Poetry
Poetry
To perfect poetry you must be prepared to play with peculiar phrases.
A Collection of Things I Have Already Said About This
Tuscany
Poetry
I gaze at the azure sky of some Tuscan cathedral – dissolving in the colossus of what has been
The Mysterious Case of the Death at Dickington Manor: A Miss Harriet Crumbley Murder Mystery
Fiction
It was a seasonal weathery afternoon at Dickington Manor. Miss Harriot Crumbley had been invited to attend her friend Sir Theodore Dickington’s monthly tea and scones viewing, when an unexpected visitor had come along: death. And he’d brought a fresh plate of murder with him.
Darkness discloses – what?
Poetry
Darkness discloses – what? Reams and reams of nothing, which cannot be quantified.
Smoke.
Poetry
I think we were his ghosts, Pulling up at the pub he never opened, While the car radio played the news. Smoke. It was just a pit stop along the highway - a
1 min read
Play While Waiting: Call out for community submissions
Announcements
We've been an awfully patient bunch in 2020. As we transition into a different normal filled with even more waiting, The Penny Mint wants to provide a soundtrack to your doctors queue, your train delay and everything in-between.
Forever West Zine: an interview with Gabby Bortolot
Articles
To mark the launch of the Forever West, a new zine created by Gabby Bortolot of Rude Baby Records, we turned the tables and asked Gabby a few questions of our own.
This One's For Bill.
Memoir
There is nothing like the bond that lives between kids and old people, and while I'm sure Bill would actively contest the idea that he ever reached "old age", the sentiment remains true. I couldn't put a name to it, but something special happens whenever memory and imagination meet.
3 min read
man, young, finds himself on holiday
Poetry
at the borrowdale inn • in search of munros • ocean eyes
Anecdotes
Articles
"You can hold two truths at once, Mia. Someone can be beautiful in your life and terrible in another's."
3 min read
this is my hand
Poetry
Oh my sweetest deity / You make me want things / I want to be a good person / A whole person
Time
Poetry
Everyone has their own clock, but no one can really see or knows when the clock will stop for them. Some don’t even want to know when their clock will stop, happily living in ignorance as those around them watch their seconds fly by them.
18th
Poetry
my grandfather’s arms were the first street I grew up on / parallel and stretched out / ready for me to run into

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