Today’s choice

Previous poems

Jenny Scoones

 

 

 

After,

We unlearn how it felt to touch
And resume our separate days in shirts and trousers,
Like hazmats against the sun and its longing,
The moon with its underbelly pulls.
 
On the pillow I turn away from you, 
Burn sage to ward off the memory. 
You will only ever have been a moment of contact, 
The way the waves forget the rocks they grind to dust. 

 

Jenny Scoones is a poet and researcher based in London. She is a KDSAH funded PhD student at King’s College London, and her debut poetry pamphlet, ‘Mixing Blood’, is forthcoming from fourteen poems.

Nathan Curnow

I like to think it’s a story about himself and Einstein
floating in zero gravity, Albert sailing through the capsule
toward his drifting pipe, Brian playing We Will Rock You—

Ash Bowden

Out again with the pitchfork churning 
compost into the old green bin, stinking
and silent as an ancient earthen vat.

Mallika Bhaumik

This is not a frilly, mushy love letter 
to a city whose allure lies in defying all labels and holding the mystery key to a man’s heart, though none has ever been able to lay an absolute claim on it, 

Jena Woodhouse

Around midnight, the hour when pain
reasserts its dominance, a voice
behind the curtain screening
my bed from the next patient’s:
an intonation penetrating abstract thoughts

Anyonita Green

It wobbles slightly, red wine jelly.

I peer at it, nose close enough 

to smell the iron, the scent of coagulant,

inhaling through slightly parted lips

Soledad Santana

Seen as she’d hung her cranial lantern
from the roof of her step-father’s garden shed,
the parabolic formula was skipped; like two calves, we followed the fence
to the end of the foot-ball pitch.