Today’s choice
Previous poems
Myra Schneider
Cloud
Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads, and ignore the shroud-grey layers
louring today – they seem to have sucked all the colour
out of this world which struggles every day to cope
with disasters. Slow down and try to immerse yourself
in the whiteness above the distant rows of houses,
spread your arms and let them rise above your head.
Think of them as dancing clouds and lightness will fill you,
ease your aching body. On evenings when scarlet
floods inky layers of sky, watch the incandescent globe
above the viaduct in the park as it sinks into darkness.
Now imagine clouds sucking in water vapour until heavy
as milky udders, they release rain that cleanses the air
and seeps into the over-dry ground beneath it.
The moisture will soften clods, feed worms, sticklebacks,
beetles, all the creatures living below the surface.
Go into your drenched garden, breathe in the sweet air
and think of Wordsworth wandering lonely as a cloud
through field after sodden field. Then close your eyes,
picture the moment he caught sight of the daffodils.
Myra Schneider’s most recent collection is Believing in the Planet, (Poetry Space 2024). Her other publications include fiction for children and teenagers, books about personal writing, in particular Writing My Way Through Cancer and Writing Your Self (with John Killick). She has had 14 full collections of poetry published and her work has been broadcast on Radio BBC4 and BBC3. She was consultant to the Second Light Network for women poets during its 25 years and frequently wrote reviews for its magazine Artemis. An in-depth interview about her poetry and books appeared in Acumen in September (2025). Her work has been widely published in printed and online poetry magazines, also occasionally in newspapers. She has finalized a new collection The Disappearing which is due late in 2026 from Poetry Space. She has co-edited anthologies of poetry by women poets and she has been a poetry tutor for many years.
Note: Dancing clouds is a Tai Chi/Gigong exercise
Kate Noakes
If you follow faerie lights
that wisp where boardwalk
becomes trackway, make sure
you’re stocked with milk,
or bread and salt.
Gopal Lahiri
My father stitched an evening with current ripples
spill over rocks and shadows gather at the corner,
Paul Loney
i was standing
very still
my mind
Mai Ishikawa
Taxi I took shelter under a tree, where you also sheltered. You looked at me awkwardly, as if to say Excuse me before shaking your feathers – a tiny droplet landed on my cheek. Suspended, we held each other responsible for the silence. We listened to the...
Lue Mac
Sad how things expire before you work out
what they mean. Like earlier I was noticing
the rose petals on the path, all damp and slick,
Alice O’Malley-Woods
For the Peregrines of Offham Chalk Pit The quarry holds your eyrie like a grateful palm. You - indelicate gobber all gape and gum-pink circled in the beach white like a mouth stuck in wonder. O spit-shrieker coming back for yourself, tearing fur so diligently, never...
Lori D’Angelo
The cat puts his paw on my hair, and I think about
where we could go if we weren’t here. Maybe the
nail salon, which seems like a good destination for
kill time Saturdays.
Lucy Wilson
Dear Fish, you swam from life and gave your flesh; forgive me.
In your ice-tomb, your scales a rainbow of tiny glaciers, frozen in flight;
like you, I let myself get caught, sank my heart in a false sea.
Amirah Al Wassif
The God I know works as a baker in a local shop.
From time to time, I see him feeding the kittens bread crumbs soaked in milk.