Today’s choice

Previous poems

Antony Owen

 

 

 

Meaningless sex
Twenty- something sex are bodies.
thrown down like sophomore prose.
Unedited nonsense that almost meant little.
Look at our quarry of pointless stars.
Davy-lamps in solar system of death
Noone writes about God when she rested.
I just stamped on a ladybird because I could.
Felt the crunch through my Adidas sole.
Felt an echo through my overkill death.
Last night I watched Jack die in Titanic.
Rose had plenty of room, but he was poor.
I think all know the ocean has no heart.

 

 

Antony Owen is from Coventry and is not important but tries to write about important things because it is important to do that.  www.brokensleepbooks.com

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.

Jim Paterson

A Tuesday morning in November
out on the street taking in the bins.
As a flight of crows flashed past
the street lights went out.