Today’s choice
Previous poems
Gabrielle Meadows
You always ate oranges
I am peeling an orange at the end of something
At the end of a line from each time you took up the fruit
Dug your thumb in, hooked out a chunk of skin
Pulled pith from flesh from round
heralding its colours so loud no one
could hear themselves think
I am tearing the peel from an orange gently and somewhere
Far away a tree falls in a forest and we
don’t hear it but the ground does and the birds do
And they mourn the passing of things out of existence
In limitless waves of quiet
Gabrielle Meadows lives in Norfolk and works in arts education. She runs workshops in
storytelling and improvisation for young children.
gjmeadows.wordpress.com
Mariam Saidan
they said sing in private,
Zan shouldn’t sing.
Brian Kirk
The train is the way,
the tracks a scar cut
deep in the land
you can’t help but touch.
Michelle Diaz
Mum was
a raised axe and a party hat.
Alice O’Malley-Woods
i run like a goat
tongue-lolled
Caiti Luckhurst
But first the sun has to break in two
Mara Adamitz Scrupe
on that new broke land I don’t anymore
recall there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow
a grove named & a bird’s sternum
George Sandifer-Smith
Spring 1833 – mists folding their sheets in the fields.
Isaac Roberts feels the turned earth, his father’s
farm an island in the hurtling Milky Way –
Sharon Phillips
Wet tarmac blinks red and gold,
names shine outside the Gaumont.
‘Stop dreaming, you’ll get lost.’
Bill Greenwell
Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.