Today’s choice
Previous poems
Oliver Comins
Milk break, lunch break
Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.
An ample fence stood between them and the farm
where their voices entwined with summer air,
sounds of village families, echoes of belonging.
Between the breaks, a country silence rose—
various nestling of feet in grass, a distant thuck
of axe on wood and that sibilance of leaves.
The school is closed now, converted, gone.
There are no breaks to freshen up the days
or disperse the background rumble of transport.
The hills are closing in, their strict rows of pine.
Oliver Comins recently returned to the Midlands after living in the Thames Valley and West London for many years. His poetry is collected by The Mandeville Press and Templar Poetry.
https://templarpoetry.com/
Julian Dobson
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Solomon Elliott
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Genevieve Carver
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David Clarke & Julian Stannard on Holocaust Memorial Day
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Trelawney
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Freya Cook
You Eat a Moon as a Metaphor for Pain Here’s what’s going to happen: the moon is going to fall out of the sky and land in the basketball court in front of the apartment where your dad died. You are going to swallow it. Here’s what you are going to do: be buried under...
Olivier Faivre
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Alix Scott-Martin
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Ozge Gozturk
Row Your Own Boat, Please. It’s hard to be a bird in the winter – legs dipped into cold, dirty Thames’ water. No roof to hide under. It’s hard to stand against the current to prove your fallacies, your name, under your oppressing fog. It’s hard...