"anemia" poems
The Dullard
A well intentioned
Comrade dropped
Off a basket of learning
Tools for my niece and nephew.
Among the colorful array
Of big red dogs
And purple dinosaurs
I find a book titled
"God Thought of It First."
I paused to consider
Pernicious Anemia,
Gary, Indiana, Republicans,
The Ford Pinto...
I sure never would
Have thought of it.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Every night the underprivileged will be lifted up by the privileged.
Every night the rich will have everything right to eat, but the poor.
Every night the homeless will have nowhere left to sleep, but our old carpeted floor.
Every night scicle cell anemia will have everywhere right to be contained,
including your city heart snooker.
Every night peace will have everywhere to be passive,
including your japanese zen gardens,
Everyone will be right to make peace with us,
but our unkempt sons.
Every night the proletariat will sleep ignoring the foremen descending their picket fences,
Every serious thief will be rejected as a nightmare-
For they are owed nothing, and must reject everything more
than The Othello denial an ounce of starved soul.
They will lament, as we cool our overheated hearts,
on the pristine grounds of our single rooms.
And they will lament, as we lounge on the branches of our stoic oaks,
decomposing birthday songs for the Bad young nights of the wicked little girls…
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
How did I ever got this?
Is this the price of giving so much time for you?
I never imagined I could be sick of this.
I have lived my life healthy
But then it came
I lost an amount of it
I lost a lot of amount of it
I lost an amount of blood
Ohh that's why I'm getting dizzy easily
And now living life so badly
Can't imagine this happened because of sleepless nights
Can't imagine this happened because of you
Now, I lost myself because of you
Got ANEMIA as a result
Wishing to wake up with amnesia
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
We cut and shook
our hands, formed
a bond as you told
me, "I will always be
in you as your blood."
But now you have dis-
appeared and all I am
left with is a scar and
anemia.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 1:33 AM UTC
I reach deep inside of myself
hoping to pull something out.
Tickling, teasing,
A game I like to play.
I know the risks:
Dehydration, fatigue, tooth decay, osteoporosis, anemia, hypotension, arrhythmia, cardiac arrest, death.
I roll the dice, because in this moment
I know I’d rather die than keep the Poison inside.
So, I dig, deep, into the dark,
Until I hit it: X marks the spot.
Tease it out. Force it out.
The treasure spills from the core of me.
I win.
I am emptied over and over and over again,
Until there is nothing left of the Poison and nothing left of me.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
the blood of bulls
runs through my body
anger, sadness,
and confusion,
swim throughout my cells
miles away my friend
cries tears into wishing wells
she too is slowly dying,
her faith has gone astray
strength is slipping away
selfish me
full of life unhappily
dying to get to heaven
living in hell
selfless her
dreading heaven
desiring hell
dying of sickle cell.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
A voracious beast devours my Husband
Distraught and upset I must put on a strong face for him
Every day I watch him grow paler and more thin
At night my dreams are consumed with needles, prescriptions
IV tubing and bad food swirl in the mix
In his eyes I see an exhausted spirit on the edge
The need to protect is a driving force within me
Hospitals should be more sterile
HE HAS A ******* FAILURE OF THE BONE MARROW PEOPLE
The next school of medicine reject who doesn't wash their hands
Will have them cheerily burned off...by me
On the inside I seeth and cry, throw a child's tantrum on the floor
Unfair does not even begin to describe the pain he has endured
Some would say to let him go, **** you**
They just do not know us
For my exterior is made up of stone
Supported by a frame of steel
I will never give up
We have a will of iron
A malignancy has no control over our strength
Into the coming war of medical procedures we are defiant
Strong and Worthy
We will never give up
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
My friend lives
With anemia and a stomach ucler
With the past of an alchoholic father and an abusive brother
With emotionally abusive ex-girlfriends
Who sometimes plays the butler
With a crammed-full-to-the-seams schedule
With a previous eating disorder and cutting
With the mind of a genius
With the heart of a saint
With the hands of an artist
With a bevy of friends, willing and eager to help
With freedom and a job
With with me, Wyatt, Julia, and Tom on the other end of the phone
Waiting for his call for help
But he is so quiet, pushed into a world of silence, dark, and miserable art
He shelters himself from all, and so we hover nearby
Searching for a crack in the walls of his dungeon, but all we find is a window
He holds the key, but does not yet realise it
So we coaxe and console and soothe, vocalising our concerns and aid
Reaching towards him to pull him away, to touch his heart with the
Hope that a gentle caress, a well placed sweet stroke of kindness may
Free him from his torment
But as of yet, we are still trying
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
A click here
and a click there
taking snaps everywhere
at the age of living carefree
our generation is obsessed with selfie
with a stick in our hand
everywhere we stand -
feeling sick
let's take a pic
going to party
don't forget the photography
every single moment is;
captured as if was a bliss!
fake smiles captured with a flick
but we never get bored of taking click
we are loosing the compassion
in no way we are human
we don't help the one in need;
fish our camera and take snaps instead
portraying poor and their poverty
the name and fame won't help them any
All they want is may be a piece of bread
but the human in us is already dead!
all we do is take a click
Believe me all this is a sh*t!
Extended verse -
we have strong opinion on social media
but in actual world we suffer anemia
we like, comment and share;
when action is needed all we do is stare
such piteous is our condition
we can't stand in unison
and so its easy to break us
else what the hell is this ISIS
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
You are you the anemia in my heart
Where human remains start
A journey into harmony with a spirited flame
Whipping into tranquility a fascinating rein
Trying to survive beneath a powdery substance, pollen
Bellowing with distress
With hands on the face of God with a righteous value
Licking the language of music that barely exists
Bare shadows, disfigured, and executed
Battered into the desolate cold grave
The salvation sickens me alive
Memories are measureless
The sun gasps into soulless sounds
As the spirits surround me crying as I fail
Demise while you're young
With redemption you sacrifice
The night begins to spill away, slain by the sun
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
Anemia
Thyroid
Lordosis
Scoliosis
Diabetes
Asthma
Depression
Anxiety
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
This is my brain
This is my iron
This is my back
This is my pancreas
This is my lungs
This is my mind
This is my experience
This is my health
This is me
Not having perfect health
Is nothing to be ashamed of
It is something to be proud of
Look, I have so much going on
And I am still here
Standing tall
Taking life day by day
Getting through school
And work
While dealing with all of this
No one has perfect health
And if they do,
They are lying
Life was not meant to be easy
Life was not meant to be a breeze
Life was not meant to be clear
Or make sense
We may question life
We may question a higher power
We may even question ourselves
But
Just keep pushing
Because I believe anyone can get through anything
When the
Proper health
Is provided
I am not a doctor
I am a student
Who is young
And has her whole life ahead of her
IF she remains healthy
I am not educated on the human body and its functions
But I know
From experience
That hardships come
And that effects you
Physically
And emotionally
I am not a doctor
But I am here
And I am spreading my word
And offering my shoulder
To those who want or need it
This is me
This is my health
This is my experience
This is my mind
This is my lungs
This is my pancreas
This is my back
This is my iron
This is my brain
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Anxiety
Depression
Asthma
Diabetes
Scoliosis
Lordosis
Thyroid
Anemia
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
This is me
This is us
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
What does make one beautiful in life?
Health or slimness or dress one wears?
'Will meagre food and a fashionable dress
Make one beautiful ever in the world?
Less food makes one anemia and weak!
With this kind of stature one is ever sick
And that makes one pale and haggard!
Beauty cannot last with this kind of lustre!
With proper diet and exercise one is healthy;
Health alone can make one forever beauty!
Also, not material wealth but health is wealth
And makes one wealthy by work in beauty!
Seeing silver screen stars and beauty queens
Many waste time in beauty rather than in health!
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
She has given more than blood
And in those sheets the seeds of deceit
Were planted deep
Emptiness spewing from her wrists
Silver gleaming razor crisp
Deeply embedded metal tip
That slashed and ripped
Her pale white skin
She slipped it in
To slide it out
Feeling every metal millimeter
And every maroon milliliter
Till the anemia of death
Was bled dry
Till the crimson
Became crusty brown
The last bath to bleed her of her past
The last question she never asked
Laying silently as she basked
In the calm but clammy haze
Of the last seconds of her last day
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Black curtains
Can't block enough light
For these conjunctivitis eyes
My hangover is your demise
Single sickle cell anemia patient
What's your platelet count
Little *****
Don't tell me not to yell
Not always Mr nice guy
These Pacific ocean eyes
Can turn cold and Atlantic
Bicoastal bipolar niche
Freeze you out
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
She regained her humanity, felt herself dosing off from the effects,
Of her everlasting anemia, to sustain her ivy as it labored to,
Heal her bruised and broken body.
I didn't ask for any of this, all I wanted was to be loved,
And permitted to wander the halls of my entitlement,
Weightless and carefree...
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Today I fainted
and the last thing I saw before I blacked out
was you.
And when they asked me how I passed out
I said it's because I have anemia
and sometimes I get too tired to function
and my body shuts down on me.
But what I didn't tell them is since you left,
it feels like my heart has been ripped from my chest
and sometimes it gets too hard to breathe.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
I feel like I can't get myself back to my normal state.
I come so close, and then get dragged back down.
I'm trying to fight, but I'm losing the battle.
It pulls at me relentlessly, and I can't stop it.
I try to do things that I want to do, but have to rest.
My energy keeps seeping away, after I start to use it.
I love to sing, but it tires me out so easily as of late.
I need to go to school, but it keeps sending me home.
I want to be with my boyfriend, but keep needing to rest.
I'm trying so hard to get back to normal, but I can't.
Why is it so hard to be awake and able to concentrate?
Why do I have to keep going back and forth all the time?
Why do I need to repeat myself to doctors and teachers?
I've been going through this for about three weeks now!
I don't mean to yell, but I just want it to go away.
I need to work on English, but I'm starting to shut down.
I hate feeling like I don't have the energy to get stuff done.
It feels like I may never be able to escape from this Anemia.
Even though, it may be a chronic illness, I still need relief.
All I ask for is some time to feel like my normal self again.
I just want to be able to sing, practice Korean, and do school.
I want to go back to my music lessons, and full school days.
I hate having to confine myself to half days because of this.
It's taking so much effort not to ask to go to the hospital.
I don't know what good that would do, but I hate this.
I just want to know why I keep feeling this way all the time.
I need to find a way out of this fog, and back into normalcy.
Sorry for ranting, but I just needed to get everything out.
It makes me feel better, but now I'm feeling tired once again.
I guess it's time for me to stop and rest for a little while.
But I need to get going with my English work before I can.
This is going to be another rough day, and I need to push.
I'll go now, but before I do, I just have one more thing to say.
If anyone else feels the way I do right now, you're not alone.
I don't know when, but things will change for the better.
And when it does, it will make you feel so much better :)
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Cold all the time
Even in the warmth
Anemia or ghosts hovering?
Would explain the attraction to fire
Why couldn't I be a gambler
Or a midnight rambler
Have a good disease
Instead it's you, him, her, them
My disease is other people
I infect and make them addicts to my tear ducts
Fear hides and ducks, but it's always here
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
no residue of the future
don’t know what to say
the contours of words
bear enough ambiguity
mama and papa have moved
their battle inside
my anemia
a reversible memory, you
you’re not a battlefield
with poppies
the blues had just hit the road
to the city
while you were busy to be born
in the quietness of fields
this desire today
with silver teeth
shouted at me in the street:
“you belong to him”
it’s something
to have learned
how to deconstruct
the power of love
it’s a different matter
by your side
in the depths of whispers
in the cage of time
you’re not a dehydrated dream
of my unshed skin
I so elegantly raging
keep up with this desire
my life needs a soul
not to play cards
past present future
heavy in my arms
undiscernable
I am a sentimental girl &
I am afraid of you
of the darkness of sleep
of the blue annihilation
of truth
let me tremble a bit
let me taste some light today
I am round enough
I am round enough.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Sí, yo he escrito estos Abrojos
tras largas penas y agravios,
ya con la risa en los labios,
ya con el llanto en los ojos.
Tu noble y leal corazón,
tu cariño, me alentaba
cuando entre los dos mediaba
la mesa de redacción.
Yo, haciendo versos, Manuel,
descocado, antimetódico,
en el margen de un periódico,
o en un trozo de papel.
Tú , aplaudiendo o censurando,
censurando o aplaudiendo
como crítico tremendo,
o como crítico blando.
Entonces, ambos a dos,
de mil ambiciones llenos,
con dos corazones buenos
y honrados, gracias a Dios,
hicimos dulces memorias,
trajimos gratos recuerdos,
y no nos hallamos lerdos
en ese asunto de glorias.
Y pensamos en ganarlas
paso a paso y poco a poco...
Y ya huyendo el tiempo loco
de nuestras amigas charlas,
nos confiamos los enojos,
las amarguras, los duelos,
los desengaños y anhelos...
y nacieron mis Abrojos.
Obra, sin luz ni donaire,
que al compañero constante
le dedica un fabricante
de castillos en el aire.
Obra sin luz, es verdad,
pues rebosa amarga pena;
y para toda alma buena
la pena es oscuridad.
Sin donaire, porque el chiste
no me buscó, ni yo a él;
ya tú bien sabes, Manuel,
que yo tengo el vino triste.Juntos hemos visto el mal
y en el mundano bullicio,
cómo para cada vicio,
se eleva un arco triunfal.
Vimos perlas en el lodo,
burla y baldón a destajo,
el delito por debajo
y la hipocresía en todo.
Bondad y hombría de bien,
como en el mar las espumas,
y palomas con las plumas
recortadas a cercén.
Mucho tigre carnicero,
bien enguantadas las uñas,
y muchísimas garduñas
con máscaras de cordero.
La poesía con anemia,
con tisis el ideal,
bajo la capa el puñal
y en la boca la blasfemia.
La envidia que desenrosca
su cuerpo y muerde con maña;
y en la tela de la araña
a cada paso la mosca...
¿Eres artista? Te afeo.
¿Vales algo? Te critico.
Te aborrezco si eres rico,
y si pobre, te apedreo.
Y de la honra haciendo el robo
e hiriendo cuanto se ve,
sale cierto lo de que
el hombre del hombre es lobo.No predico, no interrogo.
De un sermón ¡qué se diría!
Esto no es una homilía,
sino amargo desahogo.
Si hay versos de amores, son
las flores de un amor muerto
que brindo al cadáver yerto
de mi primera pasión.
Si entre esos íntimos versos
hay versos envenenados,
lean los hombres honrados
que son para los perversos.
Y tú, mi buen compañero,
toma el libro; que en verdad
de poeta y caballero,
con mis Abrojos no hiero
las manos de la amistad.
985
Andulan felt her strength returning, the dizziness was fading,
Her anemia was alleviated by the blood of a dozen squirrels, five voles,
Three moles, a badger and a family of deer, too slow to evade,
Such reaching, grasping death moving across the surrounding area.
John's thrown axe carved a brown road ahead, slickened by green moisture,
It mowed through the grassland before them, cutting through its share of vines.
Kevin and Paul hacked away at it's venom tipped children, all eager to play,
With their ****** corpses...
Song's presence kept them aware of their choices, if they erred even slightly,
From shown path forward, Andulan's feast would begin in earnest,
Bringing ecstasy wrapped in sadism to the young girl's life,
Corrupting her once pure, enheartening song.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
.*who said... that German was, unbefitting to fulfill the concerns for the operatic?! Germans sing the most... nettopern known to man... their baroque reinterpretation... shudders the body to usurp all the ancients' phobias borrowed from the Greeks... goosebumps and... **** like:
freude, schöner götterfunken,
tochter aus elysium,
wir betreten feuertrunken,
himmlische, dein heiligtum!*
but then again...
anemia with the Wagner...
come: walhall..
come Chopin...
and an... orchestra!
you are born, to be lived...
and what questions you have,
are questions indeed,
but they are rudimentary...
and asked,
even if asked at all...
at what could be
beat estimated
the worthy time...
beside the / outside
the mortal script...
known as... life;
how does that feel?
when feeling
perfects
the "art" of the implosion
of thought?
the, missing moral "ought"
of the narrative?
the lost, theta?!
how does, that, "feel"?
all, emotion,
yet, seemingly,
no, thought?
how does that feel...
mother?
ship, micro-cosmos of
quasi-Braille telegraph...
how, does, i, "feel", mother?
the complexity of human expression,
within the confines
of the childish beginning,
culminates in the banal finality of...
that, which, is mortal...
that, which, is mortal...
will always over complicate the sentence...
and make life, almost causeless.
we are all but wagers,
in a game that consist of nothing more
than a win, or a loss...
a game, waging...
falsely perpetuating
a gain... mortality...
and a game waging...
not falsely perpetuating
a loss... again: mortality....
why should i forgive
the bass guitar omission in modern
music?!
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC