Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ewen Glass
Dog’s Life
Listening to a memoir
and discovering the writer’s dog
is on the same SSRI as you
is an odd feeling;
I don’t horn in on a dog’s life,
chase balls, sniff crotches,
but our brains work in similar ways
it seems: carrot, sticks, a reward
called being there.
Ewen Glass is a poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the likes of Atrium, Abridged, Poetry Scotland and HAD. Bluesky/X/IG: @ewenglass
Emma Dandy
I’ve been staring at the blank page of this notebook for an hour. I close my eyes and breathe in for four, hold for four and out for eight, then repeat three times.
Ken Cockburn
We slept as best we could on the night train.
Leaving the station we walked empty streets
aimlessly until turning a corner
there it was, silent and vast as the moon.
Tim Dwyer
On the pitch of the roof
a jackdaw holds a twig
longer than its wingspan—
do corvids feel pride?
Genna Gardini
go back, small cell, atom
slit by light. It takes up
space, an ocean, a planet, a
Fran Hayden
a friend messaged me:
“every time I see sunflowers,
I think of you”
Betty Doyle
Both cast out to sea, I wonder –
did your ashes ever meet?
It was under the same sun setting,
although years and miles apart.
Mark Rutter
when the people are gone
and the wooden house
has been burned down
to recover its nails
Gráinne Daly
Not for me the tomb of Irish soil.
Put me on a plane
and let me make one last journey
before my final departure.
Rebecca Cohen
If you don’t believe in God, my friend says,
why don’t you eat pork?