Today’s choice
Previous poems
Kevin Denwood
After the Fall
The dead flies collected
on the windowsill
like punctuation.
Black corpses
against
flaking white gloss,
dotted
like bombs falling
over London
or Berlin.
Tiny UXBs
lying
waiting
wanting
to explode
back into life.
Kevin Denwood is a poet based near Carlisle. His work has appeared in Ink Sweat & Tears, Free the Verse and Poems, Tales & Other English Words. He writes about memory, ordinary objects and the peculiarities hiding in everyday life.
Judith Taylor
He reads aloud about visiting the Underworld in dreams,
seeing his dead again. Through the big window behind him
there’s a flowerbed and some long grass
Anne Symons
Magic Pennies My dad was a magician. He could make a penny disappear with a twist of his wrist just vanish in thin air to pluck it later from your ear or nose. People laughed when dad did that. He’d put a matchstick in the centre of a clean white...
Regina Weinert
A key on a short string unlocks
a metal door to an unlit stair, steep
wooden steps, a turn at the top
Dave Wakely
Grandfather/Grandson A hot, dry day in an already arid season. I stumble through stands of age-misshapen oaks, leaves blistering brown as they beckon me into the shade. From time to time, I glimpse a clearing to one side of the path, or a view...
David Lukens
Having earned their wings through evolution
it is almost as though they are loth to use them
preferring familiar earth, the old tree’s broad shadow.
Marnie Cockrill
So, what has brought you in today Mrs…?
Owens. Mrs Owens.
Day Seven of ‘Wonder’ for NPD: Helen Anderson, Sue Johns
When the light returns
I will remind the garden.
Along with the robins
who have cast off
their Christmas card coyness
to mate.
Day Six of ‘Wonder’ for NPD: Martin McKenna, Emma Dandy
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
Day Five of ‘Wonder’ for NPD: Shanta Acharya, Sue Finch, Miriam Otto
I step into the darkness as the last light fades.
The stars are not there yet. The campfire gleams
in grey ash. And I am alone with the night.