What I Remember

by Sophie Fisher

‘This piece is constructed of memories about my Dad from when I was a child to shortly before his death. After he died, I found it difficult to remember good things about our relationship and so this poem encapsulates a select few of them. Losing someone close to you is a weird event in life as you enter a time-warp of emotions, and the lack thereof, but I wanted to pass on that whilst these memories are painful, they are vital when trying to make sense of grief.’

Sophie Fisher is a second-year student studying English and Creative Writing and was born in the seaside town of Swansea, Wales. At nineteen years old she lost her father to suicide and from then on, she wanted to reach out with a little transparency through a verse in the hope that whoever reads her poems may feel a little less alone. 

More of her work can be found on @fishersfeature on Instagram or her website: https://fishersfeature.com/

Juliana of Norwich

T.W: Sexual Assault

by Phoebe Gilmore

Juliana of Norwich was the first known woman author in British history to write a book called ‘Revelations of Divine Love’. In times of darkness my mother would say to me ‘All will be well, and all will be well, and every manner of thing will be well’ – a quote written by Mother Juliana. Being a woman means risking your life every day and I wanted to incorperate these words of comfort into this poetic expression.

Phoebe is a second-year English and Creative Writing student, she is originally from Devon and moved up to London at age 16 to finish her A-Levels and get a taste of the city life. Her writing career started at the tender age of 4, when she wrote and illustrated a helpful booklet titled ‘How To Annoy Boys’. She adores poetry and Shakespeare. Her most beloved possession is a collection of poems all written by women titled ‘She is Fierce’ which was given to her by her mother-in-law.

@phoebpix

Yellow

by Isabelle Harrison

“Love is all we need, turning your pain into beauty.” 

21, lesbian, and a very strong believer that all you need is love and a really good book. 

A dream of me

by Elise Harbud

Elise Harbud is a writer studying Media and communications in her final year at Goldsmiths. She is also the creative editor and writer for the new poetry zine ‘The Road Zine’ (@theroadzine on Instagram). She specializes in poetry (seen on @somewordsbyelise on Instagram) but also enjoys writing short stories in prose or screenplays, mostly focusing on mental health, relationships and self-love.

On Days I Count Instead of You

by Ruby Lau

“This is about a crush that I have, who alike (almost) all the other crushes I’ve had, also happens to be someone I’ve never spoken to. I think there’s something so silly yet endearing about having a crush. Too shy to talk to them I am, but somehow translating abstract feelings into a sequence of rhymes is doable, how scandalous.”

Ruby a third year Design student. She likes a lot of things and is working to get good at some of those things. Things such as: graphic design, drawing with oil pastels, photoshop editing and writing. To find out more about her current and past projects, check out her blog laukiusm.wordpress.com and her Instagram page @baojindubb.

Forest of My Birth

by Lania Elaine

Lania is a MA Art Psychotherapy student and is currently in her final year. She is also an artist working with a range of media including photography, ceramics and video. She has recently started self-publishing pamphlets of poetry and photography, her first collection will be published in June 2021.

I exist here

by Sam Chappell

“This poem is a fantasy-memory of summer in the woods, mushroom picking, swimming in lakes, living in crystal clear communion with the haze of the sun and the shade.”

Sam Chappell thinks a lot about what it means to exist, to be alive, and to take space in the world. They are in second year of BA Fine Art + History of Art, you can find some of their work on Instagram @liqidlightning

performance as exocytosis

by Svet

“We are against performance and the theater as sources of entertainment and passivity, but rather for the establishment of spaces where performance serves as a therapeutic practice which brings about change in the social, political and economic spheres of a society.”

Svet is a Ukrainian playwright and performance maker in his first year of studies at the PPS course.

Homecoming

by Abida Uddin

“rememory —the process of returning to memories again and again, in such a way that they affect a person's processing of their present. “

Abida is a third year media and English student born and raised in North London. Her main literary inspiration is Toni Morrison and Beloved is her favorite book of all time. In her own writing, she likes to explore themes regarding contemporary family dynamics much like Morrison herself. When Abida isn’t writing she is most likely thinking of new ways to keep herself busy and creatively stimulated. 

Instagram: @aybida

“ANYTHING DEAD COMING BACK TO LIFE HURTS.”

men have come and go,

performing seances to raise the dead inside of you but the spirits are stubborn you see. they’re spiteful, running amok under your skin, hiding under every organ you had ever used to love. most nights, you lie awake, naked stomach up in the air to hear them /curse/ you.

they remind you

that you’re haunted all the way through.

these ghosts are lonely and lost too.

some nights they’re quiet, so you sit by the window and howl upon the full moon, hoping they’ll return. worried that they might have found love elsewhere, a home in a woman with a warmer soul. a home in a woman who’ll bring them back to life. they come back to you in the end, because home is where they’ve come from; the hot grief bubbling in your belly.

sometimes when you shut your eyes, the spirits grow hands and feet and hearts, bloody and gold like the burning sun. sometimes when you close your eyes,

the spirits become one.

and she calls you Mum.

---

by Abida Uddin

This poem was inspired by Toni Morrison’s Beloved. Even the title is a direct quote from the book. It explores the themes of grief and motherhood through supernatural imagery.

Abida is a second year Media and English student. Her interests include poetry and anything true crime-related. Swears that Luther is the best TV show on the planet. She is an aspiring screenwriter and a general film enthusiast. Lady Bird is a film she never stops thinking about.

‘The Anam’ – Celtic song

CHORUS

So, this is the tale of The Anam a few hundred years ago, 

Her presence is known to the locals through the wind, the rain or snow.

Her spirit lives within the oak of the big old tree, 

And her wailing sounds at night will be heard by all of yee-eeee.

-------

VERSE ONE

Oh, Nelly was a small girl, bright copper carrot hair,

She fantasized a great deal, telling tales round the whole of Clair.

Her sisters always teased her - they’d call her copper knob!

And her ma always distracted, with her legs round Father Bob.

She read the Anam tale by the fire each dam day,

“Get your head out that book Nel or we’ll throw ye in the hay”.

She didn’t really care as the young dear had no doubt,

That the Anam would arrive one day and sure shut her sister’s mouth.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

CHORUS

But this is the tale of The Anam 200 years ago, 

Her presence is known to the locals through the wind, the rain or snow.

Her spirit lives within the oak of the big old tree, 

And her wailing sounds at night will be heard by all of yee-eeee.

-------

VERSUS TWO

It was one usual Sunday and the family came home from mass,

But Nelly was telling her tales again, so her Mother smacked her ass.

She cried the whole night through as her sisters had a laugh,

And nelly cursed down the road and back saying “she’ll break ye all in half”.

Her ma was in the kitchen making a good old jot of bread,

The Anam knocked on the door and in her spirit fled. 

Her mammy turned to stone and the sisters shrieked in fear 

And sure, nelly stood their gawping as she shed a happy tear.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

CHORUS

But this is the tale of The Anam 200 years ago, 

Her presence is known to the locals through the wind, the rain or snow.

Her spirit lives within the oak of the big old tree, 

And her wailing sounds at night will be heard by all of yee-eeee.

----------

VERSE THREE

Now, here comes the ending, the story nelly longs to tell.

The day the Anam broke in and cast her wicked spell.

She stole her sister’s spirits and replaced them with her own,

She sure as hell changed their lives round, now her sisters never moan.

Her ma is a forgotten statue just hanging in the kitchen, 

The story of the Anam will sure leave your sister’s bitching.

Her spirit arrives to rescue the forgotten little one, 

And now Nelly’s presence is known to the locals through the wind, the rain or Sun.

------

ONE MORE TIME NOW!

------

CHORUS

But this is the tale of The Anam 200 years ago, 

Her presence is known to the locals through the wind, the rain or snow.

Her spirit lives within the oak of the big old tree, 

And her wailing sounds at night will be heard by all of yee-eeee.

------

END VERSE

But the Anam isn’t done and she’ll be sure to visit thee,

So, make sure ye kind to ye sisters, or she’ll be coming after ye.

THE END.

---

by Catherine Verge

This piece is an Irish folk ballad intended to be sang as a theatrical piece as part of an ensemble. It tells the tale of Nelly, a small girl who lives in rural Ireland with her Sisters and is always the odd one out. She reads a book called ‘The Anam’ everyday, which is the tale of a spirit that takes naughty children’s souls, and prays her teasing sister’s gets their comeuppance by becoming her next victim.

Catherine has recently graduated finishing her BA Media, Communications & Cultural Studies degree and is going on to do an MA in film directing. She films short dramas on a low budget with friends in her spare time. She also writes short dramas usually located in Ireland or has Irish characters. She is fascinated by her Irish heritage and Celtic history, and hopes one day she can write/direct professionally.

it would be nice

it would be nice
after Frank O’Hara

it would be nice
to be sat here, having a beer with you.
the sun is splurging orange over the sky, and the
horizon is doing that thing where it blurs
so that you can’t tell where sea starts and sky stops.
I can hear the rushing seething heaving of the waves
as they smack and slurp at the shore,
sand-speckled pebbles whispering in a language
that you can’t quite understand –
but also, you can?
because my heart pumps with the rhythms of these
tides –
salt water seaweed in the depths of me.
and I think you can see that?
and I think maybe, for the first time in a while
I feel myself unfurling.
and I think maybe, for the first time in a while
that might be okay?
but I need you to lean into this,
to lose yourself in my landscapes,
or at least to look up at the crescent moon with me as I
curl into your luminous warm soft,
blackberry bruises on my thighs
blooming as I kiss the milky way speckle of your clavicle.
anyway.
it’s now dusk.
there’s a velvet hush falling, and the boundaries between
bleed through & into each other.
I think these are the spaces that you and me could be.
anyway.
it would be nice
to be sat here, having a beer with you.

Alice is a dramaturg, script supervisor, poet and performer. As a script writer, reader and supervisor, she has worked with Theatre503, Finborough Theatre, Katzpace, The Delta Collective and Big Broad Productions, and has performed her spoken word/poetry at venues including Watford Palace Theatre and Finborough Arms. She is collaborating with The Actor’s Box on performance-poetry workshops, devising a performance on queerness and liminality, and studying for her MA at Goldsmiths.

Hair, Cigarette burns on her heart, In Bloom.

Leah Coughlan is an MA Cultural Studies student at Goldsmiths – “I believe poetry should make you think, make you feel or both. As inspired by the heartache I have experienced and the anger I continue to experience, I write to process these feelings and I am currently sharing poetry on @wordsofleah. I think writing is really important because of its immense capacity for vocalising those who are familiar with being silenced”

Resisting the urge to pull away

It casts no shadow deep in outer space:
A lone comet drifts and finds its place.
Seldomly two comets burnt on different oil,
Lock close into orbit together unstable.
 
And they’re spinning, spinning...
Looking for easier paths 'cause defeat ain't worth thinking about:
Remember tender souls in strong armour can't lose!
 
Whizzing, whizzing, whizzing around, 
Because stupid grins are held prisoner behind the beauty of sealed lips
And intentions are hidden ‘til BANG! Two objects collide deep in spacetime– 
where the most improbable of events happen–
Neither deigns to crash but they both do, a rapid change in fortune...
 
With an explosion to match the wonder of rare and incidental beauty
Trillions of stardust fragments for a moment pretend to be different:
Shined by cosmic waves, energy in radiation, lighting lanterns to new paths,
Ones never before seen by us, let alone even conjured in our dreams.

by Callum James

This poem came from a place of not knowing where we are going, recognising that free will has a bearing on our fate but ultimately to say we are all at the mercy of fortune. Impossibly huge and complex forces are always at play so when something blows up it might not be a bad thing after all: just look for the new paths, for possibilities you either didn't see before or only just now realise are plausible. With this in mind, how could you ever be afraid?I think it's common nowadays for people to resist and suppress their feelings, especially when they are at their strongest. What this poem says is to let go, try to embrace your nature and think less about your control over the circumstances. There are times where you need to let yourself be guided by your emotions and environment rather than logical thinking.

Callum is studying for his MA in Journalism at Goldsmiths and enjoys writing poetry and prose in his spare time, usually for personal pleasure and seldom with the aim of being published. He takes a keen interest in local issues such as activism against gentrification in south-east London and supports this in a journalistic capacity. You can find him on Instagram @callum.james.t

Sun shines

Sun shines over the rails. 







Brighter than you know. There are no reasons for it. You go to sleep at midday. Again. I take the couch this time. A single week after 9 months it is silence that we give birth to. 




Whatever happens, I think of an oasis, of being illiterate, of shadows. Of coasts where the sun shines over the rails.  Brighter than you know. Snips of colors.
Breaking through, piercing me, you.

And you are the only ‘you’ that will never leave. Fiction. The one who’s on paper. Mentioned here and there.
You are dream material. 







If what I am is what I have (habere)
The more I possess, the more Things invade my land.

Defne is a 1 st year on the BA Fine Art and History of Art course. She spends her time trying to write and make/sculpt things that trouble the notion of inhabitance. She wishes she was an active Instagram user with an impressive profile showing her works but that is not really the case.

Dream Diary

The four poems show a timeline of four states between going to bed and waking up.

INSOMNIA: My work INSOMNIA is a conceptual photoseries produced as my final project during my undergraduate studies. The photos are an expression of the pain one experiences when suffering from insomnia.

Xuerui Li (Raye) is from China. She is currently studying MA Photography: The image and Electronic Arts in MCCS. She writes poetry and takes photos to express her feelings or talk about life. Poetry is one of her inspirations for photography; she will write it then visualize it with photos. In her spare time, she likes to watch films and listen to experimental music.

not everyone is sick of you despite your best efforts

the buck can be passed with adolescent slights

unless like a honey bee to build

the tower of babel (or — a dagwood sandwich)

conditioned recordings in the field

the travel brochure has not yet been swapped

for an article on ubasute

or a regular feature by the husband of a friend

on the therapeutic benefits of crochet

impetigo says more than a holiday album

and less than a cummings print on the wall

by Elijah Young

Indifferent and Malignant

I’m indifferent

I’m malignant
I’m arrogant
I’m ignorant
I’m angry and bitter,
touch me and I’ll hit ya.

I hate your views
I hate the news
I hate feeling amused,
I don’t want to smile and neither you too.

Stop laughing and dancing, it puts me in a mood
I feel rotten and trodden on, even a bit used
but I’ll stay this way, never going to change
head down, heart heavy for another bloody day
seeing no other way, so I shall continue,
all the way to me grave.

by Valerie Statham-Sprod

This poem was written when I was living and working at a contemporary dance and performance center on the borders of Germany and Poland. Having been set-up by a group of squatters who formerly lived in Berlin, the center formed part of a community lying in the quiet countryside of East Germany. Surrounded by some of the most liberated, artistic, and progressive people I have ever met I suddenly began to feel incredibly square and conservative, it was a shock, I’d never felt that way before. I wrote this poem there and also performed it at their 4-hour ‘performance marathon’. Mine was the only spoken word performance and they were incredibly supportive.

Amateur and enthusiast for most things, a wide-reaching skill set which has been acquired in many peculiar ways. Currently studying Anthropology & Media at Goldsmiths. Hailing from Bristol ways, yet somehow I have avoided acquiring the much-beloved Bristolian accent. Poetical forces who inspire me - Gil Scot Heron, Jim Morrison, Raymond Queneau, Tony Walsh, and many others.

Instagram- @val.is.clumsy

people will throw away birthday cards

people will throw away birthday cards
and nearly all of the time it will have everything
to do with the stars playing tennis on the night
you began wearing matching lips
with the special people.

you can blame a lot on the way cars are parked,
or children are given names, or you can accept
that most of life is milk before it gets pasteurised.

how you feel about a thing does not stop
it happening, just like how the universe
will expand whether you are scared or not.

time makes vast amounts of blood vacuum
itself back under skin but space is timeless.

everything is always happening, the toast pops
out of the toaster and your daughter is born
but your own atoms are only an afterthought.

the death of a star in the skies isn’t cause
for sadness like it is down here, the universe
keeps going, no tears, just birthday cards.

Memoona Zahid is a final year English with Creative Writing student here at Goldsmiths, and a joy to bump into at uni/the pub/poetry readings. I have been dying to read her poetry for months so I’m delighted that she’s sharing this one with GoldDust (and I’m definitely not going to pretend that I haven’t returned to it over and over on my phone for the last couple of weeks. Because I have.) Keep an eye out for this tiny legend, she is destined for great starry things. Keep up with her on Twitter, @memoonawrites.

cancer man

they tell me taurus is an earth sign & it’s true i prefer to look at the ocean

from a distance. but i’m always dreaming of being submerged in some element

unrelated to mine. interested in the body of something alien, wanting to

scalpel my comfort away, tempted to treat you like the atlantic: solid and

taken for granted. you are a water sign.

on days we storm, i feel the lostness of a trawler under a 12-footer.

but it is peaceful under the surface. enough of the water analogies.

i think the sea is staring at me.

Naomi Morris (aka OCD witchpoet) is a Goldsmiths’ grad and writer currently based in Glasgow. She recently won the Hollingworth Prize (I proud cried) which will see her debut pamphlet landing soon via Sine Wave Peak. Her past selves include but are not limited to, the following: editor in chief of 50GS, poetry editor and co-founder of Goldsmiths’ Creative Writing Society and Rookie contributor. Naomi is my favorite poet, and I wouldn’t be one without her always jumping into a Google Doc with me. Find her recent work at Gutter, Adjacent Pineapple, or in my hands.

Twitter: @ncmmorris

Instagram: @naomichomsky