Inside, Out Welcome to issue 5 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.
Blue by Rachael Smart After the sky falls down celestial clots turn the bedding to midnight – it is no surprise that her tears swim out black; this fragile doll of the lullaby world eyes grown too big, a tell tale bruise across sleeping lips. Something is trapped inside her: she slumber-walks to the fridge for blackberries, cold and still blue the wide-awake moon watches her belly round. Read more
The Ferry by Kelly Creighton Maybe the woman would bristle her shoes against the mat before calling out to the man. He would reply that he was in the kitchen and had cooked. Maybe she would be delighted by the sun-blushed tomatoes; they’d looked so full of flavour when he’d plucked them from the vine. The spinach, he’d left well alone. Well, that would just go to show how he no longer doubted her strength. If she wished for them, there were potatoes roasting in the oven. They would be last to the table. Her half of the driveway still lay exposed. The sky – … Continued Read more
Patience by Catherine Ayres These long afternoons when the trees wear halos and show me their dark sides. These long afternoons when the birds repeat themselves and don’t listen to each other. These long afternoons when I share the roses with abandoned footballs. These long afternoons when the quiet cul de sac whispers a future of perfect lawns and wheelie bin stickers. These long afternoons when truth sits on my shoulder and puts its tongue in my ear. These long afternoons when I know you’re not looking. These long afternoons. Read more
A Question in a Gallery by F.C. Malby ‘Mind the gap, please.’ The voice sounds cool, void of emotion. I push through the doors, the signs for St Paul’s Station lining the walls as though I might miss my stop. I have managed to avoid the rush hour, having taken the day off work. The air is thick with anticipation, or maybe it’s fear. I don’t know. I weave through the tiled corridors and find the bottom of the escalators. There are more signs – the St Paul’s wording replaced with To Street, like an instruction on a board game. Posters pull me into a world of colour … Continued Read more
In Paris by Charles Bane, Jr In Paris, all the streets were rained and magpies in the shadows of Notre Dame poured tunes. The cafes dripped and all the city was wet that afternoon; you said, look at the long haired Seine; do you want to walk in the Jardins des Plantes ? No, I said, let’s hold Mass in your room. You lay and I heard bells at the lifting of the moon. A thousand souls somewhere in the dark of France flew. Read more
Last Call by Breda Wall Ryan Still left unsaid while farewell fogged the kitchen, the early kettle sang morning tea, the rear view of home slipped the mirror, the M50 swept us north to the airport exit, we parked ghost words in Short Stay, Level C, while a voice garbled flights, gates, delays we stirred goodbye clockwise, round and round into bitter coffees, wasted minutes counting coins for a Times we left behind, boiled sweets, a magazine. Time ran down while we said more nothing in the clattery café, strained for last call, scanned Departures screens, traced damp doodles on the Melamine. Silent, you … Continued Read more
Lightning Strike by Ceri Lloyd It broke her heart standing on the rim of rock, eyes level with the buzzard hovering feet above the sheep-cropped green: the tiny farmhouse falling in on itself; granite rejoining granite beneath the grass. The land is cursed. Lightning is drawn to strike the iron rich soil, & the house is at the heart of it, melting away into the earth. Down the other side of the mountain, all you can see is the sea & then the drop that makes liquid of your guts, twisting through the trees that cling to the hillside, threatening dark & silence. … Continued Read more
An ill defined horizon by Tony Black I don’t know yet exactly how it ends. I know what I need to do, how to do it, and how long it will take. I just don’t know exactly how it ends. Yet. I won’t be missed: I know that. I have shuffled apologetically through this world lately. It’s quite some time, I suspect, since anyone last noticed I was here. I have drifted from the centre of the page on which my life is written out into the margin. Where once I was boldly pronounced in ink, I am now sketched scratchily in pencil. And today I will … Continued Read more
Exit Here Death by Dominic Stevenson Unable to change his past, he parted from the flesh. The train, burst like a fallen star, fell to the ground. He covered his eyes and was ripped from his seat, broke into a thousand pieces. Read more
Courting by Bisha K. Ali Tall shadows cut triangles out of the sun washed courtyard. Your body perches at the end of a shadow, a cigarette between your fingers. They must be yellow now. Yellow like old paper – pulp that puckers the skin on your fingertips when you turn the page. You’ve been waiting for him there, on that corner, for half an hour, an hour, all your life. The sun is cooking you – I know you hate the sun – but you sit and smoke, and lick your lips, and suck on the cigarette and smoke again. Your eyes dart from one … Continued Read more
Apple by Shelby Stephenson Our orchard adored apples. I loved the tree-crotches. Until the lichen-jelly took them I sat in them, daydreaming − We’d set out sweet-potatoes in the spring. The transplanter the Farmall Cub pulled. Brother Paul drove the Farmall. He was a farmer, wore a turtle-shell. He chewed Apple Chewing Tobacco, a popular brand. I got sick on my wad. Skeeter chewed his with décor. That night in the barnyard I knew my story could not win over my swimmy-headedness. Apple-bobbing? Skeeter got more kisses and nose-rubs than apples he bit. I still smell May’s neck, though I was too sick … Continued Read more
Relationship by Lauren Dye My torso is scabby I try to open my chest, dig nails in Tear it apart Let you see my affection infestation You stick tape over it and turn away I talk to you of my desires As we walk through Rat shit dust that blows up as they scurry Through half devoured wire fences Bleeding from habitual scratches I lay and wait for you And wait for you And wait for you To turn to me and notice You begin softly snoring names of tomorrow My cunt is restless I always miss you until you’re here … Continued Read more
