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

Neil Elder

Neil Elder

Fact or Fiction

Mornings, I scroll through the news on my phone;
I like to know the world still exists before leaving
the house. Though today, I don’t want to read
about how Europe is on fire and the ice caps
are melting, I just don’t have capacity anymore.
Instead I shall put my head in a book,
a huge 19th century classic with sentences
so long that I forget their beginnings and pages
and pages describing a woman making a fire
early one morning, before she receives the letter
that changes the course of her life forever.
Once her secret is out, she must flee from London
hoping to find help from the one she once loved.

A ping from my phone marks the arrival
of the day’s first email: the world still wants.
But I am staying here; with my heroine, in a carriage
rattling through a storm towards uncertain futures.

Anne Stewart

Anne Stewart

Charlie

Charlie was huge – ‘last time I saw a spider as big as that’
a man I loved had told me once ‘I tried to bash it with my shoe
and it took it off me and hit me back…’

She was blackest black – glossy, plum of a body,
short stout legs at the ready, eyes peeled better than mine
for any shift of light that might warn of an attack.

And she was smart – sat mid-wall, long edge of the bed,
where any approach triggered a shift; took to flight sooner
at each advance of a trap.

She and I fell into a pact – I’d come into the room,
she’d shift to face me, chipper as a puppy, ‘Found something to eat?’
I’d say, half-expecting a wisecrack.

Time for lights out, I’d tiptoe the cold floor in the borrowed dark,
huddle under the covers, feeling safer, a little – smaller, less visible
now I had my head in the sand.

At least Charlie was sorted – she had no need to run any more,
no need to find an invisible corner to hide out in.
I took some comfort in that.

More Guest Poems

Jen Herron

The Dead They buried him in a shoeboxamongst the terraced stones,packed in tight as teeth. God help the hand that puts me there.Don’t sandblast my nameon a bookmarked bible slab.Don’t trap me in an eight by six,gawked at by the passing busas next door’s dog lifts its...

Dennis Tomlinson

Cheddar Gorge I walked up the road from Anne’s hotel,climbing onto limestone heights,kaleidoscope inside my head. I can’t … I can’t … it’s impossible … I thought the cliffs an awesome sight,below the bushes dropping steep,suffused in eerie golden light. I can’t … I...

Kate Hendry

Talking to Thrushes for Andy, of Maggie’s Centre Instead of you, I’ll talk to the thrush.As I can’t book an appointment,I’ll talk to a sparrow too – one that calls from the hawthorn.Or the nervous starlingon the green steel bridge. When birds are hidden, I’ll talkto...

Daljit Nagra

bells bearded men under straw hats at springgaudying the playground with ribbonsthat sprout from a maypole you’d go in groups round the canopybut recall the other times when snakes would descendthrough a nightmare in the airround your side of the bed till you’d find...

Sally Long

Loss My loss comes wrapped up in phrases:… no more funding… have to let you go. Yours has no such delicate packaging:the click and boom of gunshotsthat violate the rushing street,the angry blade that rips through flesh. I add the experience to my CV,gain advantage...

Robin Thomas

The Deliverance of St Peter David Teniers the younger, c.1645 On one side of the massive door,which stands unaccountably open,the guards, so steeped in reality it hurts,are playing dice, that means of transport fromreality into some other sphere of things,where it’s...

Maggie Wadey

On not Being the Last Bird to Sing my child’s face, stretchedin pain like a Noh mask, relaxesand she sleeps at last,leaving the land around usto lie awake under a crust of starsthat mists the sky with light likethe illuminated face of a watch.On the hillside, a hare...

Kevin Graham

Let’s Do Cartwheels and watch the great world spin.Everyone will be on the green againplaying football or tip the can.Parents will pop out every now and thento check we’re still alive and then some.All the flowerbeds will be shakingwith laughter, ickle secrets...

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 hideawaylike swollen nodes of sleep. I envy their dark cocoons of privacy. One more change of...

Christopher Palmer

The Sides of an Obelisk Three thousand five hundred are the yearsI’ve travelled, past all my known forebearspast several kings named Henry outbreaks of the plague there, and thereto be pinpointed along time’s gradientwhere creatures are shaped into language and...

Christine McNeill

A Flash I described the painted saints,carved animal heads on pewsin a medieval church.I'm going through hell, you said, and questioned whether loss of hearingwas worse than losing sight. You knew a womanblind and deaf who'd learned to speak:with balloons in her...

Michael Gittins

Two Worlds Season of Christmas cheer we adore thee,We adore thee and greet theeAnd men sleep outside in the streets.We greet thee with carols and cardsAnd prepare lavish fare,And men sleep outside in the openWith feet that are bare,With feet that are crippledAnd hands...

John Greening

On the Morning of Christmas Day it’s mildacross our ungrazed fieldwhose thorns and clay have yet to know a freeze.The clouds in the east proclaimhow every wise man’s dreamof frost fair, snow and angel, is old news.Nature, abandoned at the Pole,feels something cracking...

Duncan Forbes

Nativity Scene Besançon Book of Hours (15th Century) The saddled donkey seems to be eatingJoseph’s cake-like halo or at least testingwith mouth and nostrilswhether it might be edible. In his carpenter’s hands,bald and bearded Joseph is holding the babywrapped in...

Patrick Osada

The New Estate Uninterrupted, our view towards the dawn,beyond silhouetted horses near the hedge.Soon, across the lightening sky, first birds flew –in this pleasant way each breaking day was set. But builders bought the land, they lifted hedgerows,trampling wild...