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

Jan FitzGerald

Jan FitzGerald

Daffodil Bulbs

I could stare at these tubs of dirt all day,
waiting for the miracle.

This is where I buried them,
swaddled in their papery skins

now wintering in a secret hideaway
like swollen nodes of sleep.

I envy their dark cocoons of privacy.

One more change of season
and these earthlings from inner space

will send up green antennae.
For now, inside each one, a mothership is working –

taking on nutrients, storing energy,
producing offspring for renewal –

ready for the final booster thrust.
Little heads of white, orange, yellow,

floating in the air.

Christopher Palmer

Christopher Palmer

The Sides of an Obelisk

Three thousand five hundred are the years
I’ve travelled, past all my known forebears
past several kings named Henry

outbreaks of the plague there, and there
to be pinpointed along time’s gradient
where creatures are shaped into language

and perception carved into stone
becomes reliable memoir.
I look for my name

enclosed within a cartouche
ask if anything awaits the common man
in the afterlife.

A glimpse away and it vanishes
to a compass needle showing pagans
the quickest way to heaven

or a candle, reflecting its many-storied faces
and I’m a moth, lost
in more than a million days of light.

Line 1 paraphrases a line from Amy Crutchfield’s ‘Tower’.

More Guest Poems

Ralph Mold

Scilly Shore Here white foam flecks the fingersof cracked black granite,one world surrounds anotherand edges seep inwards. The thousand-mile momentum of waves,the strong, slow, shunt of currents,are broken, parted, giving uptheir gifts, blindly, unknowingly. Live...

Biljana Scott

Time has Slept Soundly in this Archipelago Time has slept soundly in this archipelagoher soft couch hollowing the hills of Hoy.A corrie for a pillow and here, two glacial sheetstheir edges scalloped, a watch-stone at their feet. What did time dream of during that long...

Susan Mackervoy

Community Wood, Evening Let loose from his lead, the elegant dog,though it is late and leaves murmur cautious forest words in the compact modern wood,speed-changing green to gold to winter black as we look down from the path and trafficpelts by, making thrumming beats...

Stephen Claughton

Kite Weather Clever you! You’ve made it workfirst time without any practice. The kite we bought for your birthdayjinks and swoops and dives, skywriting a scribbled message,which says you’re a natural. You held it up like a placard,while I attached the string,...

James Deahl

Scarlet Roses of October for Norma The sun near the harbour turns maple leavesinto stained glass windows. Sailboats head outto celebrate this Indian Summer daybefore autumn’s storms set in. Norma andI watch a freighter pass the harbour’s headon her way to Europe. All...

Joan McGavin

In Praise of the Clearers-Away who when the tree falls across the roadcome with their winches and chainsaws and hard hats;who when the nappy needs changed, the bedpan emptiedcome with sense of smell deliberately dulled;who when floods recede leaving mud floors and...

Richard Lister

Antarctic Follies Manchurian pony, fetlocks sunkinto the snow, then hock and knee,straining, slowing, stuck. She shiversin this blind space of hammered cold. Scott stumbles on bloodied feet.He can no longer drag his sled,dried beef and fat run thin.His woollen kit and...

Kathryn Daszkiewicz

Of Ducks and Dinosaurs Here at the farthest lake, everythinghas the precise brightnessof a Dali dreamscape. Instead of swansreflecting elephantstall, grey, January birchesfind themselves mirroredby ancient, long-necked creatures -plesiosaurs, perhaps. The stillness of...

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,...