Today’s choice

Previous poems

Magnus McDowall

by | Jan 25, 2026 | ,

 

 

 

Seven Sisters Road

We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road,
two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell.

We were talking from the chest, walking backwards
crackling air above our heads like streetlights

beatboxing, spitting Maccies adverts at us
sounds of microwaves and ice cream makers,

night producing jitters in security guards
and a backing track to later chatting up

the leng ones round a table, telling them
we’re long-term ones, wealthy ones, footballer ones

before another pack walk in with their 501s,
Air Force Ones, giving worse grief to the cashier –

nights like these have a habit of splitting into shards.
Cleaved apart by a comment or a look that leaves

you picking up the shrapnel of a headbutt from the pavement
explaining to the officer that it wasn’t your lot who started it.

In the morning you’ll glue the muddle into a mosaic, imagining
steel in the space where your spine might have been.

 

Magnus McDowall is a poet from London. His poems have appeared in magazines, films, festivals and this campaign for Queens Park Rangers Football Club. His reviews can be found at Writers Mosaic, a division of the Royal Literary Fund.

Helen Evans

by | May 15, 2024 | ,

Things I did then that I hadn’t done before
 
Asked the neighbours if they wanted anything in my online weekly shop and
Bought yeast, flour, long-life milk and 70-per-cent-alcohol hand sanitiser and
Cut my own hair, even the bits round the back I couldn’t see, and

Kirsty Crawford

by | May 12, 2024 | ,

Elizabeth is hiding in the cupboard under the sink
Small enough to fold between cream cleaner and floor polish
Too big to keep elbows away from wire wool

Katie Beswick

by | May 10, 2024 | ,

You wouldn’t believe how quick they grew —
Our babies were men now. Lifting bags of concrete
they rebuilt cities, slab by slab, reinforcing cracks.

HLR

by | May 7, 2024 | ,

I find six errors in the proofreading manual & the irony doesn’t tickle me.
I am enraged by typos, poor formatting, missing commas. This is my Big Girl Job,
the one I always wanted —

Angela Howarth Martinot

by | May 6, 2024 | ,

What seems to be the problem ? He asks
in that slightly condescending tone.
Seems,     I think,      Seems.
It seems, I say,
that I have a problem with my inner fish,

Bianca Pina

by | May 5, 2024 | ,

My Dad once dismissed a friend as a hypocrite,
which I took to be an induction to the truth.
Lately though, I think the things I love in you
I love because they’re grossly inconsistent.