we can sit next to each other
looking out in the same direction
at our life smudges
together
Category: Creative Writing
ONE POEM – Carolyn Oulton
You offer me tea (a cardigan, story)
and someone else to make it,
which we all
pretend not to notice.
TWO POEMS – Catherine Redford
The air is suddenly sweet-smoked and humming,
and I’m back in the incense-wreathed
Lanes of 90s Brighton
FICTION | The Signmaker — David Hartley
They have agreed that this is an emergency. Signs need not be heeded in an emergency, they’re quite sure.
TWO POEMS – Billie Manning
The plane goes to the gym every morning
before work and holds that plank.
ONE POEM – Rebecca Wheatley
She would never allow a condiment
without a saucer or a spoon,
tea without a pot,
a pop sock and skirt.
ONE POEM – Nora Nadjarian
I covered my eyes and my
tears tasted of metal.
Steelers Country — Travis Dahlke
I convince Landa to be my accomplice as she culls rotten lettuce heads. They let Landa wear a knife on her belt. She has a weak heart and I think destroying crops makes her feel powerful.
Wood for The Trees — Joanna Garbutt
There is something in her hands. Something in a large Pyrex dish. It is hot, very hot. She nearly drops it on the floor but instead the kitchen work top catches it. The dish itself doesn’t smash. It isn’t a big enough drop for that. She looks down at it, trying to work out what it is.
The Author’s Version of Events – Charley Barnes
A True Crime Story Which Never Happened I [hereafter known as The Author] have been considering truth and fact. Truth, as something malleable. Fact, as something that influences the changing of truths.[1] The Author has considered this in particular detail in relation to True Crime and the ways in which truth is manipulated here (no,…
ONE POEM — Terence Dooley
Limonero Moon I had a sour thought, as if I bitinto a lemon, and the bitter mistsettled on my naked eye like dewor vinaigrette: the red eye weptand suppurated, pitying itself.I was a thought ungrateful, a thought sharpand zestless, pithy: what had given methe pip? The cloudy juice ran down my cheek. As in your…
TWO POEMS – Jim Lloyd
Peregrine has put them up;
one, against one thousand. They
need eyes in the back of their head.
His eyes, forwards only, burning
on the brown-gold and white
pulsating flock.
Porridge 