Today’s choice
Previous poems
Mary Mulholland
This poem is a secret
after Elma Mitchell
It doesn’t trust paper. It writes itself
in my head where no one can reach it,
laugh, tear it to shreds, or
call it a waste of space, a disgrace.
A poem is grace, a prayer,
my longing for more than I am.
Sometimes I wake in the night
to write it, hear the hushed breathing
of you beside me – waves
don’t lose their power in the dark.
This poem will save me. It gives purpose,
a kind of kindness, a healing balm,
takes me away, the same room as you
while elsewhere.
Mary Mulholland is a widely published poet, most recently Magma 94, Finished Creatures, Poetry News, and her poems are frequently finalists in competitions. Her debut collection is forthcoming this year from Nine Arches and she has two pamphlets (Broken Sleep and Live Canon). www.marymulholland.co.uk
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.
Hélène Demetriades
At breakfast my man sticks a purple
magnolia bud in my soft boiled egg.
The flower opens, distilling to lilac.
Stuart Henson
Sometimes I’m surprised there’s light
in dark places, those corridors, those alleys
where you wouldn’t stray if you didn’t need
Richard Stimac
Trends of lead, silver, copper, and zinc
vein the middle of Missouri . . .