Trinity 2026

by Mark van Eykenhof Stan held tightly onto the railing as he crossed the threshold into the corridor at the end of the fifth carriage, careful not to let the cotton of his trousers get caught in the vestibule doors. He felt awkwardly conscious of himself as he hovered in the gap between the seats […]

Poetry

Impressions of Solstice

by Elisabeth Rees You dropped your watch in the pool and it sprung Out glistering like a gem; the dog’s fur Touched the river and uncle damned the young Because it meant he couldn’t fish; then when her Hat blew away, Grandmother shouted for Julia, who, under the portico, Chipped her tooth. Reciting from the […]

Diary, Prose

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by Anonymous this may be a little overdue, but i have no other way of outing my feelings. i need to know, WHO was that mysterious man, smelling his rose in the harris lecture theatre. this is not an innuendo, by the way — he brought an ACTUAL rose to his nose and sniff-sniffed away, […]

Poetry

My Day Time

by Peter Webster Round and around goes the fly in my roomHe’s a little head and he fliesBut never seems to stop circling, my room Photo by James Hill

Humour, Poetry, Prose

Troilus and Criseyde – An Undiscovered Fragment

by Kilian King Preface:After recent perusal, I have discovered an old manuscript in the Oriel archives which I believe to be of interest to the community. According to my investigations, this is a rare and previously undiscovered piece that could be dated back to the lifetime of Geoffrey Chaucer. I’m not much of a medievalist […]

Poetry

Britannia’s Wake

by Taylor Gray Moore There was no wailing, at least none for him.Order’s long to rust. So many sleepingchildren wallow in the dust while sallowold men pull each other’s teeth with bone pliersalong the edge of Belgrave Square—and let it burn.Here, Sherlock Holmes will last be laid to rest.Watson’s solemnly silent, hat in hand,and fresh […]

Poetry

Brokkr’s Wager

by Taylor Gray Moore The sun, which we’d forgotten about,Knocks at the wet grass,Slowly reclaims its own spaceOver the brooding mulch of Oxford,Over the sleepy beings therein. Heat reclaims its own dying embers,The vacant breadth of a lust.Here’s where we’re meant toBecome summer; to make payOn services so far renderedOr make our one, final, howl. […]