by IB | May 31, 2025 | Featured, Flash Fiction
Cataclysm from the Cup The morning was a treacherous thing. It had arrived in the slow, reluctant way of unpaid debts, carrying the full weight of harmattan’s mischief. The air was dry, brittle, waiting to crack at the first sign of movement. Outside,...
by IB | May 30, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Ancient Rocks After Jon Robinson Like ancient rocks lying where they please I find myself prone amongst chilly grass Wrapped in a red windbreaker Bike discarded at my side The sky an invite to breathe in its expanse It is here that the day breaks apart...
by IB | May 29, 2025 | Reviews
Neither divorcees nor discos make much of an appearance in Christopher Crawford’s magnetic debut, but music – ‘thunder or something/ that sounds like a woman’s laugh’ runs through it. Albeit a strange music, weird echoes of weeping and passion and ‘a...
by IB | May 29, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
In Transit The carriage hums — rows of bowed heads, fingers scrolling, eyes tethered to small glowing screens. Outside, the city slides by, blurred lines of glass and rain. I watch my own reflection — half-face, half-shadow, and behind me, someone lifts...
by IB | May 28, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Broken biscuits for H and PB The days were huge and kind and sometimes after school we’d buy a bag of broken biscuits for the long walk home across the heavy heat of afternoon on lucky days she wouldn’t take the pennies offered up in supplication for the...
