Today’s choice
Previous poems
Mary Mulholland
This poem is a secret
after Elma Mitchell
It doesn’t trust paper. It writes itself
in my head where no one can reach it,
laugh, tear it to shreds, or
call it a waste of space, a disgrace.
A poem is grace, a prayer,
my longing for more than I am.
Sometimes I wake in the night
to write it, hear the hushed breathing
of you beside me – waves
don’t lose their power in the dark.
This poem will save me. It gives purpose,
a kind of kindness, a healing balm,
takes me away, the same room as you
while elsewhere.
Mary Mulholland is a widely published poet, most recently Magma 94, Finished Creatures, Poetry News, and her poems are frequently finalists in competitions. Her debut collection is forthcoming this year from Nine Arches and she has two pamphlets (Broken Sleep and Live Canon). www.marymulholland.co.uk
Annie Acre
i am sun-shot / green-beamed / stem-steep /
hands cupfuls of heartlines / conjuring water
Jennifer Cole
take your wedding ring
or it might get “disappeared”
Eithne Longstaff
On the road to Belfast today, I failed
to recognise my father. I saw a flamingo
by the Tamnnamore turn off, but paid
little regard as it took off…
Mark O’Connor
At half a tonne in weight
It was like the anchor –
Michael Mintrom
They lie deep in a forest, wounds
unseen, unhealed. Further back,
an escarpment with dark scars.
Thea Smiley
There’s a hiss as he eases himself in
to the green pool, steam in his smoky hair.
Roger Bonner
It’s forbidden to call it war.
We’re here to liberate you;
ignore the glide bombs as they roar.
Maryam Seyf
You and I sit
facing each other
in dialogue
across the table
Kerry Darbishire
Imagine a spring day drawing out possibilities
the newness of life, sisters in long skirts digging
tangled ground, breaking bones and loam wild