Today’s choice
Previous poems
Chrissie Gittins
My Brother Teaches Me How To Open And Close A Door
When you’ve used one handle to open the door,
use the other handle to close it.
That way the draft from the open window
won’t whip it closed and wake everyone up.
Even now he still teaches me –
keep your phone safe from thieves,
protect your muscles and bones,
sprinkle ground eggshells around your tomatoes.
His arm is always around my shoulder –
as the garden birds abandon his feeders for insects,
as he searches for a recipe for his plentiful courgettes,
as he lies awake at night making lists and lists and lists.
Chrissie Gittins‘ collections are Sharp Hills (IDP), I’’ll Dress One Night as You (Salt) and Armature (Arc). She appeared with her fifth children’s poetry collection on BBC Countryfile. Her second short story collection was shortlisted for the Saboteur Awards. Her work has featured on BBCR4 and the Poetry Archive. She is a Hawthornden Fellow. @ChrissieGittins
Chris Kinsey
Hey cat, you’re doing really well,
three fields stalked and only one to go.
Holly Magill
. . .you’re swallowed whole
into this cocoon: pine-scent, antibac and the dry
whoosh of his heater – lean your careworn bones into
synthetic leather snug, . . .
Dave Simmons
My sky is a hole from which the bucket drops.
Like all heretics, I am put to work processing stones.
Paul Fenn
To impress you, I became
a seven-year-old son of Sparta.
A little hard man, crayon
marching down the page.
Ruth Aylett
God had been playing computer games
for a chunk of eternity when he became aware
he’d left creation in the oven for a long time
Chris Campbell
The View From This Hospital Window
I admire an empty bench for hours –
then a glum couple sit to share strawberries.
Patrick Deeley
He sees a stainless-steel spoon
burned off at the base,
a bunch of wild flowers dropped,
Eliot North
Explaining to my little man
about proportion,
he responds with feeling:
a picture of daddy
with thousands of fingers.
Jeanette Burton
What is this, a family outing?
Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him
as I open the car door, climb into the front seat,
remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe.