Oxford's oldest student newspaper

Independent since 1920

More

    The Source, HT23, Week 5

    For the fifth week instalment of Cherwell's creative writing section, The Source, we present two pieces of poetry, by Nicole Gibbons and Charlotte Lai.

    Erasure
    
    in the stagnant silence between sips of gin,
    stunted syllables sit on our lips like
    battery acid and dissolve our skin.
    so instead we’ll pour our thoughts into that which can’t reply;
    into the night sky curling back against the rising sun,
    arching her spine as the day unfurls its soul.
    we’ll listen to the drag of the ocean,
    seduced by a masked moon,
    and wonder if waves could wash our words 
    away into one clean hum.
    we’ll let the unsaid float
    on ripples of light,
    on the echo of a gull’s cry,
    on the clouds dipped in violet dye
    and then stand by as 
    one 
            by
                  one
                          those sentences sink.
    
                                                                 i’ve resolved to speak to her in unsent messages, 
                                                                 strings of sound that refuse formation
                                                                 and hover on hold.
    
    by Nicole Gibbons
    only we remember
    
    I think about the fall
    of split-sky obelisks,
    serapeum sultry with incense
    boats sun-drowned and lotus-heavy
    shards of the earthen pastoral,
    the ruins of the mundane where
    the child clutches his bird-amulet and
    the women sing in the reeds
    the past is a foreign country
    remembered only in cipher,
    set in rosetta
    its indigenous ghosts linger
    once-present and twice-lost
    I think about what will be left
    of us, remembered in
    moon-bellied sunsets and
    goosefeather on the lake
    sharp-slick cities and
    forever folded in frogspawn
    loved in poetry, not in prose
    I cannot conjure your smile, but
    you smile anyway
    now
    god-kings lie silent in the valley
    the sundial tells no time
    the age of civilisation fades
    and only we remember
    so I think about the fall
    the gentle frenzied fall
    in love.
    
    by Charlotte Lai

    Support student journalism

    Student journalism does not come cheap. Now, more than ever, we need your support.

    Check out our other content

    Most Popular Articles