Today’s choice

Previous poems

Genna Gardini

by | Sep 27, 2026 | ,

 

 

 

When we die, do we

 

go back, small cell, atom
slit by light. It takes up 
space, an ocean, a planet, a 
god. Too large to understand 
the scale, although we accept
the concept. Constellations,

tongues of vibration. Unlearnable
logic between us. Our sameness, our 
strangeness, lows deep and seismic.
A language translated. Thin whistle. 
If we could speak it, we would 
crumble. Above us, 

a black and wet sheet is washing 
forever. Clockless expanse, science 
in darkness, the moon’s clean conduction 
of time. Satellites, submarines, sink 
and climb, and can’t find what’s there, and
what’s there? Listen 

to me, carefully. One day
you’ll ask the right question,
and that’s when you’ll see it.
Look! That’s when 
I’ll tell you—
Wait—

 

Genna Gardini is a writer, theatre-maker, and educator. Her poetry has been published widely, most recently in Prairie Schooner, The Amsterdam Review, and New Contrast. You can see more about her work at www.gennagardini.com.

Roz Doe

by | Aug 5, 2026 | ,

The night before,
I paced London’s streets
sparkling and fizzing with ideas
the pills used to dull and destroy.
I felt awake, alive.

Nairn Kennedy

by | Aug 3, 2026 | ,

You notice the nose: webbed veins spritzed
with little flicks of red, purple blotches
daubed with a palette-knife, broken ends
where blood-vessels gave up the ghost.

Mark McDonnell

by | Aug 1, 2026 | ,

Fascinated by the priest’s teeth I don’t realise
I’m kicking the pew in front with a restless foot
until someone taps me sharply on the knee.

Sylvia Banham

by | Jul 28, 2026 | ,

Pigeons have invaded the garden, two then four, then a flock.
They roost in the apple tree to nest, reconnoitre or mate
 
ignore my sorties to deter them and shit without stint
on patio and herb bed, foul lovely hyssop and thyme.