‘Ill-fated Associations’ - James Metcalf writes about a life shattered by war
Rachael Parker shares three of her poems with The Yorker
The Yorker talks to three student playwrights premiering their work in the Drama Barn next term.
A poem by J Cridford exploring the imagination and quest for belonging
“I draw upon my own experiences of life and transfer them into my work. Love is often my main source of inspiration, yet much of work is self-reflective and autobiographical. Music often inspires me, which I think is why my poetry is rhythmically driven.
When I write poetry, I suppose I use my computer keyboard like a musical instrument in that I often write about 10-15 poems at a time. "Love Letters" was inspired by my first relationship when I was 17 years old with a fellow writer. The exchange of hand written mail (letters, cards and creative writings) was our main source of communication over a period of four years. The relationship decayed much like some of the letters, but ultimately both of them remain.
Love Letters
As my room is lived in
my past is read
inside the walls of ruin
remnants of love are hid
in torn envelopes
backs of broken draws
underneath mattresses
and wrapped in clothes
some are ripped in pieces
others splattered with rain
aged like the weary seasons
as if dressed in a coat of pain
each of them are treasured
moments captured in ink
touched as well as tendered
as if smelt across his nape
for every seal has been broken
yet the strands of hair remain
the memory bank has awoken
each time I notice your name
for time has moved us apart
yet the past has lingered on
love is always in the heart
in that of many letters hid
A Lover's Autumn
We pass through leaves
of gold and old time
those that have blown
from the trees to the ground
have set aside a view
but for us only to reform
a camouflage of colours
a sequence for something new
Muse
Am I just a muse to you
To keep your hand flowing?
Completely broken inside
You don’t seem to mind'
'the muse that keeps you going
A Landscape of Love
As I can see the tinfoil sky
the ruffled trees in rows
I can see your dancing eyes
that speak to me so freely
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