Today’s choice

Previous poems

Nigel King

 

 

 

Aquamarine

My compass – its needle set with a sliver of blue stone – spins and spins. Breath mists my snow
goggles. I wipe them endlessly. Even in these thick seal-skin mitts my hands are frozen. I have been
no place as still as this. As white. Beneath my feet, there’s yard upon yard of ice, and below it,
black water flowing. Sharks, old before I was born, coast in mile-wide circles, hunting skate, cod,
wolffish, or scavenging the bodies of whales. Sea lillies filter-feed, anchored on wrecks. I leave a
trail of sparkling footprints, a track from nowhere to nowhere. The ship is far off, with whoever’s
left of my companions. My vision blurs in the endless glare. Is that a bird soaring in the distance, or
a floater drifting across my retina? The needle spins on. All directions are the same. I choose one
anyway.

 

 

Nigel King lives in Huddersfield, where he is a member of the long-running Albert Poets group. He recently completed a Master’s in Creative Writing at MMU. His Pamphlet, What I Love About Daleks, was published by Calder Valley Poetry.

Opeyemi Oluwayomi

They are piercing knife between
the city, detaching the body from the head,
& squeezing the blood out of the flesh,
so there can be an end to what hasn’t begun.

Rhian Thomas

I sit to fumble some intrusion from my shoe.
A shard of stone, no bigger than a thought, its ridged face
cutting like some old lover, like a baby or
an old preacher drumming something that irks like a worn out song

Erwin Arroyo Pérez

Here, in my Manhattan room / insomnia tugs at me like a half-closed taxi door / letting all the echoes in
/ an ambulance carries the last breath of an asthmatic man