Brooke Forbes

I’m trying to trace the continuity of my adventures within my lifespan. Where does love start and end? Where does the darkness seep inwards, and collapse like the last soft breath of a failing lung? What of hope, then? What of happiness? Where can I align the journey and map it out with precision and… Read more: Hope and Happiness

I know it’s early but I cannot rest, for you are conjured in the stillness. These sheets behold me to my mind, and I cannot fool the beast from this pillow. The weight of you presses against my eyelids as they lower. Semiconsciousness is my prison. My thoughts are thrown about in a gust of… Read more: You are the Darkness – Anonymous

Guest Post by Kate Johnson So I see that you’re back and have taken your hold.  Dark, and deep, and incredibly bold.  Looks like you’ve got me, tight in your grip.  One wrong move and I surely will slip. Treading water… Just getting wetter.  Hoping that this time, things will get better. I aimlessly wander,… Read more: Unwanted Friend

Guest Post by Natan Bell I sleep in a dream, then I wake with a frightTo a thud on the wall and a bark with a biteI lay and I listen to his cursing and spiteI roll on my side and hug my pillow tight The screaming and shouting goes on every nightHe imagines himself… Read more: Angry Neighbour

Guest Post by Tallas Lynch I almost didn’t notice you there,sunken in the linen.A greying afternoonwith humid laughterseeping through the window.I ask if we should join them for a beer.in a bruised whisper, you sayyou’ll think on it.The Sunday ritual:blinds blacklisting sunsets,wrinkling pillowcases,rusting eyelids,half-sipped teas scattered likeunfinished poems,stories floating until cold.This room is both your… Read more: Darlinghurst

A landscape dry and foreboding,sits amongst an ever-blue sky and laughs;sickly rolls of mocking laughter – at those who wander when already lost. In being new to this town there are parts of me that blend into      the       scenery. This mountainous backdrop highlighted –in red dirt and touches of green. I am told,on… Read more: A Landscape Dry

There’s a vintage couch in the corner of a whisky bar and I’m drinking you in, slowly, solemnly, in a light like melted honey. Sitting across from me, you’re an evanescent ember of being.   Low-lit spaces, for low-lit faces and fragmentations of light that flicker and fade; fragmentations that take you on an inward… Read more: Low-lit Spaces

Hello fellow friends, readers and internet-dwellers…. I have a concept for you! Recently, I published my book Survival is an Instinct. A collection of short stories intertwined with a personal memoir, it’s about the instinctual will to survive through intuition and creativity – but also what comes next, how to rebuild and reclaim your story.… Read more: Survival Micro Lit/ Poetry Competition

There’s something about the Rainbow Bee-Eater in full flight, that makes me think of magic. She moves like half butterfly, half bird – colours across the full desert spectrum. The wings take shape in crisp air and fly, spread across a newly rain-drenched landscape. I’m watching from a porch seat – observing the flicks and… Read more: The Rainbow Bee-Eater

I’m moving old files across my desktop – Pixelated, info-laden, time capsules; catapulting me back to a time when writing was effortless fun. To a time before textbooks heavy with the law. To a time when dreams soared across blank screens as quickly as my night-fever-inspired fingers could type. What secrets can I find, in… Read more: Desktop Clutter

Red dust settles, thick with rain drops; moisture meeting the great dry with poise and purpose. A building crescendo rattles through Mparntwe; drops on aching roads, drops on empty school yards, drops on suburban tin sheds. The animals respond: birds are shirking with half joy, half surprise, moths are dodging the crystal drops and camp… Read more: Desert Rain

On the white below children gather around the frost-licked play equipment.  You can see a few pull on the swing chains and stand at the base of slides, and a few hover around the playground’s edge, squat in half-slush and mould balls from ice wads. One boy uses a wipe of his finger to reveal the… Read more: On the White Below

I hold space for peace and justice in tiny places. Like cracks in old tea cups,Like empty jars once full of jam,Like between the folds of freshly pressed sheets,Like secret cupboards, long forgotten, gathering dust. I have hidden it here, hoping, one day, we can find them and pull them out. I’ve been hoping this… Read more: Peace and Justice

A woman is painting herself again. She is sitting in her chair, hand stretched to the canvas, connecting artistry to medium. She is choosing her colour pallet, her lights, her darks, her attempts to mimic the ever-shing essence of being. Can she capture the turn of her hips when she wants to dance? Can she… Read more: Painting Herself Again

Red dirt it hurts, through your teeth, having breathed it in, unknowingly, when surveying the lands of Mparntwe. The residue gathers and lines the edge of your teeth, and like little castles they start to crumble. Shifting sands, you think, will be my both my beginning and my end. And these sands are sparse and… Read more: Red Dirt