Today’s choice

Previous poems

Hannah Ward

 

 

 

Under The Plum Tree
Look, Drew, the
plums are in
pieces beneath
us. I dreamt:
you let the
sweet ones rot
at the bottom
of your pocket,
sagging like
the canopy.
Hannah is thirty feet long in a field of dandelions, waving hello.

Mark A. Murphy

      If You / Then We If you are leaving Mohr and Mohme for Brighton then we are iron and steam and if you are walking alone at night then we are moon and Dog Star and if you are suffering with first-night nerves then we are Hamlet and Ophelia and if...

Julian Brasington

      Home to the Hebrides Where are you running to what are you looking for rooting in other people’s abandonments scraping time off the earth into spoil for stone some sign of burning a flicker of bone someone’s life to ponder their gut to digest...

Joseph Cooper

      medusa the narcissist self-preservation is really something ongoing and terminal they loved taxes they loved death certain things create an emotional reaction self-contemplation is coldly detached apparently the inevitable end of introspection led...

Finola Scott

      Tell me again in this ragged midnight that intimacy will endure waters aren't rising and tomorrow the fritillary butterfly will graze my garden tell me that passion is not merely nocturnal but a tsunami of connection    no stormy tea-cup but the...

Gary Jude

      Birds Everyone held a bird, except you. A policeman eyed you suspiciously. You followed the crowd into the square. When the clock struck noon, everyone lifted their bird aloft. Some snapped necks and wings, or let their bird fly. A wife watched...

Fiona Theokritoff

      Smickling I am as useless as a coronet, have lost a shoal of bloodied runts. Who shall assist me? Perhaps a ripe and red-faced peasant with more brats than she can raise. I need her shoes, I need a charm to stick what quickens to its cage. Perhaps...

Mark Valentine

      The Road to Chalvington at Dusk Cast out from Eden he journeyed along the roads of dog-rose in the cloaky overcoat of good tweed and lit a cigarette cupped against the wind so that his fingers glowed and took that first best draught of it and...

Alan Dunnett

      Descent Into Hades In order to discover what took place, I eventually made a descent by slow ratcheting, hard and easy, caught at last by the moment despite warnings and my own considerations. Your face appears before me and your will, unbent at...