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

David Seddon

David Seddon


This is a note to say I’ve arrived
in Nowhere-next-the-Sea,
I’ve dumped the baggage overboard
but sent you back the key.

Hang out the washing on the cliffs,
flap and wave the cloth;
skiffs will flex their ribs and strakes –
embrace the water’s wash.

Sun shall rake through tattered flax,
unfurl a curling sail –
the wake has swirled around the bay,
is foaming at the wall;

the silent shoals are bladder-strung,
shrill shale takes the song;
the mermaid sinks and lolls her tail
and rolls her sea-pink tongue.

While mists and salts sit on the air
I’ll wear nothing but the sea.
When the wind blows up, I will return –
Listen. Call to me.

Doreen Hinchliffe

Doreen Hinchliffe

In The Wind’s Singing

voices are in the wind’s singing
T. S. Eliot

The sound of the wind beneath the door
is nothing new, and yet tonight
I feel compelled to listen to its music.

It sings of a rickety stile, a gate that creaks
and fields where blackberries hang in clusters,
meandering over miles of dry stone walls.

I hear the drone of far-off bees and bluebottles,
the swish of a butterfly net and a sudden whoosh
of breath, scattering the fuzz on a dandelion clock.

Footsteps echo down a moonlit path
where hedgehogs snuffle in the undergrowth
and the call of a tawny owl bewitches.

Something more than memory is moving
under whispers of cicadas in the wild grass
enveloping the long-abandoned railway track.

Something deeper than history is stirring
in the rhythmic plop of pebbles skimmed on water,
the song of the sea in a beachcombed shell.

More Guest Poems

Gill Learner

Let it Be Like This The smell will arrive first – ylang ylang, perhaps, or sandalwood. It will be followed by a cloud of a colour never seen before: this will surround me, block the light. Faintly at first I’ll hear music – violins and cellos at the start, then, as...

Samantha Carr

Moon Landing Some say that it was a hoax, but I remember every moment of when The Men arrived. They set down their craft upon my soft craters. No permission to land requested. Claimed me as though a flag could limit the gravity of my moonlight. A crescent shaped...

Matt Bryden

Rich and Poor in the Underworld I should choose, so I might live on Earth, to serve as the hireling of another, some landless man with hardly enough to live on, rather than be lord over all the dead that have perished. Odyssey 11, 489 – 491 See this tanned...

Gill McEvoy

Ivy Wreaths are Multiplying by the River in the Woods This is a lonely path, and that’s what I prefer: a chance to watch the dipper in the stream, the deer come down to drink, the wren that bobs along the bank. But lately all my pleasure’s spoiled by ivy wreaths hung...

Owen Gallagher

‘And Yourself?’ ‘Donegal,’ I say. I see the stone and oak pier, Inishboffin, Inishdooey and Tory Island, seals sunbathing on the sandbanks, the sky, blue as a Greek door. I imagine you carrying me, in a hold-all across the dunes to Falcarragh Strand, and then...

Wendy French

Truth The air asks the wind about the silence it carries and the wind scours the mountain for a reply but the mountain looks down on the departing river the river that carries the stone to the fading sea’s edge the stone does not speak of the weight that it carries....

William Virgil Davis

Journey I step into my shadow and the shadow goes away. How many blackbirds are sitting in that tree? If snow fell sideways would the flakes spin or stop? Old cats eat slowly. The colour I most want to inherit is blue, colour of clouds and water. When fog obscures the...

J.S Watts

Monkey Night at the Circus Monkey see. Monkey do. Monkey gone. No longer my monkey. No longer my circus. Say goodbye to the red haired clowns, the tension, the drama, the spangled tears. No more balancing on an impossible wire, spinning dizzily up high with no way...

Gina Wilson

Somewhere to Live I like the way this privet stands its ground, the waist-high lavender, crazy paving, tubs. These winter trees, that never touch, remind me of Mother and the Aunts, how, in the end, I felt their twigs, like children’s fingers, tug. I want to join...

Elizabeth Barton

Absence In the quiet forest, nothing stirs. I hear no sigh of leaves, no woodlark’s song, only the moaning of the bracken. I see your boot prints in the sand, puddled with rain, the claws of a dog beside you. Your lips are silent as the pines encircling us. I follow...

Sandra Fulton

Sea-Roads I have come to talk to you Because the days draw in And because I can hear the sea – The distant, long sigh of it. I hear the gull-cry. But mostly, I hear the sea. And, farthest of all, the thunder The ominous deep dirge of it: A shape on the mind’s horizon,...

Mike Barlow

Blue Moon Once, after the tail-end of a hurricane had blown through the day – the roaring in the trees like a passing train and the rain berserk as it over-ran the valley – once there was this quiet October evening, two full moons in one month, two lives wrought into...

Vic Pickup

In Churchill’s The boy in the fish and chip shop once felt sad enough to slice the soft white skin on the inside of his wrist. He has a thick scar shining wide and purple like a fat worm sliding up his sleeve. You’ll see a flash of it as he deftly shovels and shakes...

R. A. Zafar

Cracks Like a row of graves the shrunken pots of paint line the windowsill each one sits on a pale strip painted by you. You asked me too many times what shade I wanted for our naked bedroom all the colours looked the same. Your favourite was eggshell white – you said...

Daniel Boland

Poppies by the Sea Orangey-red prayer flags of the past – they are opium – a secret incense. They are a doorway to everything – from a small room to an endless blue seascape. They launch all the people that you have encountered – the living and the dead. They are the...