Today’s choice
Previous poems
Lorna Rose Gill
I Don’t Remember Breakfast With You
Maybe I remember getting brunch;
or the time the dog ate my croissant;
or when you fed me strawberries ironically in bed
and we giggled with sugar on our lips.
These breakfasts bubbled like new rivers.
Now, mornings are made of muesli on the sofa,
the dog between us, coffee and juice.
We didn’t mean for routine. We put it together
piece by piece and the sun agreed.
Lorna Rose Gill is a poet and facilitator. She lives on the Wirral with a man and two dogs and is mostly inspired by the liminal space of the intertidal zone. Find her on Instagram @lornarosegill and theorangeverse.substack.com
Sue Wallace-Shaddad
I tempt you with morsels
of soft-skinned peach, a pear sliced
in quarters, pipless and skinless.
Lesley Burt
Red-hot-pokers blazon her two world wars in flowerbeds, and in her hearth. The coalman drops odd nuggets under gaslight for neighbours to fetch in a bucket.
From the Archives: Dipo Baruwa-Etti
Seats
Before a table of white
People, I stand with ballet
Slippers strapped/soft soles
Head pointed towards the angels…
Ian Harker
The first night you lay down your head in London
there is hawthorne between your sheets.
Julian Bishop
He emerges at nightfall, lights a solitary votive candle//
prostrates himself at her scuffed toes.
Jon Miller
Haul down the ladder and you’re in
under a skylight casting a blue dream.
Philip Gross
This is the song of the cells’
soft throb, the quivering coherences,
their shuffling the profit and loss
of life, to have and to hold.
Jenny Hope
No man can hold me.
See –
I blur the line between days . . .
Damaris West
In the circle
of its trees
the lochan shines
midnight silk.