Today’s choice
Previous poems
Tom Kelly
Save Me
At thirteen I am competing with James Joyce,
encouraging pain, at the very least discomfort.
See me fervently praying,
waiting to receive the Communion host.
My knees more than ache, then burn,
I bless the wooden pew causing this necessary pain and
believe implicitly Christ will save me.
Tom Kelly’s most recent collection Walking My Streets is the thirteenth published by Red Squirrel Press and explores Kelly’s life and changing face of his native north-east of England.
Paul Murgatroyd
I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral,
Cassandra whispering to Narcissus,
an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party
Hayden Hyams
The rain is expected to stop in 8 minutes and start again in 29 minutes
Bryan Marshall
Look at the faint rain twisting
itself into the ground,
making dry things resign themselves
to different states of damp.
Poetry from UEA MA Scholars 2023/2024: Badriya Abdullah and Dana Collins
Oranges with Bibi
Don’t hold the knife like that!
the first love lesson
from my grandmother…
– Badriya Abdullah
*
pulp
just once I want
you sprayed over pavement
I split my knuckles swinging…
– Dana Collins
Dawn Sands
Nothing I can tell you to answer your question —
all I can muster is that
it was that production of King Lear, Edgar emerging
Christian Donovan
O celebrated bard, you should know
espresso mixed with drags of Gauloise
won’t steady your head.
Shamik Banerjee
Much like a burnt-out farmer flumping down
upon his ache-allaying, tender bed
Rose Lennard
Each year we climbed to that place high above the ruins.
Melanie Tibbs
People came to find out what ‘Garage Sale’ meant
in a small village landlocked county early burning comet tail
of Thatcher’s Britain.