Below her feet,  an average size, the daffodils spring.
Her hair is tendrils of ice to reach out, draw in.
And the skin around her fingernails is chewed.

A redness stains her bottom lip.
The body is snowdrops, brushed dust, soft cheek.
But a bulb dies of thirst in that desert, an outlook bleak.

Or drinks life from a brook that bubbles and boils over
And laughs as it does that and dances round curves.
And the sunshine reeks out her pores, and it gleams, or burns.

By Caitlin Stanway-Williams



They invited me to dinner one night.
Young eyes and wide mouths
Gently enquired of my company,
But I refused.

Time passed and they asked again.
At a restaurant down their favourite road
Lined with cherry blossom trees.
A garden where they were married

And the ghosts still hung out
Under wintry trees,
And a room where my mother was made;
But I refused.

Now I sleep less than soundly,
And they yet sleep sounder
Than any hale man has slept;
And when I sleep I wonder

If all they wished was a drive,
To feel young and alive behind a wheel
Down a blossom lined lane
And a dirty restaurant,

To sit under trees
Where ghosts hung out,
And the living still walked, to prove it.
But I refused.

By Joshua Teo



Winter sirens govern the storm, echo in the tundra, screaming levels.
Nitrogen cliffs oppose valleys, blizzards scatter gravel downward.
Sitting beneath the chaos, lies a stallion summoned to pacify the war.
It awakens from a sarcophagus of snow, startled, ostentatious,  a coat of hermetic white.
The entity embarks on its journey; gravity seizes control of the reins.
A symphony is sung to the valley; cold notes sing a warm-ice euphony.
The perpetual strides thunder, shatter sheets of ice. Stop.
The lord sun casts down boiling sanctions, rays of scolding glow take the horse.
Exposed rocks blush in the sunset, relentless rays continue to deplete and destroy.
Until what remains is but a foal, legs crossed, cowering, afraid.
Eyes closed, hiding, until one day it too falls, in uncharted lands of rock and dirt.
The empty cliffs wonder whether the myth of the stallion will return home
And gallop through the valley like it once did. It sleeps, in the clouds.

 By James Reeve


I ate too much before. I’ll eat too much again.
I want to gorge and feel the pressure against my stomach
To fill up the vast emptiness with palm fill after palm fill of
Chocolate squares. Created with square indents to snap off easily
And take the first bite.
Pierce the stiff, cold chocolate with eager teeth
Delve into taste when it touches the tongue
Melts when stroked
Transforming from square to smooth and round
Chocolate melts in a thick, wet silky sheet on my tongue
And comforts with its sugary warmth
The satisfaction it fulfils going down
When it’s gone, after the first one
The next sits waiting, in its dark packet.
It sees the slit and I will show it the light
When I pick it up and hold it between my fingers.

It feels so sickly when the packet is empty
But I wish the company would put more inside
Then I wouldn’t feel so greedy.
If they didn’t make the packaging so attractive
With glossy photos of chocolate posed toward you
Then maybe I could stop.

By Laura Simmons


Perched on a plastic chair
You pretend to read Travel Magazine.
Draped in jeans and a damp white T-shirt,
With a whippet face. Your smile is sharp,
Stubble left intentionally, I thought.
The girl in ripped jeans
With lion eyes and claws to match
Grooms you like an ape.
She pops a louse into her mouth
and swallows.
By Georgie Tindale

Each week The Student Review publishes a collection of poems about a particular topic or theme. For this week’s theme, or to submit a poem, go here.