Today’s choice
Previous poems
Max Wallis
Serenity Prayer
god grant us the serenity / to accept the things we cannot change / the courage to change the / things we can / and the wisdom to know el differencio / such as / true Heinz ketchup / vs Aldi home brand / the subtle grief of budget beans / the betrayal of margarine that tries to pass for butter / the smear of compromise / on morning toast / god grant us patience / when the oat milk separates in coffee / and when someone says it’s the same thing / but you know / it’s not / and you don’t have the words to argue / over condiments / anymore / give us courage / to walk away from relationships / but never from the good mayonnaise / help us forgive ourselves / for buying the cheap pesto / again / even when we knew / even when it smelled like despair / teach us to accept the own-brand biscuits / in hospital waiting rooms / and the whisper of realisation / that nothing / is ever quite the same / once you’ve tasted / the full-fat / the full-price / the full truth / of what was / always yours.
Max Wallis (@maxwallis) is the author of Polari Prize-shortlisted Modern Love (2011) and Everything Everything (2016). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Rialto, Poetry Scotland, Magma, Poetry London, Fourteen Poems and Vogue. He edits The Aftershock Review (@aftershockpoetry) and his new book Well Done, You Didn’t Die from which is poem is taken is out in November with Verve. @verve.publisherofpoetry He lives in Lancashire, with complex PTSD. You can pre order a copy here: www.vervepoetrybookshop.com
Sue Spiers
A woodpigeon calls
his five-note matins.
Petals ratchet wide
as the sun rises.
Alison Jones
Distance from the ground has become
a way of reminding myself,
how the earth turns her swaying tilt
John Coburn
Inside May’s warm beauty
I think of God and of the Virgin Mary.
I’ve always loved Mary.
Joe Wright
three sheep and a sharp wind, behind
which I feel involvement start
to tug.
Clara-Læïla Laudette
I’m six days late
and this is known as a
delinquent period.
Jan Swann
You seem very far from home
and who would after all choose a grit pocked
pavement to languish on
Gwen Sayers
Clouds spit on the coffin,
wring oily rags, splash
a woman, her violin
cased in sunken purple.
Dave Wynne-Jones
And did she break your heart?
A woman asks, perhaps imagining
A fallen chalice . . .
Simon Maddrell
Four years in Knockaloe was a living
inspiration for inventor Joseph Pilates.