The Isis Magazine Essay Competition
DEADLINE EXTENDED TO SUNDAY, 23 MAY The Isis is running an essay competition this term, judged by Balliol College, Oxford tutors Seamus Perry and Adam Smyth. We welcome students from universities and secondary schools around the world to participate. Winners of each category will receive a fr
Apartment 271
After Meret Oppenheim Steaming in gazelle, espresso in a fur-lined teacup clipped just less than an inch scowling on the dresser. She gullets fuzzed brown innards with a Levonelle & a little salt (a day later) three p
The Isis Poetry Competition HT21 Winner
1 On a summer evening, I stood outside on the pavement lifting my arms & pouring my own-most entire being out downwards, watching it flow in a slow, steady stream & become a shapeless little pool on the pavement — translucent, tacky, awkward, glittering; catching & holding the du
The Isis Poetry Competition HT21 Shortlist
may-day it is long past time for coffee the girls play in the garden and freeze when they touch each-other what life is there left for those of us who wait and wait for the dust to settle what humour is there in prophecy […]
The Isis Poetry Competition HT21 Shortlist
Dad brought me fishing took hold of a herring broken on stones we passed no one but a boat one hundred metres off a cuttlefish swam spectre-like You know what they eat the sea he said fascinated I fell in the vision I was blue scarlet Dad carried me on his father’s back I remember […]
The Isis Poetry Competition HT21 Shortlist
We’re at the rock pools again. You’re bothering anemones putting your hand to your mouth to taste the salt Like licking the shiny side of a crisp packet We talk about the old sea The sea from before and how it used to keep its distance I have never [
Sad Girl Poem
Sad Girl Poem march — september, 2020 sleeping[1] at 4am[2], waking[3] at noon: propranolol 20mg, sertraline 50mg, crying[4] / crying[5] / crying[6]. [[7]] [separator type=”thin”] [1] was the wrong june, even this heat / electric, stinging / bitter-scented — i want to spec
Ditch Lilies
All across the yard, false peach. Elm trees spitting shadow on their heads. Like an ocean, he says, thumbing the brim of his cap, like lilies. The golden in them. We’re far away from ourselves, her ashes dusted in a field, your voice still scattering my dreams. The pastor bles