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
Newsfeed by Niall McArdle Newsfeed is an odd word for the stuff I see daily, because it isn’t really news, unless you think the doings of cats are vital; it doesn’t really feed you unless you consider the deeds of cats to be satisfying. Imagine, though, turning on the television to see swooping into view a swirling globe and three huge letters in bright, bold colour, the kind infants adore, the blare of French horns, the chatter of drums and the deep voice of an announcer telling you: You’re Watching CNN. Cat News Network. Our top stories tonight: panic as kitten discovers her reflection; … Continued Read more
River by Sandra Arnold Jack climbed to the top of the macrocarpa and found River already there. She had the young blackbird in her cupped hands and was telling it about the things it would see when it flew. Jack had watched her doing this every day for the past week, and still the bird showed no signs of wanting to leave. Jack didn’t blame it for that. The bird burrowed further down into River’s hands. But River was patient. Jack thought she was probably the most patient person in the world. She opened her hands and told the bird it would know when … Continued 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
