Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sarah Rowland Jones
Early Morning
The terns lift as one
from the salt-pools behind the beach
– a thick undulating line
the lazy ripple of a shaken-out duvet.
They dip, rise and swirl
like cream stirred through coffee
and dissolve into the mist.
Sarah Rowland Jones has been published in Poetry Wales and Snakeskin, and in anthologies and online by Seren and Eyewear, as well as in South Africa where she lived for a while before returning to Wales.
Benedicta Norell
Questions
We were always in the car that year the price of having a nice house in a nice area get in get
in it’s time to go where are we going our friends the supermarket the cinema the mall just for
a drive between banks of jaded shovelled snow
Kathy Pimlott
It’s impossible to foretell what will provoke tears, the sort
that well up and tip over while you hold onto the kitchen sink
waiting for them to subside…
Ali Murphy
Mean sister We are stuck in our own words, not hearing each other. Sixty-somethings, we may as well be six, throwing sticks down the beck or poking dolls eyes out of their sockets, scribbling on their perfect faces. We are well rehearsed, know our cues,...
Bruach Mhor
I heard a calm, clear voice.
But not with my ears. Not my outward ears.
It wasn’t madness…
Moira Garland
tall as the absentee house.
How the girl moored her hands and heart charmed by riven bark…
Maureen Jivani
I dream I’m at the hospital
massaging your feet, your tiny feet
that I have freed from their tight
white stockings…
Jayant Kashyap
We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.
Jane Holland
When fog falls over Rough Tor,
the world creaks
on the end of a string…
Emma Lee
Snow’s Reset The roofs blend with the snow-laden clouds, borders softened so it’s only memory that differentiates my space from my neighbour’s. The wet smell confuses pets whose footprints meander over territorial edges, leave crazed patterns like...