Poem of the day

A Hot Drop

by Erica Van Horn

6 December

The Sleeping Partner

by Robert Richardson

5 December


by Frances Angela

gray winter morning

the oranges in the fruit bowl

scent the room


4 December


by Dick Pettit

3 December

A Woman Called Faithless

by Linda France

There’s a woman called Faithless

living in my house.


She moves from room to room,

trailing musk and ambergris.


Mouth parted, faintly bruised,

she is moody as seaweed. Her glad


gull’s eye collects shells, bones.

Her favourite haunt is horizontal.


A creature wearing only a necklace

of names, she is all things to all men.


You can count on her to kiss and tell.

I think she’s a swan on holiday:


fascinating from across a lake,

all beak and hissing when you get close.


I watch her giving the Man of the House

the largest slice of cake. I know her


too well; I cannot trust her.

She’s Faithless, as a cat;


steals love from cupboards.


2 December

The old cast iron

by Erica Van Horn

1 December

Maggie's Boy

by Ian Duhig

‘Don’t talk to people,’ my landlady said.

‘They’ll only want to know about you.’

Even shoptalk made me edgy; ‘Are ye gettin’?’

‘Howse about ye?’ Nowhere had my cigarettes.

I couldn’t understand their bread.


This summer I have come to see her.

She gives me tea, barmbrack, soda farls

And asks about my wife. She is washing her nets

And I can see through arcades of union flags,

Bunting, red-white-and-blue lamp-posts


To the gable wall; King Billy on horseback,

Square and compass, masonic numbers.

Before it, her son is practising his mace.

He waits to catch a thirty-foot throw,

Holding his stance, counting.


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