The night is unkind and I won’t go home to it. I hide until the building empties. Security might think I’m here or they may not; either way there is no challenge. My wandering begins when the building is silent. My feet find a path through the book stacks and I let them, though I Read More
The hard chew, the too bitter pill to swallow, wash down, digest. To accept mouthy murder, Inflict linguistic lacerations only time can heal. I broke teeth and severed tongue. I lived with a mouth, ulcers clustered. My roof collapsed but truth lay underneath, buried and lost. I bet if I retched right, regurgitated, I could Read More
The cruel hands of wicked men, made me their prey. I can do nothing but peer between fingers into wicked eyes. Throw the word ‘laws’ into the silence and pray. © Nicole Gemine From A Cabinet of Curiosities: Reimagining Rare Books. A disparate trove of pieces created by students of Writing Practice and Study, inspired by their work Read More
Prickly all over, but for spider silk blooms. Thorns studding stems, give purchase even for earthbound aluxob — any height might be scaled. No barrier built keeps them out these bearers of cures and dreams. Like their cousins everywhere, supple skirts spread to reveal baby rattle pod which, when finally split, spills myriad tiny balls. Read More
He steps out of the limo, lithe and supple. He glides over the carpet. Slides between camera flashes. Pirouettes around questions. Its almost comical, the excessive grace with which he dances around the paparazzi. He pauses to wave at a cluster of middle-aged women. They shriek in delight. Then an arm winds its way around Read More
I’m donating parts of my body when I die, but I don’t want to donate the whole thing in case I become a body for medical students to practice on. I’ve heard rumours of the way they sometimes treat the bodies they work with and it isn’t pretty or dignified. I accept it shouldn’t matter Read More
It’s not the pen and ink drawing of the Sea Onion that interests me so much as the word squill. Squill sounds like a portmanteau word made from fusing together parts of existing words. Like “brunch” or “labradoodle”. My lips form into a petulant pout when I say it aloud and the blend of squidand Read More
A fine anatomical agony: Mouth wide open portcullis-like Tongue, teeth, tonsils hang Eyes closed like smooth marble stones It’s all in the head. Shriek. Skelloch. Der Shrei der Natur. The Scream of Nature. Skrik. (‘Skrik’ is Norwegian for Shriek) © Loretta Mullholland From A Cabinet of Curiosities: Reimagining Rare Books. A disparate trove of pieces created by students Read More
Silence echoes through the village. Eyes look down as I pass, like cars dipping headlights. It is dark. I see Johanna, my friend. Fingers on my arm. Her touch warms me. She looks to my side as if half-expecting Maria to be there. We don’t speak. My eyes follow a bird, a robin I think, Read More
Dear Mrs Brooksbank, You would be pleased to know that Allan Ramsay’s reputation endures. His poetry is remembered on the wall of Greyfriars Kirk; his face gazes out fondly across Princes Street at pilgrims journeying through this city on their cultural quests. What was your connection to him? Were you, like him, a Stuart sympathiser. Read More