Today’s choice
Previous poems
Toby Cotton
Napsack
A blustery day –
the wind too strong for kites
or for lifts to the sky.
“To a thoughtful spot,” it cites
and pins me to the earth.
A dragonfly perches
atop a little asphalt hill
but zips off when the hill twitches
and sniffs the air.
“Perhaps, it is thataway?” suggests Pooh Bear.
A sand-swimming golden mole,
Cryptochloris wintoni,
has resurfaced after 86 years
hiding in the ‘thought extinct’ subsection
of the desertified dunes.
Exasperated Owl sighs. “How about
this one,” he posits to Befuddled Pooh,
“What do you get if you move
the ‘h’ from the end
to the beginning of earth?”
Wondrous thoughts wander through tunnels.
An unmarked bend masks a dead-end
hung with a huge landscape.
High up, honeypot ants dangle
their distensions and echo a riddle around.
“Huh?” says Pooh.
“Precisely – ‘h'” confirms Owl.
The bear with his seemingly head of air
scratches it ponderingly
and glances about for a clue.
Wild thoughts thunder through wheat stubble.
A daring russet dog is bounding loudly –
a big bad wolf outstripping its pack, clacking at –
hearing a whistle it turns on its heels
and transforms back into the teddy bear.
“A biscuit?” enquires Pooh,
peering down into the straw-strewn sod.
“Always thinking with your tummy,”
scolds Rabbit. Owl warbles
“A worthy guess, but now think laterally!”
The thought trees slough off their skins.
Tiggery leaves zigzag zoomily
across a hundred acres of wood,
crocheting a quilt over the broad bed of earth
and tucking themselves in.
Pooh rootles through the gold litter
and comes up clutching a
part-wheat-part-meat heart-shaped treat.
“Pooh’s got the answer!” hoots Owl.
“I do?” queries Pooh.
A raincloud scuds up and flurries down,
splashing the meandering moon.
A donkey drags a brash brush,
sweeping up the setting sun.
The dog is licking my face awake.
Owl concludes, “When you move
the ‘h’ from the end to the beginning
of earth, you get heart.”
Solemnly nodding, Pooh adds
“And rounded is quite grounded.”
Toby Cotton is a poet currently pursuing an MA in creative writing at the University of Aberystwyth, Wales. His work appears in Pearl Press, Wildfire Words and Boundby and he helps to edit GossamerWight Literary Magazine.
Martin Figura for Mental Health Awareness Week
Children in care do not have much of a voice, they often accept whatever is given and do not dare to speak up.
Julie Stevens for Mental Health Awareness Week
Are these the words you want me to say
about how my day became a raging river
crashing through my bones?
Fianna Russell Dodwell for Mental Health Awareness Week
I’ll tell you a bedtime story . . .
William Manning for Mental Health Awareness Week
My room is infested with bedbugs
I’m covered in bites, not love bites
Anna Brook
I want to borrow gods
(as Adrienne does,
though she knew better)
their sad logic
their templates
Nigel King
Turn the mud. Bo Peep’s head tumbles out,
wide-eyed, mouth a little open.
Mohsen Hosseinkhani translated by Tahereh Forsat Safai
Men are the color of soil
Women are sitting on the ashes
Stephen Komarnyckyj
you are the shadow slipping through the mirror
Jo Farrant
We’re stuck on a scene, frozen, like the ice cubes I begged Mum to get with the little flowers in them. Like taking a test in the school gym but your knees are so big they’re banging into the desk.
