Today’s choice
Previous poems
Paul Short
Midnight Swingball
Sleep.
Elusive as lucid dreams.
Closed eyes teem wotsit-orange,
spiderweb scarlet &
thatch-brown
body jerks like a
swingball.
Conscience and subconscious
flailing paddles
back forward|forward back
body jerks like a
swing
ball.
Mind simmers with breathless envy
at the
creak-scratch
of
snoutswoons.
forward back | back forward
I try to surrender to exhaustion
body jerks like a
s
w
i
n
g
b
a
l
l.
Paul Short is a Pushcart and BOTN nominated poet from Newcastle upon Tyne. Paul’s work has appeared on BBC Upload, A Thousand Shades of Green Podcast and in Full House Literary, Broken Spine, Black Bough, Dust Poetry and more.
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
Sam Szanto
It beckons from between plasters and hand cream,
the box bright-white, the lettering green.
Tamara Evans
Travel West. Submerge yourself
in the M4’s homeward drift.
Rushika Wick
slid in bass-drop dams up
pierced ears, furred
with youth, his vest drinks sweat,
Helen Smith
lunchtime, in the maths department
arranging pencils by colour
two friends, carefully sorting
into clear plastic tubs
Carolyn Oulton
Unexpected as burned stone,
what am I supposed
to do with this memory?
José Buera
Aircon crickets through the night
outside my parents’ bedroom
since brother and I are not allowed AC
given the dangers of cold air to children.
Abraham Aondoana
We did not inherit land,
only remnants of fields they burned—
black fields scorched before we understood