Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

Recent Comments

Marla Joy on Lions Land.
2 hours ago

Greg Freeman on Dominoes
2 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on Combe Gibbet
3 hours ago

Ian Whiteley on Citizens
3 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on Sashaying to Byzantium
3 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on IT AIN'T ME, BABE
3 hours ago

Auracle on Festive FM
4 hours ago

Tim Higbee on Grandfather
5 hours ago

TobaniNataiella on She Says Goodbye
6 hours ago

R A Porter on Sashaying to Byzantium
9 hours ago

A poem for my late father, Bernard.

Twas the dawning of Father's Day, so said Facebook
Not a feeling was stirring, not even a fuck.
No flowers were planted by the headstone with care
Cos a mad pauper's grave can have no headstone there.

The children were restless, and not in their beds
Cos visions of suicide danced in their heads
Of white overalls and of tablets and shame
And sickness and pimping, a life quite insane.

Th...

Read and leave comments (1)

🌷(3)

AIDSDeath of a parentHIVprostitutionsuicide

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message