Today’s choice
Previous poems
Anna Bowles
Akademichna Street
is bombed-out flats, is
the hot-pink Sweet Bakery Café, is
straggly new-planted trees, is
infantry quaffing cappuccino, is
the community hub spilling ragged donations, is
fuchsia velvet armchairs, is
the balcony with the twitching flag, is
another glide bomb on course for the city, is
partly still standing so fuck you russia, is
the medic checking her eyeliner over cheesecake, is
the café owner smoking on the steps, her
eyes averted from her bombed-out flat
Anna Bowles is a freelance editor and activist who divides her time between London and East Ukraine. Her work is deeply rooted in personal experience. Her first pamphlet, Landscape With Mines, was published by Mica Press in 2025.
She is currently near the front working with groups of local volunteer evacuators and IDP support hubs, trying to draw as much attention as possible to their cause. More here: https://annabowles.substack.com/
For updates from Anna follow her on
@annabowles.bsky.social
Facebook: anna.bowles.90
Instagram: annabowleswriter
You can supportive the work of Anna and those working with her by donating to Aid Ukraine UK which is UK registered but all the money they receive goes to Druzi Space, a Ukrainian team conducting evacuations and refugee support on the ground in Donetsk Oblast.
Linda McKenna
We set about him with rifle butts and spades,
waiting our turn alongside our enemies,
the same sunburnt flesh, the same blistered
feet. Met where our camps, the same
Abigail Ottley
She remembers the house of her husband He’s not, as they said he is: loathsome, most monstrous. He has a strange and sinister beauty. His eyes are obsidian, shot through with gold, a ruby burning in each. A noble brow, and magnificent cheekbones. You can...
Frank Phelan
I am most visceral
when being disarmed
by a song, a lyric
written and sung…
in the broad New Yawk vowels
Katherine Duffy
The ferry pushes the sea,
forces a long, white reply
that speaks of where we’ve been
Audrey Cotterell
In a corner chapel of the abbey
I lit a small candle, and sent the flame
as a message only half composed
Dylan Foster
there’s not much you can do
when the planets
are telling you to stop
Jeff Skinner
Can’t hear yourself think only the bass line
of a heart thumping. Your head’s clamped.
Chalice Am Bergris
It is not like an egg cracking
or an exquisite shiver of shattered glass.
Piers Haben
When I lost loved ones last year
I thought my childhood fears would return.