Today’s choice

Previous poems

Khairina Anindya, Genevieve Beech

 

 

 

Khair 

At the feet 
of al-Ka‘ba 
you asked for a daughter. 

You named me 
Khair – Blessing. 

I answered 
inside you 
forcing myself into your ribs 

remaking you 
in the emptiness of your lungs. 

in the space he made— 
his shoes 
left in the doorway 

your words— 
not at the tip of your tongue 
but caught at your teeth. 

imprinting your face and his 
I carry you 
under my tongue.

 

 

Khairina Anindya is an engineer from Indonesia, currently based in the Netherlands. She writes poetry shaped by culture and memory. She enjoys reading across different literary traditions.

 

 

 

BIRTHLIGHT

You are ordinary
to the teenager on the bus,
the doctor at our six-week check.

Everywhere, mothers birth
their own gold-spun miracles
with features much like yours.

But I felt you move, 
little wish, inside 
my body, inside its mist.

I knew you first as fable,
a not-yet thing darting under skin,
a lantern held in the halfway.

Before I siphoned your light
outside me, and you flickered,
soared, and the world was changed.

 

 

Genevieve Beech is the creator of Motherlore Magazine on care, matrescence and ecology. Motherlore can be found in the Women’s Art Library, Goldsmiths, and featured in ‘M(other)ing’ 2025 at Virginia Tech Perspective Gallery. Genevieve enjoys the many veins of bookmaking.

Emily A. Taylor

I move my hand long
so yours will follow, and though
this moment tastes of tequila soda
paracetamol pillowed on a fizzing tongue
amnesia… pull me in anyway.

Steph Morris

No way would they let him keep that tag. They saw
a boy they must rename, must mark
from them, a boy whose limbs folded far too gently,

Eryn McDonald

It is here that the day breaks apart
Like ice on frustrated frozen pond
Here in the grounds of Ashton Court
I wish to bury myself amongst the green

Stephen Keeler

The days were huge and kind
and sometimes after school

we’d buy a bag of broken biscuits
for the long walk home

across the heavy heat of afternoon
on lucky days she wouldn’t take

the pennies offered up in supplication

Joseph Blythe

I swear I felt the swirly patterned paper
rip from the walls of my childhood bedroom.
It was the same stained cream shade as my skin –
pockmarked, cut and scabbed, dry and peeling…..

Denise Bundred

Shadowed boats bereft of sail
absorb the surge and slap
constrained by a blue-grey chink
of mooring chains.

Rahma O. Jimoh

A bird skirts across the fence
& I rush to the window
to behold its flapping wings—
It’s been ages
since I last saw a bird.