Today’s choice
Previous poems
Leigh-Anne Hallowby
You used to be shorter
When we first came here two seasons ago
You were barely as high as my hip
Now you can look me right in the eye
It’s almost impossible to believe
You’re not quite as tall as Giannis
But you hope that one day you can
Jump like him
Until then, I’ll chant defence with you
Take you to the park
Return balls in the rain
I’ll watch as you practice your shots
Talk tactics with you every day
And when you get older
We’ll still be in the stands
Foam fingers for hands
Because it’s such a beautiful game.
Leigh-Anne Hallowby is a poet from North East England. She likes striding up hills with a hot flask, and a notebook in her pocket. She’s tried to dunk a basketball, but just doesn’t quite make it.
From the Archives: Dipo Baruwa-Etti
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Julian Bishop
He emerges at nightfall, lights a solitary votive candle//
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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
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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.
B. Anne Adriaens
symptoms she is aggregate concrete and grit held together in a human shape lying on her side knees drawn up flesh tensing to stone and tendons in flames the weight of her body pressed into the mattress leaves a shallow hollow once she’s gone a...
Martin Potter
glimmer blades
the field’s lightly fogged
grass green