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!
After all his team had been through to get here, physically and mentally, the farm boys were disrespecting them big time. “Only one way to shut their gobs,” he thought with venom.
When the light returns and the long night fades, and dawn slips soft through shadowed shades, you feel the hush before the day – a whisper of grace that finds its way.
They expect us to play ball, but always move the goalposts. They expect us to hold boundaries, the same they overstep. They want us to abide, but break their own rules.
Christmas day without my family, was such a terrible burden to bare, no Christmas tree, decorations, no presents, no laughter, no joy, no Christmas fare.
Every feeling they felt, the other feels too, trust is a must and communication too. Together as one, soulmates we are destined, forever to each other we are.
This painting was inspired by a photo that I found in the National Geographic of January 2011 taken by Robin Hammond. It’s a gold miner in the border province of Manica.
I destroy homes, I tear families apart, take your children, and that’s just the start. I’m more costly than diamonds, more precious than gold, the sorrow I bring is a sight to behold.
Being in jail has given me time to think, as I lay in my bed and slowly sink.
My little boy has grown so strong, I can’t believe its been this long, since he raised his tiny head, and gazed at me in the hospital bed.
Brain tumour, brain tumour, a darkness you can’t see, oh how I hate you, you took my brother away from me.
Rob (my cellie) and I were about to go to sleep one miserable cold night, and a mouse (Jesus DMC) died and went up to the pearly gates and knocked.
If you turn to drugs instead, to silence the villains in your head. Or to minimise the self harm to your arm, without causing alarm.
In every ripple, her essence I find, a memory cherished, sweetly entwined. Her smile, a memory, forever aglow, like creeks that swell, and never forego.
Home sounds so sweet to the heart, if only shown from the very start. I only wish for my hands to be freed, don’t beat me up about my past. Coz I truly am a good seed.
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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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