'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!

Author: Sara Wasson (Page 4 of 11)

‘Early Onset’, by David Punter

Like a tennis ace, all
Crisp white shorts, and shirts
Fresh every day,
He sits over the breakfast
Table, too big
For any chair, an elbow 
Planted, a one-hand scoop
Of eggs and bacon,
Solid muscle in the arm
And thigh, his neck
A bronze pillar
Of glowing flesh.
And then you see

Slight tremor, and glimpse
The massive continuing act
Of self-control that holds
This huge frame 
Together, prevents
Spillage, leakage, any sign
That one day soon
Tendon may spasm,
The merest lifting of a fork
An impossible task,
And are aghast
Before this terrible
Doomed dignity.

 

  • by David Punter

WordPress: davidpunter.wordpress.com

Anthology: Bristol: 21 Poems (published 2017)

 

UK (but written in the Maldives)

 

‘hail mary’, by Nicole Schafenacker

she is in the sauna drinking coke and eating salted peanuts

one knee resting against the hot wood, silvery hair damp and sticking to her shoulders

we discuss midwifery and the what it’s like to catch a slippery baby

in your palms

she is standing in seal skin coat with white fur collar beside the church

mid afternoon sun coming through jewel red of stain glass window

holding a cigarette to her lips exhaling smoke and warm breath

casual flick of ash hitting the ice

i can’t say what it is about these chance encounters that reel me in

give me something to latch onto

but mystery in itself can be a sustainer for the curious

there is no such thing as “meant to be”

things are just happening – miraculous, mundane things –

and why do we need more than that?

all is as it is as it is, amen

 

  • by Nicole Schafenacker

WordPress: https://nicoleschafenacker.wordpress.com/

 

Canada

‘The Break of Day’, by Jacqueline Woods

Pain paralyses. 
It hurts too much to move,
to unlock, unhinge my joints,
put pressure on my tender limbs.

I will wait for my Carer: 
my lover, my friend,
who will lift me from my bed,
magnificently.

My arms encircle his neck
as I breathe in the salty sunshine
of his skin, pressing my lips against
the cool ripple of his shoulder blade.

He carries me to a bathroom
of sunken marble and satin cushions, 
a garland of candles guides our way,
I am Ophelia light: baptised, reborn.

His devotion will wash 
the wounds of night away,
unclench the claws which trap
my dreams.

I will bathe in his tenderness:
my twisted hands and swollen knees
brave and beautiful
in his eyes.

All will be well
when he arrives.

 

UK

‘Growth?’, by @RoseClue, @ Advanced Wizards, @Watercolors,

a watercolor image of a tree with five branches ,shaped like a hand, each finger one color of the rainbow, but after a certain point in the trunk each color becomes muddled together in a confusing mess. A caption in red block letters that “bleed” into the background like scratches reads, “from pain comes growth” with a question mark.

Where does it even start? 
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know
How can I tell each apart?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know
Where does it even end?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know
Why isn’t my body my friend? 
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know

 

  • by @RoseClue (twitter, instagram), @ Advanced Wizards, @Watercolors (facebook)

USA

‘Nobody’, by Wayne Roberts

Four walls,
Four walls and me,
Four walls a fistful of pills and me,
Silence
Surrounded by silence,
The silence that reminds me me myself and I.

Except you,
You’re never silent,
The voice that never stops,
The endless alarm that disturbs my slumber,
You rattle round my brain in whispers and shouts until I scream.

Then I’m heard,
Outside of this box,
Outside of this cell walls have ears who swallow my words,
And even photographs in frames refuse to listen,
Because I have no voice.

 

  • by Wayne Roberts

UK

‘Partners In My Care’, by anonymous

I sit in my place—the patient’s chair—prepared to be a partner in my care. I’ve brought an expanding bible of medical tests and consultant notes, a list of medications and interventions, including what has worked and what hasn’t, and a diary of symptoms I now describe with familiarity. Muscles spasm in my core when I eat, radiating into my chest, back, arms and neck to form hard cords that bind me. I’m in need, seeking help to turn what’s chronic into manageable. 

You look on me from your place—the physician’s desk. You steer me to start “my story” at the beginning, before pain. You lead me with questions that turn my persistence to find answers into anxiety. Then you say (in medical language): your emotions are the cause of your pain and you should accept that. Silence follows. You’ve removed me from the partnership.

  • by anonymous

 

 

 

 

 

‘CENTRAL PAIN SYNDROME: NAMING THE BEAST’, by Doug Sharp

body hangs off me like a scab,
torture-punished brain a scared little animal peering out of skull,
rats gnaw at the base of psyche, 
lick rusty razor blade, 
electric flame slice belly, 
fiery metal spears dangle from gut, 
The great beast paws idly at my entrails,
sparking shark teeth chew slowly up leg,
thrust scorching metal skewers slowly down meat of thighs,
pack burning steel wool into hollow shrieking calves,
porcupine worms writhe inside veins forever chewing out of meat and skin, 
skate barefoot across field of burning blades,
walk face first into blazing buzz saw, 
again, 
again, 
again,

I can feel the flames 

but I can’t see the light.

 

The image shows my face looking upwards with beams of pain shooting from my eyes. I hide behind a purple beard. Alien antennas sprout from my broad-brimmed hat. My face is neutral–hiding my pain.

  • by Doug Sharp

 

Youtube:  Central Pain Syndrome “Message from Hell #1: How Are You?

Twitter: @DougDroogSharp

U.S.A.

‘Footsteps’, by Jacqueline Woods

Pain permeates her dreams,
Seeps into this anaemic morning.
Sucking breath to unhinge each joint
stuck fast through the cramp of night.
The bathroom is an agony away,
Tender feet must scrape each step while
Wincing fingers trace the rails along
her jagged journey.
Tap turners levered by cankered wrists
bring the gush and plunge of warm water,
A pure moment of relief.

Her baby wakes in a scream of urgency
unanswered by her stumbling mother
who struggles to dress herself,
To start another day.
Soon her child will grow to patience,
Learn wisdom beyond her years,
Wait, while snaps and buttons
are fastened with fragile hands
And desperate cuddles given,
cringed with wrinkling pain.

  • by Jacqueline Woods

For further information see: arthritiscare.org.uk

United Kingdom

‘Wings’, by Paula Knight

The image is in three vertical panels and shows an ink drawing of a woman with wings falling down - she has crashed. The second panel shows her from behind with blood between her shoulder blades with the words ‘it feels as if my wings have been torn off’. The final panel is a real feather with blood at its tip.

I drew this while lying down in bed during a ME/CFS relapse and Fibromyalgia flare-up that has seen me housebound and sometimes bedridden. It describes the location of some of the pain in my body and how sore it feels. The image also embodies my sense of feeling trapped as a result of my disability, and of having my potential and freedom thwarted. I had the feather to hand because my husband brings me items from outside: The use of a found object is symbolic of my being housebound and detached from the natural world. It also represents a disconnect from the life I’d rather be leading if I were well enough. The image is visceral and disturbing, and it reflects the distressing and very physical symptoms I can experience.

  • by Paula Knight

Paula Knight’s website

Paul’s Knight’s poetry

Paula Knight’s site ‘Chronic Creations’

Twitter: @Paula_JKnight

Instagram: @paukajkstudio

 

UK

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