickinson, her voice is a sad parrot.
Abigail Ottley
Faces, unless they come swimming up close. are a blur of piggy-pink and ice-
cream. In the street, she doesn’t know, cannot be certain when to smile, when to
look away