Today’s choice
Previous poems
K. S. Moore
A Memory Moves Me On (Teenage Years)
Teenage years
everything begins
it never ends
Berries shout my name
at the fruit stall
I hear a voice
sing more than words,
see the cross of his cheekbones,
the shade of his hair.
I save his image
to a locked braincell,
open it on slow days.
I don’t feel young
but I know I began —
this isn’t the end
K. S. Moore’s poetry collection What frost does under a crescent moon is available from The Seventh Quarry Press. Poetry has featured in many journals, including The Stony Thursday Book and New Welsh Review. Work is forthcoming with Black Cat Poetry Press. @ksmoorepoet on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.
Matthew James Friday
We totem our empires with the raptor,
weave into flags, fix on coins
but what of the victims?
How come no one ever glories the fish . . .
Ansuya Patel
Think what it must have been like for her
fasting from sunrise to moonrise, to wake up
three hours before dawn, bathe, apply sindoor
on the parting of her hair line . . .
Chris Beckett
Zerihun drove him over the dead-cow hills and Bob’s long hair stood up with shock at what he saw.
Angela France
Driving into low cloud everything fades
to a blur, all colour and definition leached
David Van-Cauter
Two calls this morning – flood of tears…
She cannot eat a single thing they give her.
Dan Stathers
A long way from the quags of Nova Scotia,
stowaway beneath the cherry laurel thicket,
more triffid than cabbage . . .
Sarah L Dixon’
I fall in love with Leeds Coach Station, Holts pints,
a shared fish supper from Arkwrights.
Simon Alderwick
1
in the beginning,
there was light.
and light said:
let there be god.
and god meant: everything
touched by light.
Tim Kiely
The Abbot of Kosljun Monastery Considers the Cyclopean Lamb
He suppresses a shudder as he summons
the brothers from the library; shows…