The Source

Advert for a Girl

Girl, 22. Average height, Average weight. Average-sized, father-figure shaped hole 2 inches left of lower sternum. Needily accommodating Selflessly self-deprecating Outsize ego easily compactable To fit all inferiority complex related needs. Available for evenings, a few months, Or half...

Culture Silvia Andreoletti -

Lessons From A Taiwanese Coaster

I woke up in a world Where everything was beautiful, And nothing hurt.

Culture Joe Wilson-Dimmelow -

The com(m)e(n)t

Scrunching it into a ball, you toss it atmospheric, out of sight.

Culture Caspian Wagner -

Candles

Dreams are made of candles, pinpricks of a deeper light.

Culture Caspian Wagner -

‘warþ gasric grorn, þær he on greut giswom’ [Fish sad when washed to shore] – The Franks Casket

hronæsbansorrowful, weeping tears of salttaken, hunted, harpoonedfrom my blue lagooncrafted by you into this...

Culture Molly Cartwright -

Latest

The Source, HT23, Week 5

Featuring poetry from Nicole Gibbons and Charlotte Lai.

The Source, HT23 Week 3

"You are lost and found, and lost again"

Sonnet for Foxe by Anna Cowan and Ruth Port

Dear Foxe I sing a song of love to you, Whose shell shines like the half compass of heaven, My beloved Foxe, take this to be...

Plenmeller House

Under the covers, inside the walls,The wind shuffles in from the West,Rabbits potter in the grass,And the pheasants lay down to rest. This is the...

A Drink by Edward McLaren

I rise from my screen and enter the horizontal darkness above its frame, itself over the river I do not see. Why is it...

Once Long Ago

In Once Long Ago, Jenny Robinson invites us to listen to the “dead tales of old gods long gone” struggling to find their place...

Lord Reginald Moreton of Oxfordshire

Poet's Note: "One of my favourite things to do whenever I visit new areas with my friends is to come up with ridiculous "histories"...

Dresse me my harpe

The speaker in Anna Cowan’s poem herself undertakes a myth-making activity in playing her harp. “It is time”, she declares, as she unshackles the...

The Demolished School

"Spending years of loneliness sitting on that toilet seat, a haven from slow lunch times with no friends, I knew the peeling paint as if it were my own palm, cream cracking, exposing the avocado green of the seventies."

As the smoke burns down to my fingers

To blink a bloodshot world away And drink in rough, and burn, and heat Until she comes to kiss the dark.

Sticky

Something crawls up my throat, more bitter than honey.

“Everywhere else, death is an end. Death comes, and they draw the curtains –”

Death comes, and they draw the curtains – Not in Spain. In Spain they open them.

Eve

Go, then - O girl, O derivative of...

Eve’s Laugh

Humour me with golden words...

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Gladiator II: A lack-lustre return to Rome

Review: Moth – ‘An unabashed, piercing piece of theatre’

Review: The Outrun

Blackfriars Fellow created a Cardinal by Pope Francis