Today’s choice
Previous poems
Michelle Diaz
The Fallen Angel
This is just a woman,
sticking her life back together
after years spent recovering.
But the sky blackens,
everything grows dark and minor.
Unasked for, he appears again.
What instruments does the demon use?
Metal spoons on corrugated iron.
A cacophony of slammed doors.
Which smell does he summon?
Unbreathable rage,
with a hint of sulphur.
What is the essence of the visitation?
All hell let loose in a terraced house.
A loss of compass bearings.
Which God does she call on?
The one she’s always known.
The only one she can depend on.
Will the heavens intercede?
Let’s call it a work in progress.
Michelle Diaz has been published by Poetry Wales, Under the Radar, 14 Magazine and numerous poetry journals. Her debut pamphlet The Dancing Boy was published in 2019 by Against the Grain. Her pamphlet Raising Ghosts was published in 2026 by Atomic Bohemian.
Ashia Mirza
Someone is taking a photo
at a wedding
of their baby
at a celebration.
Phil Vernon
These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here
Sandra Noel
I’m sorry for the screeching and swearing we winter swimmers do.
Mike Duggan
A decapitated road sign
Spears the yellow verge,
Meaningless as a symbol
Of progress. A vain strut.
Sue Spiers
I wrote a metaphor using eel
for blue-light reflections in water
on a flooded motorway
Oenone Thomas
Because I don’t know any other way
I replace my left hand
with a hook, my feet
with jackhammers, both
my eyes with spangled
mirror balls.
Adele Evershed
Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)
A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list
Sally Jenkins
Funny how Year 8 is doing bones
now, of all the weeks. In the prep room
we strip flesh off chicken wings
Chris Hardy
Memento Vivere We lived here once. The rain we heard fell everywhere. Silence except the wind across the ground. It’s best to keep quiet. Words are like dead seeds, they vanish when they’re said. * New Year’s Eve without stars or...