Wednesday, June 19Royal Holloway's offical student publication, est. 1986

Tag: poetry

How do you answer a question without questioning your answer?
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...
Move on Up
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...
oyvey
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...
An Evening of Poetry with Rhiannon McGavin and Savannah Brown
Culture & Literature, Literature

An Evening of Poetry with Rhiannon McGavin and Savannah Brown

In the basement of VFD Dalton, a queer arts and entertainment centre in Hackney, there’s a small bar and a singular bartender/bouncer/manager. Stools, benches, and miscellaneous chairs are arranged to face a bright pink wall, in front of which are two chairs and two microphones. Is this what being at the core of a literary movement looks like? Rhiannon McGavin, former Youth Poet Laureate of Los Angeles, is reading from her collection titled Grocery List Poems. Her supporting act is poet and novelist Savannah Brown, born in Ohio but now a true Londoner, talking of her excitement for the Elizabeth line’s opening. Somewhat unexpectedly, each of these young American women are armed with a can of Strongbow.  Brown, the ‘secret guest,’ introduces the set, starting with her most recen...
Creative Writing

i am

i am, as a man and asian and cognizant and selfaware and godfearing and afraid and angry and hellbent,incapable of romance, affection, love, lust, touch, being capable of not having being capable in anything of worth,and i blame it on myself and see that my hands are the things that push everything away. i am, as a fragment and chinese and broken and malay and unbending and terrible and aware and tumultuous,capable of belief, faith, friendship, telling someone to the face that they mean a lot to me and that i cannot in fact live without them,and i am in fact lying to them and see that my tongue is black with sinuous twisting lies. i am, as a white orchid and a yellow marigold and a red spider lily and a yellow chrysanthemum and decaying,incapable of thinking trust as a rock in an oc...
i probably just need to get laid and stop being so fucking dramatic
Creative Writing

i probably just need to get laid and stop being so fucking dramatic

im, quite aware its fairly unhealthy to think these thoguhts  but dear god we are made like you  but dear god i can see the purpose you gave us  plain in the way you make blood vessels break  in the way the human body deteriorates in the way im,  quite aware perhaps too aware of how you make it satisfying to give in to baser instincts and pleasures  i was never raised particularly religious  but i said prayers to you every night till that one time my mother told me god is perfect and then she  cried at the door and told me to be strong till she came back and i was left with the plate of macaroni  no one else but me liked but i liked it because it was my mother who made it and i would always say i  loved her to her ...
in sooth
Creative Writing

in sooth

in sooth, i know not why i am so sad i miss u in cerulean and orange emotional support jumper in full force one not to be reckoned with but dear god my intrusive thoughts are trying it’s not very late but i’ve got a tired ache brain ache self hate my favourite animal is you i am consumed with insatiability and itchy ankles when i open my mouth songbirds fly out which is actually very inconvenient my mouth is full of feathers and bird shit now damn that analogy i’m learning  to exist soundly love vulnerably instead burn incense until the smoke makes it smell safe again i’m too afraid to leave the house most days anxious twitch anxious twitch ghost therapist dear god i feel pathetic in my bedroom tonight Image credit: Ph...
I Do Not Write Love Poetry
Creative Writing

I Do Not Write Love Poetry

but memoirs  on your arcs  pilings  of tobacco  peppered question  marks  morning  it is raining  paraoxysms from my crown  wordlessly you pour for me tempers tremors now dusk I am awake again here another drought I silhouette  your body softly  smoke you out Photo credits: Photo by Robert Ruggiero on Unsplash
Gutter Talk
Creative Writing

Gutter Talk

early mornings in plettenberg bay five am & the sun was not yet high  but it was warm still and bright  plett sun is a different breed rich was by my side back then & red flocks flew west when they heard  that laugh hingeless & hungered & hollering oorah those ears car  doors on a sedan in midsummer left open to cool him down I was in Kensington when he next  called midday my time midnight his I heard the tik screech through his jangled mind & lacerate his  words discordant until the  teakettle boiled into a goodbye  & the smack of bone on tile it was a sickening sound at night I dream of africa the waves smash against my mind & the moon is still not high  ...