Today’s choice
Previous poems
Gita Ralleigh, Julian Matthews, Jackie Taylor on Colouring Outside the Lines
Summoning
“Pink is the navy blue of India.”
Diana Vreeland
The hue of brides, appliquéd dark with henna.
Citron’s acid curl, vernal blades between teeth.
Beneath a virginal sky, weren’t we confections?
Pistachio and rosewater, saffron and cardamom,
greyed to drab by conker, navy and wine-bottle.
What we called home was only tarmac, ashes, dim
with tea stains, ink flecked. Candy-stripe days lost
under jalebi light. Slatted blinds slid shut against
Time, always stalking us. Her cape of night, lined
in clouds. When did colour seep from our blood?
Gita Ralleigh is a poet, writer and ex-doctor born to Indian immigrant parents in London. Her books are A Terrible Thing (Bad Betty Press)Siren (Broken Sleep Books) and Empirical (The Braag) She teaches creative writing at Imperial College.
LINES
Colour inside the lines. Line up. Underline. Straight line. Come online. Pickup line. Cross the line. Go offline. Decline. Keep in line. Don’t park on the yellow line. Sign on the dotted line. Meet your bottom line. Bee line. Snort a line. Shots in a line. Line dance. Deadlines. Front line. Firing line. Hook, line and sinker. Toe the line. Tread the fine line. Walk the line. Run lines. Poetic lines. Line breaks. Remember your lines. Fluffed your lines. One-liners. Setup and punchline. Deliver your lines. Fall in line. Crooked lines. Feed them some line. Line their pockets. Hotline. Throw them a line. Ass on the line. Hold the line. Blur the line. Clear the lines. End of the line. There are no lines…
Julian Matthews is a Malaysian poet published in 60 literary journals, anthologies and websites in 17 countries. http://linktr.ee/julianmatthews
paper chromatography
we shared a pipette
as part of the experiment
leaning into electron shudder
shoulder touching shoulder
observing the stutter-steps
of pigment
on white
paper : molecular
array of desire
paths
unstoppable
bleed
Jackie Taylor is a Cornwall-based writer of poetry and short fiction. Her short story collection, Strange Waters, was published by Arachne Press, and she holds an MLitt in Creative Writing from the University of Glasgow.
Colin Dardis
I have never climbed a tree,
never broken a bone
and will never walk on water.
May Garner
The house keeps score
in places no one checks any longer.
Sally Spiers
Night’s white noise is over. Day arises
to stillness. Light crouches behind windows
Tim Brookes
In the charity shop I try on a coat
flocked with fake shearling,
shaved-soft almost: fibres
fired onto plastic to fool the wrist.
Kim Waters
You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,
Sylvie Jane Lewis
Being quiet and easily tired by being alive among people, I take
the cowardly route to community. I curate a digital garden of oddity.
At best my phone is a menagerie of queers: trinket makers, amateur
playwrights, witches, and, over and over again, my own personal monarchy.
Maryam Alsaeid
Maybe after your bath—
you will sit for a moment,
the towel will hold you close
like a quiet prayer—
Steve Komarnyckyj, Anna Bowles and Lynnda Wardle for Holocaust Memorial Day
where I saw you praying through the angle of the door
Now hangs only in my mind I breathe on its glass wipe away fly specks
Annie Wright
Sing silver times, shimmering columns
of light on the wine-dark, temple
to moon-eyed Hecate, the insatiable.