The Source

The day she died

...

The Source Nat Conboy -

Death’s Lament

Please, I have done what you asked. I burned it all for her. I wrench the...

The Source Tilly White -

And she woke up…

Yesterday I thought I saw you between blinks of an eye: a lecture together and notes left...

Culture Natalie Conboy -

Peach Juice and Other Inappropriate Attachments

My hostel sheets smell like regret and Chanel No. 5 sprayed like insecticide. I...

Culture Ava Doherty -

Latest

wintercaerig

made its blades stand sentinel and straight, made the lock stick on the kissing gate

The Philosopher on His Way to the Shops

God! Ah, fuck! By breezy decree, He’ll kick me straight to fire and rot

Ordinary Dreams

I dreamt about you last night. It was not remarkable or extraordinary; You sent me to the local shops with a list of groceries,...

Estate Birds

Out here they live all for one and one for all; Brutal towers have brutal rules.

In Winter

if I listen to the breeze I hear night

In Regions Clear, and Far

there is no us without this city. Oxford is ours

pandemic

Who’ll ask if it’s too brave to dream again?

An Afternoon in Late Autumn

And I was all the warmth and life on earth.

Eventual Ghosts

As we sailed on enthralled in the pursuit of some ardent glory

Punctuate As The State Sees Fit

Before we were mad We could dance as we wanted

We are a backwards people

The sun revolves around the Earth which revolves around our moon and the twinkling little stars.

Shoulder

She leant back and let the blade of his shoulder frame the picture, for that’s how she would replay it in her head.

Oxford By Night

Immortality comes not in cobweb, but in gold tinged stone.

Day to live, day to love

Today is a Sunday, and today is a beautiful day to be alive

Walking Together

Because I’ll miss you became The I love you for friends

Anxiety and Me

If I am having a bad day I am going to tell you and have no shame about it.

Wandering Walser

Walser died in the same style in which he wrote: he went on a lonely walk and never came back.

New Year

Redrafting a life with no object for feeling

Beyond the window

Fated to be caught perpetually behind the window, always waiting for that elusive tomorrow.

Sonnet: Written by the Sambre-Oise Canal, On a Pilgrimage to Wilfred Owen’s Deathplace

Doubling love for those lines that 'scaped the mire

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The Source

The day she died

Death’s Lament

And she woke up…

Peach Juice and Other Inappropriate Attachments

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