Kate Williams is a children’s poet, with numerous contributions to anthologies by UK publishers such as Macmillan, Oxford University Press, Bloomsbury and Hodder.
It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t done anything! Joe stomped up the stairs to his bedroom. Sent to his room “without dinner or devices” as his mum had said. Which was a laugh as he didn’t have any ‘devices’ and a stale cheese barm barely counted as dinner.
Bram hissed as they checked the last of the traps. Empty.
Dory knew better than to correct his little brother’s anger. They would need some of that fire to warm them in the coming winter and Dory had none to spare. What Dory felt most was tired.
Rhiannon Oliver is an actress and poet from Cardiff. As an actress, she has worked with companies such as BBC, Sky 1, The National Theatre, Shakespeare’s Globe, National Theatre of Wales and Manchester Royal Exchange, as well as off Broadway and on UK and International tours.
I discovered I could travel back in time at about the same time that I realised I was into girls. Finding myself back at the start of the gym class I’d just struggled through proved the former; my all-consuming crush on my best friend.
Attie Lime likes walking in fields, playing UNO and making up words. She is currently working on an MG novel about brothers, magic, and a cat called Colin.
‘Oi, death girl!’ a familiar voice shouted.
My heart was in my throat. What were they doing here? A couple of lads from my year at school rounded the corner beside the church and up the pathway near where I was kneeling.
The boy arrived at Elenya’s lighthouse a day before her first Rites, sailing through the haar as if drifting over clouds. She watched his approach eagerly from the lantern room.
‘Huh!’ said Kelvin Kea, squinting up at the sign by the hotel entrance. He treated the man bashing it in the ground to his best parrot-y stare. ‘We’re New Zealand’s only mountain parrot, if you please!’
‘Look at this.’
Maggie moved to see what Kai was pointing at, he was enjoying his new cool status with his big sister’s old iPhone. He was looking at the Magpies and Mochas account, the social media monster that Maggie’s mother had created.
When my brother Simon went to university he left me his old fishing rod, a dog-eared copy of Wind in the Willows, and seven pounds fifty in change. At least he left them in his unlocked bedroom, which was pretty much the same thing.
Living on Stamford Street, Stretford, us kids needed to be tough. Right enough, I had my big brother next to me – Eric – but still, I needed bigger. There was a war going on […]
“To sew is to serve” was the first life lesson my parents taught me. I’d chant it to the beat of my footsteps roaming around the city. I’d whisper it into my pillow to soothe […]
‘Seggy?’ Darren has made a daisy of orange segments on his big tedious hand. The hand is too close to my chest and, worst of all, my nostrils. Sweetness is invading my head, spoiling the […]
Sarah Ziman is a poet from Wales who likes cats, crisps, cake, reading and rhyme. She dislikes writing bios. She won the YorkMix Poems for Children Prize 2021, and enjoys annoying her own children by forcing them on nature walks or ‘dragging them into antique shops’.
I’m on the news. The actual news. Not the here’s a story about some kid making loom bands to save a dog shelter, now here’s the weather news but the actual real-life news. And they ask me why. Why it happened.
I yanked the comb through the tangled mass one last time, but my hair still stuck up all over like a used toothbrush. Flicking a few bits of dirt from my trews and tabard, I checked my reflection in the shard. I poked out my tongue.