Today’s choice
Previous poems
Julian Dobson
The small press publisher
You too I guess
have studied the surviving starlings
as they swoop and whistle
by the snack trailer at Moorfoot
glinting for crumbs of flaky pastry
like a glimpsed field of dandelions
and everything turns holy – you
shouldering your bag
of printer-fresh smooth pages
halting the gutterwebbed streets
with round words, delicate
as dust-jackets. See
how those walked syllables
arc into hollow air
in tattily furnished function rooms
or slip through letterboxes,
little pearly grenades.
Julian Dobson’s work has appeared in numerous print and online journals, including Stand, The Rialto, and Tears in the Fence. Julian lives in Sheffield but hasn’t yet learned to love mushy peas.
Jim Paterson
Shove it, that farewell
and the sky shimmering with frost
and the waves wrecking on the shore
Philip Rush
Tom’s advice, mind you,
was to drink hot chocolate
last thing at night
on a garden bench
beneath the moon.
Rosie Jackson
Today, I talked with a friend about death
and what it means to have arrived in my life
before I have to leave it . . .
Mariam Saidan
they said sing in private,
Zan shouldn’t sing.
Brian Kirk
The train is the way,
the tracks a scar cut
deep in the land
you can’t help but touch.
Michelle Diaz
Mum was
a raised axe and a party hat.
Alice O’Malley-Woods
i run like a goat
tongue-lolled
Caiti Luckhurst
But first the sun has to break in two
Mara Adamitz Scrupe
on that new broke land I don’t anymore
recall there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow
a grove named & a bird’s sternum