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

Roberta Dewa

Roberta Dewa

Edward Burra: Never Tell Anybody Anything

In the end
I gave up on people, my layered clowns,
my boxers’ lips, my stroke-struck faces. Instead
I painted their standing gravestones, the long slicks
of their tracks across the landscape. Sometimes,
despite my best attempts, their limbs
would break the soil: the ricket
legs of pylons, the bloom of mouths
on the fronts of trucks, soft bones splitting
the taut skin of a grey snake river. Slowly,
while my hand thinned and dried around the brush,
I rendered down their bodies into great stones
whose roots leaked out into a silent
landscape.

Then there was only what
there had always been. The paint, the paper
laid out flat along the table. Hardboard
at the window, shuttering the populated view.
The water in the glass jar, darkening.

Edward Burra (1905-1976) was known for his vivid paintings of the 1920s and later cosmopolitan society. In later life his health confined him to painting in his room.

Martin Reed

Martin Reed

Red Hares

When I think of the hare
some raggedy, angular grace
races through my mind.

It comes unlooked for
when 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 shadows.

And it may be years
before I see one again,
coming to us down a lane,

picking a way before slowed traffic,
high banks lowering on either side.
It stops and then comes on again,

a remembered wilderness in its eye,
bringing back the hares of childhood
under pylons, fizzing cables.

Before sun sank and ghosted the field,
we squinted to catch a final glimpse,
their run over hummocks of fiery light.

More Guest Poems

Antony Mair

The Other It presses againstmy consciousnesslike a curtain blownby a wind outside. No windows free usfrom our senses’ prisonand linear timeconstricts. But in that other placethere are no walls;past, present, future,stroll together. I cannot shiftthe curtain’s...

Kathleen McPhilemy

Egret and Heron Late afternoon, December, in the gloamingacross the bridge near the Willow Walka little egret: black beak, long black legsstartling yellow feet hidden in the grass.I lift binoculars to see him more clearlyand there behind is a spectral followergrey,...

Janet Laugharne

Sightseeing A few summers ago,the cloudless blue a markerto my memory that it was duringCovid times,I saw above my city gardenthat fantastic single bird.A few flaps of its gigantic wingsand it was gone,passing over Cardiff and who knows where else;not in any hurry for...

Christopher Levenson

Insomnia It’s a country I sometimes visitbut I wouldn’t want to live there.Even at 3 or 4 a.m., the bathroom’sstainless steel fixtures, white tiles,hold their own, maintaina careful sanity. The blatant light rejectsany transfusion of darkness. By adjusting the mirrors...

Rachel Mann

England, Ice Fixed, White with Rage From a train, always train, acres of whiteness, and I watchPast or future, fields of time, seen/unseen, fields of it, the presentRefuses, I only want it more, and gods of modest means,Not first rankers, not famous ones with...

Philip Gross

Small Rain, the Sound of Breathing The way a little too much cautioncreaks the floorboards more than clumsiness –so the rain, tonight, small spatters, all around the house… The way I ease the body-weightof last night’s sleep to the edge of the bed…Its cartilages...

Philip Dunkerley

The Repair Shop Give me, please, this evening hourof rest, let me sit safely herewatching the show, alone, at home,in the quiet of this room,others busy, nearby, elsewhere,as another day ends. I have chosen this programmefrom all those that tell of the past,carefully...

Paula Sankelo

We Learned That Everything Drifts Green and Purple in the Barents Sea almost everything: R/V Lance wasgrounded deep on an unlucky reef we heard Mayday and drove to assistancesleepless the entire sunlit night. Humming a shanty we wrote for the rescue– our captain...

Tytti Heikkinen

Big Morning in Rome In the hot magenta of a dark alley,a photoallergic inamorato sees the lady of his lifeand wants nothing more.He rushes through porticos and tourist crowdswho wave positive cardio imagesin the chiaroscuro of endless fog. The lady waits on the...

Martyn Crucefix

Salisbury (short let) In the year of the election, in early June,the third year of the war, the four of uswoken – we thought – by the whinnyingof horses; architecture with a sense of irony:we discover the best (least obstructed)view of the famous cathedral is fromthe...

Steve Denehan

A Poem from My Mother to My Father The way you standcrooked, stoopedin doorwaysunsure of where, why, what the way you asked mejust last weekif we knew each other the way I have to dress youwash youtell youthe time, the day, the season the way you look at melast...

Elisabeth Murawski

To Grieve Like Kollwitz That night in mid-January,I prayed to the Godof waiting rooms, swimming for my life,and yours.I can still summon that fear,waking before dawnwith tears and cries for help,a litanyof the impoverished. The silencesurrounded uslike an absence I...

Mike Everley

Soul Music3 – Swallows My uncle and I flew paper swallows from the high bedroom window. They caught the lifting wind, drifted above the narrow road and pointed metal railings that had somehow escaped the Spitfire Fund, into the small park with its swings, roundabout...

Emma Simon

Lullaby I want a slow horse. Those heavy-hoofed kindsthat used to drag a plough across a fieldor haul the beer drays through the town. I’d sit up high, proud as an empresswith reins in hand, an easy sway of hipsrollicking like hills from side-to-side. We’d walk the...

Jodi Cadenhead

The Best is Yet to Come Everyone agreed it was the polar caps,that went first, followed bythe Colorado River and the birds – pretty much, all of them,not to mention the pandas, the monarch butterfliesand the green sea turtles. But what really got our attention,were...