Today’s choice

Previous poems

Audrey Cotterell

 

 

 

A November anniversary

In a corner chapel of the abbey
I lit a small candle, and sent the flame
as a message only half composed
to somewhere I hardly believed in.

Room is restricted on the ferry:
six cars, a few pedestrians and dogs,
all of us looking across the water
at the estuary’s other bank coming closer.

Even if the river’s unwrinkled, the crossing smooth
and it doesn’t take too much waiting
to get to the opposite side
lighting a candle is never straightforward.

 

 

Audrey Cotterell lives in Sussex. Her work was long listed for the Winchester Poetry Prize in 2024, and has been published in London Grip.

Gary Akroyde

We searched for it

through the tarmac in every rain-bruised sky
in dark Pennine shadows where great mills

spewed out ringlets of ghost-grey fog

Nathan Curnow

I like to think it’s a story about himself and Einstein
floating in zero gravity, Albert sailing through the capsule
toward his drifting pipe, Brian playing We Will Rock You—

Ash Bowden

Out again with the pitchfork churning 
compost into the old green bin, stinking
and silent as an ancient earthen vat.

Mallika Bhaumik

This is not a frilly, mushy love letter 
to a city whose allure lies in defying all labels and holding the mystery key to a man’s heart, though none has ever been able to lay an absolute claim on it, 

Jena Woodhouse

Around midnight, the hour when pain
reasserts its dominance, a voice
behind the curtain screening
my bed from the next patient’s:
an intonation penetrating abstract thoughts

Anyonita Green

It wobbles slightly, red wine jelly.

I peer at it, nose close enough 

to smell the iron, the scent of coagulant,

inhaling through slightly parted lips