Today’s choice
Previous poems
Marilyn Ricci
Short-lived
After his baby son died he strapped
a tumble dryer to his back and ran
the roads around the village. Stocky,
shaved head, blue shorts and vest,
white socks in black Nike trainers.
Transformed into Tumble Dryer Man
he raised thousands for research. Locals
waved from windows, cheered, for a while,
but then some wished he would stop, some
began to close their windows until the steady
beat of his feet faded.
Marilyn Ricci’s poetry has appeared in many magazines. A pamphlet was published by HappenStance Press and collections from SoundsWrite Press and Quirky Press. She was one of three poets selected for Mariscat Press’s first Sampler published in September 2024.
S Reeson
only now is it apparent how
dishonouring a body is a crime
Paul Connolly
At Aber Falls
he felt nothing
water sheeted
past grottoes
snakes of tributary
lazed along
Cindy Botha
I notice her because she doesn’t have a dog
in an afternoon of dog-walkers
Alex Josephy
the goddess of the library
extends in cloth-bound curves
along a lettered shelf
Ben Banyard
There were hundreds of them, all in period costume,
each generation explained who they were,
queued like at a wedding reception to greet us.
Lindsay McLeod Espinoza
Venus passed over the south node of the Moon today
Ilse Pedler
She offered up her linen bag to me, said
pick a shell my lady and I’ll tell your fortune
Sue Butler
Squirrels have beheaded all my parrot tulips
and the supermarket is out of chilli, also tabasco sauce.
Cormac Culkeen
the sun is a
white coin
lifted
from the sea