Today’s choice
Previous poems
Max Wallis
Serenity Prayer
god grant us the serenity / to accept the things we cannot change / the courage to change the / things we can / and the wisdom to know el differencio / such as / true Heinz ketchup / vs Aldi home brand / the subtle grief of budget beans / the betrayal of margarine that tries to pass for butter / the smear of compromise / on morning toast / god grant us patience / when the oat milk separates in coffee / and when someone says it’s the same thing / but you know / it’s not / and you don’t have the words to argue / over condiments / anymore / give us courage / to walk away from relationships / but never from the good mayonnaise / help us forgive ourselves / for buying the cheap pesto / again / even when we knew / even when it smelled like despair / teach us to accept the own-brand biscuits / in hospital waiting rooms / and the whisper of realisation / that nothing / is ever quite the same / once you’ve tasted / the full-fat / the full-price / the full truth / of what was / always yours.
Max Wallis (@maxwallis) is the author of Polari Prize-shortlisted Modern Love (2011) and Everything Everything (2016). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Rialto, Poetry Scotland, Magma, Poetry London, Fourteen Poems and Vogue. He edits The Aftershock Review (@aftershockpoetry) and his new book Well Done, You Didn’t Die from which is poem is taken is out in November with Verve. @verve.publisherofpoetry He lives in Lancashire, with complex PTSD. You can pre order a copy here: www.vervepoetrybookshop.com
Andy Hoaen
On flat plains of low juniper scrub
monolithic, massive remnants of ice
dwarf the land, draws the herds: mammoth, deer, horse
Gordon Vells
Not the boring twin.
Not even benign.
This is a proper island:
rocks, foghorn, lighthouse.
Jacob Burgess Rollo
Jacob Burgess Rollo is a poet and prose writer based in Dorset, his work is featured in From the Lighthouse and Avant Cardigan, a zine he founded with friends. He has an English Literature BA from Durham and is going on to study for a master's in...
Dilys Wyndham Thomas
we walk through the exhibition hall lost
amongst water-logged bones, a sunk haul lost
Ruth Lexton
It is late at night and the kettle is boiling,
a quire of steam fanning out in the white kitchen
you are holding me as if I were your girl again
Stewart Carswell
It’s the house at the end.
White paint flakes off the front gate,
wood rots beneath.
Chris Kinsey
Hey cat, you’re doing really well,
three fields stalked and only one to go.
Holly Magill
. . .you’re swallowed whole
into this cocoon: pine-scent, antibac and the dry
whoosh of his heater – lean your careworn bones into
synthetic leather snug, . . .
Dave Simmons
My sky is a hole from which the bucket drops.
Like all heretics, I am put to work processing stones.