Today’s choice

Previous poems

David Bernard

 

 

 

Bison

I wrote the title of the lesson on the board and underlined it with a flourish. The class listened to my introduction. I could see that even Rachel’s eyes were waiting for what I would say next. I felt calm. The pile of marking on the desk in the office didn’t matter. The lesson was on algebraic substitution and I can’t even remember what I said but I made a joke about bison. That day it felt right to let it fly. There was a lot of bison talk before the class settled down and started working through some problems. As she left the lesson, Rachel drew a bison on the board. It looked like it was dancing.

 

 

David Bernard is a poet based in Ledbury. His work has been published by London Grip, Wildfire Words and elsewhere. He lives with his partner and two young children.

Adam Strickson

He couldn’t play rugby – the oval slithered away
whenever he touched it and he fell in the mud
or more often was pushed with some viciousness.

Natasha Gauthier

Nobody knows what Cicero’s gardener whistled
to his figs and olives, what the consul’s young wife
hummed to herself while slaves combed beeswax
and perfumed oils from Carthage into her hair.

Jean Atkin

She creeps under the opening, then stands.
Her guide passes her the stub of a candle,
holds up his own to show the ceiling rock.

Antonia Kearton 

On my son’s desk lies
the periodic table of the elements.
I look. Amongst the arcane names
I recognise, easy as breathing,
carbon, oxygen, gold, beloved of kings.