Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Terry Collett Aug 2019
Grace felt down
to feel her
two leg stumps;

her legs had
been cut off
or what was

left of them
once the bomb
had done its

worse during
the London
blitz. She felt

bandages,
felt the pain,
wriggled her

toes not there,
tried to think
them still there,

but they were
no longer
there, just space

where they were.
Grace couldn't
see, she was

blind; no sight
to see legs
not there now,

unable
to go ***
unaided;

that's what it
felt like to
her being

down graded.
Simra Sadaf Nov 2018
read the funniest satire, the funniest irony
the thing I most craved for is killing me

not so long ago, found myself in a different version
I was neck-deep into a writer, a ****** good one
a cliché – a cig, a drink, a *** of ink, a quill, a paper
also ******* acted for him as momentary pain eraser

‘twas the writers ball where I first saw him
the year was 1940, he looked beautiful but grim
stared at him unapologetically
but all he did was self-pity

the essence, the manners, the abyss in his eyes
every word, every action revealed a man so wise
spent all my nights deciphering every metaphor
curious about what was written on the papers he tore

I wished to reach out and say even poets ***** up
he was busy taking sips from the death cup
wrote to him asking to let me in his world
crossed my heart to keep him secure and furled

I hoped to unburden the sorrows he hid
but death reached out before my letters did
the adversity of not having said, not having heard
drove me mad like him, like him now I live in words.
Terry Collett Jun 2018
Noises around
and I am
blanket bathed.

I stare up
but see only darkness
my blind eyes bring.

The nurses talk
between themselves
as they wash me
intimately.

My leg stumps
are unbandaged
and air gets to them.

They talk about
a new young doctor.

I think about nothing
but everything.

I sense them
wash me.

Dampness
refreshes me.

I vaguely remember
the bombing
and then nothing.

I wish Clive was alive
and here with me.

Philip came yesterday
and talked to me.

He is Guy's friend
and works
in the Foreign Office
he said.

He wants
to take me out
for dinner.

I am half
a woman now.

The nurses dry me gently
then rebandage the stumps
and dress me
and wheel me out
into the sun.

I sit alone
with birdsong sounds
nearby.

I am undone
and want to cry.
Terry Collett Apr 2018
They had unbandaged
her leg stumps.

Her blind eyes
saw only darkness.

She could hear their voices
and feel their fingers
and air on bare flesh.

She lay on her back
trying to make sense
of their words.

One spoke of healing
and another of measuring
for artificial limbs.

One voice
sounded Irish.

A young nurse
she assumed.

She replied to questions
they asked.

She lay there
quite exposed.

She wondered
if her maid
had suffered
in the bombing.

Clive whom she loved
and made love to
had died at Dunkirk
the year before.

One voice became distant
then disappeared.

The nurse(she assumed)
was attending the stumps.

Grace stared into
the blackness and heard
on the ward other
voices on the air.

She seemed
embraced
by the cold arms
of despair.
Terry Collett Apr 2018
On the retreat through
Belgium you tended to
a young soldier wounded

by machine gun fire across
his abdomen. He lay there
on a stretcher unconscious.

He needed a doctor but none
was there. You unwound the
bloodied bandages. His arm

was hanging loose and a bone
was poking through. He was
still unconscious. A fellow

soldier suggested they move
on as the Germans were not
far away. You rebandaged him.

He was pale. You got two
stretcher bearers to take him
to the nearest ambulance.

They walked off with him
across the muddy ground
to a battered ambulance

over the way. Move on the
sergeant called Jerry's on
his way. You moved into

the ambulance and off it
went. The soldier lay there
unaware of the place or time

or danger. You watched him
there without worries or care.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
Charlie said about going
into the small French town.

You'd been told about the
street of brothels. There
were other soldiers walking
up and down the street.

Girls milled about in flimsy
dresses or tight skirts.

Charlie and you had never
had *** before but neither
told the other. Charlie went
into one such place and you
followed. There was a bar
and tables and some chairs.

Girls were with soliders
getting them to buy them
drinks then take them upstairs.

Charlie bought the drinks.
Dark beer stuff. Two young
girls came over and spoke
in a broken English about
buying drinks. They moved
themselves against you both.

You sipped the beer. Charlie
drank a couple of mouthfuls
and went off with the thin
faced French girl. You stood
there with your glass of beer
looking at the girl left behind.

Your father who had been
out in France in the first war
said to avoid those places
or you'd get the pox. She said
about going upstairs. You said
you couldn't not today. She
rubbed herself against you.

You gulped at your beer not
knowing about *** or what to do.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
Grace remembered an explosion
a flash of light then darkness.

The darkness never went. She
knew she was awake by the
sound of voices and people
passing by. She called out.

Some one came to her and
took her hand. It's all right
you are in hospital the soft
voice said. Hospital? Why am
I in Hospital? Your house
was hit in the bombing
the other day the voice said.

She stared where the voice
came from. Why can't I see?

The doctors are not sure
but it maybe just temporary
blindness the voice replied.

Grace felt down her side.
I can't feel my legs? The voice
hesitated. They had to be
amputated. A shock ran
through her head. She tried
to sit up but she couldn't.

Both legs? The voice was
soft in reply. Yes they were
a mess crushed and trapped.

She couldn't take it in. What
about my maid she was in
the house? She was killed
I am sorry to say the voice
replied. Grace stared into
blackness. The sounds
about her seemed far away.

We will do all we can for you.
I wish I'd died she murmured
then turning away she cried.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
I wish, I could time travel to 40s.
  When,
Imagination used to be colourful
Songs, filled with presence
Ponds, serene deep
And,
The sky, clear blue.

I wish, I could time travel to 40s.
To witness, How,
The Humans were made Guinea pigs
WHO started to crawl
Penicillin promised its magic.

I wish, I could time travel to 40s.
When,
Mustache use to rule this world
Charlie was my smile Icon
****** has nonsense to tell
And,
Albert was lamenting.

I wish back, days of 1940s.
When,
Trust has everything to do.
Theme: Back to the past
Shane Leigh Oct 2017
August 16, 1940, 3:36 PM

The rain pours heavily and soaks her garments, and the wind beats fiercely upon her round, tanned face; her hands, palms forward, slightly outstretched to either side of her.

She thought rather fondly of such a stormy day. It was a day she felt she could ponder anything, but not one thing in particular.

“What a glorious day. I have seen none better than such.”

She sways gingerly on the edge of the cliff on long, lean legs, listening to the waves of the English Channel crashing against the palisade. They carve into the ragged rocks like master masons, chiseling such beautiful artwork into the deep crevices and cracks of the depleting rock face; their clangor comforting her in a way that no other sounds could. A shame really, for the war takes all the sound, the joy, the wonder from the world ... The life.

She takes the step, and the only thing coursing through her mind ...
*What a glorious day. I have seen none better than such.
© Shane Leigh
I took this from another one of my short stories. This one happens to be my favorite one. Of course, I added in some things and discarded some things, but if you want to read the short story please feel free to ask me to send it to you. I'd be more than happy to share it.
Enjoy (:
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Dunkirk 1940.
Clive died there
on the beach.

I remember
the last night
we had together
before he went off
with his regiment.

I had given
my maid
the night off
so we could be
alone together.

We made love
a few times
then talked
then slept.

After the War Grace
he said
we must marry
and settle down
and have a family.

But he died.

I lay here now
in the hospital
blind and
without legs
and left only
the memories
of Clive and I.

Anthony and Guy
visited today
they said Philip
had gone on business
for the government
and would see me
later in the week.

I sat in wheelchair
as they spoke outside
in the afternoon sun
trying to picture
Anthony as he spoke.

I'd only met him
a few times before.

Guy was his usual self
boastful humorous
full of his
upper-class jokes.

Now they have gone
and I am here alone.

The memory
of Clive chokes.
A WOMAN RELIVES HER PAST IN 1940
Next page