Today’s choice

Previous poems

Patricia Minson

 

 

 

Wood Anemone

 

Between the trees dust shifts,
light fractures like a prism.
A cathedral silence greens the air.

The soil smells of damp books.

I see them — paper-thin,
spreading on the dark floor of the wood.
Still as a shut door.

Nothing moves —
not the nettles,
not even a rumour
of someone once there.

A nudge of wind tips
each flower cup.
They twitch, then settle …
like sleeves lined with lullabies.

White flicker. Then nothing.

No miracle. No change.

Just wind.
Just petals.
Just the usual business of vanishing —
a dry kind of wanting.

 

 

Patricia Minson is a writer and poet based in West Cornwall. Her work explores themes of inheritance, grief, and class, blending domestic detail with lyrical intensity. She was placed third in the 2025 Crysse Morrision Poetry Prize (Frome Festival), Highly Commended in the 2025 Wirral Poetry Festival Open Competition, and had two poems Commended in the 2025 South Downs Poetry Competiton.

Mara Adamitz Scrupe

on that new broke land           I don’t anymore

recall               there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow

a grove named & a bird’s sternum

Bill Greenwell

Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.

Gabriel Moreno

It’s hard to say what he did, my father.
His shoulders portaged crates,
he captained boats in the night,
chocolate eggs would appear
which smelt of ChefChaouen.