Today’s choice

Previous poems

Chrissie Gittins

 

 

 

My Brother Teaches Me How To Open And Close A Door

When you’ve used one handle to open the door,
use the other handle to close it.
That way the draft from the open window
won’t whip it closed and wake everyone up.

Even now he still teaches me –
keep your phone safe from thieves,
protect your muscles and bones,
sprinkle ground eggshells around your tomatoes.

His arm is always around my shoulder –
as the garden birds abandon his feeders for insects,
as he searches for a recipe for his plentiful courgettes,
as he lies awake at night making lists and lists and lists.

 

 

Chrissie Gittins‘ collections are Sharp Hills (IDP),  I’’ll Dress One Night as You (Salt) and Armature (Arc). She appeared with her fifth children’s poetry collection on BBC Countryfile. Her second short story collection was shortlisted for the Saboteur Awards. Her work has featured on BBCR4 and the Poetry Archive. She is a Hawthornden Fellow. @ChrissieGittins

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.

Neil Fulwood

Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .

Kate Noakes

If you follow faerie lights
that wisp where boardwalk
becomes trackway, make sure
you’re stocked with milk,
or bread and salt.

Mai Ishikawa

    Taxi I took shelter under a tree, where you also sheltered. You looked at me awkwardly, as if to say Excuse me before shaking your feathers – a tiny droplet landed on my cheek. Suspended, we held each other responsible for the silence. We listened to the...