Today’s choice
Previous poems
Anya Reeve
Walnut
Stubborn, we closed our fists
To better ward away the brume
From inner life, our threads of blood.
The cold an outward skin to glove
A sacred, futured inwardness.
Year’s end will scuff and scrape.
Grey ice, slush. Men worry
The postal; fish is wrapped.
Snow keeps the fewterer;
Passage is trapped.
Hidden is the one bright eye—
Lozenged singularly into bark—
The seed or pip of steadfastness,
The kernel kept against the dark.
Anya Reeve was recently shortlisted for the Philip Hoare Prize for Non-Fiction, 2025. Venues include Tears in the Fence (forthcoming), LINSEED Journal (forthcoming), Snow lit rev, The Rumen, Blumenhaus Magazine, the Modernist Review, the Oxonian Review, Gifts Returned by the River (2025) ed. Iain Sinclair. Website: anyareeve.cargo.site
Aoife Mclellan
Charcoal darkness shades late afternoon,
at the narrow edges of a chalk white snowfall.
Beams slide from our single lamp through the pane
onto soft-heaped mounds and frozen branches,
Tim Kiely
I Have Memorised a Series of Statistics About Drowning
after Benjamin Gucciardi
When the bus hits the tunnel and the sun disappears
I remember how the greatest risk-factor for drowning
is being near water; then being near it drunk;
Claire Berlyn
I don’t really care about butterflies, especially when they land in poems
except when a Red Admiral gets lost in the great grey fields
of the curtains and, because you really don’t see them so much
Aidan Semmens
The ash tree A superb winter sunrise backlights edges of cloud tinting sky above and bay below the palest blue, hints of gold glistening on the water. Beneath a faint sliver of rainbow a young ash, bold denier of dieback pushing through a broken wall wears a light...
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.