Today’s choice

Previous poems

Bel Wallace

by | Jan 2, 2026 | ,

 

 

 

Interior

My dear, I washed you out of my sheets.
And now I sleep softly in them.
My dreams are sweet and free.

I opened the windows to air out
your smoke. I liked it for a while, how
it held the past in its wispy fingers.

I emptied your cigarette butts
from my ashtray. The Cuban one, heavy.
Remember? It waited a half-life for you.

I scoured your dense coffee
from my cups. You broke one. Elegant,
with painted roses. It doesn’t matter.

I threw away your shoes. Every time,
you left a pair behind, like two footprints
in ancient rocks.

I put back the furniture you’d rearranged,
restored my writing corner. Low sun
streams in, now we’re past the Equinox.

And still, my love, our dead skin cells
persist. We mingle in the house-dust,
dancing in the slow winter sunlight.

 

 

Bel Wallace‘s poetry has been short-listed for the Bridport Prize, nominated for the Pushcart and published in a range of journals, most recently Anthropocene, Magma and Under the Radar. She’s trying to finish her first novel, but keeps getting distracted by poetry.

Iris Anne Lewis

by | Oct 11, 2020 | ,

      That Night   Why did the swans hiss that night? He comes from the river, he comes from the lake Why did the wind howl that night? He heaves it down, he hauls it in Why did the moon glow red that night? He seeks her out, he hunts her down Why did...

Amy Rafferty

by | Oct 10, 2020 | ,

      Here Come the Crows I drew a sudden dark line under it all. Emphatically, and with the fulsome flourish of a full stop dot. Knowing that this was not what I wanted: the rows of chimney pots, red-rouged and boring in the dreich, mossed and...

Angela Readman

by | Oct 9, 2020 | ,

      The Survivalist’s Guide to Love The personals sounded survivalist, after. We were still searching, but we offered love like an island someone may wind up stranded on. I have fish fingers, but no bread…There are eggs in my fridge I’ve painted with...