Today’s choice
Previous poems
Carson Wolfe
At Casa Diablo: Portland’s World Infamous Vegan Strip Club
I owned a g-string like this,
the back connected by a rhinestone butterfly.
Starved myself at school to save
my dinner money, bought it from Poundland.
Prized, peeping above my gym shorts on the netball court,
bewitching the boy sat behind me in chemistry.
When Kacy ran away from home she admired the satin cerise,
slutty Swarovski glittering my underwear drawer.
This time, she said, I’m not going back. I never saw inside her house
but I know there was a blue room, I know what happened in it.
We hid from her curfew in Gorse Hill Park, her puffa coat
snagged by brambles as she crouched to claw her way into a bush;
that’s when I saw it, the glint of my butterfly on her tailbone,
twinkling in the ray of my torch beam—I walked off, left her there.
Now I’ve lived a decade beyond her death
this is how she comes to me
in the angel pop of something delicate
catching the light.
Carson Wolfe is a Mancunian poet and Grand Prize Winner of The Disquiet Literary Program 2024. Their work has appeared with POETRY, The Rumpus, The Common, and Rattle. In 2023, they won New Writing North’s Debut Poetry Prize, received awards from The Aurora Poetry Prize, The Edward Thomas Fellowship, and were longlisted in The Poetry Society’s National Competition. They are the author of two chapbooks, Boy(ish), and Coin Laundry at Midnight. Their debut full collection Gone Thing is forthcoming with Write Bloody UK in 2027.
Steve Komarnyckyj, Anna Bowles and Lynnda Wardle for Holocaust Memorial Day
where I saw you praying through the angle of the door
Now hangs only in my mind I breathe on its glass wipe away fly specks
Annie Wright
Sing silver times, shimmering columns
of light on the wine-dark, temple
to moon-eyed Hecate, the insatiable.
Magnus McDowall
We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road,
two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell.
We were talking from the chest, walking backwards
crackling air above our heads like streetlights
Yucheng Tao
But look here, I turned my head
and discovered the Denver Museum
waiting,
nerve, a soft-boned
species hums
Sarah Boyd
He’s a house of cards, a delicately balanced pyramid
held together by hearing aids and dusty bifocals and
wobbling dentures and ageing pacemaker and
shirt with three buttons missing in action and
Samantha Carr
You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an
aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps
Helen Akers
we’re trying to construct a frame for this
‘highly reactive impulsive emotion’
the nurse is looking into it
Jenny Robb
By the light of a wolf moon,
my father turns mad.
Anne whispers to a girl in the wind,
and a friend blows into my life.
Diane Webster
Squirrels dream of a cougar,
a cougar given permission
to crouch like an assassin
awaiting its prey . . .