death (Remove filter)
Living My Own Death
I can tell you exactly when it happened. I was sat on one of those plasticy leatherette chairs. You know the ones, they have them in all hospitals, they're easy to wipe clean if someone has a little accident. I had my hand clasped about my wife's fingers and though I knew I was squeezing them too hard she didn't complain.
She, the doctor that is, or should I say consultant? Anyway, she leant in...
Wednesday 31st January 2018 4:43 pm
Recent Comments
Nigel Astell on June 2025 Collage Poem: You Watched the Trains Come, You Watched the Trains Go
6 hours ago
Tom Doolan on Poetry Is Pain
11 hours ago
David RL Moore on Too late too late
1 day ago
Rolph David on Love The Light, Embrace The Rain
1 day ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on still, the Earth breathes
1 day ago
Marnanel Thurman on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on where shadows do not drown
1 day ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
1 day ago
Larisa Rzhepishevska on The Policemen Arrest The Men.
1 day ago