SEVEN VOICES
  • About
    • Emily Norcliffe
    • Clarissa Wigoder
  • Curators
  • Contributors
    • TT19 >
      • Delphine Chalmers
      • Kate Weir
      • Natalie Perman
      • Kwan Q Li
      • Alex Beukers
      • George Wilson
    • MT18 >
      • Catherine Cibulskis
      • Bethan James
      • Rose Morley
      • Maia Webb-Hayward
      • Kwan-Ann Tan
      • Hannah Patient
      • Martha West
    • TT18 >
      • Jonny Budd
      • Charlotte Bunney
      • Jack Cooper
      • Leila Roberts
      • Nick Smart
      • Sarah Spencer
      • Simran Uppal
    • HT18 >
      • Clara Atkinson
      • Haroun Hameed
      • Meredith Kenton
      • Billy Lucas
      • Jessie Palmer
      • Anjelica Smerin
      • Emily Wigoder
    • TT17 >
      • Harri Adams
      • Julieta Caldas
      • Hannah Chukwu
      • Anietie Ekanem
      • Bea Grant
      • AS
      • Annabel Sim
    • HT17 >
      • Ed Maclean
      • Georgina Lloyd-Owen
      • Surya Bowyer
      • David Carey
      • Robert Jackson
      • Minying Huang
      • Jessica Ockenden
    • MT16 >
      • Charles Pidgeon
      • Adham Smart
      • Rebecca Thornton
      • Thomas Hornigold
      • Annie Hayter
      • Adam Milner
      • Thomas Lawrence
    • TT16 >
      • Thea Keller
      • Rebecca Took
      • Dominic Leonard
      • Anna Manning
      • Ben Ray
      • Harry Baker
    • HT16 >
      • Catriona Bolt
      • Ryan O'Reilly
      • Rebecca Marks
      • Ed Gould
      • Honor Vincent
      • Pierre Antoine Zahnd
      • Lindsay Tocik
    • MT15 >
      • Alexander Shaw
      • Lucy Byford
      • Emma Lister
      • JK
      • Kat Lewis
      • Maria Shepard
      • Adam Turner
    • TT15 >
      • Tom Gaisford
      • Jemma Paek
      • Harry Jones
      • Nasim Asl
      • Charlotte Pence
    • HT15 >
      • Ariel Fresh
      • James P Mannion
      • GL
      • I H-M
      • James Mooney
      • Tom Pease
      • Shivani Kochhar
  • Seven Voices
    • TT19 >
      • 1: mottle
      • 2: foam
      • 3: cinders
      • 4: milky
      • 5: dew
      • 6: grounding
      • 7: syrup
    • MT18 >
      • 1: ephemera
      • 2: alcove
      • 3: harem
      • 4: off-kilter
      • 5: stillborn
      • 6: embrace
      • 7: bloom
    • TT18 >
      • 1: percolate
      • 2: limerence
      • 3: wonky
      • 4: diaphanous
      • 5: hiraeth
      • 6: epoch
      • 7: epiphany
    • HT18 >
      • 1: scintillate
      • 2: periphery
      • 3: azure
      • 4: architect
      • 5: limbs
      • 6: ethereal
      • 7: opaque
    • TT17 >
      • 1: act
      • 2: wish
      • 3: fall
      • 4: cry
      • 5: restraint
      • 6: choice
      • 7: consequences
    • HT17 >
      • 1: truth
      • 2: digital
      • 3: horizon
      • 4: sharp
      • 5: luck
      • 6: savage
      • 7: uprising
    • MT16 >
      • 1: shelter
      • 2: morning
      • 3: colossus
      • 4: conceal
      • 5: curiosity
      • 6: recursion
      • 7: spirit
    • TT16 >
      • 1: coincidence
      • 2: details
      • 3: release
      • 4: we
      • 5: spiral
      • 6: dream
      • 7: endings
    • HT16 >
      • 1: evolve
      • 2: doubt
      • 3: memory
      • 4: &
      • 5: physical
      • 6: light
      • 7: permanence
    • MT15 >
      • 1: eclipse
      • 2: submersion
      • 3: collect
      • 4: voyage
      • 5: conflict
      • 6: portal
      • 7: map
    • TT15 >
      • 1: partial
      • 2: suspension
      • 3: £
      • 4: downstairs
      • 5: silence
      • 6: orbit
      • 7: final
    • HT15 >
      • 1: fantasise
      • 2: terror
      • 3: an awkward encounter
      • 4: in between
      • 5: wheel of fortune
      • 6: elemental
      • 7: races
  • Contact

4: Nasim Asl

7/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Downstairs.

He was five when she fell
From grace.

They had been lost in a world
Of soft toys and silhouettes
When they came too close
To the ledge they’d always been told
To avoid, and the steps
That were not meant for playing.

He would blame himself
In later years. He was
older, wiser;
She would always be three.

He never told them
That her bear fell first, dropped
From his fist like a stone
Plummeting into the ocean;
Revenge.

He hadn’t realised
That she would go after it;
His grip on her dress slipping
And her limbs cartwheeling
As she flew, free
And landed at their father’s
feet.

He clutched a shred of cotton
As he looked after her,
Admiring her crimson halo
And thinking her beautiful. 
0 Comments

4: Harry Jones

2/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
0 Comments

4: Luke vdB

2/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Mr Morgenstern

He lives in the basement flat downstairs,
ready to babysit whenever she calls for
him. He has a propensity for black knitwear,
and his hobbies leave his hands smelling of sulphur.
Her children love him; he comes and teaches
the boys the art of anatomy, presenting to them,
with divine patience, the scars left behind by the stitches
they put in him after he fell from the heavens;
they trace gently over where the raised flesh is,
naming parts. The girls sit on his knee and listen rapt
to stories of snow-skinned, blood-lipped princesses
tempted by succulent fruits, who never fail to attract
the happiest of happily ever afters. It seems that
he has the best of intentions; he calls the little ones
“angels”, laughing at their innocence – but he stares at
their mother with eyes that look nothing like the Son’s.

0 Comments

4: Jemma Paek

2/6/2015

0 Comments

 
The musings and boozings of 32a
The sacred place on my grandmother’s road
lies upside down: the bedrooms are
downstairs and the kitchen is above.
Said kitchen is hazy with the smoke of
a thousand cigarettes and laughter delirium.
All of the chairs are broken and there is
very little counter space. The table groans with bottles.
If you wish to flatter The Lady you
must comment on the fullness of her fruit bowl
or offer her tropical bubblegum that she can burn
to the dulcet tones of dimmed lights.
The walls are awash with clichés and paintings done in ash
and the tops of cupboards jangle as
and the triumvirate of girl, boy, girl, (boy) walk by.
The entrance to this kitchen is always open;
their chambers are perennially shut,
usually forgotten by those cut-eyebrow
fools who frequent them in their stupor,
until a bottle of whisky later circumstance snips the strings
and sticky smiles and unbrushed curtains of
hair invite you to descend and fling open 
the door and drown in the cutlery draw
among the honeyed asian spoons.

To begin the evening upstairs and find yourself below
slumbering in the dragon’s lair is
how it must be; the natural progression.

0 Comments

4: Charlotte Pence

2/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Keep your early dispositions.
Cover the mirror's lonely recognitions.
And count, slowly now, as the seconds find their way through the channels of your brain.

She wondered if we could find God in this place.

But now I am at the bottom of the stairs,
Head up, eyes opened
To the crack of light under the door.
And the space around me escalates, it ruminates,
Till none.
0 Comments

    Archives

    June 2015

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.