Today’s choice

Previous poems

Robin Lindsay Wilson

 

 

 

Miss Betina Wauchope Disappears
From the 1927 painting ‘Interior: Orange Blind’ by FCB Cadell.

The single crimson rose
she wears in her lapel,
to test his imperfections,
draws him into detail;
pointing a thinner brush
at her wintery cheeks,
the bones of her hands.

A face ready for regard,
emptied with white spirit,
cancelled with a rag wipe,
begun again with doubt.

Behind her, the orange blind,
fuses matter and antimatter.
It guillotines space and time,
until there’s no judgment.

She pretends to love art,
as the rose petals soften.
She tries to love herself,
while he paints her portrait
as orange stupefaction.

She feels anonymous,
not responsible for sunset,
or the malice of the furniture.

Her immortality is powerless –
his contempt is complete.

 

 

Robin Lindsay Wilson is a prizewinning playwright and poet. He has three collections of poetry published by Cinnamon Press. His forth collection, The Tender Shore,  is scheduled to be published in Spring of 2027 by Cinnamon Press. Robin’s work has appeared in many national and international poetry magazines, including, Acumen, The Amsterdam Review, Magma, The Rialto, Ink, Sweat & Tears, New Writing Scotland, Dream Catcher and Poetry Salzburg.

Dharmavadana

She barely glances at you when you chink
your spare coins in her upturned cap, but still
spreads a spell among the pavement footfalls,

Tim Dwyer

      Shedding Annamakerrig It begins high up the chestnut tree with leaves on the twigs on the tips of branches where sap has slowed. Turning amber carried by the breeze they touch the earth, rest on the grass where autumn begins   Tim...

Sandra Noel

The sea happens to me today

not because I’m the woman in the bakers
brusque turned rude
or the peaches              still hard in the bowl

Grace Lynn

Sunlight saunters in long, thin wires through the fallow field
of my bedroom. You approach, a migrating heron
in a runny yolk collar and suntanned shorts, a white-light emissary
of hope. . .

Miriam Swales

I’m waiting for news I don’t want to talk about
and scrolling through old photos to escape.
After some swipes, I see you walking away.