Today’s choice
Previous poems
Day Six of ‘Wonder’ for NPD: Martin McKenna, Emma Dandy
Prolonged Panic Attack II
it’s the end of the world and i choose
bottom shelf body wash, top shelf
shampoo. almost all the way over the
edge, i choose brand name bleach, leave
washing powder to the next life. it’s
the end of the world and i lean against
one of the sail sculptures city centre.
foot up, i feel how solid its casing.
i see one bus off, tinnitus. vision blurs
particularly bad the ride up another.
arm around solid paper shopping bag,
i need this water flow wash my hair,
need these last cigarettes to end the world,
their smoke opening old scars this guitar.
Martin McKenna
Do you know how your mum and dad met?
after How to be Adopted’s ‘Questions not to ask an adopted person’
A: I watch a greater spotted woodpecker strip the bark from the old apple tree in the middle
of my garden.
B: He jack-hammers into the trunk, searching for beetle larvae.
C: Dendrocopos major’s tongue is so long he stores it wrapped around his shock-absorbing
skull.
D: He flies to the drainpipe to knock out his territorial beat, and the plastic shatters.
Emma Dandy explores the fragmentation of identity after trauma as experienced by adoptees. She has been widely published in journals and anthologies including The Ekphrastic Review, Atrium and The Honest Ulsterman. Emma won Fish Publishing’s Haiku Prize 2026. Instagram: @emmadandypoetry
Michelle Diaz
This is just a woman,
sticking her life back together
after years spent recovering.
Autumn Richardson
What you are –
bodied light, a store of oil
a hive of warm blood
Rebecca Parfitt
In the back of the taxi on my way to the hospital,
thighs clenched together,
the driver asked me,
Samarth Agarwal
Here — in the absolute zero of space — fireworks!
Look how the crucibles of creation,
those million coloured fingers that stretch light years —
Jenny Scoones
We unlearn how it felt to touch
And resume our separate days in shirts and trousers,
Like hazmats against the sun and its longing,
The moon with its underbelly pulls.
Matt Bryden
Now a blanket is spread, offerings
of chutney and shin bones,
a taper held to the fire
that heats the tar beneath our boats.
Kit Duke
I didn’t know then,
moving for a mouth
that refused to yield an inch,
what it wasn’t.
Janet Hatherley
In my cookery exam, we have to prepare a family meal This is summer and Mum can’t put out her trot line with its hooks because of swimmers so I buy three mackerel from the fishmonger. I cycle to the school bus stop one arm on the handlebar,...
Jane Ayres
& my sub-tropical heart
will punctuate the idea of treacling hope
puncturing the sense of a book