“Selkie: a mythical creature that resembles a seal in the water but assumes human form on land.”— Definition from Oxford Languages Cavernous, the sullen cliffs part their lips to reveal the seaWrithing like a tongue, rolling and thrillingThe shore with trails of green. There are women, hungry and dispersedAlong the sand’s raised brow like debris from a wreck.Swallowed by sealskin, Grey and mournful and open-mouthed,The … Continue reading Creative Corner: Selkies Stranded on Plemont Bay
“Because of the widespread belief that there was something not quite correct with wayfaring women, the act of walking became a recognized form of defiance.” — Deborah Lutz, The Brontë Cabinet Continue reading Creative Corner: Weird Sisters and Walking Sticks
This is it. The final connection. You shuffle your orange tickets between your trembling, flaking, ice-cold fingers and brush an unruly wisp of hair behind an exposed ear. A litany of tinny carols reverberates down the platform, and the scattered Christmas lights of reds, pinks, greens, yellows, and blues shudder in the foggy distance, falling casualty to the terrorising wind. You glance up and down … Continue reading Creative Corner: The Last Train Home
All present and accounted for Yet 100 miles away We observe and watch Our little tiles open The windows to our life Unveiled I’ll let you see me briefly In my sanctuary Here we share space And are divided by space So the distant sound of your laugh Can be echoed across the world This is no film Or entry into a made up life … Continue reading Creative Corner: Our Little Tiles
As the mornings grow colder, the nights longer, and it feels like there are perpetual grey skies threatening months of rain, sometimes all you can do is put on your most threadbare pyjamas and snuggle up with a good book. However, with deadlines looming and online University being weirdly more stressful than the real thing, considering I’m attending in said pyjamas, what I really need is a slither of a good story. A short story, so to speak. Sculpting a believable and captivating world in a handful of pages is a difficult thing to get right, but fellow Exeter student Daisy Ella does just that in her first self-published story, Beneath the Waves. Continue reading Review: Beneath the Waves
My mind is a house partway through renovation, laid on ancient foundations on an island beneath the sea. I live in the basement, its walls of steal streaked with the iridescent graffiti of imagination, the floor littered with opinions cast aside. My room is my solace — but also my prison; outside the ocean currents rip and claw. Piled high in crooked towers are books … Continue reading A Room
Today I felt time in my cells, in little nooks
And under hairs and sitting on a skintag.
I feel the rasp of my sole, and as I step
my toes crackle on the kitchen floor. Continue reading Creative Corner: The Crumple Lady
Me and my toenails are staying inside.
As I water my feet, with spiced bubbles,
they grow horned edges
that rasp through my socks and make holes Continue reading Creative Corner: Lil Lockdown Toes
I became a witch in quarantine;
There was nothing else to do.
I listened to my neighbour’s bass
And thought ‘I’ll murder you’. Continue reading Creative Corner: Hubble Bubble Your Music is Shit
They say the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself, but for me it is a sign I’m cooking. I admit, there is a certain flair of insanity to my culinary methods. I defy measuring, exchange ingredients routinely, and follow recipes how I follow most advice – listening but rarely enacting. Cooking is a language for me. I’ve confessed and drank wine with Nigella, I’ve laughed and ranted with Ramsay, and I’ve questioned Oliver on many occasions. Cooking is a warm hello in the shape of tender meat and clouds of mash, it is an apology sweetened with strawberries, it is a declaration of love infused with chillies, and it is a get well soon in the shape of a bowl of garden vegetable soup. Continue reading Cooking and Conversation