Today’s choice
Previous poems
Wendy Clayton
Everything Changed except our Way of Thinking
I’m always thinking about how I can find more human beings. Or how I can have a better relationship with a human being. Why you are you. And I am I. And why that should be a problem. It wasn’t when we were young. Until you became more you. And I I. I am sorry. It is a sorrow. Always has been. Now we can’t even
let the bees out.
Wendy Clayton taught English and general subjects, was active and published in several poetry journals: A Pennine Platform, A Pennine Anthology, The North, Indigo Dreams, Shearsman, Osiris, Tears in the Fence, Stand, The International Times, The Fortnightly Review, Stride and forthcoming in Stride, Stand and in Pamenar. Her poetry was long-listed for the Erbacce poetry prize, 150 out of 15,000 – in summer 2022. In the same year she participated in the Carcanet summer course with Michael Schmidt and John McAuliffe. Twinship and Consciousness, was published in October, 2021, With others she worked to found an alternative school in Geneva.
Sue Proffitt
You and I have had many talks since you died.
Nick Cooke
If when you go to the barber today
He asks if you’d like him to ‘tidy up your ears’,
Think of all the wildest sprawling vegetation
That will never be tidied, or trimmed, by clippers or shears,
Edward Alport
High up, out of reach,
on a branch, no, more a twig,
a little wizened, shrunken face leers down.
Colin Pink
not the kind you eat with
but useful to turn the soil
root out potatoes or carrots
Linda Ford
My Father Bought a Signal Box
dismantled it piece by piece
then sold the wood, as a job lot.
Ryan O’Neill
we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles
David Thompson
Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.
Marcelle Newbold
Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness
perhaps enough solidness to knife
through a banana or other soft fruit
Britta Giersche
a wooden door slams shut in my brain
a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago