Today’s choice

Previous poems

Pamilerin Jacob

 

 

Annette’s Ode

Slithering through incisor-gap, English leapt
from your lips to mine, a string
between you & me, ringed

with hot coals we slide back & forth
in the air like abacus beads. Coals
that warm & warn: lighting the way
as best they can, although

Yoruba is the exact shape
of the bulb in the room, & we have,
like plants learnt to tilt

in the direction of that Light,
prayers pouring out of you unhindered
like water from a hose

left in the lawn all night, every
cranny of me grateful to be
soaked & nourished

Annette the gap-toothed,
You kissed a man & I was born. You gave him
your laughter & he built an empire,

died, leaving you to mourn. Your one love,
muttering psalms in the grave’s dark
wishing he could return, seeing only

your gap-tooth in the distance
thinking it a door, through which
years ago English leapt, lip to lip

anxious to fulfil the injunction of blood.

 

 

Pamilerin Jacob’s poems have appeared in POETRY, Lolwe, The Rumpus, Agbowó, Palette, 20.35 Africa, & elsewhere. He is the Founding Editor of Poetry Column-NND, Poetry Sango-Ota, among others. His manuscript, Blight Fantasia, was a finalist in the Walt McDonald First-Book Poetry Competition 2024.

Julian Dobson

Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain

is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging

Oliver Comins

Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.

George Turner

Some days, the privilege of living isn’t enough.
The weight of the kettle is unbearable. You leave the teabag
forlorn in the mug, unpoured.

Clive Donovan

If I were a ghost
I think I would shrink
and perch on wooden poles
and deco shades – get a good view
of what I am supposed to be haunting

Seán Street

There was a time when I took my radio
into the night wood and tuned its pyracantha
needle along the dial through noise jungles
to silent darkness at the waveband’s end.