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!
Once upon a time, a sleepy little shrub lived a contented but impoverished life in a quiet shady corner of a garden. Although the little shrub did not complain, it was much smaller than most of its other friends, and its branches were thin and twig-like.
I remember the day I saw you, I held your tiny form. The chilly air made you tremble, so, we took you home. You grew up so quickly, to our great surprise, and tore around the unit, right before our eyes.
Our ego asked what is our purpose. We search for enlightenment, it’s in us all. Happiness is a choice so make it yours. Forgiveness of others will lead you to peace.
Sitting in this cage, barbed wire all around. Been transported here, but first my wrists are bound. Heavy metal locked, no chance of breaking free.
The brooding castle had overlooked our town since time immemorial. Its dark parapets loomed over us, perched high on the behemoth mountain so familiar to me. I had lived in its shadow my whole life.
Let go, let go of your enemies. Let go, let go of your hate. Let go and forgive.
Doing time together, under lock and key, but helping others can set your mind free. The past is gone, the future’s not arrived, focus on now, be glad to be alive.
I found this poem titled Until and I wrote a poem on my reflection to it.
My whispers every night never reached you it seems. Now I only see you in my vivid dreams.
Whether it's going up or down or just round and around I cannot figure it anymore.
Now in its 14th year, ‘Artists with Conviction’ is an exhibition of art and writing by people at the Risdon facilities as well as people on parole in Tasmania.
As I strive to read this paper, I am constantly bombarded with various forms of attempted conversation.
In the past, I laughed at tree huggers, sandalwood-scented hippy buggers. But all that hatred was ill-fated, now that I'm incarcerated.
I think that God is dead, and he really isn't there, or maybe he is on strike, and he just doesn't care.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is this man I see? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, that man there can't be me?
Help keep the momentum going. All donations are tax deductible and will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
Help us get About Time off the ground. All donations are tax deductible and will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
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