"hospitalised" poems
remember the boy
you made fun of
3 years ago and
never stopped
he died today
and you went to his funeral
your heart beating
but his was not
you uttered sorry
you tried to push the blame
consoled yourself
saying you didn't mean it
the heavy weight
in your heart
it didn't leave you
you knew what you did
you started drinking
a bottle every night
but that was only
for starters
it extended
to several a night
until the day
you got hospitalised
karma, you thought
and boy were you right
it is karma
and it ****** you up.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
I’ve come back to this a soldier,
the blood you extracted from my body
now smeared stripes on my cheekbones.
But buckle in.
Do I really need?
-yes
A bullet proof vest inches thick. Barricades my bones
and sewn into the bones of my torso with hope.
but that’s only for in case you shoot me, again,
in the left chest.
- then that’s only if you become the target. if you whisper your vulnerability into his eyes, again. and stand hopeless before it all.
No I cannot bare it one more time.
He never seen me hospitalised in the bed of a room so empty. ( a mind so empty, numb)
So abandoned the nurses had left.
So abandoned I was the nurse the doctor the therapist the healer.
Doctor barely retrieved blood
Nurse barely rose me back to my feet
Therapist didn’t give forget. wouldn’t let me forget - what about it I loved because he had never found it in me.
Then I am reminded again.
- so soldier buckle up the bare skin that can so easily be burned. buckle up in black.
I wear it in fear hesitation ilness and resentment to a repeat.
- better off safe than sorry
But safe now becomes a sorry to the soul for restraining.
- sorry
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
DURING THIS VISIT
I am a layman laid up
with a very dodgy ankle
that winced about Paris
for almost a week with
every footaghhhhhhhfall.
Now it's the A&E;
for me.
The electronic noticeboard
flashes up its what nots
faster than I
can scan.
I barely catch CQC
Good( shadow )Rating.
Two wheelchairs
(peopleless)
chat about the this of that
typical wheelchair chit-chat.
A portable X-ray machine
pretends to be a giraffe.
"oooooOOOOK...we are going to get
Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!"
The child smiles
through the pain.
The screen peppers me
with possibilities.
Extremely likely?
Neither Likely nor Unlikely?
Etc., etc., etc.
My mind opts for
a simple I Don't Know.
"Breast." says the screen."
"Max Fax & Orthodontics."
"Re-hab shouldn't be boring!"
A questionnaire asks me
to think.
Big mistake.
I start to think.
Pain & Boredom
turns these hospitalised facts
( what ever they mean? )
into a something only
my brain can understand.
"And now, straight in at No.!
with a fantastic new single it's...
...Max Fax & The Orthodontics
with the glorious bouncy
BREAST!"
"MORTALITY by
The Upper Quartile
falls down one place to
No. 2!"
My shadow is feeling
very poorly at this
instant
in time.
Hasn't even bothered
to turn up.
There goes my good
(shadow)rating.
I think I'll switch
to silhouette instead.
I practice my Ogham.
SAT 4 APRIL
says the clock.
It's hands joined
together in prayer.
I switch
off my mind &
float
down
stream.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Don't treat me like a child
Because I've been here for fifteen years.
These tired eyes have lived the world
And are still eager to accept more
Sights.
I have seen demise
I've lived in a death oppressed mind
A have, been in the coma of death
But resurrected no doubt
By the chemicals of hospitalised insanity.
I love the world
And by that I mean
The world does not love me back
Nothing loves me back.
But I still love
How ever human we may be
We will always be stuck down
By authority figures
Giving us, not guidelines
But detailed blueprints
On how we go by our days
Its a pain
But its life
We have to deal with it
Like how we deal with our cards
I'm not sure what you've pulled
Out of the pack
But
It doesn't compare with the bloodstained broken hearts I have.
Does it?
Like every teenager I would assume that it doesn't.
Because I reside in my mechanical mind
Powered by words sung in gritty harmony
And
You are humans
Objectifying yourself
to your preferred ***
And you shall live and die
getting over the news in a average week.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
We grew up together
Two peas in pod
You were my sidekick and I was yours
My one true platonic soulmate
So how did I let this happen?
How did I not know what was
Happening behind the four walls of your mind.
Behind the baggy sweaters that
Were suddenly "fashionable" all year round.
But if I think back carefully
Maybe I didn't miss it
Maybe I just ignored it
Ignored how when you got back from your
Summer in France the snug hoodie I gave you
Was no longer very snug
But rather hung like an ornament
On the thin frame of your body
Or how your legs began to resemble sticks
With a thigh gap most girls would die for.
Maybe I should have known the first time
You refused to eat your favourite ice cream
(chocolate mint chip) because calories!
When you told me you were in hospital
You said you were sick
But not in the way I thought you were
Because you didn't have chicken pox
Or pneumonia or bronchitis
You were sick in way that was much more twisted
You had a sickness of the mind
One that toyed with your thoughts
And messed with your sense
Until your body was wasting away.
I must admit at first I was angry
Because how could you keep this from me
I was your best friend and
You never told me your biggest secret
However then I was shocked
I could not understand
how you were in so much pain
And yet I did not know.
How had I cried for months
Proclaiming pain and suffering
That I believed no one could relate too
And yet here you were
Silently proclaiming the exact pain .
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
I'm that girl with the Australian accent
I'm the poet who writes in the corner
When the party is getting boring
You'll find me with my journal writing scribbles with my blue pen
I get easily distracted
I tend to feel fat most of the time
Sometimes I seem to lose my passion
Until I hear Ani DiFranco and my heart is set on fire
I fall in love so ******* easily
I'll see your ocean eyes and fall upon my knees
Suddenly I'll see your face on every street
Secretly hoping that one day you'll want to marry me
I'm that girl that got bullied all through school
I think that being different is a fun activity to do
I might get rejected on a regular basis
Rejects tell the most interesting stories
I'm that girl whose got bipolar and anxiety
I've been hospitalised for both of these things
I lost my faith in the mental health system
I know that no one has the decency to fix it
I'm that girl with the Australian accent
I'll always love even if I don't receive it
My best friend has always been Jesus
When I die I'll leave behind the words I write with this blue pen
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:18 AM UTC
In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!
By Phil Roberts
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Streets and highways, underground railways
bill boarded with artful warnings
your bad health is paraded
a common conversation
its all your own fault
and when you are finally hospitalised
health professionals will withhold any empathy
and silently watch you suffer the consequences.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
the rain is collecting onomatopoeia (rare
to find a word with plurality in it
misspelled in the geometric hyper-linear
onomatopoeias) -
ever think of the womaniser bred
from feminism? i know you haven't,
and i know you won't before playing
the Shelley game of test-tubes -
your ideals i'll never die for -
i'd be in the trenches during the first world war,
but your world, i don't want to be part of.
she read Huxley, he played football -
he was an outdoor kind of guy,
she was a moth rather than a butterfly,
a new breed of womanisers has spawned -
turns out my kind are the idiots -
well... hello darling, welcome to the real world.
the rain is pouring out there, god playing
piano, looking for both onomatopoeia and metaphor...
it's drain drain drip... it's hospitalised drain
drain drip and the words that encourage
the wholly vacant - the rain -
imagine the evolutionary tactic approached with
assimilation, the invisible immigrants i call them -
they're there, they always want
the dumb innocent Alexei Karamazov to marry,
but when it comes to the events via Ivan as
hidden wedlock, they want the knights of Charlemagne
to bitch-slap them silly for the crown of menopause -
i.e. what if i wasn't a woman and never wished
to be one?! freeze the ***** invoke onto me
a belittled version of ****** - you know you are neo
accomplices, and now defence from feminism will
spare you such association;
just remember why the Nazis loved science,
feminists love it too! more in the extreme -
all that's missing is the eradication of Eastern Europeans -
a fear of Russia - most feminists are in love
with the potentials of science like Nazis -
i kept my phallus in a pickle jar to prove her point
that she wanted to reign over the role of the Paraclete
as the comforter of futures to come -
god she loves the fascists - the womanisers in
feminism and the idiots that marry her -
leave her! let her utilise the full potential of a Frankenstein!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
A silent trap ensnared my life,
my head felt pulverised,
a stolen voice and lifeless limbs,
left me perplexed and paralysed.
I sat in frightened endless wait
confused and petrified.
I could not shout nor dial
for help
I simply lay and cried.
I woke, still broke, to a familiar
call,
with sense and rhyme inverted.
No indicators flashed this change,
life's path strangely diverted.
But this was not a yellow wood,
For I never had a choice.
If I had, I'd have called their names,
rather than mouth in silent voice.
They looked at me confused and shocked,
a mother disconnected.
No thoughts, could escape this shell
with mind still unaffected.
Shuttled there in flashing blue
hospitalised intervention,
with medicated urgency,
testing a failing comprehension.
But I'd lain long in darkened time,
and missed that magic hour,
the minutes gone forever,
tick-tocked in rescinded valor.
My symmetry from right to left,
had left muscle withered fading.
I felt their gentle massaged touch
too late for caressed salvation.
I've seen their hurt at losing me
or that part of me that mattered.
My life has been frozen still,
but theirs has sadly shattered
I lie here, long night and drawn out day,
moving, unfortunately assisted,
my internal struggle to communicate
leaves doubts I once existed.
The years this stroke has stolen
and drip-dried a mother's tear,
has wounded deeply, this mortal coil,
filled my tomorrows with shades of fear.
A silent trap ensnared my life,
no one could interfere,
but when you visit, please talk to me,
lest you forget, I'm still in here.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
*It was out of the blue.
Really why would he talk to me.
I am pleasantly plump.
size fourteen if I lie.
my hair is wild
and terminal frizzy.
he has a cut glass
English accent.
like a BBC newscaster.
I am from the Bronx.
we drank too much wine.
he took me home to my place.
I had to pay for the cab.
But it's not like paying for him
to...well...you know.
I could not walk the next morning.
he told me I was Beautiful and
the best time he had had in America.
me can you believe that.
He was a botanist from the UK
working on the nesting habits
of the speckle throated warbler
or something.
All I knew was he had ice blue eyes
a sweet accent and grey specks
in his blueness that made me
want to undress for him.
He was beautiful.
when he left in the morning
I gave him my number
on his phone.
call me I said.
but months went by.
not a word.
then when the morning
sickness came.
I realised he was still inside me.
The eclampsia came at seven months
I was hospitalised the doctors told me
I and the baby could die.
I went into a coma.
when. woke up my belly was flat
the baby I cried.
I opened my eyes and he was there.
holding my hand.
my baby I wept
they are fine Kelly
he said.
they?
you had twins a boy and a girl.
I looked up into his eyes
with the grey fleck's.
Micheal how?
I was sent back to the UK
I lost my job at the university.
I tried to call you
but no answer.
I came back on a visitors visa.
your neighbor told
me you were here.
six months later
we went for a Sunday evening
stroll in central park
it was fall the trees
were red and amber
leaves of gold
russeled under our feet.
new York was grey in fading light.
A city that hadwitnessed
many such love stories.
I looked at Micheal
his beautiful eyes
that held some kind
of optical aberration.
For they saw me as
worthy of his love.
He lifted the twins
over his head.
they laughed in delight.
I never seen anyone
as happy as him.
Unless you
count me in that is.
He said I love my family Kelly.
I whispered I love you Micheal.
Then at that moment
in the urban forrest of Cental park
on a vermillian autumn evening.
I felt him walk into
the door in my heart
that I left opened or him.
As he entered
I closed it quickly
so he could never leave.
locking it with the only key
that existed.
Then throwing it into the brambled
undergrowth of the woodlands
never to found again.*
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
muted pieces
scattered all across the yard
and me gazing
back upon
myself
i rose
drenched in
god’s fire
/ yours? mine? /
hospitalised
split across time
three times three times three
worn like
dead leaves
of next fall
we watched
doing nothing
to stop.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
He last called my name,
Then he could speak no more,
I have seen many deaths,
I knew he was going to die.
They hospitalised him,
To check what was wrong.
I sat by the bed praying,
He breathed fast,
In between long sighs,
His eyes were glassy,
I asked for forgiveness,
He moaned,
Nodded several times,
I began to cry,
He was with the angels,
Reliving his past.
It is coming to an end,
The beeps on the machine slow,
Tears fall from his left eye,
He gives a heavenly smile,
Looks at me lovingly,
Let go of my hand.
The machine beeps no more,
Gently I close his eyes and mouth,
Straighten his legs and hands,
He was gone peacefully.
A man of great patience and love,
He gave all and asked for nothing.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC