GUEST POST // Scars and Barbed Wire by Tony Mutton

I remember the history of my first scar,
You don’t forget bullying and barbed wire
Chased by a group of Catholic and non Catholic boys,
There was little difference between bullies in those days,
They all ran fast in the thrill of the hunt
Cornered at the base of a once insurmountable chain mail fence
Fear can make a young boy do extraordinary things
Climbing the 12 feet and flipping over the top
Barbed wire hung rusty on the other side of the fence
Careless workmanship an age old story
I remember the feeling as barb caught skin and
Still visualise the trail of bright red running down my leg
The run home was fast and bloody, my grey sock turning red
I tried to sneak in quietly through the back door
But an ever vigilant mother could not be outsmarted
I’m sure I lied, never telling her that I was being chased
Life was easier to live if the bullies felt you never told
Bullying is like racism, it’s not in your genes, it’s learned
What I want to know is what were the teachers teaching
Nothing good comes with a serving of barbed wire

© All rights reserved 2021

GUEST POST // Let Me Fall by Tara Caribou

help [me] overcome
reach }}inside{{
pull me
let me ~run~ my fingers
down. your. throat.
I want to
into the **magic** of
your •eyes•
while I +ride+ you
into |o|b|l|i|v|i|o|n|

© All rights reserved 2017-2020

GUEST POST // #2407 by onlyfragments

I am not the granddaughter of the witches you couldn’t burn.
I am not the blood of their blood or any of that suburban white witch bullshit.
I am Witch because the title is mine to claim by right:
by right of my rage
by right of my resistance
by right of my existence in a world
that threatens to crush everything I love under the boot heel of assimilation.
You want Burning Times?
I’ll show you some motherfucking Burning Times.


by onlyfragments
© All rights reserved 2020

GUEST POST // Ghost Letter 53 by Mark Renney

I have managed to abandon the City yet again but there it is; the point that rankles, a sharp needle stuck in my side as I walk, the fact that I have done this before, that I am doing it again.

I rarely think about my former existence, but I remember now how my past life had also been filled with repetition. But the rituals then had been more intimate and my connection with the places I frequented much more deeply ingrained and that these places had been rife with memories.

I wonder, is this what I am running from, am I trying to forget, to not feel this deeper connection. Drawing to a halt, I turn away from the busy road and, gazing out across the open fields, I realise that, if so, then I have failed.


by Mark Renney
© All rights reserved 2020

GUEST POST // focus by emje

sounds easy right?
i have designed
a life
full of
it’s my mount everest
my moby dick
if i could only
nothing could stop


by emje
© All rights reserved 2020