This section publishes creative contributions mostly from currently and formerly incarcerated people. It includes short-stories, poetry, creative nonfiction, art, and much more.
If you have something creative to submit to us, we would love to read it, or see it, and publish it in About Time – please write to us!
Locked down for the third time this week, sixth time this past fortnight, with Bird of Prey playing on Rage, the shitty fuzzy speakers on the shitty fuzzy TV barely able to conjure up something that resembles bass.
The poem was written in the early weeks of being on remand, expressing my raw emotions while coming to terms with it all.
Here I sit inside my cell, thinking to myself, is this Hell? Cold and dark, with a terrible smell. I think it is, only time will tell.
A poem for the one true love of my life. I wish I could change the past, but I can only change my future.
I remember the day I saw you, I held your tiny form, the chilly air made you tremble, so we took you home.
The pressure of the pain inside, formed diamonds in my mind, tempting me to throw it in, to leave it all behind.
Belief in a future, they do persist, for everyone has the right to exist.
The two men popped open the Tesla's doors, thump thomp, and stepped out into a blooming orchard. The air was a herbal tea. Honey bees bobbed between the peach pink flowers.
If I could dress it up and say I never felt better, that I’ve got a girl at home and I’m waiting for a letter. I’d pretend the kids are fine and doing well at school, and when I phone they say they miss me and they think their daddy’s cool.
No matter what our pasts may say, what hurts, our pains endured, and tears shed for those who walked away. You and I, need not let ourselves be defined by those hurts from our pasts and no longer will it influence our time.
Waiting for parole is like remand all o'er again. When starting on my 'things-to-do', my mind leaps back to 'when!?' All-consuming niggling thoughts contort me out of shape. Swarms of bees inside my head frantic for an escape.
Don't follow in my footsteps, it's been no Sunday stroll, no the road to redemption, isn't paved in gold.
Writing can be a great way to express yourself, to get things out of your head and to pass the time. But writing can also be daunting: where to start? These exercises will help you get your pen to paper.
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