Today’s choice
Previous poems
Myra Schneider
Cloud
Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads, and ignore the shroud-grey layers
louring today – they seem to have sucked all the colour
out of this world which struggles every day to cope
with disasters. Slow down and try to immerse yourself
in the whiteness above the distant rows of houses,
spread your arms and let them rise above your head.
Think of them as dancing clouds and lightness will fill you,
ease your aching body. On evenings when scarlet
floods inky layers of sky, watch the incandescent globe
above the viaduct in the park as it sinks into darkness.
Now imagine clouds sucking in water vapour until heavy
as milky udders, they release rain that cleanses the air
and seeps into the over-dry ground beneath it.
The moisture will soften clods, feed worms, sticklebacks,
beetles, all the creatures living below the surface.
Go into your drenched garden, breathe in the sweet air
and think of Wordsworth wandering lonely as a cloud
through field after sodden field. Then close your eyes,
picture the moment he caught sight of the daffodils.
Myra Schneider’s most recent collection is Believing in the Planet, (Poetry Space 2024). Her other publications include fiction for children and teenagers, books about personal writing, in particular Writing My Way Through Cancer and Writing Your Self (with John Killick). She has had 14 full collections of poetry published and her work has been broadcast on Radio BBC4 and BBC3. She was consultant to the Second Light Network for women poets during its 25 years and frequently wrote reviews for its magazine Artemis. An in-depth interview about her poetry and books appeared in Acumen in September (2025). Her work has been widely published in printed and online poetry magazines, also occasionally in newspapers. She has finalized a new collection The Disappearing which is due late in 2026 from Poetry Space. She has co-edited anthologies of poetry by women poets and she has been a poetry tutor for many years.
Note: Dancing clouds is a Tai Chi/Gigong exercise
Jenny Pagdin for International Women’s Day
After many moons
I am perhaps readying to speak.
Kate Noakes for International Women’s Day
Each year in March, on the eighth day,
the one we’re allowed to call ours,
slowly, Jess reads our names . . .
Julia Webb for International Women’s Day
hoover witch mum / mum on the rocks / mum’s coach horses / all the king’s mums /
Sue Burge for International Women’s Day
speaks whale, speaks star
breathes in — tight as a tomb
breathes out — splintered crackle
Gill Connors for International Women’s Day
Rack and stretch her, loosen flesh
from bone. A jointed bird will not squawk.
Helen Ivory for International Women’s Day
A woman somewhere is typing on the internet
my heart wakes me up like clockwork.
Hélène Demetriades
At breakfast my man sticks a purple
magnolia bud in my soft boiled egg.
The flower opens, distilling to lilac.
Stuart Henson
Sometimes I’m surprised there’s light
in dark places, those corridors, those alleys
where you wouldn’t stray if you didn’t need
Richard Stimac
Trends of lead, silver, copper, and zinc
vein the middle of Missouri . . .