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Creative space

April 01 2026
© John Joseph Sheehy MacSheehy © John Joseph Sheehy MacSheehy

A collection of creative writing by writers and poets on a range of topics, including mental health, substance use and time.

Ticking clock
by Ryan McGinn

He fell asleep to the ticking of the clock. He woke up and the morning was crystal clear, like he hadn’t seen or experienced for several years. He pottered around in his room, thinking calmly and without an idiot in the background barking out obscenities and retreating fearfully. Then he sat at his desk and stared out of the window trying to grab hold of this feeling of truth, of reality, but could find no direct way to describe it. No words to stick on it so it could be pulled up and out and over him the next time he felt disconnected. Then he realised you can’t describe it, it is just a feeling, an understanding, a way of perceiving. He looked out of the window and let go. After a few minutes the ticking of the clock entered his consciousness and he listened to it for a bit and then he remembered: he didn’t have a clock.


Scapegoat
by Chris Bird

Hungry mouths spell out new colours, new phrases born of suffering and dreams. Scaffolding surrounded the old buildings at the edge of the small park. The skyscrapers and tower blocks did not sway in the chill Glasgow wind, though you might assume they would.
The girl in a blue tracksuit walked slowly across the green lawn that circled the estate.
Graffiti on the concrete walls shouted “Celtic 1 Rangers 3” (a recent match score). This was a loyalist estate for the most part, other than a few Hibs fans.
The girl glanced up at the distant moon.
There was a strand of cloud moving gradually across the skyline seemingly cutting the moon in two. A cigarette burnt in the girl’s right hand.
“Where you going?” whispered a voice in the shadows.
The girl stopped and glanced around. Out of the dark, a boy appeared in a green bomber jacket decorated with American flags on the arms.
“Wee girl do you want some gear?”
The boy’s words moved like a snake in the grass. The girl wanted to move away but something made her stop. Something made her stand there in the emerging moonlight.
“£10 a bag,” added the boy.



© Mike Stokoe



Untitled
by Stephen Farrell Wood

I am indeed bipolar.
I do go north to south, east and west, around and about, indicated by a scream or shout, or indeed, a whisper. 
I am indeed bipolar.
Just having a laugh, or so would I seem, but how will I know when I’m split in between.


Joke corner
by Ryan McGinn

Do you know why the melons had to cancel their honeymoon? 
They cantaloupe…


Journeying into London
by John Joseph Sheehy MacSheehy

I traveled from Killarney in County Kerry, Ireland
To Tralee, I got a train to Dúnlaoighre
I got a taxi to the harbour
I got a boat to Holyhead
I got a train to London Euston
It took six to seven hours on the train
I went down to Piccadilly Circus 
I saw Rod Stewart playing the harmonica
I didn't speak to him 
That was before he became famous
In the early sixties
Rod Stewart had a woman 
Going around collecting money for him
Of course
He was busking for money.

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April – May 2026 : Working together

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