Today’s choice

Previous poems

Rachael Clyne

 

 

 

Homeland

And if a land      loses its people and they
are exiled           will a land feel their absence
will it dream         of their calloused feet
on its warm skin      will it grieve the touch
of hands familiar           with the ways of its vines
when to pluck its fruits     how to shape its earth
and stones into homes      will it miss the sounds
of its language               on their tongues
will the land           remember them or cherish
their blood          and bones that fed its soil
will the land            resent the tread
of different feet           or refuse to bear fruit
under new hands          or will it flourish
and if the people        keep the key to their homes
even if the doors      they unlocked are now
a car park or          the street demolished
will the keys        sing them back despite bombs
or famine               and if a people are uprooted
will they wander     and yearn until longing
becomes their       dwelling place will they
find shelter         in other lands or will they flee
because people      of other lands do not want them
and if after all            the fleeing and wandering
the urge to return           is unstoppable
will the land rejoice      and welcome them back
will it cleave itself       in two for the sake of all
will the people         belong at last
will the land          find peace
will the story

 

 

Rachael Clyne from Glastonbury, is widely published in journals. Her latest collection You’ll Never Be Anyone Else (Seren) covers themes of identity and otherness including, migrant heritage, LGBTQ relationships. @rachaelclyne.bsky.social

Holly Magill

. . .you’re swallowed whole
into this cocoon: pine-scent, antibac and the dry
whoosh of his heater – lean your careworn bones into
synthetic leather snug, . . .

Ruth Aylett

God had been playing computer games
for a chunk of eternity when he became aware
he’d left creation in the oven for a long time

Jeanette Burton

What is this, a family outing?

Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him
as I open the car door, climb into the front seat,
remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe.