Today’s choice
Previous poems
Lorna Rose Gill
I Don’t Remember Breakfast With You
Maybe I remember getting brunch;
or the time the dog ate my croissant;
or when you fed me strawberries ironically in bed
and we giggled with sugar on our lips.
These breakfasts bubbled like new rivers.
Now, mornings are made of muesli on the sofa,
the dog between us, coffee and juice.
We didn’t mean for routine. We put it together
piece by piece and the sun agreed.
Lorna Rose Gill is a poet and facilitator. She lives on the Wirral with a man and two dogs and is mostly inspired by the liminal space of the intertidal zone. Find her on Instagram @lornarosegill and theorangeverse.substack.com
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.
Poetry from UEA MA Scholars 2023/2024: Badriya Abdullah and Dana Collins
Oranges with Bibi
Don’t hold the knife like that!
the first love lesson
from my grandmother…
– Badriya Abdullah
*
pulp
just once I want
you sprayed over pavement
I split my knuckles swinging…
– Dana Collins
Dawn Sands
Nothing I can tell you to answer your question —
all I can muster is that
it was that production of King Lear, Edgar emerging
Christian Donovan
O celebrated bard, you should know
espresso mixed with drags of Gauloise
won’t steady your head.
Shamik Banerjee
Much like a burnt-out farmer flumping down
upon his ache-allaying, tender bed