Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sue Spiers
Compline
A woodpigeon calls
his five-note matins.
Petals ratchet wide
as the sun rises.
A butterfly’s haphazard wing beat.
Reverberation of a gong,
sandalled feet on tiles.
Golden leaves in the gutter,
the downpipe’s digestion of rainfall.
Petals grind shut at dusk.
An echo of monkish vespers.
An owl brings mice
to hungry young.
Sue Spiers was born in Cyprus and returns when she can. She adores Kleftico, Baklava and olives. Sue helps out with the Winchester Poetry Festival, Open University Poetry Society and spoken word evenings with Winchester Muse. Twitter: @spiropoetry Website: https://www.spiropoetry.com
Bel Wallace
Month by month I felt my muscles harden
these hefty horns grew from my long skull
Stephen Keeler
Something about arriving somewhere new
just as afternoon is leaving . . .
Geraldine Stoneham
The silence and peace of this place
creeps through on birdsong.
Emma Lee
The instruction invites overthinking:
describe your hometown through
the medium of simple sentences
Vanessa Napolitano
I ask my father to dinner, pretending he is still alive,
ask him what he’d like. He says a pork chop which is not
something I know how to cook.
David Forrest
I don’t know why you bother with poetry Vlad mutters as he adjusts the current in the magnets, forcing them to rhyme with each other.
Neil Fulwood
Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .
Ira Lightman
Laid down, his upraised face is
White – offputting – on a plumped pillow.
Dave Wynne-Jones
“The all-consuming passion
is rarely found
more than a recipe
for misery,”
you read