Today’s choice
Previous poems
Gail Webb
Something Missing
He cuts. I lie still, teach myself
to dream of St David’s Bay,
seaweed strewn on incoming tides,
surfers slice big waves in half.
He butchers with hammer, saw.
No nightmares, though he says
it’s possible-you could wake
in the middle of the operation,
stirred by loud banging. I advise
him to knock me out good
and proper. We both know the truth,
he will take something from me,
cut flesh away, file bone, move
kneecap, sever nerves, tendons.
He promises to replace pain
with a super joint, a hero.
I come round, crying, smell
of blood and piss. The body knows
muscle and bone are gone.
For months, messages arrive
in my brain, something’s missing.
He does not acknowledge,
it’s part of my DNA now, this loss.
Maryam Seyf
You and I sit
facing each other
in dialogue
across the table
Kerry Darbishire
Imagine a spring day drawing out possibilities
the newness of life, sisters in long skirts digging
tangled ground, breaking bones and loam wild
Paul Chuks
Newton didn’t discover gravity
The apple did.
Lola Dekhuijzen
the window is a derivative landscape
painting: streaks of blue for a sky,
Rupert Loydell
With the completion of mindset
my life is in order, two weeks after
the day before.
Rachael Hill
Those times my tongue becomes a lemon
filling my mouth with bitter pith
John Doyle
I hide a knife amongst a bush longing to burn,
days like these are plots from a heathen’s bible.
William Coniston
My second cousin twice removed arrived in May
at her old nest in the eaves of the ruined barn.
Simon Williams
A white cloak that folds like a shopping bag,
like a Pac-a-mac with pagan overtones,
much larger when unfolded than a pocket,
a TARDIS of a cloak.