Today’s choice
Previous poems
K. S. Moore
A Memory Moves Me On (Teenage Years)
Teenage years
everything begins
it never ends
Berries shout my name
at the fruit stall
I hear a voice
sing more than words,
see the cross of his cheekbones,
the shade of his hair.
I save his image
to a locked braincell,
open it on slow days.
I don’t feel young
but I know I began —
this isn’t the end
K. S. Moore’s poetry collection What frost does under a crescent moon is available from The Seventh Quarry Press. Poetry has featured in many journals, including The Stony Thursday Book and New Welsh Review. Work is forthcoming with Black Cat Poetry Press. @ksmoorepoet on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.
Patrick Deeley
He sees a stainless-steel spoon
burned off at the base,
a bunch of wild flowers dropped,
Eliot North
Explaining to my little man
about proportion,
he responds with feeling:
a picture of daddy
with thousands of fingers.
Jeanette Burton
What is this, a family outing?
Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him
as I open the car door, climb into the front seat,
remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe.
CS Crowe
Lines He lived next to the funeral home with his three daughters. A cherry picker beeps in the distance. I cannot see it, but I know the light is red. Who brings roses to a funeral? Rain rolls down window glass, but not here, only somewhere in the...
Carole Bromley
I don’t know why I went,
I’d already heard about the time
a colleague’s husband turned up
at the staff barbecue and punched him.
Lisa Falshaw
A mother teaches her Neurodiverse child colours
What colour is the dog?
The dog is brown.
Can you see the brown dog?
Paul Murgatroyd
I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral,
Cassandra whispering to Narcissus,
an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party
Hayden Hyams
The rain is expected to stop in 8 minutes and start again in 29 minutes
Bryan Marshall
Look at the faint rain twisting
itself into the ground,
making dry things resign themselves
to different states of damp.