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
Piers Cain
Half life
It all depends which way you turn in the half
light, in the space between day and night
or between one year and another.
It affects how much your eye adapts, and how dark
or bright the sky you face, how soon or late
for you the night draws in.
And when you walk in the hollow dark at dawn
you feel the expanse of the air around you while a glimpse
of light turns the foreground ocean grey.
Why did you choose the heaving bulk of the hill,
the patchy dun of the paving stones in the lane,
the muzzy form of the car in the car park?
You who’d always loved the trees and fields
why did you walk towards the failing light?
Matt Gilbert
A Solar Diversion
The sun slants low. Rays point west,
refracting from the roofs of oversized
parked cars on Manor Mount, forcing you
to squint, walking down the slope towards
the station. Preceded by long shadows,
bouncing to the rhythm of their owner’s feet,
you are trailed by your own. The suburbs are
a dancefloor. Commuters outlined by morning
shine. A light fiercer than any nightclub laser.
The dazzling energy of our local star: 93
million miles off, sending warmth and still in full
possession of the unthinking power to obliterate us all.
More Guest Poems
Nick Grundy
Verbal Economy: Getting Your Words’ Worth… Windy Day Rewind I saw lots of daffodilsSeeming to dance in the wind;Thinking of them still makes me smile. A Touch of Frost… The snowy woods look nice.My horse and I would linger,But we’ve got too much to do. Marvel Soon...
Cindy Botha
on good days I believe a thousandCalifornia condorswill fly headlonginto the futurenot looking back believe the coloursof a paint-box skyaren’t pollutionbut light scatteringthe way it’s meant to on good days I thinkwe’re doing our bestor at least our bit ‒not...
Roberta Dewa
Kay The river is playing at land again. She used to say that, standing onthe floodbank by the sudden lake,her feet gloved by the water. She was always remembering things. How our mother wore her headscarflike a bandage, drew her bike around her like an arm;watched out...
Martin Reed
Running Late My father stands with his back to the firetrying to keep our spirits upin the waiting-room, speaking of trainsand life getting better for all of us.We study brazen, purple flames,listen for a piston pulse,picture a single pinpoint of lighton the front of...
Siobhan Ward
Morning Swim, Saint Malo The water is never as cold as it looks.If you think too much about the cold,you’ll miss the chance to let it slapyour skin, push your body back and forth,be legs, arms and chest in it – and eyes –yes eyes – to see the expansiveness of sea,sky,...
Charles Bennett
Robin I realise now what I wanted when I whistled in a botched echoas if to say ‘sorry’ for all the harm humankind has wrought, was a recognition of sortsa sign I was known and familiar. When I said in my cackhanded...
Gary Day
Your Call Is Important to Us Dust in a sunbeamSlanted across the naveIs all that remains of thoseWho prayed here once. Did they get an answer?Or did they meet with the sameSilence the visitor does today,One older than God himself? No matter. They are at peaceNow,...
Briege Duffaud
Granada I recall it life-sized, to my left, beside the altar:Isabella’s royal foot treads on an Arab neck,triumph of Los Reyes Catolicos.The man’s eyes howling. That was the week of Abu Ghraib. A tv in my roomshowed the US soldier’s equal triumph,trampling her...
David Olsen
Nothing Happens I sit in the darkness of the stallsawaiting a momentous eventthat never occurs, as if the actiontook place in the green room;the actors emerged exhaustedby the effort of dressing and makeup,too tired to propel the plot. I sharethe idlers’ ennui as they...
Julie Cameron Gray
Grocery Store Tulips Bought on a whim, pale petals shutlike seashells slow to open, waiting to soakin the weak light that streaks through the window. My cat unbothered, too old to be curious, the tipof her tail a calligraphy brush dipped in ink.I serve her daily meds,...
Pauline Hawkesworth
Green We head for the green-shotin its glass syringe. You’ll find a flood of cloudsdebating earth fall. From their great heightour garden is one rainbow flower. They debate which of our bushes will receivetheir blessing and which to leave. And when we come home, our...
Jeremy Page
Whale Watching This seascape, with its deep shades of ultramarine,bluer than Muddy Waters, is as uncannyas the landscape we are leaving behind, chuggingout of Reykjavik in high summer with our talkof that Great American Novel, Ahab and his quest,so much madder than...
Wendy Webb
Unpacking a Bomb Articles for the Blind wrapped securely as a bomblike Dad impossible to open Dad’s… his presentscontaining surprise practical mug: King Charles...
James Priestman
That Tremendous Fish after Elizabeth Bishop So, I let the fish go, but it did not swim away,remaining instead port-side of the hired boat,right eye staring unblinking into my startled gaze. I raised the revs on the motor but it stalked me.The bows pushed harder...
Rachel Bruce
Du Lac My lover was born under a wet star.He is not my first, but he is my favourite.The waters of the lake hold the shape of my body in their silt.I found him at the water’s edge,blurring into the shallows like a mirage.His hands slid over my shouldersand droplets...