Today’s choice
Previous poems
Maryam Alsaeid
A Prayer for Rima
With echoes of the Arabic lullaby ‘yalla tnam’
Maybe after your bath—
you will sit for a moment,
the towel will hold you close
like a quiet prayer—
يا رب، نامت الطفلة، يا رب خلّيها تنام
Ya Rab, the child sleeps, oh Lord, help her sleep.
Your hair still sings with water—
the evening folds around you,
a linen of mercy and cradling—
you are small again.
Your breath curls into itself,
as if rocked by unseen hands.
Everyone needs a night like this—
the freedom to forget noise,
to feel a droplet slip down the shoulder,
to feel as precious as a close whisper
يا عصفورة، يا وردة، نامي بسلام
Little bird, little flower, sleep in peace.
Outside, cars sigh along the road—
washing the city clean. Inside
your chest loosens, a psalm
in the language of skin.
The tears that come—
do not accuse you
they anoint.
May this be your Sunday—
your soft rebirth. May time
dissolve like salt in water,
and the world begin again
inside you.
يلا تنام، يلا تنام
Yalla tnam, yalla tnam
The night will rock you—
like a mother who hums
long after you’ve slept.
Maryam Alsaeid is a Manchester-based poet and pharmacist, she explores healing and female empowerment. She studied at MMU with Carol Ann Duffy, was mentored by Julia Webb, and leads well being-focused writing workshops.
Rebecca Gethin
This morning
the room is bright with snowlight
and everything seems illuminated differently.
Lorraine Carey
Every Sunday he insists on beef
from Boggs’s butchers, a forty minute drive
away.
Gabriel Moreno
It’s hard to say what he did, my father.
His shoulders portaged crates,
he captained boats in the night,
chocolate eggs would appear
which smelt of ChefChaouen.
Henry Wilkinson
I rolled an orange across daybreak;
I waited for the moon to ripen.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, we bring you KB Ballentine, J.S. Watts and Terry Dyson
as wind whispers your name.
Summer’s breaking down and a starker calling comes –
leaves saturated with sunset before surrendering.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, we bring you Helen Laycock, Ruth Aylett and Debbie Strange
we will meet again
on the other side
On the tenth day of Christmas, we bring you Jenny McRobert, Angela Topping and Maria C. McCarthy
The tree makes its way into the garden
looms at the window, a disconsolate ghost
On the ninth day of Christmas, we bring you Caroline Smith, Bec Mackenzie and David Keyworth
After the lunch he gets his folder
of Christmas games.
On the eighth day of Christmas, we bring you Em Gray, Abigail Ottley and Emma Simon
And now you’re half a spin of the world away,
somewhere I’ve never been, like Narnia . . .
