Today’s choice
Previous poems
Play, For National Poetry Day: Suzanna Fitzpatrick, Charlotte Dormandy, Lee Fraser
The Headteacher Counts Down to the School Firework Display
for BB
10 Children dart in the dark, screamers
streaming sweets and neon, their parents
9 huddling, clutching wholesale beers
sold for a profit by the PTA
8 So many losses: cuts, teachers,
the pupils who never came back
7 after Covid. She’d not long been Head
when they were locked down, had to shift
6 everyone online, care for those
who couldn’t stay at home –
5 and now they’re told to move on,
perform, get bums on seats,
4 kids through SATS. She remembers
the video she made with her staff
3 filmed in isolation, edited
to bring them all together,
2 cheer the children. Only so much
she can do. When Katy Perry
1 gives way to Pomp and Circumstance,
she knows it’s time. She stands,
0 head uptilted like a child,
watching explosions over her school.
Suzanna Fitzpatrick (she/her) is widely published and has been placed in and won numerous competitions. Her debut pamphlet, Fledglings, was published by Red Squirrel Press in 2016, and her first full collection, Crippled, in 2025.
Not Quite Nooked
Having explained nooks and crannies*
I set a child to write a sentence
to show he knew what a nook was.
He wrote, I have to cut nooks
in order to have time to play.
Between laughter and heartache,
I took hope from his mettle:
this child at least had nous enough
to nook time and use it.
* For those in need, a nook is a corner, a cranny a crack, and nooks and crannies all small hidden places.
Charlotte Dormandy is an MA student at the Poetry School.
Medicine From Your Preschooler
Here, I made medicine for you!
The yellow cup.
It’s got juice, and
petals, for your forehead
to go soft again.
Stirred it with my best feather
to make your smile come
back – I bet it will.
Some heart beads
in the bottom, don’t drink those,
they’re just for love.
And you can put some coffee in.
There’s a dinosaur
plaster too, but only
on the outside, and
I kissed it every time I put
something in. We just try
a few things. You’ll get better.
Lee Fraser is from Aotearoa New Zealand. In 2024-2025 she has had 40 pieces published, including in Amsterdam Quarterly, Meniscus, Micro Madness and Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook. She placed fourth in the 2024 NZ poetry slam.
On the first day of Christmas, we bring you Hannah Linden, John White and Stephen Keeler
. . . Now the villages is
en fête: dressed for a party in the dark,
across the fields, along uneven paths . . .
Anna Chorlton
She curled emerald
tights about the core of
an oak
slumbering with thick bare
limbs.
John Greening
On Stage in a home-made model theatre, c.1967 Glued to your block, in paint and ink you wait for Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life to stop. Smell of hardboard and hot bakelite. The lino curtain’s ready to go up. At which, the straightened coat hanger is shoved and on you...
Anna Bowles
Nothing bad can happen on a plane.
Engine fires, earache, hijackers; but no new grief.
Kirsty Fox
Winged Kirsty Fox is a writer and artist specialising in ecopoetics. She writes lyric essays and poetry, and has had work published by Apricot Press, Arachne Press, and Streetcake Magazine. She has a Masters in Creative Writing and is currently studying...
Jason Ryberg
Sometimes I’d swear that
the ancient box fan I’ve hauled
around with me for
years is a receiver for
the conversations of ghosts
Peter Wallis
Dead in a chest,
are folded matinee jackets, bonnets, bootees and mitts.
Tissue sighs like the sea at Lowestoft,
always Third week in August
Amanda Bell
We clipped a window through the currant, sat on folding chairs with keep-cups,
wrapped in blankets as we yelled through the prescribed two-metre gap.
Then took to mending – darning socks and patching favourite denims
Anna Maughan
Illness had left me
brittle as frost, icicle-thin
swaddled in borrowed warmth