Issue Eight • Issue Eight Poetry • Poetry
December 1, 2019
By Drucilla Wall I know a thing or two about cats, and that scrawny black skeleton with dirty socks, curled in an empty flower pot...
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By Debbie Lim Vampyroteuthis infernalis Literally, from hell. Belling the vast dark with a cape of rusted tentacles. Dante...
By Les Wicks Where I grew up there was respect for the uniform. No one ever killed in them. Armed with timetables the wise station...
Issue Eight • Issue Eight Reviews • Reviews
Reviewed by Angela Wauchop “‘That is not true. I care about you, Céline. I care about the fact that my wife prostitutes herself for...
Fiction • Issue Eight • Issue Eight Fiction.
by Amanda Pearson We were told the world was ending. My parents, in their naivety, decided a picnic was the only way to celebrate...
By Jill Jones. Thursday was full moon more than silvery when clouds parted life is short days are long you...
By Owen Bullock As the night, as the Chapel when you thought it housed a ghost. As the hedge where he lurked to scare you. Where the...
By Marilyn Humbert where mist blurs men and trees a call sharp as a shard cracks the valley breaking morning rituals I listen...
By Daragh Byrne In memory of Des Byrne You would find him on a wet November Wednesday, sideways rain in New Abbey Filling the...
2019 HNSA Short Story Contest • Fiction • Issue Eight Fiction. • Uncategorised
by Dell Brand. Commended story in the 2019 HNSA short story contest. Boney sat hunched over the wheel, clunking along slowly over the...
By J.W. Burns Like some animal you get tired of your skin, want to sink to the bottom and just push life through the mud. But...
By Angela T. Carr I am not born. Doctors gas my mother and she baulks. Trees creep in, snake the delivery room. She wanders out of...
Interviews • Issue Eight • Issue Eight Interviews
by Nik Shone. About the artist: Shona Blake is a singer/songwriter/writer based on the west coast of Ireland. Her thoughtful prose has a...
By Sandra Renew the revolution of 1863 Singer sewing machines and Butterick/Mc Calls patterns collected in Lever arch files ...
By Owen Bullock Clarence and Marion. The steep path to the door. The view of a distant ocean and near clay tips. High tea spread to...
By Eamonn Wall Today through field glasses I observe one small flock of red-winged blackbirds busy about the Audubon Center, the...
By Drucilla Wall In summer the cattle graze the high patches made rich on limestone leaching into thin topsoil, rain generally...
by Eden van Leeuwen Jumping up and down on the roof the metal banging in my ears the anthem to my tale. Sweat is blooming on my...
By Eamonn Wall —the best teacher lives outside, the best teacher lives inside you, beating blood, breathing air, the best...
By Angela T. Carr Nest of pebbles on the doorstep – a pagan offering, the work of small hands – its matted grass walls,...
By Anthony Lawrence In a river that still reeks of decay, in a time before the weir divided fresh from salt among mangroves that...
By Anne Walsh Visible in the wild wreck I am is the empire I was. My ruin is the most beautiful architecture. Wreckage has made me...
by Peter Boyle. Saint Germain des près, St Martins in the Fields — what are so many churches doing in the meadows? Why are...
By J.W. Burns hunched against the orange sky, a white horizon nibbling at his bowels. Far below, his sheep hungry, thirsty, horny to...
By Anthony Lawrence While the other boys were drawing their guns and falling into the ruins of an open pavilion of sky and pines, I...
By Hélène Cardona. when my soul turned round, perceiving the other-side of everything…...
By Kristen de Kline, + we loved like demons our kisses, fresh and fugitive we snorted lines as Cave wrestled skeleton trees crooned...
By Bernadette Gallagher. He talked of grey, of blue, purple and all the possible pigments that make up grey. He talked of trees, of...
By Matthew M.C. Smith Dream on a breeze of summer eve’s tree-dappled light Do not fear the advancing shadows Let Autumn storms...
By Bernadette Gallagher For John Philip You came already formed a silken scarf blowing in the wind. To unravel would...