Today’s choice
Previous poems
J.S.Watts
Beyond The Territory of Water
(In Response to The Territory of Water by Clare Crossman)
On Neptune Street
you may dream of the tide,
its drag and lure
but your feet walk
on solid pavement.
The bag weighted on your shoulder,
in cahoots with gravity,
pulls you in towards the ground.
This is the domain of earth
within the parameters of town.
A place to put down roots,
grow certain.
In this sure harbour
everything has its territory:
clod, flame, breath and breaker
but follow the line of gull up
into the watery expanse of sky,
walk away from certain,
to where the waves heave
their last salty gasp
and the land runs into sea,
you find a place of mergings and meltings,
black wet shingle, sodden brown sand
tide-strewn seaweed damply clinging
to a green surface that is
sometimes by the water
sometimes under water
sometimes the roaring sea itself.
The shore, the strand,
a place that is no place
where boundaries crumble
allegiances change and everything
is margin.
From here you can leave
or come back
but never stay.
How can you rest somewhere
that cannot remember itself?
J.S.Watts is a novelist and poet. She has published nine books: five of poetry, “Cats and Other Myths”, “Years Ago You Coloured Me”, “Songs of Steelyard Sue”, “The Submerged Sea” and “Underword”, plus four novels. See www.jswatts.co.uk & facebook.com/J.S.Watts
Genna Gardini
go back, small cell, atom
slit by light. It takes up
space, an ocean, a planet, a
Fran Hayden
a friend messaged me:
“every time I see sunflowers,
I think of you”
Betty Doyle
Both cast out to sea, I wonder –
did your ashes ever meet?
It was under the same sun setting,
although years and miles apart.
Mark Rutter
when the people are gone
and the wooden house
has been burned down
to recover its nails
Gráinne Daly
Not for me the tomb of Irish soil.
Put me on a plane
and let me make one last journey
before my final departure.
Rebecca Cohen
If you don’t believe in God, my friend says,
why don’t you eat pork?
Rhian Thomas
On my phone a newsreel shows a car boot lifting
just above the flood. Tail lights like eyes
caught in a comic gasp, while its body, like the carriageway,
lies under sixty million litres of last night’s rain.
Sue Norton
Today I tipped the packet of coffee
into the cafetiere instead of the tin.
Caught myself in time, didn’t pour water in.
Steph Morris
Who’s idea was it? I think his, as I’d started
wearing everything from Oxfam. Among my finds
collarless shirts.