Today’s choice

Previous poems

Martin Mooney

 

 

Lapse

Graffiti artists, known as writers, are often misunderstood by society.
Eden Magazine

The footbridge was skinned in graffiti – slogans, threats,
declarations of love, swastikas. Grek. Kost. Lapse.

I’d assumed lapse was a tag, a nom de plume or guerre, but
as the morning drags itself towards noon the word

has surfaced and resurfaced: lapse, lapse, lapse. Noun
or verb? Am I instructed? Warned? By lunchtime

I wonder if it’s even word at all, perhaps the writer
just sprayed shapes that look like L A P S E by fluke.

And by mid-afternoon it’s drained of sense, a dazed
semantic husk, so that as I cross the bridge again

I whisper it to myself as virgin sound, unsaid till now:
brute air lip-shaped, a world in a kind of freefall.

 

Martin Mooney is the author of four collections – Grub (1993), Rasputin and his Children (2000), Blue Lamp Disco (2003) and The Resurrection of the Body at Killysuggen (2011). A New and Selected is due from Greenwich Exchange later in 2026

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.

Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad

Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad

A lacquer table, gloss under fingertips. A raised stage with dark linen. A young woman smiles with her hand-held harp, its nine strings glistening. The room swells with the cadence of her pearly notes. Beneath the pendant lights—a vision of serenity.