Poem of the day

A Patch for a Rip-tide : Dail

by Ian Hamilton Finlay

20 October

Dada doute de tout

by Redfoxpress

19 October

Ah! Sun-flower

by William Blake

18 October

Boiler Repairman

by Kathryn Maris

In the tall, cold Georgian

we knelt in the cupboard containing the boiler.


He said: “This dial shows the pressure;

this switch releases the water.”


There was no clue

as to the contents of his toolbox


and as I had never seen its owner before this visit,

there was a risk in our sharing a crawl space,


and I confess I was frightened in my own home

as I’ve been even when there is no one in my cupboards.


I have asked relative strangers

to wait at the door while I search for intruders.


The intimacy of their protection comforts me briefly

until I have to send them away.


When the lesson in the cupboard was finished,

he was on to the next man or woman, in the next cupboard,


in the next house, which is no doubt tidier

than mine, but cold, too, as these houses here are.

17 October

The Wounded Deer

by Pascale Petit

I have a woman’s face

but I’m a little stag,

because I had the balls

to come this far into the forest,

to where the trees are broken.

The nine points of my antlers

have battled

with the nine arrows in my hide.


I can hear the bone-saw

in the ocean on the horizon.

I emerged from the waters

of the Hospital for Special Surgery.

It had deep blue under-rooms.


And once, when I opened my eyes

too quickly after the graft,

I could see right through

all the glass ceilings,

up to where lightning forked

across the New York sky

like the antlers of sky-deer,

rain arrowing the herd.


Small and dainty as I am

I escaped into this canvas,

where I look back at you

in your steel corset, painting

the last splash on my hoof.

16 October


by Jean 'Binta' Breeze

15 October

Sharks in Sharp Suits

by Oren Hodge