aging Archives - Spillwords

The Dog She Was

ArikuiNovember 12, 2019

The Dog She Was written by: Arikui She’s not the dog she was ten years ago, When she would run for country miles. Stiles and fences flew beneath he...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

False Hope

Andrée J. KhouryNovember 2, 2019

False Hope written by: Andrée J. Khoury “Mrs. Jones,” the young lady in white robe smiled at her client who sat across her dark, semicirc...

EnglishLiterature9 min read

Who’s There?

Diane LeopardOctober 12, 2019

Who's There? written by: Diane Leopard @dianeleopard I stand and I stare Lip hair, grey hair and wrinkles Who’s that in the mirror Looking b...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Stone’s Age

Phillip Knight ScottSeptember 27, 2019

Stone's Age written by: Phillip Knight Scott @phillipscott What once was a pebble has gathered no moss, rolling (not yet declining?) towards middle...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

TO A LATE LAST LOVE

GrendadSeptember 25, 2019

TO A LATE LAST LOVE written by: Grendad Of course we are afraid. We carry what they tell us now is baggage And in the bag they think we keep our rag...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Vacuum

Ricky HawthorneAugust 19, 2019

Vacuum written by: Ricky Hawthorne @searsjames I always move the sofa now, To expunge those grey lines That no longer exist Now, I never proffer l...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

It Was The Same

Eliza SegietAugust 18, 2019

It Was The Same written by: Eliza Segiet translated by: Artur Komoter There will no longer be home, smoke from the chimney. There will be no to...

EnglishInternationalPoetryPolish1 min read

The Skin I’m In

Lynn WhiteJuly 23, 2019

The Skin I'm In written by: Lynn White I used to wonder how I would grow and yet still fit in the skin I'm in. If we would grow together, me and m...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Mourning For Myself

Frank C ModicaJuly 12, 2019

Mourning For Myself written by: Frank C Modica @fcmodica53 It’s my 67th year; the clouds look tired and wrinkly. Tonight is the sixth day of th...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Aging Backwards

Michael NattJuly 7, 2019

Aging Backwards written by: Michael Natt Denny McClain was the last major league pitcher to win 30 games in a season. Now 74, reflecting on his past...

ArticleEnglish5 min read

The Shivering Hands and Shaky Voices

Anupama MishraJuly 2, 2019

The Shivering Hands and Shaky Voices written by: Anupama Mishra The shivering hands and shaky voices are left alone, nowadays. The days are unpleasan...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Choreography

William MastersJune 23, 2019

Choreography written by: William Masters As soon as Albert Andrew Fischer’s wife died of cervical cancer, after a final, twenty-two-day hospitalizat...

EnglishFeatured PostLiterature30 min read

Absolution Trail

Jim BartlettMay 27, 2019

Absolution Trail written by: Jim Bartlett Marie slips on her favorite wool sweater, then crosses the hall into their home office. Though “office” mi...

EnglishLiterature12 min read

Falling Petals

Billy AntonioMay 15, 2019

falling petals written by: Billy Antonio falling petals... I lean to hear mother's voice...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Phyllis P. Colucci is a freelance/indie author from Brooklyn, New York. She is currently retired from a Supervisory Administrative position with a Federal law enforcement agency in New York City, and is now pursuing her passion for writing fiction and poetry. She has always had a love for writing over the years, whether it be poetry, short stories or novels; and mystery and suspense is something she has recently gravitated towards with a touch of romance and that "New York edge". Phyllis has three novels, one novella and an Anthology of original poems currently on the Amazon market, and continues to be part of the Spillwords writing community by sharing/contributing her fiction and poetry on a monthly basis. She also has a writing blog under the name of "FictionTarot" where she hopes to entertain readers, take them on journeys page by page - and perhaps make a difference with a blog.

Bodies In The Basement by M. Taggart

It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night ...