Poem of the day

In memoriam (Easter 1915)

by Paul Peter Piech

18 April

The spring night

by Basho

17 April

Riding Out

by Savannah Sevenzo

National Poetry Library at Southbank Centre

Image Credit: 
Pete Woodhead
National Poetry Library at Southbank Centre
16 April

Zum laut lesen

by Diter Rot

15 April

Progammed squares 11

by Peter Schmidt

14 April

'To see a world in a grain of sand', from Auguries of Innocence

by Paul Peter Piech

13 April

My Last Confession

by Martina Evans

He wasn’t what you’d want to look at -

orange hair sprayed in a thick beard

over his brown robes and in between the toes

of his Franciscan leather sandals -

but he told us boarders

that we were misunderstood angels

and that the nuns didn’t understand him either.

Of course we should be allowed to drink altar wine

and confess openly away from restraints

in the school library.

I thought he was the liberated uncle I never had.

So when he asked me to sit on his lap

I was genuinely sorry that I couldn’t oblige.

I’m too heavy I confessed.

You’re grand he said softly

No matter how often he repeated it.

You’re grand, you’re grand, you’re grand

in the name of God

aren’t I telling you you’re grand?

He was nearly shouting in the end,

but I stayed on my knees.

Bless me father for I have sinned

It was eleven years before I remembered -

and it struck me

as I walked down Charing Cross Road,

that once, for ten minutes in 1977

God just might have been watching over me.