Today’s choice
Previous poems
Kim Waters
Letter to L
You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,
but missing from a baker’s dozen.
You’re in every email I ever wrote,
appearing in April and July,
but lying dormant in other months.
You bookend the linguistic paradox
of logical and lateral thinking.
I hear your lisp in silence, conjuring
something glamorous in lapis lazuli.
You’re the difference between
the flight and fight response,
the one that can’t leave one alone.
You’ve been known to double down
on bullshit, rollbacks and collusion,
but at the core you’re mellow
and although not easily heard,
you always walk the talk.
L, let’s face it, life begins with you.
Kim Waters lives in Melbourne, Australia. She has a Master of Arts in creative writing. She is currently completing an Advanced Diploma of Visual Arts. Her poems have appeared in The Australian, Acumen, The Shanghai Literary Review, Under the Radar, The Wells Street Journal, Marble and La Piccioletta Barca.
Suzanne Scarfone
truth be told
part of me has lived
in this box of disquiet
for years and years
let’s see
Julia Webb
Because a woman woke up
and her head had become a flower.
Freyr Thorvaldsson
A candle eats away at air
At the same rate that we do
Konstandinos (Dino) Mahoney
A teacher guides his pupils past headless marble torsos,
dusty cabinets of tiny Attic coins, pockmarked stylobates,
to a large clay pithos . . .
Maggie Brookes-Butt
For you, with your toddler bendiness,
the squat is a natural, easy position
while I hurt-strain, thinking of miners
crouched outside their front doors
Sally Michaelson
Heads under bonnets
mechanics catch a wiff
of a girl passing
Carmen Marcus
extract from The Keen Is ar scath a Chéile a mhaireann na daoine: It is in the shadow of each other we live. Watching with the dying. Travelling with the dead. Phyllida Anam-Áire; The Celtic Book of Dying, Findhorn Press, Vermont, 2022 Àite...
Nina Parmenter
When The Threat of Hell Failed
God created the lanyard,
Bel Wallace
Month by month I felt my muscles harden
these hefty horns grew from my long skull