Spare nails clink in a jar, the rusted lid
Baked on in greenhouse heat, spare
Shards of terracotta pot arranged,
Neatly inside spare seed trays stacked one on one.
Spare light chinks through sparse and sun-bleached
Curtains, stealing in and past
The spare chair, with the cushion,
Still depressed, an empty space,
Spare dust motes hover,
They should settle
Or move on.
Spare was published in an e-book (available on Kindle, order your copy here) called Poems to Talk About, which was the end result of the 2013 Poetic Republic Competition. You can read more about Poetic Republic on the Threading the Needle page, but essentially it is a collaborative judging process, where everyone who has entered a poem gets to rate other entries. The final 48 make it into the book.
You also get to see the comments people have made about your poem, which is both nerve-racking and humbling. My favourite comment about this poem was: ‘The narrator seems to live through the same dilemma as the dust motes.’