Today’s choice
Previous poems
Kim Waters
Letter to L
You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,
but missing from a baker’s dozen.
You’re in every email I ever wrote,
appearing in April and July,
but lying dormant in other months.
You bookend the linguistic paradox
of logical and lateral thinking.
I hear your lisp in silence, conjuring
something glamorous in lapis lazuli.
You’re the difference between
the flight and fight response,
the one that can’t leave one alone.
You’ve been known to double down
on bullshit, rollbacks and collusion,
but at the core you’re mellow
and although not easily heard,
you always walk the talk.
L, let’s face it, life begins with you.
Kim Waters lives in Melbourne, Australia. She has a Master of Arts in creative writing. She is currently completing an Advanced Diploma of Visual Arts. Her poems have appeared in The Australian, Acumen, The Shanghai Literary Review, Under the Radar, The Wells Street Journal, Marble and La Piccioletta Barca.
Hannah Linden
Formed into darkness
an octopus squeezes around
the spaces of a shipwreck.
Kweku Abimbola
My father walks backwards
better than most walk forward—
so whenever he sewed his steps into the living
room carpet, I rushed to mirror my moon-
walking, until he froze,
froze like he’d been caught
by the beat.
Paul Bavister
We found our eyes first,
as they swirled through fragments
of black jumper, dark pine trees
and an orange sunset sky
Anne Donnellan
I prayed for resurrection
that the sun in the sky
might dance Easter morning.
Philip Gross
Enough of scorch, scald, sore- and rawness.
Sometimes flesh longs for eclipse.
Nick Allen
she told me about the still hours
spent at the coast watching the east
Phil Vernon
Because we were four
and I only had strength to carry one
and knew no other way
I carried the one who called out loudest;
threatened us most.
Patrick Deeley
As you rummage of a morning
among dust-furred personal effects
jumbled in an old
wooden suitcase under a bed . . .
Terry Jones
The Lake District Tourist Board
has had no input into what
you are now reading, but I so
miss Cumbria in Holy Week