Fiction and prose by established and emerging authors. Send your poetry or fiction to Chris Brunette at email@example.com to be considered for publication on LitNet.
Please note that work previously published in print or on any online media platform will not be considered for selection.
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: A woman I rememberSkryfkompetisies 2019-08-24
LitNet se Vrouedag-kompetisie – Flash fiction by Yvonne Botha: "She never disappointed us and although she wasn’t our mother she was and is a woman to be remembered."
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: I am not a womanSkryfkompetisies 2019-08-21
LitNet se Vrouedag-kompetisie – Flash fiction by Heidi Slot: "Alone in the harbour café in St Tropez we drink mineral water and read French magazines. We do not speak French, so we do not speak."
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: A woman I rememberSkryfkompetisies 2019-08-21
LitNet se Vrouedag-kompetisie – Poem by Fabianne Vorster (11):
"Of course I couldn’t see
Because in my sleep she came to be"
StrandloperNew writing 2019-08-21
"So, put that in your pocket for a rainy day. The world comes to life around me, and I’m alright again. I find it hard to trust people now. I go for long walks."
To that young woman eating watermelonNew writing 2019-08-14
Poem by Abigail George:
you little show-off! You heathen, or if it is by your choice,
atheist, then, if it pleases you. Are you happy?"
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: Alice DuddySkryfkompetisies 2019-08-06
LitNet se Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie – Poem by Linda Meyer:
"She prepares and bottles jam all day
Then she goes and gives it all away"
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: To my motherSkryfkompetisies 2019-08-06
LitNet se Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie – Poem by Abigail George:
"You’re opera in the
wilderness. See the tragedy in my eyes, mother.
I ponder the hush, the inner music of the shore.
I’m always seeing the same shore."
Death, the dressmakerNew writing 2019-07-24
"All we want deep down is that
perfect dressmaker who
knows when the time is nigh"
KraalNew writing 2019-07-18
"As dusk settles with the dust, cattle dreams still linger"
GeographyNew writing 2019-07-18
"... does my mind only think of geography any time I’m with you?"
Like writer father, like poet daughterNew writing 2019-05-03
"That’s being honest, and after the rain
she’s Jean Rhys, and during the rain she edits me
away, censors me, declares me Mrs Rochester.
Her hands smell like spaghetti."
Two poems by Carla du PreezNew writing 2019-04-24
"She will hope against all hope
that her day will seem brighter
through concealer and dark glasses."
Introducing the third dimension in this modern eraNew writing 2019-04-24
"I remember now. I remember everything. I remember my brother’s defiance, my mother’s tears and heartache and defeatist attitude. The music school behind her eyes, and I would see the sea in his father’s knuckles."
AutumnNew writing 2019-04-17
"The days are paler: plump, acidic,
Granny Smith apple days."
Quieter stillNew writing 2019-04-09
"spilling the silence
into quiet and the quiet into
Just our luckNew writing 2019-04-09
"He was still a dream. Roberto, Roberto, Roberto. She had phoned him once. Once was all it took to realise that her dream of him didn’t quite match up to the reality of him. She didn’t even think of her own dignity and pride."
Press release: Cape Town Library Book – Writing my CityNew writing 2019-04-03
"In the coming months, libraries will be running workshops to aid you in honing your writing skills. All of this will culminate on the 15th of June when you will be able to submit your piece for consideration at participating libraries. The finalists' pieces will then be included in the #WritingmyCity anthology which will be launched at Open Book Festival 2019!"
Eye of the stormFiksie 2019-03-20
"Come down from where you are; come down from your house, your horse, your wedding carriage, your mountain of mountains. Your mouth is a summer in New York."
Flower festivalPoësie 2019-03-20
"The sweated-out, nudging prize-giving:
Neurotic nasturtiums pant for accolade,
Judges criticise their presentation."
Four poems by Tony UllyattPoësie 2019-03-14
"The road quakes beneath approaching hooves:
six dark shapes – ears, eyes, nostrils – and a colossal
presence come to the abrupt halt of confrontation."