Today’s choice
Previous poems
Simon Williams
Hummingbird Hawk Moth
What were these fairies called
before we knew of hummingbirds?
Bumblebee moth because of the size?
Reed-nose moth because of the proboscis?
I fancy Garden-sprite, Hoverling,
tiny Vanguard from the Realm of Humm,
Flit-wing, Pixy peregrine, Flutter-at-the-fuchsia,
Be-gone-before-you-know-it.
Hummingbirds are known to tweak hairs
for their nests, right from your head.
Hair would be too heavy, here.
Spider-thread is all these imps could steal.
Simon Williams (www.simonwilliams.info) has been writing since his teens, when he was mentored at university by Roger McGough and Pete Morgan. His first collection was published in 1981. Since then, he has had eight further books and his 10th, The Pickers and Other Tales, from Vole, was published in February 2024. Simon was elected The Bard of Exeter in 2013.
Melanie Branton
A vixen or a reason. A
rave. No air, no sex, nor
Charlotte Oliver
On a bench outside Next,
a punctured woman
traces circles in the air with
a pale finger
Peter Devonald
He is bitterest regrets,
dark chocolate, olives and kale,
The Telegraph and Magritte’s
pipe, the treachery of images.
Anne Ryland
Restless two-hundred-year-old village elder,
a ragged playground of words, or is it weeds –
fragments of chant to slaps of skipping rope.
Colin Dardis
I have never climbed a tree,
never broken a bone
and will never walk on water.
May Garner
The house keeps score
in places no one checks any longer.
Sally Spiers
Night’s white noise is over. Day arises
to stillness. Light crouches behind windows
Tim Brookes
In the charity shop I try on a coat
flocked with fake shearling,
shaved-soft almost: fibres
fired onto plastic to fool the wrist.
Kim Waters
You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,