Today’s choice
Previous poems
Daniel Hill
Pollarding
An ancient art of tree management, in which the top branches of trees are removed
to promote dense new growth, provide light to the understory & fodder for animals.
On her first day home, she took
to plucking the sky with tweezers—
latched on to clouds and waited
for their let-down. She must’ve known
it should please us just to see her
new, blue eyes shine through
the rain. It didn’t, so she spat up
on the earth and summoned vines
of bindweed to wind around our chests.
When she still had no success, she drew
an axe and hacked halfway up our necks
to send our heads toppling
into rabbit warrens. Lopped,
we sent out fragile shoots
and watched the understory
thriving below.
Daniel Hill is a Welsh poet living in Hertfordshire. His debut pamphlet is forthcoming with The Wildheart Press in May 2026. Instagram: hill_daniel_
Arlo Kean
we are at a cafe just round
the corner from hampstead
heath & sipping berry sunrise
Paul Stephenson
Goya was an octopus that smelt of funerals on Mondays.
Sundays, the scent of getting ready.
Jessica Mookherjee for International Women’s Day
The pain comes plucked from a field
in a garland of sunlight.
Jenny Pagdin for International Women’s Day
After many moons
I am perhaps readying to speak.
Kate Noakes for International Women’s Day
Each year in March, on the eighth day,
the one we’re allowed to call ours,
slowly, Jess reads our names . . .
Julia Webb for International Women’s Day
hoover witch mum / mum on the rocks / mum’s coach horses / all the king’s mums /
Sue Burge for International Women’s Day
speaks whale, speaks star
breathes in — tight as a tomb
breathes out — splintered crackle
Gill Connors for International Women’s Day
Rack and stretch her, loosen flesh
from bone. A jointed bird will not squawk.
Helen Ivory for International Women’s Day
A woman somewhere is typing on the internet
my heart wakes me up like clockwork.