Today’s choice
Previous poems
Gary Akroyde
Cracks in the Concrete
We searched for it
through the tarmac in every rain-bruised sky
in dark Pennine shadows where great mills
spewed out ringlets of ghost-grey fog
we learnt to see Yorkshire mist in charcoal technicolour
Along the canal with its ribbon of rust we frisked
the dirty water for dazzling orange carp
heaved shopping trolleys from sludge traps
sailed two wheels high in the air thick with damp wool
In the wasteland breath-hot kissed fog grass
danced with nettles lounged beach-like
on barren patches of our summer home
shared with mongrels fleas and ants
down cobbled snickets
seeped in spilled ale and yesterday’s blood
we lobbed dog-chewed tennis balls
bin-sticky off chipped kerbs
As kids we knew the spaces between the stones
found beauty in those cracks
where weeds burst through
Gary Akroyde is from from Sowerby Bridge and currently working as an English teacher. He have been published in Dreamcatcher, Black Nore Review, Intenational Times and will be published in three Yaffle Press anthologies this year.
David R. Willis
. . . something, cold
wet and bitter, saline
sided by yellow sand . . .
Jim Murdoch
and I said,
“I understand,”
and I did, ishly . . .
Sue Spiers
Thirsty Shadow
the kind of being
that won’t post
an image
Julian Dobson
Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain
is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging
Oliver Comins
Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.
George Turner
Some days, the privilege of living isn’t enough.
The weight of the kettle is unbearable. You leave the teabag
forlorn in the mug, unpoured.
Craig Dobson
Slowly, ordinarily, the unimaginable happens,
lowering the past into the dark,
covering it.
Clive Donovan
If I were a ghost
I think I would shrink
and perch on wooden poles
and deco shades – get a good view
of what I am supposed to be haunting
Rose Ramsden
We left the play early. It was the last day before the start of secondary school. Dad told me off for slapping the seats