Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jean Atkin
Lighting the Strangers into the cave
for Celia Fiennes, who rode 3000 miles around England on horseback in 1697
She hears the locals call it
the Devil’s Arse.
the hill on one End jutting out
in two parts and joyns in one at ye top
this Cleft between you Enter a great Cave
She creeps under the opening, then stands.
Her guide passes her the stub of a candle,
holds up his own to show the ceiling rock.
She hears the drip of water. In her riding skirt
that sweeps the ground, her narrow, heeled boots,
Celia clambers over stones and under stalactites
there is often Cause of Stooping very Low to pass by
and ye Rocks do drip water in many places
wch makes it damp and strikes Cold to you
haveing Lost ye sight of day
Although a Puritan, Celia writes it in her diary:
‘the Devil’s Arse’.
She is less prudish than the men
who come exploring
a generation later, resort
to asterisks.
Jean Atkin’s third full collection High Nowhere is was published last year by IDP. Previous publications include How Time is in Fields (IDP); The Bicycles of Ice and Salt (IDP) and Fan-peckled (Fair Acre Press). She is a poet in education and community. www.jeanatkin.com
Sally Michaelson
Heads under bonnets
mechanics catch a wiff
of a girl passing
Carmen Marcus
extract from The Keen Is ar scath a Chéile a mhaireann na daoine: It is in the shadow of each other we live. Watching with the dying. Travelling with the dead. Phyllida Anam-Áire; The Celtic Book of Dying, Findhorn Press, Vermont, 2022 Àite...
Nina Parmenter
When The Threat of Hell Failed
God created the lanyard,
Bel Wallace
Month by month I felt my muscles harden
these hefty horns grew from my long skull
Stephen Keeler
Something about arriving somewhere new
just as afternoon is leaving . . .
Geraldine Stoneham
The silence and peace of this place
creeps through on birdsong.
Emma Lee
The instruction invites overthinking:
describe your hometown through
the medium of simple sentences
Vanessa Napolitano
I ask my father to dinner, pretending he is still alive,
ask him what he’d like. He says a pork chop which is not
something I know how to cook.
David Forrest
I don’t know why you bother with poetry Vlad mutters as he adjusts the current in the magnets, forcing them to rhyme with each other.