Within Welcome to issue 11 of Spontaneity, where everything connects. Click on the links and get lost in a creative dialogue between media – and if you’d like to be part of it, get in touch. Enjoy!

Mother’s Developing House by Clodagh Beresford Dunne I never knew my mother as a photographer until I found her student darkroom asbestos roof and windowless – her very own Developing House just beyond the coal bunker in grandmother’s garden. Hidden by the thick midge hedge and twining bines of honeysuckle one summer afternoon I sideslid the rustcrusted bolt and felt the pelt of an arachnid welcome. Shattered bulbs crunched on the concrete floor must and pungence of silver bromide hung in air from the rafters with her Mamiya camera case. Clotheslines of pegged prints stretched from wall to wall drying for years above four trays in which … Continued Read more

Spontaneous love by Aoife Reilly (After UA Fanthorpe)   Whirlwinds into my house tapes birch tree branches to bedroom walls This type of love is feral second language random first language play   It has mangoes for breakfast in October wraps legs around mine like vines holding on to the other for dear life This love knocks on my door at midnight serves berries with salty broth charts the life of falling leaves through the nectar of dripping sweat and a series of freckled red women   It travels through the melody of lime green fruit bowls to the sound of the clarinet and reaches … Continued Read more

The Swimming Pool by Fiona Perry I like to think she was discovered (not built), that she lay in wait for an excavation to reveal her azure ceramic. A miraculous vessel longing to brim with water.   Yesterday. Smashed raindrops submerged and were reborn as rings within rings of meniscus carvings on her surface. This morning. She was a mirage of sun-dazzle cut diamonds and mirror shards. A glimmering treasure oracle. Tonight. Two voluptuous women toe-dipped, bounced and surrendered within her illuminated grotto depths as wanton waves licked her edges.   But she rests now, weighted under cover, cloaked. Vapour and mist stilled. The moon constantly yearning to … Continued Read more

The Line by Susan Lindsay boundary end   inside out – a pocket lining   space collapsed between expanded   lines – nothing can be, or not, between. Read more

This is the way it is by Denise Blake I can not lift my head, grown heavy as a sloth planked in an old rusted bucket.   Thoughts hang like Rastafarian hair stained in weary flecks, paint flaking from the elements.   I close my eyes, feel the ache, a half-turned thought unwinds, gives me her back, a cloaked temptress   aft-side, portside, south-westerly. It is evening, a dimmed prayer crawls towards a mouldy yesterday.   A cloud–picker will appear tomorrow as the low hiss turns to a hum, a quiver of worry flows from the first time.   The table is set, cobalt blue and cinnamon, getting ready … Continued Read more

It is naked late by Julia Webb and here we are aeroplaning a flat space in the meadow masking our body stink with crushed grass we could be grass angels but no the bruise of your lips is anything but angelic like the quick sting when you press each spent match to my skin I inhale the smoke of you draw you into my lungs like a prayer like a yoga breath but no we are nowhere near a meditation we make each other hoot and howl our bodies zing and spit the fizz of a grass stalk pulled slowly across a nipple a fistful of hair … Continued Read more

Hacked By MuhmadEmad by Niall McArdle HaCkeD by MuhmadEmad HaCkeD By MuhmadEmad Long Live to peshmarga KurDish HaCk3rS WaS Here kurdlinux007@gmail.com FUCK ISIS ! Read more

by w4l3XzY3 by Sandra Arnold by w4l3XzY3 Read more

Devil-may-care by Órla Fay The red moon rises as the house of the sun sets. Driving home from the sea in the dark I am holding no one’s hand. I know this route so well. I’m the child falling asleep in the backseat. Mum blamed the sea air. One Sunday we made devil’s food cake and came to the strand.   Over the bridge now, past the river and the abbey the house of a late writer is in flames, flames that lick the dusk sky with smoke billowing upwards. A crowd has gathered by a fire engine at the crossroads.   I imagine … Continued Read more

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