Today’s choice

Previous poems

Phil Vernon

 

 

 

Something (almost) understood
Firle Beacon, South Downs

These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here,

but hide their mysteries in riddles: how
whole flints were wrapped – by nature’s sleight of hand –
in chalk laid down as plankton long ago,

how giants squeezed the land to form a dome
aeons of wind and rain made disappear,
why hills were shaped with steep or shallow sides,

how minor streams once cut their way through towering
tons of rock and soil to reach the sea,
how continents and islands drifted casually;

why ancient people scraped and heaped the earth
to make these hilltop mounds now overgrown;
why this stone church fell into disrepair.

Did prophets and messiah walk where books describe,
know what we’re told – and wish to believe – they knew?
Did what they said mean what we read or hear?

And did they speak with whom the writings say?
Did simple silence also serve as prayer,
as simple silence serves, up here, today?

 

 

Phil Vernon is retired, after an international peacebuilding and humanitarian career. His most recent collection is Guerilla Country (Flight of the Dragonfly, 2024). www.philvernon.net

Kweku Abimbola

My father walks backwards
better than most walk forward—
so whenever he sewed his steps into the living
room carpet, I rushed to mirror my moon-
walking, until he froze,
froze like he’d been caught
by the beat.

Paul Bavister

We found our eyes first,
as they swirled through fragments
of black jumper, dark pine trees
and an orange sunset sky

Phil Vernon

Because we were four
and I only had strength to carry one
and knew no other way
I carried the one who called out loudest;
threatened us most.