Today’s choice

Previous poems

S Reeson

 

 

 

Lightbulb Moment

only now  is it apparent     how
dishonouring a body is a crime

why did this not            imprint
light up       in me           before

that when in films       lynching
desecration               has a price

gives value           to oppression
wilfully unseeing       the reality

past the being        passed a task
that the wicked will      embrace

we worship         time and place
empathy       requires         more

before       there was a darkness
now I am    a filament   of truth

 

 

S Reeson is a multi-disciplined artist who has been published by The Poetry Society, Bloomsbury/OneWorld and many others. In 2025, they are part of an ekphrastic installation at Space Studios in Ilford. A second pamphlet, Forest Management, will also be released.

Gail Webb

How To Remain Human This Year

We give a throwaway kiss
to strangers, to see New Year in.
We plant the seed with hope
it will grow, form fruit, to feed us.

Valentine Jones

CANNIBALISE THE CORRUPTION, I GUESS Ok? Everyone's dying. You're not special. You've a Tree in your stomach, Splitting the roof of your mouth, Leaves curled around teeth, and your skull Cracking like an ancient castle? Nothing I haven't seen before. Had three people...

Amanda Coleman White

I sit in quiet daylight
wondering if I should pray,
hearing mother cardinals echoing
my laments, an aural mirage
mutates into children crying
as a teacher hushes them into a corner,
quiet mice now…

Kelli Lage

Dead of Winter

If my inner child is kidnapped,
I’ll freeze my nightmares to that ole pole.
I don’t know how to use a lighter
is what I’d say if asked.

Shamik Banerjee

A Rumination

With ginger chai, lounged in the balcony,
Revisiting the years she and her spouse
Endeavoured for a better, self-owned house,
She takes a breath of content, finally.

Benedicta Norell

Questions

We were always in the car that year the price of having a nice house in a nice area get in get
in it’s time to go where are we going our friends the supermarket the cinema the mall just for
a drive between banks of jaded shovelled snow

Kathy Pimlott

It’s impossible to foretell what will provoke tears, the sort
that well up and tip over while you hold onto the kitchen sink
waiting for them to subside…

Ali Murphy

    Mean sister We are stuck in our own words, not hearing each other. Sixty-somethings, we may as well be six, throwing sticks down the beck or poking dolls eyes out of their sockets, scribbling on their perfect faces. We are well rehearsed, know our cues,...