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
Eugene O’Hare
CPR
On his knees in the wet street he pressed
on the chest of a stranger older than his mother.
Gifting again her lungs with his breath, then hands
re-clasped in a kind of prayer-meets-compression.
(What are prayers anyway without repetition?
Or miracles, in this case, without a stranger’s breath?)
I tell you of the moment I watched that woman return
under the lips of a young man she had never seen before
and your chest suddenly expands
as if in one short outward breath he too rescued you
just as you had stopped noticing the birdsong of your life.
Susan Kambalu
Orcadian Inheritance
For Ann Scarth (née Harper), 1762 to 1867, Evie, Orkney
My dear child, you can travel the world
but I am bound to this place, this grey blue sky and sea,
this brown green land, red grey standing stones.
I live, I live, I lived a hundred years and more.
We farm, fish, head to the water’s edge and see
whales rise like ancient dreams; wave, crash, disappear.
I am rock, steadfast, buried within you
like brochs deep in sand I will never see, you explored,
and when, like me, you face harsh wind, ferocious waves,
bleak horizon, oppressive sky, barren land, incessant life,
remember your inheritance, my gift to you:
determined waves, constant wind, soft sky, continuous horizon,
faithful land, unchanging centuries. We will persist.
More Guest Poems
Matt Gilbert
A Solar Diversion The sun slants low. Rays point west,refracting from the roofs of oversizedparked cars on Manor Mount, forcing youto squint, walking down the slope towards the station. Preceded by long shadows,bouncing to the rhythm of their owner’s feet,you are...
Jeremy Page
Phantom Ancestor Hawker of Morwenstow Who wouldn’t claim a man like thisfor an ancestor? Poet, man of God,mermaid impersonator, who bore the nameof my maternal line, whose wiveswere twice his age then less than half,who saw birds as the thoughts of the Almightyand...
Christine Griffin
His Chair They’ve cleared the rooms,feeding the firewith what’s left of his life.Only the chair remainsin a miasma of old man,pipe smoke, Rich Tea crumbs. The cat by the footstoolwaits for the gnarled, caressing hand. Fragments of poetry floatfrom tattered chairside...
Jim C. Wilson
Swans At Night On the wildest night of the year’s beginning,the park’s a moor, the pond a heaving ocean.Like hailstones, stars soar past our heads;the trees are stripped by the shrieking gale. My eyes stream and my face feels stretchedand I worry about tomorrow....
Damaris West
Into this Breathing World Found in hallowed soil,his scoliotic spine strungloosely like a rosary(one shoulder higher than the other;five foot eight but would have seemedmuch shorter) he’d been struckby many men so eachcould claim the fatal blow. History has told of...
Sara Davis
Carousel Set free – the horses leap out to grasspause – sit onto angular hocksstretch stiffness from limbs cramped too longthen snorting – high stepping they buck – run – droproll over and over – ease rigid spinesmask paint-bright colours in scuffles of dust. Heads...
Chris Hardy
Samos On the beach wherethe Syrians landedthen walked along the shoreto the police stationleaving their long boatand orange jackets behind, where the sea easesback and forthagainst the landas if trying tomake peace with it,I collected marble pebbles that the waves had...
Denise Bennett
The Table You made the coffee table long beforeI was on the scene, aged thirteen, a term’s work in the carpentry class, as yet the namesof your wife and children uncarved in your heart; young to master the music of your tools:bit and brace, mallet, plane, drill and...
Fred Beake
Spring Returns By the narrow high-hedged lane to Holne; and then up over the moor to see the snowdrops at St Raphael’s! The gale rocks us; and the rain slaps the...
Seán Street
Breakfast with Michael Longley River and Fountain From beyond the window October’s memoryof what summer might have been poured in, and therewas Billie singing God Bless the Child, there wassun through the apple juice, dazzling the table. There was Hart Crane, there...
Caroline Maldonado
Foraging for the Ideal The lights of Macerata, Loreto, Treiapulse across each hilltop townand fireflies swing their lampsover the earthto echo the stars. There’s the scent oflaurel, rosemary, lavenderwild mint and fennel. L’amore che move il solee l’altre stelle warms...
Carolyn McCurdie
To Cleave This morning a sheer, immaculate skywas bisected horizon to horizonby interlacing white and blue threads of a cloud formation,delicate, curling filaments, intricate weavingsthat bound east to west. And held their breath. I stood at my back door, thinking...
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...

