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
Annie Kissack
Saint with Accoutrements
after ‘Mrs Mounter at the Breakfast Table’ by Harold Gilman
All spotless. Some objects we might deem
especially significant:
the glistening tea pot, pristine cups
lustrous milk bowl, the best surely.
We inhale diverse aromas:
odour of home-made polish, Jeyes Fluid, Vim.
Mrs Mounter, tell us why?
Perhaps she’s a saint, a kitchen anchorite
sealed into contemplation of a state of grace
so very nearly reached.
A martyr to the Sunlight Soap,
the damask drape, her table is in order;
observe her coronet of curious light,
that hint of halo.
At three o clock she sits and waits.
Behind the periwinkle eyes,
a mind is ranging wide through space;
her best is not enough.
Each day she relocates the empty cup
a fraction to the left and trusts
the virtuous will one day be rewarded.
Jonathan Steffen
Car Coat
Through all the subtle chicanes of his existence in the 1960s,
It was his constant companion –
That car coat redolent of hairpin bends and handbrake turns,
Bearing him along shopping parades and in and out of supermarkets,
Evoking pine-clad mountains and Alpine meadows
And the sophisticated heartaches
Of Bacharach & David songs,
Its pockets primed with cigarettes and menthol sweets,
Its collar turned up for raffish effect,
Quilted and poppered and cut short for ease of movement,
Economically negotiating a world of prawn cocktails and vol-au-vents,
Of frozen peas and Black Forest gateaux,
Always on the lookout for that checkout girl
Who would instantly recognise him and,
Slipping on a silk headscarf without a word,
Abandon her supermarket till forever
To accompany him on revving, rolling rides
Down roads the shape of trumpet solos
In the roaring rally car
That he would never own.
More Guest Poems
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...
Cyril Dabydeen
Last Inhabitant Left on Earth Give me one place only –one area the size of Americatoo large to fathom where I willmake myself known asking formore space a fortress where tobuild upon and declaring myselfto you without animosity. What’s left on earth notlooking...
Sarah Hehir
The Poisoner’s Poison Sleep has led me one step to the leftof lead.A periodic transition to thallium:softer certainly,like freezer bread thawing. But there’s still no stretch inside thisgrey,tasteless,odourless shape. Though they say sometimeswe live in secrets -that...
Seán Street
On Hearing of the Death of Benjamin Zephaniah 7.12.2023 Because they told me in the neutral grey of an ordinary day when the sun neither shone nor set,when the rain could do no more than drizzle, when all I was doing ...
Edmund Prestwich
The Ground of our Music Now the warm moist air is alive with voices.Frogs are singing. Soft introspective crooningmakes the mild night throb with erotic feeling.Somewhere above them owls are calling, female to male; hauntingbreeze-blown signals float between houses....
Beth Junor
Partition i.m. Srinivasa Ramanujan (1887-1920), mathematician Don’t be afraid. Like the first brushstrokeof the Mona Lisa, it begins simply enough. The partition of three is three,the partition of four is five. Meaning, you can arrive at three in threedifferent ways...
Sue Wallace-Shaddad
Twine Lazing on the tablestrung out with a casual loopit could be someone’s noosethe knot ready to slip tighteraround a waiting neck ...
Adam Cairns
Abandoned When the A-Road Was Built How do you find St David’s church?You must search. It is here, but lies abandoned?Look beyond. I see towns, the heavy traffic.Take your pick. Its loneliness makes my heart sick.All progress has its consequence.And our children’s...