Creative Writing – The Orbital

17Jan

By Ruby SaggersNo Comments

Creative Writing

A lack of discernment made me vain

Ruby Saggers - Associate Creative Writing Editor I believe I deserve to be vain. After years of misfortune and tribulation. To be seen by your seniors as a worthless Horrid Mess of a Girl from a Low-income house- Hold. They held onto that. I held onto it. The contention that I could not achieve because I did not have a warm space to ruminate on my future, my education, my vision as an academic. Though I knew what I wanted. Being forced into bottom sets as a result of the preconceived notion that I cold not – would not – meet the same end goal as my peers made me… it made me. It made me want more. And so, I did more. Now I sit in nineteenth century elation Staring at the dust on books I used to dream about having access to. Those w...

29Nov

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

What is ‘The modern issue’?

Ever since I was a child, I told myself I wasn’t interested in politics, Even as I sat there whilst my mother watched the news on the tv. I paid no mind to those speaking, nor to the meaning behind their words Because ignoring the world’s chaos meant a life lived in carefree ecstasy. But growing up, meant growing into the world And listening out for the everchanging ‘modern issue’, Realising that perhaps my ignorance didn’t allow for as much of an escape as I believed, Because that which impacts the world, must also impact me too. I think about those of you fighting in the gender battle: Sisters, brothers, siblings, lovers- all of you, my family. And I’m overwhelmed with survivors’ guilt, as I sit in safety and watch them die. I’m sorry that you...

13Nov

By Ruby SaggersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Grief is Citrine

By Ruby Saggers - Associate Creative Writing Editor ’When robins appear, loved ones are near’ There was something in the orange that day. Modern grief, it seems, is to “cast thy nighted colour off!” Celebratory drinks and fruitful colour in memoriam, thus I am no Hamlet. I had spent July through to August in solitude, finding it difficult to move through the stages. The list of bereavement: Denial, Ang- No. I am yet to succumb to blame. Denial. It is all I could feel. ‘It is gone five p.m., where is __? He must be coming home soon.’ Watch him walk through those doors, waiting for his cuppa splodge to sip on. It went cold that day. I am stuck in the first stage of lamentation, and I have been this way for eight hundred and eleven days. Malleable br...

How do you answer a question without questioning your answer?

16Nov

By Anna DiedrichsenNo Comments

Creative Writing, Lifestyle, Literature

How do you answer a question without questioning your answer?

By Anna Diedrichsen How do you write a love poem without confessing too much? Do you only write down half of what you think? Do you write like instead of love hoping they’ll understand either way? Do you dial down on the pink and instead use a dark grey? How do you speak without sharing too much? Do you ask questions, trying not to care? Do you let your sight wander, avoiding their eyes? Do you wait until someone asks you to share and then only tell them quiet white lies? How do you live without wanting to move on up? Do you stare out the same window every day waiting for the view to change? Do you long for salt but wish your...

16Nov

By Beth McCowenNo Comments

Creative Writing, Literature

Move on Up

An Anagram Poem By Jemimah Hawkes Perhaps the best plan would be to shove you with no more politeness than a lain-down rake. But I allow myself no such luxury. You and yours stretch to eons of space and time. I am not infinite, no. I am not forever, no always lurks in me. But I am so much movement and shadow you don’t know what to make of me. I am venal and cardinal, I am an anomaly in your taxonomy. I move in circles all my own. Perhaps we should put it to you, fame-claiming, politicking, marvellous men. Perhaps we should ask you to move on up, make space and se...

13Dec

By Hannah ArmourNo Comments

Creative Writing

GEDAREL, or, A Rant about the Pill

GEDAREL 20/150 microgram film-coated Ethnylestradiol / desogestrel GEDAREL knocks knocks knocks on her door, 5 o’clock on the dot. Not a second before nor after, GEDAREL must be let in daily or disaster strikes. She—no, no, GEDAREL is he, she wouldn’t inflict this, she wouldn’t force our hand, she wouldn’t think this was the solution. He pounds pounds pounds, “LET ME IN! LET ME IN OR I’LL RUIN YOUR LIFE.” She doesn’t behave like this, demand like this. This is all he, he wants no consequences—no consequences for him, consequences for her are printed double sided on A3, conveniently folded into nothing. She lets him in because it’s better than the alternative. GEDAREL enters incognito, wig equipped and ready for action. Glass of wine in hand, GEDAREL introduces himself...

21Jun

By Zaki ChanNo Comments

Creative Writing, Features

oyvey

behold the golem of prague how tothe first step is seeing them then talk to them then convince themsimpleso after saving them from that edgeplace your own edge on their throat and slice theirs open first before any seas can lay claim to it firstbefore earth before hearth before flame before greedy fingers pry their way to their tonguerip it out first beforeand then wear it in the mouthsit it in the right placecreak teeth out of placealign rows of molars incisors caninessculpt gum to fit perfectanother persons stolen tongueand when that is done and when you are caughtand when there is nothingleft to bare in their hotlampsleft to bear the roiling heatleft alone to step without rhythma syncopated disfunctionof them forcing that maw openad nauseam they will rip out your speechsear yo...

21Jun

By Elena-Teodora ChiujdeaNo Comments

Creative Writing

Rainbow World

Red: love. Romantic love, a connection at its bloom. A mother’s unconditional love, a life being born from another. A sibling’s love, with all the bickering and fighting, that love is still there. A friend’s love. A heartbreak that proves the love was there. Orange: balance. Understanding there will be grief and uncertainty in life but being able to blur out the shadows and find joy in the little everyday things. A morning coffee. A family breakfast. A sunny day. A hug. A face-to-face conversation. Yellow: spontaneity. We are all strangers until one person breaks the ice and comes up to you. He introduces himself, you make small talk, find a common interest and before you know it that stranger is now your best friend. A connection in the crowd. Green: rebirth. Rebirth...

21Jun

By Alice ClarkNo Comments

Creative Writing

heart

14May

By Max FlemingNo Comments

Creative Writing

The Deafening Sound of Shattered Glass

A single crack would never sound As loud as the others. Drowned Out by the silent pain Oblivious until it happens again. Forced to face The ever-growing pace Of the incoming fractures Caused by the human manufactures Of the heart Would one ever restart The journey that started the shattering Filled with constant flattering Or possibly fuller of lies Trying until one dies Because of the lack of love Like an unfilled glove Waiting for the perfect hand To fill it tightly. Planned To be a perfect match But a shattered heart has no match Just a scratch Left by those who dropped it Outcast like some odd misfit Left alone. How could I have known How painful a thousand shards Of...