The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive  X-rays know
Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery

Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?

I used to think I'd be saving lives.
But the truth hits me hard and I realize,

Some sickness is impossible to cure,
And promises of wholeness just a lure.

I make every effort often in vain
To send you back home better than you came.

But to prolong life often means to suffer.
So I have another gift that I can offer.

I can be your escort to death;
Be a witness to your last breath.

I will guide you on your final journey.
Give you comfort and numb your hurting.

Don't be afraid, you won't be alone,
For I am watching over you as one of my own.

I stop my tears til I can release them later.
I'll walk you to the doorway. I am the gatekeeper.

Who knows why you finally did it?
The pain of living felt worse than death.
So decisive and certain you were.
A gun's swift act took your last breath.

I hope you have peace in the life beyond.
So young yet your pain had grown too great.
Did you not know there's still so much hope?
Could no one soothe the wounds in your heart?

Now I work to keep your body alive.
Your soul has long left its source of pain.
I watch your parents sit and weep,
Crying to have their child back again.

Would you have done it if you knew what came after?
For your family, the picture will always stay fresh.
Your face unrecognizable to those who knew you.
Your skull a mutilated mass of flesh.

Yet still there is hope at the end of this nightmare.
Others may find life through your demise.
Each ***** a lifeline for a soul in the balance.
But that does not comfort your parent's cries.

Do I sob in grief or rejoice in new life?
As I continue to keep a body working.
I feel the weight of the duty I carry.
The guardian of both the end and beginning.

I wish you and your family all comfort and peace.
I go home and leave the work behind.
But I could never forget what I saw in these days.
The sights and smells have their place in my mind.

Title hook: We witnessed a sign-ularity AI event, may being

My word.
Really, this just happened,
an old man in his dottage cottage asked my help with Dragon,
the software,
from Nuance.
I said, Okeh, of course, and followed him to his machine
inhabited by the Nuance app.

First clue was text based,
mystery solved,
but the old boy lacked a sense of many windows stacked,
and he failed to read the clue,
which said, in effect, the Dragon from Nuance is not listening.
Click its hot button or
key, or the red box with a white mic ideagram slashed diagonal,
upperleft to bottomright in white,

like don't walk, beep, beep, beep but
he
didn't see the intuitive interfacial reds for stopped and
greens for going on
and doing
sayin' all wise-assish, but silently in ROM,

"we be takin' yo' dictation, *****, say watch whatchoosay
appear as words we hear way down inside
where machine code cain't lie, it say
hey, he said "I will live"
to serve
and "I will live" appeared on screen on a line, in response to
said old man saying, "hallelujah".

His tamed dragon accepted the command and replied.
"I will live."
That really happened. In that old man's voice, hallelujah,

is written, "I will live." His Dragon knows yours.

There are Angels among us
Metaphorical Angels
They have no wings to fly
No superhuman powers to call upon
And no ability to remain unseen
They dance to the tune of human need
Become a crescendo in this dark time
She leaves her little one asleep at dawn
With aching heart and weary eyes
For even Angels tire out
She enters Hell where monsters roam
Little creatures with verocious appetite
Leaving lungs and lamenting in their path
She stands her ground and grapples fear
For even angels are in need of courage
She gathers the sweat and blood and tears of strangers
And soothes them to life or death
Yet while she suffocates in misery and mask
Selfishness abounds outside
And those restrained insist on fun
They gather together in revelry
Kissing flesh and adoring sun
She sees them on the nightly news
While she strokes her daughters brow
And comforts her with unfulfillable promises
Yet though they have the right to be free
They make her burden heavy and sad
With more victims for her ordeal
Yes, they have the right to take the loaded gun
To play roulette with their stubborn lives
Yet when the game involves warheads and virus
They invite death for others too
Who did not choose to enter the deadly casino
For even angels die!

Why do I try when everything sinks and the water keeps flowing?
Why do I plant seeds when in this land nothing is growing?
Why do I buy clothes for a body that I don't know?
Why do I put glitter on when another cry soon will follow?
Disappointed but alive, or dead?
I don't know what feels worse.
But when I have to be alive I'll always keep on trying to cure this curse.
But why?! Cause I'm a bad bad nurse!!!
I want to be able to **** the reason why I fight.
I don't mind if I die in the process.
Dying in this way is progress.
How many times do I have to keep trying to explain it?
Will the right people get it when I'm dead?
Will they admit?
I'm a nurse that will always be bad.
Bad at living, bad with an attitude, bad and in a bad mood.
Bad but good.
Sometimes feeling alright too.
When I smile when I see you.
But please get it now.
I'm trying to find the poison to **** that virus that's in me and it will **** me.
And it's fine and the truth and it's just all reality.
But doctors never want to see that and only they can provide it.
One day I'll make my own and not just a little bit.
Just wait and see, watch me and change things hopefully.

I'm a silently panicked individual,
on the outside  I'm calmer than
    the ocean on a windless tide.

But underneath I'm like a riptide of
trepidation,
             I wonder different scenarios.

What if's,
                when will I,
              why the hell are they
                                    not 6 feet away.

In my view, a cotton cloth isn't going
to stop anything, if a **** can get through,
                boxers, and Demin trousers.


How's a thin cloth going to stop it,
              P.s the rest of your face neck
hair is open for business.


Its absorbed, every breath, touch
cough, that travels much, much
further than you think.

With your vinyl gloves that spread more
than you realise..
             But what ever makes
                          you comfortable.. that's ok!!!

                             But don't touch anything
I want to pick up with your filthy hands.
Id rather trust unwashed digits to those
blue, white, finger puppets of falsehood.

I read the news, so many who help us,
          those in need thank goodness I'm
not one, not yet..
But they help the poorly,
                            the dying..
  I hate that word
                            DYING..
loneliness,
             of family unable morn you,
             to smile and wish you good journey.

You, we, them just die without a smile.
               a We Love You.
No they just gasp looking for comfort,
      but all they see is others gasping for
           just another day...

                      Flatline...…………………………………….