Friday, 31 October 2008

From a bridge, the inverted vanitas
Of a swan drifting down a black canal
Between two corrugated warehouses


Frances Leviston
(from the poem 'Industrial', with kind permission)
Frances Leviston

Thursday, 30 October 2008

She reached out again, one last time, to touch his heart through words. Her words found and touched the broken hearts of others, but not his.


Julie Alston

Wednesday, 29 October 2008

Soft rain on a Friday night -
People wear their loneliness like a shield.


freefalling me

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

voices from around the fields
and the ticking sound of olives hitting ladders

black olives in yellow boxes
the little red robin is angry

the olive tree looking larger in the moonlight
- little blue owl


Kirsten Nørgaard
Stensamler (stone collector)

Monday, 27 October 2008

one small striped flip-flop rests on the curb


Barbara Hollace

Sunday, 26 October 2008

stop lights and tail lights make red satin stripes slither over rain slick asphalt


Charlotte Babb
Miss Charlotte's Babblings

Saturday, 25 October 2008

The warmth of your body against mine on cool white crisp cotton sheets, the early saturday morning breeze lifting the curtains as we doze to the birds singing outside.


Jo Cooper
Reason, Season or Lifetime

Friday, 24 October 2008

Skinny-arsed bee on a rainy morning, disappointed at each stop – leaf, thistle, thorn.


A. F. Harrold
A. F. Harrold

Thursday, 23 October 2008

Waiting for the ferry, we watched the rain pocked water. A sudden otter's head. The slide of its back. The flick of a tail. Again the head. The sound of the ferry approaching.


Juliet Wilson
Crafty Green Poet

Wednesday, 22 October 2008


Our house is turning russet red and gold.
Virgina creeping ever onwards and upwards.


Claire Arnold-Baker

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

a tunnel of powerlines and sparkling colors nestles in cloudy darkness


Will Collum

Sunday, 19 October 2008

Car wash

Rumbling ghost train tunnel of blue feathers


Matt Westwood

Saturday, 18 October 2008

The squeak of chamois on glass - the coaltits are chatting in the garden again.


Marysia Wojtaszek

Friday, 17 October 2008

And so the season has arrived. The sun shines thinly at autumn’s strength. The soft wind bites – just a little. The water moves gently, waves lapping in practised rhythm.


Kristina Meredith
The Apprentice Writer

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Miscarriage of justice

The coppery smell of blood hung in the air within the narrow, blighted birth-chamber. "Not salvageable," was my father's judgement carelessly declared over the dying body of his youngest wife--some thirty years his junior--on the occasion of my emergence into this world of pain.


S R Schwarz
cosmic rapture

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

Why don’t I send you my poems?
Because I don’t want to read yours.


Martial: Epigrams
Translated by Ian House

Tuesday, 14 October 2008

Sunday, 12 October 2008

A full bodied garden spider, sat surrounded by crystal droplets of autumn dew which sparkle in the hazy morning sun.


Jo Cooper
Reason, Season or Lifetime

Saturday, 11 October 2008

I hold my hands to light as if light could help me understand my hands.


Dana Guthrie Martin
my gorgeous somewhere

Friday, 10 October 2008

Thursday, 9 October 2008

a black and grey pig wearing a tartan ribbon is walking down the hill towards Antibes town centre, behind a woman who looks surprisingly like her


Lynne Rees
an open field

Tuesday, 7 October 2008

Azure skies washed with
a splash of Payne's favourite -
Pierrot's painted face.


Rachel Green
When The Dogs Bite

Monday, 6 October 2008

first frost warning
tomatoes still green...


Merrill Ann Gonzales

Sunday, 5 October 2008

After two days of antibiotics the lame Indian Runner duck suddenly finds her feet again and she falls into line happily keeping pace behind the drake.


Caroline M. Davies
Advancing Poetry

Saturday, 4 October 2008

They all take turns pinching the Space Needle in their tourist photos.


Paul E. Nelson
American Sentences

Friday, 3 October 2008

As the Atlantic Ocean roars into view,
white-topped breakers lap at a small shoe; ripples of giggles as
he digs deep, scooping up the sand,
fills his bucket; pats it down with chubby hands,

builds a castle
for the sea to wash away.


Anna Reiers
My Writing Life

Thursday, 2 October 2008

memories of people smiling at the deep lake spin faster and faster away from the lions and cheetahs who watched them drink from the other side


Aja Bella Cimino-Hurt

Wednesday, 1 October 2008

In my dream a plaza opens out to meet a dark horizon, where the head of a man spins, his face contorted. He has short ginger hair and jowls. He yells, "Come on, take the acid. Take the acid, come on. Come on, take the," A one-note diatribe. Why is he goading me? I wake up singing, "come on baby light my fire," a mantra in my mind.


Christine Swint