Today’s choice
Previous poems
Phil Vernon
Something (almost) understood
Firle Beacon, South Downs
These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here,
but hide their mysteries in riddles: how
whole flints were wrapped – by nature’s sleight of hand –
in chalk laid down as plankton long ago,
how giants squeezed the land to form a dome
aeons of wind and rain made disappear,
why hills were shaped with steep or shallow sides,
how minor streams once cut their way through towering
tons of rock and soil to reach the sea,
how continents and islands drifted casually;
why ancient people scraped and heaped the earth
to make these hilltop mounds now overgrown;
why this stone church fell into disrepair.
Did prophets and messiah walk where books describe,
know what we’re told – and wish to believe – they knew?
Did what they said mean what we read or hear?
And did they speak with whom the writings say?
Did simple silence also serve as prayer,
as simple silence serves, up here, today?
Phil Vernon is retired, after an international peacebuilding and humanitarian career. His most recent collection is Guerilla Country (Flight of the Dragonfly, 2024). www.philvernon.net
Ibrar Sami
Across the barren land
where blood once played its savage Holi,
the fearless migratory birds
have returned again.
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
Soledad Santana
Seen as she’d hung her cranial lantern
from the roof of her step-father’s garden shed,
the parabolic formula was skipped; like two calves, we followed the fence
to the end of the foot-ball pitch.
Claire Harnett-Mann
Behind the block, the night tears in scrub-calls.
Fox kill scores the morning,
ripped by prints in muck.
Hedy Hume
Stepping into the opposing seat
I smile, and the look I receive
Makes me feel the antisocial one.
Matthew F. Amati
Hands said to Head
look what you’ve made me do
it’s not me, Head said, talk to
Heart, that guy’s sick
Mariam Saidan
‘Female singing constitutes a ‘forbidden act’ (ḥarām),
punishable under Article 638 of the Islamic Penal Code.’
Meg Pokrass
This is what happens when she sits alone in her dining room, eating smoked trout and canned sardines.
Chen-ou Liu
this fresh morning
so much like the others …
yet starlings shape-shift