Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sue Moules
BLACKBIRD IN THE EARLY MORNING
Sings at the top of the bare-branched tree
an aubade to morning
welcomes the light,
early spring, season of nest-making.
This melody is not for me
but to attract a mate.
I walk the dog under the dulcet notes
and think he sings for me.
Blackbird on the verge
gathers small sticks in his orange beak,
lifts into the sky where
tree branches hold shapes of air.
Blackbird tugging worms out of grass
to feed his young,
always singing even at night
falling notes of: keep away, keep away.
Sue Moules has been published in New Welsh Review, Planet, Poetry Wales, and Ambit. She also has poems included in the International Women’s Day anthology (Welsh Women’s Coalition 2010), By Ways Anthology (Arachne ) 2024, and Words on Troubled Waters (Lutra Press) 2024. Her poem ‘Walking the Whippet’ was chosen for Brighton and Hove Poems on the Buses (2024). Her most recent collection is The Moth Box (Parthian).
Bob King
The first wristwatch was first worn
in 1810, despite what old turn-it-up
Flintstones episodes might have you
believe.
Brandon Arnold
Alone, I drive along the midnight, winter road. My left hand at the 12 o’clock position of the steering wheel. And I coast. I let out the day’s long breath, which started out today as a sigh.
Steph Ellen Feeney
My mother is here, and might not have been,
so I hold things tighter:
the small-getting-smaller of her
running with my daughter down the beach . . .
Anna Fernandes
My stubby maroon glove spent a chill night
on the velvet ridge of Clent Hills
tangled in summer-dried grasses
Jo Eades
It’s Wednesday and / again / I’m laying pages of newspaper on the kitchen table / tipping up the food waste bin /
Sue Butler
We cultivate the knack
of getting down on the floor and
back up three or four times each day.
JLM Morton
In a dull sky
the guttering flame
of a white heron
Tonnie Richmond
We could tell there was something
we weren’t allowed to know. Something
kept hidden from us children
Morag Smith
When the waters broke we were
out there, borderless, with just
a view of bloodshot sky from
the labour suite