Poem of the day


by Tom Chivers


Image Credit: 
Pete Woodhead
17 May

The Spider

by Anne Brechin

The spider

sees walls I don’t


walks up them


stops for a minute

and twirls, uncertain


of which world

it is in – the one

where it’s safe, feet

on solid ground


or else

the one where it hangs





in nothingness.


Tonight, I’m clumsy



to put my arms through walls,

through wood and concrete



I get enough bruises

to remind me


where my body ends

which world I’m in


that I only have

two legs

16 May

The Sky is low—the Clouds are mean

by Emily Dickinson

The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.

A Travelling Flake of Snow

Across a Barn or through a Rut

Debates if it will go —


A Narrow Wind complains all Day

How some one treated him

Nature, like Us, is sometimes caught

Without her Diadem.


15 May


by Isabel Galleymore

The child with golden locks tells me to marry a man with money.


The child whose favourite colour is grey tells me to look on the    bright side,


the child smelling of fabric softener tells the same story.


The child in the shape of a cloud tells me to take ten deep breaths,


the small child reminds me it’s rude to whisper in a public place,


the child that rolls in circles on the floor tells me to travel east.


The child with shoes on the wrong feet replies to the child


with the alligator and the wolf telling me to give up and cry cry cry,


whilst the child with the strange nose mumbles ‘don’t lie about it tonight’.


14 May

'I think I could turn & live with animals', from Song of myself

by Paul Peter Piech

13 May


by Mario Petrucci

It’s a wire

into your head

– a mouth-


piece pressed

up to the mouth

as key after


key is punched

with your heart

on your lips


so some voice

at that other

end will ask


Can I help

you? then wait

to ask again


until some-

thing gives

to make its






that when we risk

speech or dare



a line is

thrown down

that line we


call phone –

a tension strung

across un-



chasms whose

both ends


hold (hold

with hands of



the receiver


12 May

Noon Passes in this Twentieth Century

by Tadeusz Sliwiak

Noon passes in this twentieth century.

My pretty wife sleeps in a hospital bed.

Noon passes in this twentieth century.

My young wife's pretty eyes are dying.

Noon passes in this twentieth century.

I watch the helpless hands

I watch the helpless eyes

Of all the sad doctors.


You build great aeroplanes,

You build lightning missiles,

Force powerful energy

Into small bombs.

Noon passes in this twentieth century.

O men men men

Can you promise nothing but death

To we who settle this planet?

O men men men

Noon passes in this twentieth century.

Why can't you kill

a microbe


the heart

of my pretty wife

of my young wife?

Noon passes in this twentieth century.