Guest Poems

We love to read your poetry and, even though we receive over 1,000 poems per month, we always take time to read every single one.

A few of the poems we especially enjoyed and which were selected for publication in our Journal are reprinted below.

For more information, please see our Submissions page.

Guest Poems

Patrick Osada

Patrick Osada

The New Estate

Uninterrupted, our view towards the dawn,
beyond silhouetted horses near the hedge.
Soon, across the lightening sky, first birds flew –
in this pleasant way each breaking day was set.

But builders bought the land, they lifted hedgerows,
trampling wild flowers – birds and insects flew.
Gone: cattle from fields, horses and their meadows,
copse of frightened deer, the foxes’ bramble home.

Next they built high walls, towering above us,
blocking out the sky, our view of distant hills.
Countryside no more, landscape changed for ever…
Stolen, every sunrise, lost, each new day’s dawn.

‘Planning for the right homes in the right places’ – Government Consultation

J.S. Watts

J.S. Watts

Falling Like Feathers

Hushed, each Christmas we wait with breath-held hope
that the Barn Owl, pale queen of the night dark sky
will spread her strong broad wings to drop
whispering with a flutter and rustle of promise
white tales of long ago, once upon a time winters
stocking full of innocence and good cheer.
Thick pure blanket – soft, ermine, deep
lightly kissed by a brief sparkle of dawn sunlight
gift-wrapping the day-to-come in feathered peace
for us to unwrap in wanting anticipation
to tell stories of as we grow on.
Maybe it will be this year?

More Guest Poems

Jeremy Robson

Raising the Spirit Always such an unsettling time of year,Christmas with its fake joviality departed, thoughseasonal lights still blink from nearby gardens andabandoned Christmas trees lie forlornly atthe roadside, drenched by the incessant rain.Meanwhile the new year...

Nicki Griffin

Aftermath We’d gone to Dublin in search of artand found William Orpendispatched to record the Great War, all those boys in muck and mire across French countrysidethe gallery full of pink, land and sky in pastel shades,not the colours you expect of brutal conflict....

Roberta Dewa

Edward Burra: Never Tell Anybody Anything In the endI gave up on people, my layered clowns,my boxers’ lips, my stroke-struck faces. InsteadI painted their standing gravestones, the long slicksof their tracks across the landscape. Sometimes,despite my best attempts,...

Martin Reed

Red Hares When I think of the haresome raggedy, angular graceraces through my mind. It comes unlooked forwhen chatting of nothing,rounding an August cornfield hedge, up and away across sharp stubble,square to the ground in an upright scurry,arcing its route to distant...

D.G. Herring

Thoughts on Crater 308 …io nol feci Dedalo…Dante's Inferno 29:116 It is freedom we sail to. Or this is our story. Who gets to flywhen the winds are not hers to control? Yet, there is nocoastline, nor even a sea. Only mind. And, when the wax melts, pesanteur. In the...

Frances Sackett

Amongst the Rubble from a photograph by Lee Miller All colour is bleached from the landscape.Only grey dust, ash falling, dereliction.The children sit in the rubble, face in hands,horrified that their homes have gone.The boy, eldest of the three,is creased with...

Ranald Barnicot

After a Concert II But music does not always unite.Armies clash on through the night,Ignorant, in aesthetic spite.Brahmsians, Wagnerians brawl,Trash composers, concert hall.Igor Stravinsky’s Spring RiteProvokes all Paris to riot!Mods and rockers rev and roast:‘There’s...

Kate Noakes

Is it Crazy to Wish them Happiness? Some friends don’t get angry in flaming emojisor start nonsensical fights with others, voice their disagreements in no uncertain termsor claim superior knowledge of diverse subjects. They don’t much like things. OK, they never like...

Edith Speers

Tennis Club Indoor Courts aquarium worldseen through thick glasssubterranean silence four-limbed fishstrange white fishin a green and white world the walls are light green on topdraped on the bottomwith dark green cloth dark green flooris subdivided and outlinedby...

John Killick

Anglezarke As Edward Thomas his Adlestropso I my Anglezarke,but with this difference:for him it was the nameon the station signand the tranced afternoon;for me it is the namethe rest clean goneconjures the feeling,but there must have beenwater, woods, fields, for...

Annie Kissack

Saint with Accoutrements after ‘Mrs Mounter at the Breakfast Table’ by Harold Gilman All spotless. Some objects we might deemespecially significant:the glistening tea pot, pristine cupslustrous milk bowl, the best surely.We inhale diverse aromas:odour of home-made...

Jonathan Steffen

Car Coat Through all the subtle chicanes of his existence in the 1960s,It was his constant companion –That car coat redolent of hairpin bends and handbrake turns,Bearing him along shopping parades and in and out of supermarkets,Evoking pine-clad mountains and Alpine...

Judith Wozniak

Back to Nature i.m. J.S. You liked to sleep outat the edge of your gardenunder a scatter of starstucked into your bivouacon a bed of leavessoothed by a soft breezedrift over the South Downsthe smell of honeysuckleafter rain the rustleof hedgehogs in the compostto wake...

Robert Leach

Horse A pool of shadowShapes the lonely placeWhere the old horse stands.He shakes his head. Remote fromCows, sheep, people,It seems farming proceedsAround, beyond him. His tufty fetlocks apeThe head-heavy cow parsley,Hair grass, oval sedgeUnheeded at the field’s edge....

Helen Ashley

On Stage Small spillages of lightare gathered on the woodland floor.Invisible strings tie themto the matrix of branches above. Sun, looking down through the canopy,has assembled them and standsas director, while a light breezetakes on the choreography. To their...