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.
Our faces are seen above uniforms of green, we parade in this prison, all shaven clean. "Another day in paradise", we sarcastically wink, "we fake it till we make it", we tell our shrink.
Outside these prison walls exists real life, going daily about their business in haste. The hustle and bustle, too busy to stop, lives synchronised, and no time to waste.
Oh how I can’t stand these nights alone, wishing that I could just go home. Never thought this is where I’d be, constantly dreaming of being free.
I’ve tried to write poetry, but I find it hard to do, I’d like to say in pretty words, just what I think of you. And what I would like to say, would be something like this: you make my heart run wild, with just one little kiss.
Beyond the bars, I sit and think about the past. Beyond the bars, I wait and watch the time pass. Beyond the bars, I barely ever see the stars. Beyond the bars, I’m alone in the dark.
You were never there to tuck me into bed. No, you were never there at night when I was scared. Mama, where were you when I needed you most. Mama tell me why all alone I had to cope.
Freedom has been likened to a bird, a plane, a song, it has been once personified as a road that’s very long. Freedom has been likened to people: from war, death, or insanity, to others it is being absolved from rules for eternity.
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.
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