Allison never really comprehended that her best friend was going to die until it actually happened. She was at home one Sunday mornin…
Alex tentatively pulled his guitar out of the closet. Since suffering a stroke, wherein he initially lost use of his left side, Alex stil…
Furthe tales of a stroke survivor
The title of this piece is drawn from a commercial I saw featuring Patti Labelle. I appreciate the sentiment and attempt to remember it e…
stroke recovery, stroke after effects
brush strokes / on empty canvas - / another world
Got interested in haiku a while back. Just opened a file of lunchtime noodles and pulled out this one. Seemed appropriate for RB.
Tears On My Pillow Crying jags have plagued me ever since I had a stroke. These circumstances usually arise whenever I experience stro…
The mangled emotions of the stroke survivor
One hand / one touch / gentle / soft / sweet
For more years than we were told or realised, my husband’s father had been having small, mild strokes, often accompanied by severe nose bleeds. My mother in law, ever faithful and protective and abiding by his wishes, kept the secret. Until the effects became obvious and cumulative we did not know, although I suspected and often rang at the ‘right’ time. It was uncanny the number of times we would ring, and ask the usual ‘how are you’ question to have it answered with ‘better now’. After a long slow decline, during which he refused any and all medical intervention or help, he had to be admitted to hospital. / I wrote this after visiting him in hospital one day ~ an emotional experience to say the least. I gave this poem to my mother in law and, at her request, read it at his funeral.
Three stroke Charlie I just cant believe / At the prime of your life yet I am so peeved
Just a bit of cheeky fun !! :o) Well it is 2am and I’m w i d e awake !!! <) Enjoy :o)
I have a brother name Don, he is the eldest of nine. / I’d like to tell you about him, if you have the time. He’s always been there for…
A poem written by me about my eldest brother Don. There are 10 of us all together!
like a thief it creeps in the night / or brashly in broad daylight / but always in the dark / it lurks / remains
My mum had a stroke last Wednesday and is still in hospital. / She is fortunate in so many ways, at it was a minor one, effecting only one hand now. But we have been told it is a type of stroke which can occur again. Or not. There is no way of knowing and nothing which can be done to prevent a recurrence or repeat. / My husband and I are concerned, having watched his father suffer small, creeping strokes over many many years, which slowly but surely, cruelly robbed him of his mental and physical abilities, one by one. Until he finally died ~ a sweet release in many ways. It struck me as I was driving home last night, alone with my thoughts for three or four hours, that this is one of the insidious diseases. Like many other diseases, it remains such a mystery and out of our ability to control or prevent in so many instances. / Healing, I believe, is still to happen. I wanted to, and will, write a journal entry. But as I began, this poem flowed instead.
“The last time I came”, Hank thought, “was the Sunday before the stroke”. Since having the stroke things had become so different.
that simple dynamic that we all seek so desperately…
...and what are the words one uses to describe a compilation?, works from my entire life?, fifty years of carrying around a yellow pad?, fifty years of writing and rewriting, changing the words, as their meanings change for me? Constructive criticism regarding any of my work, always welcomed, appreciated and read with an open heart. / Personal eMail These pieces are extracted from my book of prose, “50 truths and 50 lies, the first 50 years.” Available Here
when ill-tempered and unrehearsed words wound others…
...and what are the words one uses to describe a compilation?, works from my entire life?, fifty years of carrying around a yellow pad?, fifty years of writing and rewriting, changing the words, as their meanings change for me? Constructive criticism regarding any of my work, always welcomed, appreciated and read with an open heart. / Personal eMail These pieces are extracted from my book of prose, “50 truths and 50 lies, the first 50 years.” Available Here
One minute Etta was moving through her life as you or I do, but the next minute she was pinned up against a wall and feeling less than he…
TTST39 – Twisted Tales 39 – stroke and yearn
A Stoke Of Hand…My Desires Risen, High… To You…A Heart ….At Your Command…
Gentle Canvased … Kiss
It was during one of these treks to “the farm”, be…that I needed to prove my superior position in the pecking order so to be chosen for…
This story started a series of stories about life on “the farm” as a child in the ‘40’s and 50’s which is a reflection of time gone by in Wisconsin life.
I / 11:30 pm, it’s Dee—my heart is in my throat before he finishes “Rusty” / Grandmother—his wife of 60 years—in the hospital again: strok…
Just two days prior to my wife, child and I traveling 18 hours to see our families, my grandmother is hospitalized: for the final time. / She fell into a coma 3 days after I arrived. I am thankful to have been with her when she died, on Jan. 3, 1997.
Malignant emotions / Swollen with a sense of shame / Loved ones try to absorb your pain / Yet I’m searching for someone to blame
I feel completely in awe of people who can sacrifice themselves in care for others – not just aged carers, or hospital employees, but also loving family members. Usually I feel far removed from my adolescent rage, but when it comes to sickness and suffering – it is as though I am transported back to that sense of outrage and horror, which while it means yes, I care to me it holds less relevance than those with the compassion and empathy reserves capable of that type of generosity of spirit.
... fragrance that lingers …
You just know it, in the depths of your spirit … the one intended!
i saw his face / eyes closed / lips slightly parted / in a dream / in front of his easel / a brush in his hand / i thought of van gogh / his ha…
He wanted to laugh at his predicament but could only stare as the wretched dog sniffed his groin.
Short story. Fantasy
Yea, you!
So, I have yet again returned to the world of computers. I was going to put this under journal but they say it’s for non-creative work…
NSFW
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