Today’s choice
Previous poems
Phil Vernon
Something (almost) understood
Firle Beacon, South Downs
These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here,
but hide their mysteries in riddles: how
whole flints were wrapped – by nature’s sleight of hand –
in chalk laid down as plankton long ago,
how giants squeezed the land to form a dome
aeons of wind and rain made disappear,
why hills were shaped with steep or shallow sides,
how minor streams once cut their way through towering
tons of rock and soil to reach the sea,
how continents and islands drifted casually;
why ancient people scraped and heaped the earth
to make these hilltop mounds now overgrown;
why this stone church fell into disrepair.
Did prophets and messiah walk where books describe,
know what we’re told – and wish to believe – they knew?
Did what they said mean what we read or hear?
And did they speak with whom the writings say?
Did simple silence also serve as prayer,
as simple silence serves, up here, today?
Phil Vernon is retired, after an international peacebuilding and humanitarian career. His most recent collection is Guerilla Country (Flight of the Dragonfly, 2024). www.philvernon.net
Jenny Hockey
That’s when she went to ground,
after she disobeyed, painted her plastic tea set
red, hidden away in the playhouse they built
down where bindweed draped
Sue Proffitt
You and I have had many talks since you died.
Nick Cooke
If when you go to the barber today
He asks if you’d like him to ‘tidy up your ears’,
Think of all the wildest sprawling vegetation
That will never be tidied, or trimmed, by clippers or shears,
Edward Alport
High up, out of reach,
on a branch, no, more a twig,
a little wizened, shrunken face leers down.
Colin Pink
not the kind you eat with
but useful to turn the soil
root out potatoes or carrots
Linda Ford
My Father Bought a Signal Box
dismantled it piece by piece
then sold the wood, as a job lot.
Ryan O’Neill
we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles
David Thompson
Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.
Marcelle Newbold
Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness
perhaps enough solidness to knife
through a banana or other soft fruit