Today’s choice
Previous poems
Cindy Botha
a grief of ghosts
atlas bear
black-footed ferret
cape lion
dire wolf
eastern lowland gorilla
foothill frog
galápagos penguin
heath hen
irish elk
japanese otter
kākāpo
laughing owl
maui dolphin
north atlantic right whale
one-stripe opossum
painted vulture
quagga
red-fronted macaw
sumatran elephant
tasmanian devil
upland moa
vaquita
western black rhino
xerces blue butterfly
yangtze porpoise
and no longer
padding the drum
of the earth
zanzibar leopard
Cindy Botha was born and raised in Africa and now lives in New Zealand. Her poems appear in magazines and anthologies in New Zealand, Australia, the UK and USA.
Play, for National Poetry Day: MD Bier, Catherine Sweeney, Rachel Burns
Those hot hot summer days. Hair curling against sticky clammy foreheads.
Pony tails, pig tails or braids. Keep it off our neck and backs.
Play, for National Poetry Day: Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana, Ruth Aylett , Brian Comber
They can imagine a forest,
we don’t need this minimalist tree,
we’ll represent a place to live without walls, without foundations or a hearth.
Play, for National Poetry Day: Jennifer A. McGowan, Judith Shaw, Robin Houghton, Wendy Klein
Over and over, you are Dorothy
or Glenda the Good,
me the Wicked Witch of the West
Play, for National Poetry Day: Oenone Thomas, Seán Street, David A. Lee
Every evening at the care home, I pull in
two armchairs til they’re facing. Opposites,
we never fist bump, high-five or
touch each other’s vying outstretched fingers.
Play, for National Poetry Day: Gayathiri Kamalakanthan, Paul Stephenson, Jem Henderson
How two men can become
four men can become
eight men
Play, for National Poetry Day: Elena Brake, Karen Downs-Barton, John Mole, Eleanor Holmes
Take eight each of hex bolts
washers, locks…
it’s important
to fasten these tightly.
Jade Wright
Things have been rough lately.
It seems impossible now,
as the breeze relieves us
Ruth Lexton
The new year slouches forward, unlovable,
barely acknowledged but for tired, gritty eyes
and a muffled scream into the kitchen towel.
Claire Booker
Never has there been so much interest
in the humble tongue. It peek-a-boos from my mouth
like the little man in a weather clock.