Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ben Banyard
Day of the Dead
Granny introduced us to her parents,
her uncle who moved to South Africa in 1912,
the grandfather I never knew and his family.
There were hundreds of them, all in period costume,
each generation explained who they were,
queued like at a wedding reception to greet us.
We had facial features in common, noses and eyes,
high foreheads and dimples on chins.
Some laughed, some liked to drink, some danced,
the Quakers and Methodists found a quiet corner.
They were from Birmingham, Stratford-upon-Avon,
rural parts of Ireland, Devon and Cornwall, Wales,
some didn’t speak English and might have been Flemish.
One by one they waved goodbye and exchanged hugs
until only the living were left in the hall.
We agreed it was worth doing, to put faces to names.
Ben Banyard lives in Portishead, on the North Somerset coast. His three collections to date are Hi-Viz (Yaffle Press, 2021), We Are All Lucky (Indigo Dreams, 2018) and Communing (Indigo Dreams, 2016). Ben edits Black Nore Review . Website:benbanyard.wordpress.com
Laura McKee
after the accident the plaster
held her still
Melanie Branton
At boarding school, I had no idea what to do
with myself. Most of the time,
I hid myself in a paper bag . . .
Lucy Calder
I arrange my books in order of height,
on a bank of cow parsley,
amid the random oscillations
of a cool breeze
Tanya Joseph
I know others blossom
but I vomit ectoplasm,
and squaring the corners of my bed,
the nurse reminds me I’m not dying.
Lucy Heuschen
It is known: a woman like that
brings evil on board.
Carolyn Oulton
Heat on the window
baking my face like a biscuit.
I move some hair, look over
at moss and narcissi, in a pot –
Jennifer A. McGowan
You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.
Matt Bryden
You used to wind yourself in curtain turning taut,
look down at your feet, pirouette
as the fabric hugged you in.
James Coghill
the undershrub, shored up,
stakes its waspish claim,
its hereabouts