Thresholds Welcome to issue 9 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!
Un-nerved by Rena Garrett We moved skin on skin to the sound of Radiohead I called you creep slid down your body and hummed the lyrics to your labia Licked the cream from your insides out entered you from all sides head heart hips turned you over and took you again with my hand Until your burned bones turned to liquid and molded to my side I rolled over and gave you my back Read more
Haunts by Michael Ray You have witchcraft in your lips… – William Shakespeare Today, Paris is plum-blossom and Latin waiters on cigarette-breaks; boats lurch on the Seine. He photographs the sun sitting on a distant roof while Veronique fishes in the shadows for her youth – she is sprawled on a bench between Notre Dame and Le Pont de l’Archevêché, her tongue is turning tumblers in Colette’s mouth. Tarmac blisters; lime-tree leaves undo themselves, fall around the lovers’ feet. He calls her back. They cross the road to Shakespeare and Co and higher still, The Sorbonne fenced-in by concrete slots for bicycles … Continued Read more
Fingers by Stephen Byrne Today I noticed something for the first time, that the world is old and slipping from the cup of your hand. See, I noticed as you slept you have lost all the petals of your flower, your head drooped tipping your shoulder, a soft light kissed your cheek. It was your fingers that gave it away, long and thin like pieces of bog oak curled twitching as if you were dreaming, dancing I’m sure around our kitchen cradling the sweeping brush, and I as a child part of your leg, dancing too. Perhaps when you wake we can … Continued Read more
The Space Between: interview with Kate Dempsey by Fiction is the lie that tells the truth. Do you think that poetry is a more truthful medium – that it cannot dissemble in the same way as a short story, or a novel? Both poetry and fiction are a very broad spectrum. Some of each are truthful, some pure fiction, most are some way in between. Even those poems purporting to be the absolute truth are only so in the head of the poet. Everyone’s perceptions are different, based on their own life experience. Maybe one difference is that poetry leaves a little more space for readers to fill … Continued Read more
For Ambrose and Gerda, my parents by Abigail George I finally believe in epic love. Its pricey constellation knocked at my door with the music school of the mystic, the modern future of the fractured wind. With birdsong and stars out. Yes, stars out. The day this all took place rugby players were taking their place, a symbol in history on an international playing field. Rugby is on the television. It has cemented families nationwide in South Africa. The world glued to their television screens with a kind fever. It reminds me that any art is life, the magic thirst of it. That scientific attraction is matter. In love, war, … Continued Read more
Pas de deux by James Bruce May ‘Look, these tickets cost a small fortune. I’m not backing out of the night, I’m only going to be a little late picking her up, that’s all.’ ‘If you let her down again, Stu, she’ll be so upset, and it’ll be the last time, believe me.’ ‘Fuck’s sake, Sarah, I said I’d be there –’ ‘Don’t swear at me –’ ‘I’m not swearing at you –’ ‘Just get here on time. Just try. Chris will be waiting.’ ‘Chris will be there? Where will you be?’ ‘I’ll be out. Chris lives here now. You know that. Just try not to be … Continued Read more
dorchaíonn an mhuir/the sea darkens/il mare si oscura – haiku by Gabriel Rosenstock dorchaíonn an mhuir – glór páistí ar iarraidh in éamh na bhfaoileán the sea darkens – voices of missing children in the cry of gulls il mare si oscura – voci di bambini perduti nel verso dei gabbiani Read more
The head by Anna Nazarova-Evans What am I afraid of? Of turning out like Frankenstein’s monster, your monster. I know what you are thinking. Currently my head and body are the same size, but only the head has fully developed. It can’t get any worse. ‘I need more time,’ I swivel my wheelchair around to face you. ‘We haven’t got any more time, Anton. The body is ready.’ ‘Can I see it?’ ‘No.’ ‘So I don’t have a choice?’ ‘You don’t get to pick one, no. We’ve only got one. But I can confirm that it’s male.’ ‘Was he in an accident?’ ‘I don’t know.’ … Continued Read more
X marks the cut by Bernie McQuillan Having caught the cancer when it was only in the one kidney had been his saving grace, Sarah Davis, Surgical Registrar to Mr Ishram at St Oliver’s Hospital, had told Patrick Devlin that morning. Fuming after Mr Ishram’s polite request, at short notice, that she operate on his patients that afternoon, Sarah had skim-read her consultant’s notes on the ward before marking the entry point on Patrick’s abdomen with gentian violet ink, adding her initials with her usual flourish. A reminder of the gratitude her patients owed her. Patrick’s pregnant wife said she had been worried he wouldn’t get the chance to … Continued Read more
The boredom of guilt by Colin James The cafe with the weird name was empty save for a hat wearer and unfriendly counter help. The choices had already been made, no mention of missuses nor random crumbs on immaculate tables. My table was wobbly so I moved. The hat noticed, stared perhaps in thought or in doubt of my motiveless charisma. I had a book to pander to opened it and drank my latte. When the rush hour crowd arrived I did my best to appear preoccupied. What size tip can be appropriate when departure is of itself an acknowledgement? Read more
Autoscopy by Trish Delaney Dressing quietly in the morning twilight my body dissolves in the ebbing rays of the moon rendering me adrift in time like some autoscopic throwback to my youth where she has one job to do before school. There are lambs to feed, their mouths hot, wet, sucking hungrily at the teats of their bottles, their breath and spit returning movement to her bare fingers, smallest hands in the family, ideal for taking lambs from sheep that can’t birth, shaping plasticine into colour swirled undiscovered snakes and planets. She heads for home, clambering up the hill, clinking a … Continued Read more
Exodus by Stephen McMahon I lie in the lee of a dagger edged shoreline imagining rocks The trance of the surf chants an oath to the old land god worshiping years My Mother’s country rose and fell hard lamented was never returned Clamber the ditches and remember their inclines until life ends time Cold shoulder mountains and leave the lightshorn valleys bereft of laughter Gather your children on the sandbanks and beaches teach them how to swim Read more
