Today’s choice

Previous poems

Nigel King

 

 

 

Aquamarine

My compass – its needle set with a sliver of blue stone – spins and spins. Breath mists my snow
goggles. I wipe them endlessly. Even in these thick seal-skin mitts my hands are frozen. I have been
no place as still as this. As white. Beneath my feet, there’s yard upon yard of ice, and below it,
black water flowing. Sharks, old before I was born, coast in mile-wide circles, hunting skate, cod,
wolffish, or scavenging the bodies of whales. Sea lillies filter-feed, anchored on wrecks. I leave a
trail of sparkling footprints, a track from nowhere to nowhere. The ship is far off, with whoever’s
left of my companions. My vision blurs in the endless glare. Is that a bird soaring in the distance, or
a floater drifting across my retina? The needle spins on. All directions are the same. I choose one
anyway.

 

 

Nigel King lives in Huddersfield, where he is a member of the long-running Albert Poets group. He recently completed a Master’s in Creative Writing at MMU. His Pamphlet, What I Love About Daleks, was published by Calder Valley Poetry.

Peter Wallis

Dead in a chest,
 are folded matinee jackets, bonnets, bootees and mitts.

Tissue sighs like the sea at Lowestoft,
   always Third week in August

Amanda Bell

We clipped a window through the currant, sat on folding chairs with keep-cups,
wrapped in blankets as we yelled through the prescribed two-metre gap.
Then took to mending – darning socks and patching favourite denims

A W Earl

Doors

My parents’ house became a place of closed white doors,

where sound hung spare and echoes found no junk 

or clutter to rest themselves upon.

Clare Morris

Necessity, that scold’s bridle, held her humble and mean,
So that she no longer spoke, just looked –
Her world reduced to a search for special offers . . .