poetry – The Orbital

12Nov

By Ruby SaggersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Fingerprint

Written by Ruby Saggers, Editor-in-Chief Content Warning: Mentions of grief A fingerprint hangs from my neck. It moves with me, gripping, and I cannot leave without it. Tennessee Whiskey... Golden Brown... Red Red Wine... Mind drifts, words wander, but my fingers always find their place - atop a teardrop, all I have left. Getting older now, though time stands still in your land. Experience overlaps memory, senses become distant. Where are you? ...

3Nov

By Alex RobsonNo Comments

Creative Writing

‘Let’s Go Somewhere Nice.’

Written by Alex Robson From Calais to Metz,Berlin to Cologne,We could go to Père LachaiseAnd visit the Priest, the Poet, or the Soldier, unknown.Yet vast sorrow-filled seas do alter our minds,And endless cigarettes, sunken ashtrays, Heavy with the salty pewter that fumigates our minds,Clouding our every judgement,Turning our desires sour, our tongues yellow;Beseech me from this sorrowful employment of your love,Yet keep me in your jar, for a harsh winter's day.Je n'en connais pas la fin, you used to say,But even that was a lie,Bright eyes, full of lies, all the lies, so many lies-Cotton-mouth jargon, so solemn in its creation,Falls loosely on these sombre ears.Arbitrary in the way you spoke,In the way you may have prevented my progression,From rosebud to soil, my mind wanes and my mem...

15Jun

By Mya RogersNo Comments

Creative Writing

Sometimes I don’t want change

By Mya Rogers I once thought I knew what love was. I thought it was that person that I had to spend every day with Because I didn’t know what would happen in our time apart, Or holding hands in every place that we went, To keep them close, to not lose sight of their heart. He, that took me on dates as a form of asking for forgiveness, So that I’d forget why I was even upset in the first place, And wrapping me in his arms every time he made me cry, Portraying himself as my saving grace. The boy who was my first everything; So, of course I would think that it was love, You gave just enough, so that I wouldn’t realise all that you took, And I remained thinking of you, as someone sent from above. It’s funny how that has all changed. I’m glad that i...

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...

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 Alice ClarkNo Comments

Creative Writing

heart

An Evening of Poetry with Rhiannon McGavin and Savannah Brown

31May

By Hannah ArmourNo Comments

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...

7Dec

By Zaki ChanNo Comments

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

7Dec

By Zaki ChanNo Comments

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 ...