Poetry. Barcelona, by Thomas Dedola. Image: the silhouette of a sleeping man in the foreground. In the background, a light silhouette of the skyline of Barcelona.

poetry: Barcelona

Barcelona During the night I play dead for 6 hours or so, my last rites sung out by drunken voices on the Rambla. There is a wine spot in my dreams,  which always seem to take place at  the end of my second cousin’s quinceañera.     You’re always there – of course you are –   your […]

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April 2024. Image: a frog in a blue jacket sits at a breakfast table holding an egg and a spoon. On the table is a takeaway cup of coffee, an open book and a bowl with a fried egg in it.

April 2024 Newsletter

Sign up for next month’s newsletter content updates, artworks, competition news (and frogs) – direct to your inbox April 2024 Newsletter Reading time: about 5 minutes Someone once said, ‘April is the coolest month.’ At least, we think that’s how it goes. Anyway – we couldn’t agree more! We can finally bid good riddance to

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Flash fiction. Surface, by Rebecca Klassen. Image: silhouette of a children's ball pit. On the left of the image, a pair of legs are sticking out of the balls. On the right, a tentacle.

flash: Surface

Surface Reading time: about 3 minutes   1. The Blue-ringed Octopus lives in colourful coral reefs. It relies on the rocks and crevices in its environment for refuge.   A customer wants to speak to the manager, but I’m trying to write my essay on cephalopods and their dedication to procreation behind the counter. A

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Fiction. Dances, by Robin Harker. Image: in silhouette, a man sits in a chair with one leg crossed over the other. At his feet, a young boy reads a book with a toy aeroplane next to him. Behind the man, like a shadow, are two men standing intimately close. One of the men is the same as the man in the chair.

fiction: Dances

Dances Reading time: about 15 minutes He had always known the line of his life: to be as other men of his like and station.  How that was to be achieved was far less important than the fact that it was achieved; that he had maintained what needed to be maintained until early middle age

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Fiction. Palermo, by Jill Craig. Image: the silhouette of a woman looks out sadly over a wrought iron balcony. On the other side of the balcony are a couple with their arms around each other. In the sky is an aeroplane.

fiction: Palermo

Palermo Reading time: about 25 minutes The summer months are coming to an end and the town is emptying. Students go inland to the city; tourists return home; the doors of the many second homes are locked. In the calm harbour, the ferry has docked and buoys pock the surface of the water, bobbing lightly.

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Image: a frog is sitting in an egg made of pastel-coloured jigsaw pieces. Behind him, the wall is covered in a map of the world. At the top of the image are the words 'March 2024'.

March 2024 Newsletter

Sign up for next month’s newsletter content updates, artworks, competition news (and frogs) – direct to your inbox March on, weary travellers March 2024 Newsletter Reading time: about 5 minutes So we’ve made it to March! It’s the month, Dickens pointed out, when it’s summer in the light and winter in the shade. It’s the

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Drama. The Hole Thing by Philip Webb Gregg. Image: a silhouette of an open door through which is a black hole sucking in various objects, including a pair of trousers, a cat, a flock of birds and a kettle. Next to the door, a person sits, looking out.

drama: The Hole Thing

The hole Thing a monologue Reading time: about 5-7 minutes CHARACTER:  The speaker can be any gender, age and ethnicity. Their attitude should be energetic but awkward. Dressed in warm, worn clothes.     SETTING:  In the middle of the stage sits a garden shed. Door. Window. Camping stove in one corner and kitchen just big

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Poetry. Accidents, by Dominic Palmer. Image: the silhouettes of a man and a woman face away from each other. In the middle of the letter 'D' is a knife.

poetry: Accidents

accidents Sunday evening finds us in the kitchen. You’re washing up, I’m rolling flatbreads out with tension like a mortise in my gut.   We’ve heard the news: a relative of yours, a garden afternoon, a sudden slip, and somehow, that was it. My hands still grip   the rolling pin, yours soak in a

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