Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sue Moules
SURREAL SHEEP
I sell the postcard
of multi-coloured sheep
over and over again.
“Done on a computer I suppose”
says a lady as she hands over forty pence.
“Yes, I expect so” I say.
I’ve only seen white,
black and brown sheep,
earth coloured in the fields.
Not hand-coloured
like my parents’ wedding photo
so they were always young.
I sell the postcard
of multi-coloured sheep
over and over again:
Weather good
honey ice-cream lush,
wish you were here.
Sue Moules‘ most recent collection is The Moth Box.(Parthian).
Caiti Luckhurst
But first the sun has to break in two
Mara Adamitz Scrupe
on that new broke land I don’t anymore
recall there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow
a grove named & a bird’s sternum
George Sandifer-Smith
Spring 1833 – mists folding their sheets in the fields.
Isaac Roberts feels the turned earth, his father’s
farm an island in the hurtling Milky Way –
Sharon Phillips
Wet tarmac blinks red and gold,
names shine outside the Gaumont.
‘Stop dreaming, you’ll get lost.’
Bill Greenwell
Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.
Matt Gilbert
Alive, but not exactly,
as it fills the frame, flicker-lit
by lightning. . .
Rebecca Gethin
This morning
the room is bright with snowlight
and everything seems illuminated differently.
Lorraine Carey
Every Sunday he insists on beef
from Boggs’s butchers, a forty minute drive
away.
Gabriel Moreno
It’s hard to say what he did, my father.
His shoulders portaged crates,
he captained boats in the night,
chocolate eggs would appear
which smelt of ChefChaouen.