The Source

Perhaps, Oxford

We met at a Latin meeting hosted by the Oxford Ancient Languages Society at University College. I signed up for Latin partly out of curiosity, partly out of guilt. I’d...

The Source Ngoc Diep -

How to Say Goodbye to the Cities You’ve Loved

For those of us between borders, home is not fixed; it’s cumulative.

The Source Ngoc Diep -

W.H. Auden at the Bus Stop: In Praise of Intellectual Delay

It’s a damp Tuesday afternoon, and W.H. Auden is waiting patiently at the bus stop...

The Source Ava Doherty -

A Pelican Crossing Somewhere on Green Dragon Lane

"The passage of time is a bloodthirsty hound."

The Source Briony Arnott -

Latest

Fragile Love

Read the latest from The Source on the theme of identities. Content warning: self-harm, homophobia. She was 15 years old,With empty eyes of sorrow and...

Glittering Girls

Giggling, high heels caught in cobblestone as you collapseIn my arms as you’re wrecked with another fit of laughter-You shriek in delight, stumble over...

A walk down Magpie Lane on one winter night

Wandering nightly through the cobbled pavements of the city of dreaming spires,I could not help but notice the darkening shade of sandstone under the...

The Source, HT23, Week 5

Featuring poetry from Nicole Gibbons and Charlotte Lai.

The Source, HT23 Week 3

"You are lost and found, and lost again"

Sonnet for Foxe by Anna Cowan and Ruth Port

Dear Foxe I sing a song of love to you, Whose shell shines like the half compass of heaven, My beloved Foxe, take this to be...

Plenmeller House

Under the covers, inside the walls,The wind shuffles in from the West,Rabbits potter in the grass,And the pheasants lay down to rest. This is the...

A Drink by Edward McLaren

I rise from my screen and enter the horizontal darkness above its frame, itself over the river I do not see. Why is it...

Once Long Ago

In Once Long Ago, Jenny Robinson invites us to listen to the “dead tales of old gods long gone” struggling to find their place...

Lord Reginald Moreton of Oxfordshire

Poet's Note: "One of my favourite things to do whenever I visit new areas with my friends is to come up with ridiculous "histories"...

Dresse me my harpe

The speaker in Anna Cowan’s poem herself undertakes a myth-making activity in playing her harp. “It is time”, she declares, as she unshackles the...

"Spending years of loneliness sitting on that toilet seat, a haven from slow lunch times with no friends, I knew the peeling paint as if it were my own palm, cream cracking, exposing the avocado green of the seventies."

As the smoke burns down to my fingers

To blink a bloodshot world away And drink in rough, and burn, and heat Until she comes to kiss the dark.

Sticky

Something crawls up my throat, more bitter than honey.

“Everywhere else, death is an end. Death comes, and they draw the curtains –”

Death comes, and they draw the curtains – Not in Spain. In Spain they open them.

Eve

Go, then - O girl, O derivative of...

Eve’s Laugh

Humour me with golden words...

Stalked by a bear at high table

perhaps next time i will kill the bear

Lost City

The undulating sands stretch out, a vast expanse, sweltering under the gaze of the sun as it burns its way across the sky, dunes flowing like currents, tides on...

Half Brit No Brit

'I hear you loudly in your echo chamber: ‘We’re in the most tolerant land of them all’ But the least racist is still racist.'

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The Source

Perhaps, Oxford

How to Say Goodbye to the Cities You’ve Loved

W.H. Auden at the Bus Stop: In Praise of Intellectual Delay

A Pelican Crossing Somewhere on Green Dragon Lane

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