Today’s choice
Previous poems
Alex Josephy
DayGlo
after Ecclesiasticus 44.1
Let us now praise hi-vis men
who gather together
round a pothole, filling the gap
with their sticky black remedy.
Honour the yellow-gilet WPC
who knows how to listen,
called to a bus stop
just in time by a lost girl.
Let’s not forget Poppy the neon
lollypop operative,
nor the parakeet-bright
sanitary goods delivery crew.
Tell the DayGlo doozers
how they light our mornings,
gleaming waterproof orange
through the gloom.
Let’s almost die for love
of the one at the very top
of a crane at the boatyard,
sketching an arc in the sky
when his lime green forearm,
matchstick-delicate
from down here, tilts
a lever, sends a loaded pallet
swinging out above the jetty,
calms it to a standstill,
winches it down slo-mo, exactly
where it needs to go.
Alex Josephy lives and writes in Sussex and Italy. Her pamphlet Again Behold the Stars, was a Cinnamon Press award winner 2023. Her third full collection, A Little Bridge, was published by Pindrop Press in 2025. www.alexjosephy.net
Miriam Swales
When I was 12, I knew the weight of a human head.
8 Heads in a Duffel Bag (a bit of dark comedy).
It grew from there. The curiosity. The calculations.
Alison Pritchard
By what rough science
were you given
this migraine of a name
Matt Gilbert
Disgust springs up from the guts
to meet a sprinting lump
of furry muscle.
Kathleen Bryson
I am the dreaming herpetogaster chimera and
I am part-and-parcel of the impossible animals project.
Scott Lilley
I’ve seen dozens of you about the Fylde,
face all vape, fatigue, some wild sense of
beard, black hair to border it all.
Rich Yates
The bird
crept up on him, threw its voice into an empty tree
Annie Kissack
Girl Awaits the Psychic Investigators They’re late. The table is laid with a clean cloth, all normal and neat. Our visitors, city men, may find it hard to navigate the path but we can wait. They hope to gather evidence of a haunting; whether he’ll...
Jim Murdoch
We don’t decide who we love.
Who we hate, yes,
who we’re jealous of,
but never who we end up loving.
Alex Stolis
It’s 16 below zero. Actual temp. We’re sole owners of the shore, windchill pushes it down to minus 36.
