"ecg" poems
ECG
They showed the broken rhythm of my heart
With inky ripples traced in peaks and troughs
The night when sudden life was torn apart
Left echoes like a dry persistant cough
This paper trail more signature of self
Than any scribbled scrawl of given names
More indication of my vital health
Than any poet’s talk of light or flames
My quick survival charted there as fact.
“And here, you see a murmured aftershock”
The remnant spider scribe of heart attack
My ailing pulse, my brittle ticking tock
Once took a moment’s beat to catch its breath
And left me reeling at the edge of death.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
the cardiologist, in passing, remarks, or perhaps,
“re-marks” my ECG test, casually revealing
that every fifteen or twenty or so of my regularly scheduled
hearts beats, an extra one sneaks it, which appears
unlike all the rest of those normative little hillocks
pointing skyward, ^ ^ ^ V ^ ^ ^ ^
yep that one,
sneaky ****** slips in, pointing downwards
like a class clown always disrupting classroom’s good order…
Doc reassures it don’t mean a thing
if you got that extra swing,
and our friendly informing internet reassures:
“The idea of your heartbeat going rogue may sound alarming.
But in most cases, an ectopic beat is a harmless condition.
It's also a common one”
but yet I am intrinsically intrigued,
oh yeah, that’s an intentional funny double entendre,
but methinks that explains
so much of my irregular, irreverent poetry scribbling,
particularly because this bratty beat be best addressed directly as:
“You Little Rogue!”
a highly scientific term,
taught in medical schools by non-poets,
but needy for definitions that the layman
can love and keep in their
heart shaped hands…
Nov 4, 2023
Nov 4, 2023 at 8:17 AM UTC
Hey you,
Just got back to the flat, not the same without you sat at the top of the stairs typing away.
Reminders all over, showing me of your recent presence.
First sight at pile of dishes that you washed,
Empty grissini breadstick's box,
Still some tzatziki and houmous left though.
Need a **** can't deal with this already.
Ahh, that's better. A tooth-brush is missing,
Spa Covent Garden Sanctuary, Irish Meadow?
Will upstairs be any better?
Must pause, plug in interent hub. ****
Back to old self so soon.
Duvet squashed up to the back wall,
Can almost make out your imprint.
I'm reluctant to throw out the remaining *** butts,
Seems as if you're still here.
Half drunken mugs of tea, finished quiche,
Can't believe I was so sick on the last night.
Bad dreams yesterday, two in fact.
Both being hung over ridiculous heights.
No good with that, big fear.
A sign of pressure bearing down?
Held council to rights, no joy.
Start the whole drawn out claim again,
Lot's of boxes to tick and fill.
Toss pots, must bite tongue and get on.
Doctor’s waiting room has mags for women only,
Nothing to chill my nervous mind.
'But are you going to faint on me?'
I made it through allright, lost some blood.
ECG scan on Thursday, for what though?
Chest or heart? Probably heart.
Mid-life wake-up call come early.
Do I really want to know? I suppose.
Where's my lovely? I need her so.
A cuddle, a smile, all better.
Action time- phoned all bills, extra time.
C'mere money, pretty please?
What thong then? Suspicious...
I was right (kinda)! ***
So excited, so touched, wow!
We will work it out Dee.
Thoughts of wild horses scare me not,
Something feeling very right, not at all wrong.
Hardest thing ever has already been done-
Finding that special little someone.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:52 AM UTC
The orphan cried,
In such a state of disarray,
Dashed in front of rushing truck,
A swerve without avoidance,
Collision inevitable,
Breath taken without second choice,
A hurried melee of vehicles,
Swept the innocent one up,
Carried him away,
Rushed into room, in a emergency of desperation,
ECG stated asystole,
Heartbeat without rhythm,
Chances lost for child without sin,
No saving child,
As moments of grace began,
Blinded in a manic panic,
From above his bed the child spied,
His body as his last moment died!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
This is a follow up to spoils which I posted yesterday.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
*I have wires through my chest
monitoring my heart,
yet I wonder what they'll scan
for my heart's not mine.*
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
The ****** fuzz of adulthood
on the horizon
appears nearer than ever.
Crossing into frosty territory,
the frigid space between young
and not so young.
Six thousand five hundred
seventy four days
to get used to this voice.
To become familiar with these bones,
the way they crunch,
toes bent like ancient forks.
Days will be bloated with things
we never thought
we’d have to think about.
The ECG lines of our lives
flapping up and down,
a white wild skipping-rope.
They say it’s down to us now.
It’s our generation who will destroy,
then make flowers from the rubble.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Got silken silver scratches etched deep into my ring,
their lascivious lines lick up and down like an ecg
they match the beat of my heart when with kisses i am carefree
It says surrendered but it's a constant act of surrendering
I twirl it in circles
I realize it is not a shackle
I realize that it is protection
That in its silver and ebony reflection
I see a more beautiful picture of the future of this thing
That where the esses sliver into scratches of black at their edges
i trace my faith, my face with my eyes in introspection
and where the three ees travel in between the other letters on the ring
there on the surface, its purpose is surfacing
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Of course – a blush
Of course - a rose,
Ecg plasters,
Hives,
And the blood
On the feet
Of eternal fouettes.
(Red hourglass woman
Turns everybody’s heads –
Because she's so far away from death
And because she's red, baby, red.)
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
There is a beat, where the rhythm of questionable origins pulsates throughout the uncertainty of our lost generation.
Insects which crawl into the darkness flamboyantly portray the message of Liverpudlian honesty,
Whilst desolate railway arches echo the sound of destination in the face of bewilderment and a heightened awareness of loss.
Oh, to be found in the midst of the brickwork tunnels of death!
I remember how the sticky leads of the ECG scan and my declarations of abstinence merely resulted in intravenous gambles with the reaper of the ancient abyss.
So, I urge you to burn incense, my friend of forgotten rock festivals, whilst I seek to connect with your vein.
You are a lifetime away, yet you are ever present.
Thank you, for sitting with me in my hour of death and for your Isle of Wight being.
The price of MD 20/20 will be etched on my heart forever.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
the tea in my bottle is never still.
in some way or another, the earth trembles.
this land has been wrecked with mother nature’s mood swings,
her earthquakes shaking us apart.
the crops tremor,
and the grass sways in the absence of wind.
maybe it’s the unsteady thumping of my heart.
maybe i mistaken the unsteady lines of its beat on the ECG machine
for that jarring feeling of losing my footing.
do you feel the way the earth shakes too?
do you hear the way my heart quivers for you?
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
The delight of it all -
rain splattering skin
like tiny knives,
back of my hair
a throng of wet
sinewy stems
plastered to my neck.
I scoff blueberry
after blueberry,
perforate each
little indigo shell,
let the taste
swell as an ulcer
at the front of my tongue.
Snow becomes slush -
graphite clumps
sliced through by bicycles,
footprints of strangers overlap,
undulate as ECG lines
down alleyways,
into dimly-lit side-streets.
A couple kiss,
their lips
a strange pinky knot
of flesh and breath
outside a bar
bunged with get lucky
guys from across the bridge.
Find a bench,
allow the metallic cold
seep into my hands
like a morphine injection,
count every dull grey building,
tighten my scarf
a bit more, a bit more.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Watch along the horizon line
Past the trees and you will find
Through the skies being installed
Every high and every fall
Cloaked until again recalled
Nature once again redrawn
Clear for all who look to see
Our collective mother’s ECG
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 10:37 AM UTC
It is all dark and scary
As i open my eyes with wary
My muscles are all aching
And my bones feel like cracking
Tied up from the hands and feet
I feel wet, and know that i bleed
When all of a sudden i start suffocating
Someone's hands around my neck are closing
I can't breathe I think I'm dying
My lungs both feel like crying
The grasp is loosening up a bit
Am I dead, maybe that's it
I steal one breath of relief
Another more, maybe I'll be set free
But as I inhale my third breath
I feel like I am on my own bed of death
I am starting to fade and blackout
Only one single thought now stands out
Why did you pick me to torture with glee
Right now if you check my ECG
A straight line is all you will see
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
“You’re being childish”
She says to a child.
In my mind,
That suited this particular situation better than
Sitting in grief stricken silence
While the steady beat of the ECG by your bedside replaced the noise of conversations lost.
Showing that I was sad
Wouldn’t changes these circumstances,
Wouldn’t raise your body from the stark sheets that matched your skin in tone and texture,
Wouldn’t prove to some all-knowing God that this was unfair,
Certainly wouldn’t make anyone feel better.
Even then,
I knew there were different words for the same thing.
I knew the feeling of lungs giving out after a solid-steel punch to the gut
Was synonymous with the realization there would be no more palm tree Christmases in Leesburg.
I knew the ache after falling off the front porch balcony coincided with
The spasms of remorse I felt knowing I’d missed the chance to apologize for every pocket sized mistake I’d made.
And I knew that not having the capability to convey these words with my 8 year old vocabulary,
Meant I was childish.¬
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
To my cardiologist colleagues
These days I don’t waste time
Doing nonsense trials
Have any person without a soul,
Suffered heart attack?
If ever had,
Let me see their,
ECG.
I want to know,
How it looks like
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
Every echo is a memory
a trickster that would taunt me
an assassin sent to haunt
my waking day.
I listen carefully
it sounds the same
my voice
my name
it cannot be
but
I
let the echo free
and so it can
What if noble man is
the ECG
the fruit that falls in winter
from an echo tree
Do
you
hear me?
Of course you do
what the echo knew
and I just realised is
the image of me fading
In the echo of her eyes
and I
will I go on?
will I become the echo
of the boy
I knew as John?
as long
as long is long
I think
and think that
I'll go on
and on.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
wishing to crawl into bed beside you and drown out the worries of the world, that have so carelessly been kept inside of me, with the sound of your heartbeat-
hand to chest i wish to record each beat by inscribing it, like a ECG test- creating something out of the beautiful music your heart plays out.
I wish nothing more than to pull back the surface and discover a world of new, a world of you- like a clock I would observe each gear and learn what makes it twist, spin, and tick.
engraving into you my initials so that girls to come would know who rightfully discovered a different side of yourself.
I would read to you fine words and use your body as a canvas, or even a roadmap, spreading paint and creating strokes that could sell in auction.
I could admire you for ages, I say
and without hesitation or a need for affirmation, you wince and explain, “you have created apart of me not many would understand, but many could admire. Your art is not a sight for your eyes only.”
and just like that, you’re sold.
your body a guide and eyesight for the people of the world to ponder and examine- Picking apart your flaws as i never did. But, I cannot deny their habitual need to window shop.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC