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selina 5d
according to einstein, time is relative
and by the law of jumping to conclusions
this means our lives are inconsequential

so technically, i could spend a forever in jail, or
you could spend a couple years in a hospital bed
and nothing would really matter all

relative to me, however,
one of these situations would be bearable
and the other not so much

i can live with my dumb decisions
like driving too fast for too long or
even ****** for a righteous cause, too

i can survive my self-destructive tendencies
but my world centers itself around you
a sister piece to "happiness (& related theories)"
selina 5d
while all the folks will be off beach-drinking
at ***** cana, or cartagena, or hiking through
a coast and helicoptering blindly into canyons,

i just want to be at home, cooking for you,
studying up new recipes, because i know you
pretend to like my chinese takes on western food

a little more than you actually do; you want me
to be happy, but my happiness stems from your
healing health and your returning appetite, so know:

a smile on your face and a happily-emptied plate
would beat the pride of reaching any himalayan peak
and warm my heart more than any southern sun or beach
a sister piece to "relativity (& related theories)"
Nigdaw Feb 8
I watch him eating his dinner
while he digests
it devours him from the inside
the unwelcome guest
they sit together to watch tv
every programme chosen to forget
what no one wants to talk about
the unwelcome guest
he never knew when it moved in
but we're way beyond eviction
they will share that armchair
for the rest of their lives
Gray Dawson Oct 2023
Where there once was children catching frogs
in their hands, playing in the rivers dividing the sites,
or trying to convince the camp staff to give
them the branches they are attempting to clear,

There is now only her.

In the bright sun, doused in it’s heat,
her body shrivels in her wheelchair.
I step forward. She doesn’t move.
Her head falls forward. I scoop it up.
Hair lifting from the scalp, slipping away
between the webbing of my fingers.
I place a pillow behind her head and lay it back.

She snuggles into the blankets.

Pills fall into my palm; Red capsules, tiny whites,
chalky blues, and pinks with dust. Carving craters
into my lifelines. I place them on her bedside table.
She asks me to sort them. I throw them at the wall.
Two dozen stick, her mouth falls open, I scrape
them off and pour them in. Her teeth chew
and her tongue savors, I offer water. She sips,
it piles into the stomach. Bulging. I drain it
with a needle. It spills from the sky. The wind catches.

Tornado sirens blare across the grounds.

A scream cuts through my vocal cords.
I stand on the other side of the bridge.
Mud cakes the wheels of her chair. Her voice carries
before falling halfway across the slick surface.
A crack strikes the sky. The frogs beg me to go
inside. The wind cuts the skin. My vocal cords
rip and struggle against the storm. They fly
into the eye. The tips of my fingers catch before
they disappear. She smiles, her eyes slide closed.

A strike crumbles the bridge.
Shea Sep 2023
Cancer is a thief
It stole your breath, your lungs
And you from home

Cancer is a thief
It stole your faith,
Your lust for life

Cancer is a thief
It stole you from me
Phil Dodsworth Aug 2023
30 December:

Diagnosis cancer

February Surgery

The longest day …..

Home

Recovery and Love

Chemo….

It's a slog….

But you are legend

Life re-set

My beautiful wife

My favourite person

A second chance

**
Grateful to get through this. My wife is my favourite person and I can't imagine life without her
Randy Johnson Jul 2023
He was my dad but his life came to an end.
He died and I would never see him again.
He perished after months of receiving chemotherapy.
He had Leukemia and is buried in Sneedville, Tennessee.
He was a hard worker and he worked hard for many years.
Cancer made him become ill and he died just like I feared.
He died ten years ago today on the 13th of July.
It is always sad and tragic when a parent dies.
Dedicated to Charles F. Johnson (1947-2013) who died ten years ago today on July 13, 2013.
There’s you,
coming up to breathe
for but a few heartbeats
before returning to the
deep, where there’s none
other than those who
belong.

Oh, what a marvelous space,
inverted space to be exact,
to live and float while
still retaining our right to
drift, kick and scream
to noone else but us.

At several leagues I
heard a sound that gave
my neck a chill, but not
the kind that makes one small,
instead the kind that feeds
gigantism in the icy north’s
hadal spheres.

From there, the rest seem lightyears off,
and closely similar in kind and way,
but as you rise at speeds that would
give a man the bends, those waves
will wash away the frightened guppy
until only the brave and strong remain.

It’s a long way down for sure, to
those who couldn’t sense or feel
that rush of bubbling need for fresh
and clean sky in the lungs,
so now theirs hold about a
half dozen wet litres each,
the poor fools.

But what a sight it was to see,
to watch the whitecap gleam
above a newly capsized crew,
and presently neath the sun and
moon and stars at same time;
to hear the truest form of life
that came from both high and low;
now that was worth a second look,
or a third.

And there was I,
wading with my
smallest green lure
and bishaded buoy,
and nothing else was.
Neptunian musings.
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2023
Ever heard the story of a girl who coughed out a tumor?
I'm not sure it happened, it was weaved in rumor.
Whispers spread wide, painting a bizarre tale,
Of a medical marvel that seemed too surreal.

They spoke of a girl, consumed by a dire plight,
Who, with each cough, expelled her own inner fight.
A tumor expelled, escaping her fragile frame,
Astonishing many, leaving them lost in acclaim.

Yet skeptics arose, questioning the grandeur,
Doubting the truth of this remarkable lure.
Fact or fiction, the legend remains unclear,
A tale that lingers, shrouded in doubt and fear.
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