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
Chris Kinsey
Hey cat, you’re doing really well,
three fields stalked and only one to go.
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, . . .
Dave Simmons
My sky is a hole from which the bucket drops.
Like all heretics, I am put to work processing stones.
Paul Fenn
To impress you, I became
a seven-year-old son of Sparta.
A little hard man, crayon
marching down the page.
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
Chris Campbell
The View From This Hospital Window
I admire an empty bench for hours –
then a glum couple sit to share strawberries.
Patrick Deeley
He sees a stainless-steel spoon
burned off at the base,
a bunch of wild flowers dropped,
Eliot North
Explaining to my little man
about proportion,
he responds with feeling:
a picture of daddy
with thousands of fingers.
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.