Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sam Szanto
After a Stillbirth
He had been told the trolley
would be in the corridor at noon.
He could get sandwiches.
It was normally for mothers only
but they’d make an exception.
His wife won’t eat anything.
He has to do something.
He cannot sit and be nothing.
He queues behind
a woman holding a tiny baby,
a woman holding a tiny baby,
a woman holding a tiny baby.
He watches the garrulous juggle,
baby, Diet Coke, sandwich.
They don’t seem to notice him
until he stretches out a hand
for a dry egg and cress.
The server says,
“The trolley is for mothers only.”
Steph Morris
Who’s idea was it? I think his, as I’d started
wearing everything from Oxfam. Among my finds
collarless shirts.
Kathy Pimlott
Going down to do lights and curtains to fool any burglars Twilight: one after another security lights click on illuminating pathways, steps, empty front lawns, triggered by my benign progress, then, disappointed, click off. The sky is a layer cake...
Sharon Black
My thoughts are skittish,
peck at whatever they find.
I flick each whitewash flake
into the bin. Shadows on the walls
Vanessa Napolitano
Floors are unvacuumed. Spices remain un-alphabetised.
I bless the spaces between the furniture to keep everyone safe. Seven.
Ben Verinder
Nostalgia as Yogi Bear
Ruminates through you for something tasty,
prizes of the Jellystone mind.
Jane Spray
I’m just an ordinary dryad
not like fancy Eurydice with her sun god father
keep things simple I say I don’t have her dilemmas
Paul Stephenson
The poem of the mask disguises meaning.
The poem of the diet lost seven words.
The poem of the snowman melted.
The poem of the invisible man.
Alex Josephy
Let us now praise hi-vis men
who gather together
round a pothole, filling the gap
with their sticky black remedy.
Claire Lynn
I lie back, arch my throat,
pretend to relax. Contemplate
ceiling tiles . . .