Today’s choice
Previous poems
Hedy Hume
Manchester Piccadilly ➡ Wolverhampton
Stepping into the opposing seat
I smile, and the look I receive
Makes me feel the antisocial one.
With oh so many missed connections
It seems that somewhere, somewhen, somehow
Something has gone horribly wrong.
In the darkness of the tunnel we
Stare at nothing – and saying nothing,
(Aside from coughing) nothing goes on.
Hedy Hume is a writer of poetry and fiction who haunts the Irish Sea’s stony shores. Her work has been featured in such publications as Inkandescent Press’ MAINSTREAM and Broken Sleep Books’ Metamorphosis. On Instagram they call her @hedy_the_ghost.
Holly Magill
. . .you’re swallowed whole
into this cocoon: pine-scent, antibac and the dry
whoosh of his heater – lean your careworn bones into
synthetic leather snug, . . .
Dave Simmons
My sky is a hole from which the bucket drops.
Like all heretics, I am put to work processing stones.
Paul Fenn
To impress you, I became
a seven-year-old son of Sparta.
A little hard man, crayon
marching down the page.
Ruth Aylett
God had been playing computer games
for a chunk of eternity when he became aware
he’d left creation in the oven for a long time
Chris Campbell
The View From This Hospital Window
I admire an empty bench for hours –
then a glum couple sit to share strawberries.
Patrick Deeley
He sees a stainless-steel spoon
burned off at the base,
a bunch of wild flowers dropped,
Eliot North
Explaining to my little man
about proportion,
he responds with feeling:
a picture of daddy
with thousands of fingers.
Jeanette Burton
What is this, a family outing?
Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him
as I open the car door, climb into the front seat,
remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe.
CS Crowe
Lines He lived next to the funeral home with his three daughters. A cherry picker beeps in the distance. I cannot see it, but I know the light is red. Who brings roses to a funeral? Rain rolls down window glass, but not here, only somewhere in the...