Today’s choice
Previous poems
James Benger
Out of the Ash
We tore it all down
just to watch it burn,
standing in that alley
of forgotten refuse.
No one wanted it,
no one needed it,
so boombox and cigarettes,
bottles and pipes,
we ran riot with the fire,
unrestrained screams and smoke
rising higher than
our collective ambition.
And it was a forgotten place,
so the only light
came from us,
and we lit up the world
as though we were saving it
instead of destroying that little chunk.
But maybe in our wanton annihilation,
we were creating something new,
something intangible,
something infinite.
Flames burned down,
and we exhaustedly flopped
onto moldy abandoned couches,
recounting the glory that was us,
and never once to our own ears
did any of it sound hollow.
James Benger is the author of several books of poetry and prose. He serves on the Board of Directors of the Writers Place, and on the Riverfront Readings Committee, and is the founder of the 365 Poems in 365 Days online workshop. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and children.
Poetry from UEA MA Scholars 2023/2024: Badriya Abdullah and Dana Collins
Oranges with Bibi
Don’t hold the knife like that!
the first love lesson
from my grandmother…
– Badriya Abdullah
*
pulp
just once I want
you sprayed over pavement
I split my knuckles swinging…
– Dana Collins
Dawn Sands
Nothing I can tell you to answer your question —
all I can muster is that
it was that production of King Lear, Edgar emerging
Christian Donovan
O celebrated bard, you should know
espresso mixed with drags of Gauloise
won’t steady your head.
Shamik Banerjee
Much like a burnt-out farmer flumping down
upon his ache-allaying, tender bed
Rose Lennard
Each year we climbed to that place high above the ruins.
Melanie Tibbs
People came to find out what ‘Garage Sale’ meant
in a small village landlocked county early burning comet tail
of Thatcher’s Britain.
Alfie Nawaid
a cowboy is that split second of doubt between victim
and victor, quick whipcrack out the corner of the mouth,
Stuart Rawlinson
I’m nineteen, I’m ancient.
I am so hungover
one of my eyes has fallen out…
Susie Wilson
Ceilings don’t hold water well.
Burst a pipe at the top
of an apartment block
to test this theory, if you will.
