Today’s choice

Previous poems

Myra Schneider

 

 

 

Cloud

Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads, and ignore the shroud-grey layers

louring today – they seem to have sucked all the colour
out of this world which struggles every day to cope
with disasters. Slow down and try to immerse yourself

in the whiteness above the distant rows of houses,
spread your arms and let them rise above your head.
Think of them as dancing clouds and lightness will fill you,

ease your aching body. On evenings when scarlet
floods inky layers of sky, watch the incandescent globe
above the viaduct in the park as it sinks into darkness.

Now imagine clouds sucking in water vapour until heavy
as milky udders, they release rain that cleanses the air
and seeps into the over-dry ground beneath it.

The moisture will soften clods, feed worms, sticklebacks,
beetles, all the creatures living below the surface.
Go into your drenched garden, breathe in the sweet air

and think of Wordsworth wandering lonely as a cloud
through field after sodden field. Then close your eyes,
picture the moment he caught sight of the daffodils.

 

 

Myra Schneider’s most recent collection is Believing in the Planet, (Poetry Space 2024). Her other publications include fiction for children and teenagers, books about personal writing, in particular Writing My Way Through Cancer and Writing Your Self (with John Killick). She has had 14 full collections of poetry published and her work has been broadcast on Radio BBC4 and BBC3. She was consultant to the Second Light Network for women poets during its 25 years and frequently wrote reviews for its magazine Artemis. An in-depth interview about her poetry and books appeared in Acumen in September (2025). Her work has been widely published in printed and online poetry magazines, also occasionally in newspapers. She has finalized a new collection The Disappearing which is due late in 2026 from Poetry Space. She has co-edited anthologies of poetry by women poets and she has been a poetry tutor for many years.

Note: Dancing clouds is a Tai Chi/Gigong exercise

Stephen Keeler

The days were huge and kind
and sometimes after school

we’d buy a bag of broken biscuits
for the long walk home

across the heavy heat of afternoon
on lucky days she wouldn’t take

the pennies offered up in supplication

Joseph Blythe

I swear I felt the swirly patterned paper
rip from the walls of my childhood bedroom.
It was the same stained cream shade as my skin –
pockmarked, cut and scabbed, dry and peeling…..

Denise Bundred

Shadowed boats bereft of sail
absorb the surge and slap
constrained by a blue-grey chink
of mooring chains.

Rahma O. Jimoh

A bird skirts across the fence
& I rush to the window
to behold its flapping wings—
It’s been ages
since I last saw a bird.

Samuel A. Adeyemi

I can already hear the chorus of my tribe.
They want the ancient blade,

the guillotine that hovered
above my head like a halo of death.

Mofiyinfoluwa O.

when you
know that your time with someone has almost run out, that is what you do. you look for
tiny things buried in the sand so that you do not have to look at the huge broken thing
standing between you both.

Chris Emery

and if we walk to the same sea later
we’ll see something heaving up beside us:
caskets of grey, white-capped, barren and loose,
the way memories are.

T. N. Kennedy

so you collect those poems which reveal
life at its most intense and solitary
turning them on when you most need to feel

Mariah Whelan

      St Ann’s Square Manchester, 23rd May 2017 Because I cannot show you what is at the centre of all this I will lay language up to its edge, walk its edges the way I moved through the back of the crowd too afraid to go in. I had to shade my eyes from...