by Sophia Smout You left in a grey morning. It’s funny, now, The bits that I remember so precisely: How the faint clouds brushed together In the damp, smoky air; And how the sun hung, palely hovering, Against the granite sky. You left in a threat of storm clouds And hail, in rain and thunder, […]
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by Max Clements As our eyes touch, my mind elapses. Your intimate complexion is pallid, your radiance extinguished. Your expression is lifeless. Your hands are frigid, your fingers callous. You possessed me. Your departed vitality lay dormant within me; and yet it drained mine. I devoured your beauty; I touched and tasted yet attained no […]
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by Cora MacGregor Each November fresh controversies arise regarding the Remembrance poppy. These ostensibly emerge out of individual cases or concerns particular to the present day: the expectation for public figures to wear a poppy, how to reconcile this with the demands for neutrality, and fears over the potential for slimy politicians to exploit the […]
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by Michael Angerer Our memories are the stories that we tell ourselves: to remember is to scribble in faint pencil across the fabric of our lives. When inspiration strikes – a light across the ceiling, the warmth of a bed, a cup of tea – we conjure up an image of the past that neatly […]
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by Simon Norris Hello old friend, Remember me? You know me not, But all you see of me Is a memory There is no time like […]
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by Tobias Thornes Through the green heart of Thailand we had rushed, where the hills erupt like forested thimbles or rounded dice scattered across the plain: a mesmerising memory of a land where Earth still stores some beleaguered secrets amidst her lofty nooks. The train snipped the undergrowth, charging over little-serviced rails. Yet, sluggish seemed […]
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by Aaron Cawood Lights up. The bench at the train station; we sit. Only, now, in Act Two, I smile, In spite of the crowd – I feed the first line. And because you are there, I smile throughout the Act. As, because you are there, sirens pass in quiet. And, because you are there, […]
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by Simon Norris For your tomorrow We offered up our own. We lay ourselves down Under a torn quilt of poppies Across the rift of war. We let you walk upon our backs To peace. We caught the bullets And shells With our bodies. A wall of resolve And flesh and blood. The poppies […]
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A pdf of the print version of Issue #24 – Shift – can be downloaded here: Issue #24 – Memory
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by Josh Cottell ‘Music can shine light into places where nothing else can reach.’ James Rhodes seems to sum up my thoughts exactly. A pianist by profession, his 2014 autobiography describes his journey through an abusive childhood leading to a tough relationship with mental health. His journey is certainly an inspiration to anyone, yet it […]
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by Joe Gardiner A brief look into the images that burn into the retina from prolonged exposure to Oxford. Detailed from top to bottom are: -My daily walk to the Maths institute for a morning lecture -The weekly walk back from Oxford University CompSoc at some silly time in the morning, having stayed down at […]
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by Patrick Hegarty-Morrish We have little left to remember of this city of aquatint. Its morning mists, grey springtime, the rare summer’s day, fleeting like a lovebird’s escape between hedgerows; wafts of pheasant roasting over her gables and cupolas, through cloister and quadrangle, carried to the dreaming student on a weightless breeze to displace smells […]
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An original composition for piano, by Chris Hill. Download the score here
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by Amanda Higgin On the last day of Summer Eights, Oriel’s first crew walks away from the river exhausted and a little disappointed. A couple of promising bumps in the first races were followed by a few uneventful row-overs, leaving them the fourth boat on the river. Close enough to take the headship next year, […]
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by Aidan Chivers The air around me is calm and still as I wake up, but if I keep my eyes closed and breathe slowly, I can still hear the fading echoes of church bells, morning lectures and Latin grace. They have not vanished, but are softly receding into old, fading patterns which hold glimpses […]
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by Tom Saer We saw her near The empty drain She’d lost her pieces In the rain Her ankles wept In morning’s earth She went to sleep In beetles’ birth The flies are here Their tethers sink They filled their cups She did not blink To celebrate We found a wreath Its whispers made A […]
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by Teofil Camarasu Upon arriving to watch a dress rehearsal of the The Lieutenant of Inishmore, I was told that I would be watching the first run of the show with genuine fake blood (until then they had used water instead). The first row of seats had provisionally been designated a splash-zone, and was covered in […]
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The Poor Print 