'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!
I’m poeming this poem from a forest-boreal transition zone anticipating intense public reaction to my poem against the bony mets that XXXX up my posture & infiltrate our nat’l backbone its prostate biopsy analogy lost/inapparent in the sagamore gloam this spine unresponsive to the pre-patent analog that is my poem by Maureen Miller doctorwritermaureenmiller.tumblr.com [This […]
The snow and salt on your coat suggests that you’ve been outside shoveling, maybe, or tossing snowballs for the dogs. But in fact it’s the dogs who have brought the snow and salt inside, flinging it onto your coat when they shake it away. Your coat hangs on the back of a chair and you […]
No one talks about Occam’s other idea, the hammer, when his razor didn’t cut deep enough, his hammer smashed down. ‘Of an event occurring, it is most likely that the simplest one is the correct one’ ‘Of an inevitability occurring, the one that hurts the most is the correct one’ When Occam’s hammer falls, it’s […]
Just got a letter from disability insurance: Denied. I’m not disabled enough to get anything. After months of trying to convince them. How do you prove you can’t work? I cannot sit up, stand, or walk hardly at all. There is no job I can do while laying down, without having to make phone calls. […]
Every day I travelled, called or thought It was never going to get better But the morphine did its job Varying degrees of brightness But in the end all grey Kept away the darkness that we knew would come one day We had laughs, we had tears We had quiet, we had sleep We had […]
by @bronwengwriter Author website bronwengriff.co.uk
I stumble I fall I break I mend I get back upI keep stumbling I keep falling I keep breaking I struggle to get back up I listen…I feel pain I burn I weep I scream I listen….I lose sight I lose control I lose meI ask myself Who I, Want me to be? […]
His hand closed up over the stretch of five years, and stayed like that till he passed. First the pinkie, as if winched towards the palm by an invisible string, and then the ring finger went, till his hand was frozen stiff like a claw. It was like it had slowly snapped shut, sixty years […]
what for is there beauty what for is there pain what for is there beauty if not for Solely me for anything with beauty is strictly what I see by socks
by Declan Lloyd U.K.