Today’s choice
Previous poems
Day Six of ‘Wonder’ for NPD: Martin McKenna, Emma Dandy
Prolonged Panic Attack II
it’s the end of the world and i choose
bottom shelf body wash, top shelf
shampoo. almost all the way over the
edge, i choose brand name bleach, leave
washing powder to the next life. it’s
the end of the world and i lean against
one of the sail sculptures city centre.
foot up, i feel how solid its casing.
i see one bus off, tinnitus. vision blurs
particularly bad the ride up another.
arm around solid paper shopping bag,
i need this water flow wash my hair,
need these last cigarettes to end the world,
their smoke opening old scars this guitar.
Martin McKenna
Do you know how your mum and dad met?
after How to be Adopted’s ‘Questions not to ask an adopted person’
A: I watch a greater spotted woodpecker strip the bark from the old apple tree in the middle
of my garden.
B: He jack-hammers into the trunk, searching for beetle larvae.
C: Dendrocopos major’s tongue is so long he stores it wrapped around his shock-absorbing
skull.
D: He flies to the drainpipe to knock out his territorial beat, and the plastic shatters.
Emma Dandy explores the fragmentation of identity after trauma as experienced by adoptees. She has been widely published in journals and anthologies including The Ekphrastic Review, Atrium and The Honest Ulsterman. Emma won Fish Publishing’s Haiku Prize 2026. Instagram: @emmadandypoetry
Antony Owen and Martin Figura on Remembrance Day
Let fathers bind their sons
to altars, so the wind
might winnow the chaff.
Stephen C. Curro
calm river
again, his fishing line
caught on a tree
James Norcliffe
Sarsaparilla Road
travels through swamps
and reeds, over a black
water creek and a narrow bridge
David Hanlon
Not in that parking lot,
not in that residential area,
not in that blue car
splashed with mud.
Mana Misaghi
we make sure to pack a deck of cards for the train, or a sunday afternoon visit to the park. the cards will give our hands something tangible to do . . .
Taḋg Paul
An algorithm guides me through the keys
Each stanza nested in a formal loop
Mat Riches
Hey kid, this won’t mean that much to you yet,
but I didn’t taste my first proper curry
till at least twenty-one . . .
David Sapp
Aimless between
Dropping out
Of art school
And absolutely no
Friggin’ money . . .
Gareth Writer-Davies
it’s a special kind of empty
the footed earth, saluting the sky
