IPM Jan 4

I love watching those flames
the ones that turn to art
the ones that patch my heart
and make it fall apart again.

So when the world turns dark
and hollow words blow in the wind
Prometheus has no flame to lend
our light then brightly sparks.

At peace I find myself tonight
before my feet touch land
and blood flows back into my hands
before the show disappears from sight.

The fireworks now leave the Earth
my eyes are open wide
a freezing streak bellow them lies
forever lost in the cold night's dirt.

Now smoke resides where light once shone
what a way to spend New Year's Eve
alone, with nothing even left to grieve
over, away from home.

Shook off the cold monotone and dreamed of something more
Recalled bright memories standing firm on fragile pages torn.  

In my mind I hear songs that take me back to that place
The words are important yet they’ve been all but erased.

Remembering days draped in clothing that happiness wore
And the praises whispered softly…and the promises we adored.

Gazed through a golden goblet and watched the bubbles rise
Looked up and thought of you as I searched the night skies.

Do you know that I still think of you nearly every day?
Can’t help but lean on you when I think there’s no way.

Tonight I’ll raise my glass to the sky and look up to the moon
Shed the skin of the past because there’s simply no room.

You’ll wink at me from that distant star, as you always do
And remind me to live with gratitude for all that is new.

I love you.

An homage to people I love and miss very much.
Seema Dec 2017

I loved you
And I love you still
I will not beg you
But I will wait for you
To see if you live up to your promises
Yes, the ones you've been making
None fulfilling
I gave you multiple chances
Yet you demand more
Am out  of your league but my silence will break,
Once you prove your promises true
I do confess, I loved you and I still do
But I want those words to be real

From you...


Happy 2018 :)
sunprincess Dec 2017

Alas, 2017 was a huge rockslide
falling down a mountainside

Making our way impassable,
some said t'was impossible

Yet with God's help,
And moving one stone at a time
I finally made it through

The Sparrow Dec 2017

Tall buildings, black sky,
Across the asphalt river
parties roar.
Crisp winds blister through the
city block.
I inhale; smoke burns.
My nerves ease…

New Years Eve…

Let snow fall upon a weary heart.
Years come and go.
Ages pass with many breaths,
but what of these smoked filled
I fear, no joy for me…

Year of Jubilee…

Come, oh, blessed city, come.
When will ages cease to pass,
like the smoke upon my lips?
Then I will rejoice in a
New Year.

Jiro Dec 2017


For the day all have been waiting


Of each plan for this day we've been making

As the children await every present they will have receive

The greatest gift of all, is the love each gain on this wonderful Christmas Eve

Happy Christmas Eve everyone!
Thomas King Dec 2017

Red ripe is my fruit
Plump and bursting with resentment
Oozing remorse and regret
My pain Ready for you to harvest

I have waited patiently
For your uncontrollable urge
To feast upon my agony
And devour my shame

Your greedy appetite
For my suffering is insatiable
Feed your glutinous desires
As you sink your teeth deep
Into my cold flesh

Taste my bittersweet discontent
As you ingest my poisoned hatred
And choke upon the shards
Of my broken heart and shattered dreams

Now that you have consumed
The essence of my pain
I’m nothing but a hollow core
Return my ravaged remains
Back into the soil of Eden's garden

So that I may be absorbed
Back into the earth
And the seed of mans sins
Can now take root

Taylor St Onge Dec 2017

If you're a patient in a hospital, wouldn't you want to know
exactly how many people have died in the room
                                                                 you're currently sleeping in?    
                           How many hearts have stopped beating, how many
                                                               lungs have deflated, how many
pupils have stopped responding to light—
                                                          ­                 how long CPR was
                                                                ­             performed before
                                                                ­            Time     of     Death
                                                           ­                       was called?
How many DNR patients waltzed into the afterlife
without so much as a half-hearted chest compression?

Ribs can break during CPR.
How many cracked ribs have echoed
                                                                ­  across the walls of your
                                                                ­            hospital room?


Eve was made from Adam's rib.
God plucked the bone and
                                                                ­                  fashioned it into a
                                                                ­             subservient woman to
                                                                ­               replace the wild one,
                                                                   the first one, the no good one,
                                     the woman made from the same soil as Adam:


We break ribs, break wishbones, break most things we don't understand. A confused patient will take out his IV, his PICC line, even pull at his chest tube or his LVAD driveline.
If it doesn't make sense, we will try to eliminate it in the sake of
                                                                ­                               normality.

                      ­                                     x

Some time in August, we had two codes within one hour.  After 30 or so minutes of chest compressions, they pronounced the second man dead.  He wasn’t my patient that night, and I didn’t know him.  I think his ribs snapped under Alyssa’s hands when she tried to revive him.
                                                            ­      And what does that feel like?   Not just the desperate rush of adrenaline,
        of trying to bring someone back to life—not just the emotional,
                                                                ­           but the physical of it all.

The cracking of the bone beneath the heels of your hands.  
Your fingers laced on top of each other
                                                                ­ pounding and
                                  pounding and
                                                                ­                                  pounding
                                                           against the sternum.  
One, two.  One, two.  One, two.  
                                                          ­            The bone cleaves in half.
And how much pressure does it take?  
I’m sure science could tell us, but
                              how does it feel in your arms, in your shoulders—
                       will your muscles remember the strength it takes and
                                                      stop you next time?


How hard did God have to try when he ripped out
         Adam's rib to make Eve? And
                           how long did it take Adam to recover from the loss?
(Maybe he never did.)


Healthcare is still so barbaric.  You must hurt to help.  
                               Saw through the sternum to get to the heart.  
                 Insert a painful tube to remove the excess fluid.  
                             Drill through the skull and remove
                        potentially useful brain matter.

I have nightmares of tripping over IV tubing and
ripping out PICC lines.   I am terrified of
dropping someone's chest tube on the floor,
                                                 of it ripping violently out of their lungs.
It's not my blood, it's some else's,
                                               and that makes it so much worse.  
                    Being responsible for another human's well-being
                                             is actually terrifying.

I just want to be helpful.  I don’t want to hurtful.  But so often,
                                         I find myself damaging the ones I love.


I would rather have my brain-dead sternum sawed open than
rot in some hole in the ground like my mother if it
                                                        would mean that I could be useful.
                                                   And all we really want is to be useful.
To feel something.  To be something.  
To be proud like the original sin.

Remove my ribs.  All 24 of them.  
Make them into several new women with
several new names and
                                           faces and
                                                            eye colors and
                       skin colors.
Their lives would be more beneficial than my death ever could be.

Like Eve with Lilith, replace the bad, with the seemingly good.  
                                                         Replace the soil with the body.
                                                  It all has to come from somewhere.  


                     How to keep the self close and yet distant from trauma.

part of a larger work based on my work as a cna in a hospital

Withholding on the tip of my tongue
Forget the He/She
Lost in a Trance
I never want to Wake Up
  Unlatch or Wear Me Out
Fascination all around
Unwrap me or Throw Me Away
I'm Dying to Bring to Light
The Clock & the Dagger
Simulation Underwraps
Hush, Hush
Broadcast of the Night Us Bare all Night
Take a Hold of My Hand
Through the Backdoor We Go
My Shield only Debunked by you
Confined in a Castle in the Air
Call it a Daydream or a Pie in the Sky
Just Store me, Baby
Release me on a Lonely Night
New Years Eve
This is my Sacred Word
My Promissory Note
I'll Never Leave You
Always be Here for You

The Clock & Dagger.

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