Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jane Frank
Wake
The leaves are a colour you’ve never seen
but that I will learn to expect
and there’s a fracas-induced full moon,
clouds beneath like soot
from giant candles.
I woke up and the time ahead was missing
like Notre Dame’s gothic power
and the spots gone from a baby giraffe
born in a zoo in Tennessee.
Today I walked into a gelato-coloured
building and talked about search
engine optimisation, unfamiliar syntax
and the fact that Marcel Proust
wrote a 601-word-long run-on
sentence in In Search of Lost Time
and now I am squeezing the moon like
a stress ball in my fingers as stars fly.
There’s a person-shaped hole
in the centre of me where you ran through,
strings of words like a wake behind you.
Jane Frank is a prize-winning Australian poet, editor and academic. Her most recent collection is Gardening on Mars (Shearsman Books, 2025) and two earlier collections were published by Calanthe Press. Read more of her work at https://www.facebook.com/JaneFrankPoet/
Sue Proffitt
Sue Proffitt lives by the coast in South Devon, UK. She has an M.A. in Creative Writing and has been published in a number of magazines, anthologies and competitions. She has two poetry collections published: Open After Dark (Oversteps, 2017) and The Lock-Picker...
Daniel Rye
When did the slowness
of this afternoon
merge with the chugging
boat engine in the harbour?
Anna Ruddock
Let it be okay that it took me a while to get here
If not better then equally fine to be
the goldfinch . . .
Laura Fyfe
How do we pull ourselves back
when we’ve nothing to hold on to?
Find a way clear
or stay? Wait.
David Belcher
How to not exist
Allow yourself to be elbowed aside
become a non-person
an avoider of lingering looks
Simon Williams
I Want to Become
a weasel, in a sleeky, twisty body,
all eyes and teeth like a deadly zip.
Zoe Davis
I joined a secret society
advertised in the back pages of a magazine.
I forget which, but I found it nestled
in 8pt font and fancy border
between time share apartments in Lanzarote
and the commemorative plates.
Callan Waldron-Hall
long weekend ← or ← perhaps ↑ summer holiday →
from the back of someone’s car boot ↑ the strange →
sweated plastic all pink and blue and folded →
Amy King
We’re drinking wine in your kitchen, months before
the hot oil of my concern begins to spit.