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

Christine McNeill

Christine McNeill

A Flash

I described the painted saints,
carved animal heads on pews
in a medieval church.
I’m going through hell, you said,

and questioned whether loss of hearing
was worse than losing sight. You knew a woman
blind and deaf who’d learned to speak:
with balloons in her mouth, she began to utter vowels.

I tried to distract by mentioning your passion
for foreign languages: the Dutch for house,
French for sky, German for apple.
Just then a bird flashed past the lake –

you raised your head: Don’t tell me!
Beyond your turmoil of thoughts
a slow-ascending spiral of recognition:

                                            A kingfisher!

And it was as if
intuition and truth
had walked through the same door.
Your face shone with the thrill of it.

Michael Gittins

Michael Gittins

Two Worlds

Season of Christmas cheer we adore thee,
We adore thee and greet thee
And men sleep outside in the streets.
We greet thee with carols and cards
And prepare lavish fare,
And men sleep outside in the open
With feet that are bare,
With feet that are crippled
And hands that wait there.
And we greet thee with candies and drink
And we shout and we laugh
And we laugh not to think
Of the Christ that we feel
In those hands that wait there,
In the eyes that grope blindly
For neighbourly care.
Season of Christmas cheer we adore thee
And feast all our neighbours ,
We feast all our friends and
Regale them with wine and good cheer
We regale them with beer and with parties
And all we can buy,
And men starve in countries and
Lie down to die.
Season of Christmas cheer we adore thee
And men sleep outside in the streets.

More Guest Poems

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...

Sam Cassels

Anvils I have this dreamof anvils droppingfrom a quiet sky. A scene in a B-moviefrom the Cold War erain glorious black and white. A heavenly protestfrom the gods of waras they lay down their tools. A Dali paintingof shadows fallingon the face of the earth. Or just a...

Jennifer Johnson

Satisfaction Sometimes, it is the common things that give satisfaction,such as chopping onions, peppers and tomatoesdespite me rarely enjoying cooking apart from the result,sharing food with the one who brings some real point to life,one who lifts me above the...

David Sergeant

A Winter Morning Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm! (Lear) My heart forgets …(Burns, ‘A Winter Night’) The globe has got its change on and frostthe artificer has strolledmadly through the world with a...

Marjory Woodfield

She Sews the Starsafter a quilt by Harriet Powers Harriet takes strips of calico,old dungarees. Stitches storiesto warm her children. Job prays for his enemies. Moses lifts up the serpentin the wilderness. A dark day in May. The stars fall.In the Garden of Eden, God’s...

Caroline Price

The Seducer’s Hat Like a skydiver about to plunge for the first timefrom the opened plane into breathlessness I stand pressed to the last strip of blackbefore sunlight, gazing across eight feet of blazing tarmac – it takes such courage, this tackling head-onof the...

Winifred Mok

Grave Sweeping Every Ching Ming, April showers weepmisty tears across the land, seepinginto gaps of loss. Gifts of paper energisethe spirits (a suit, a watch, a house) as warpingflames consume ingots, paper-gold flecks on the vergeof a hot red tin: the borderline...