I promise
to relish in the terror of my death
as I plunge into the concrete
ocean of broken dreams.
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Sunflower on the Windowsill
Sat sinking deep
Red armchair thinking
Curtains on the cusp of something –
Open them let the light flow
Softly, softly now, into the room
Where it reveals old being new;
On the windowsill there is a sunflower
With its head confidently raised
‘you’ve watered it every day’
To bring the English country home
Inside to confide
With warm unnatural glows
Trim it down the stem
And realise as day turns to night
Turns to leaves falling
Turns to winter
Turns to water droplets on the window
Mist and fog
That it cannot last it will die –
Watch the petals fall and slide
To the floor
It cannot handle or understand
the urban interior light
it makes no substitute.
Its vase remains
Close the curtains
Again – the petals fall one by one
By one
By one.
by Michael Morgan
Pale Pink Pyjamas
Six am struck and Joan opened her eyes, bracing the sense of despair that had been clouding over her for weeks; weeks that had at some point turned into months. As she pulled back the duvet, those months of sweat, tears, and the occasional (daily) bottle of white wine that had ingrained onto her sister’s pale pink pyjamas fumigated the room. Joan stumbled out of bed, her head beating its constant pounding rhythm that told her you lived, you lived, you lived.
Broken Dreams, Broken Bodies
‘Tell me what you want me to do?!’ He screamed, holding his head. ‘I can’t read your mind Clara.’ My lips, dry, cracked. Thirsty. They want to tell him. But they don’t know what to say. My tongue, hides in the comfort of my mouth. It’s scared it will say the wrong things. Tangle and twist the truth. Spread its venom like a snake. For its vicious bite will be the end of this. This. Fragile, fucked up shit show we are still calling a marriage.
Seaside Resort on the South Coast of England
The train took me alone down south to meet you. You were already there at the station as I stepped onto the platform, and it was almost—but not quite—like I never left. All the force as you hugged me, so I nearly overbalanced with the weight from my backpack, but you anchored my feet to the ground and I knew I was safe.
One Week Left to Submit!
Submissions close for our Freshers Edition this Sunday at midnight, GMT. Any submissions received after that date will not be considered for that edition, so if you want to be featured, please do get your submissions in as soon as possible!
The Summer Edition is Out!
We are proud to announce that our first edition has been printed and distributed! You can find paper copies of Kamena on any floor in the Humanities building, as well as in the Writing Department and lobby of Milburn house.
You can also read the edition in full online, via our Back Issues page or by clicking here.
Submissions are closed
Submissions for the next edition of Kamena, due out in week 5, are now closed. However, if you missed the deadline and want to submit a piece, it will be considered for future publications or online publication, as we accept submissions year round.
Submissions closing soon
We’ll be closing off our submissions box for the Summer edition at 10pm on the 11th of May. Any submissions after that point will only be considered for our Autumn editions next academic year.
Kamena is now live
Starting from today we are open to submissions of all kinds. Please refer to our submissions page for more info. Our Facebook and Twitter pages are also live as of today.
We look forward to reading your submissions!
