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

Tag: loss (Page 1 of 4)

‘Stroke’ by Lizzie Heath

There is a snuffing out
when the synapses stop firing.
The ex-wives fade to black.
His hawks blink.
Extinguished.
The Co-op, Jesus, trains and snow glimmer.
Cut.
Planets spin off the axons.
Our kisses are ashes
blown to the wind.
He lies alone, like a great house
with all it’s furniture moved out;
windows smeared with grease,
electrics, plumbing in such disarray,
builders would suck their teeth,
shrug, turn away.
Flick a switch, see the neurons crackle.
Smell the burning.

 

  • by Lizzie Heath

United Kingdom

‘Too’, by RachDoesDesign

The image features a form with chaotic hair spanning the entirety of the piece, lines and dots show the chaos of the mind

Too young to understand,
Too scared to stay

 

  • by RachDoesDesign

 

Wales

[The image features a form with chaotic hair spanning the entirety of the piece, lines and dots show the chaos of the mind]

‘The skin I wear’ by Wendy Jones

The skin I wear

The skin I wear is a covering
for my bones and flesh
and I’m glad it holds it in
but wonder sometimes
why and sigh
about the pain I’m in.
It’s not as if I’ve fallen
or didn’t watch where I was going,
I was plodding on quite well I thought
and tried to do what I’d been taught –
I enjoyed it all in a way.
Can I use a vacuum cleaner?
Why do you ask? I used to
work full time and be the breadwinner
and I can’t help wondering whether
you would have asked that of a man.
I can somehow think you know
I’m still here in a way,
I think so, anyway.

 

  • by Wendy Jones

Wales

Further information

‘I feel the music’ by Wendy Jones

I feel the music

This orchestra of mine
I jest your intimacy
Embracing every shard
With love and warmth
But should you say goodbye
And leave me before I die
I shall stand and run and dance
To an air of triumph!

But should you chance to be
With me ‘til the end
No matter if we both
Entwine the undergrowth
And lie together meekly
Til the last note gently
Fades away…

 

  • by Wendy Jones

 

Further information: https://poetryatnightblog.wordpress.com/

‘Superheroes in PJs’, by Grae Salisbury

This is shocking.

 

              I am not an object and I am not broken but

                                          the pain tells me differently.

 

This is chronic.

              Why am I not adjusted yet?

 

It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness

                                                        or

                                          all I want is to lie down.

 

And when I come into work I lie about my days off.

 

Why do I look tired? Maybe,

              that’s just how I look. Maybe,

              they think I am just not very ‘together’…

 

This invisible pain cannot be talked about because that will only make work relations worse-

because they never know how to interact with me after, but

                            my anxiety aches like the bits between my legs.

 

I am not used to this.

 

I am managing well and privately proud, but sometimes

 

              I wish they all knew.

 

I guess all superheroes probably feel like this sometimes.

 

              I bet there’s a lot of us.

 

 

  • by Grae Salisbury

Canada
Instagram:  @jellybeancomix

‘Flare*’, by amymillios.blog

I’ve slept through Christmas. I shiver and pull the covers over me; sweat, and throw the covers off. My head bobs with nausea as I hobble to the bathroom to pee. The cats stay away, though at some point I hear them sliding across the living room floor, chasing that knitted ball with the bell.  They sound far away.  I sink into scalding bathwater—steam rising around me, my skin red—but it doesn’t feel anywhere near hot enough.  I eat a deviled egg. Hear the glass of seltzer fizzing on my nightstand as I turn onto my right hip to relieve my left.  Awake time for the day: 45 minutes. Sleep time: 20 hours. In-between these two: three hours of semi-comatose wondering, wondering if I’ll ever get back a bit of the life I once had.

*from “Sick Notes: The Story Inside the Illness: Memoir Meets Case Study”

 

  • by amymilios.blog

 

Link to Master’s Thesis on ProQuest

 

United States

‘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)

 

« Older posts