"malignancy" poems
I bought a cruiser bike
instead of a mountain bike
I’m a sextagenarian
not a 30-something
so every morning I pedal
to the corner across from the Ritz-Carlton and the Montage
next to the high-rent Pandemonde Café
and count the Ferraris roaring by.
I never had a Ferrari
but I did buy a ’96 Mustang once
and souped it up with a supercharger
which was around the time
my doctor took me off testosterone
because my prostate specific antigen
was way too high
You have an inoperable prostate malignancy, he said
after the biopsy
You can’t take hormone replacement anymore
It will **** you
And as I lean on my bike
depressed about missing the rush
of another boost of synthetic male hormone
I enjoy watching the Europen speedsters streak by
so proud of themselves
in cars that cost more
than my house.
I used to wish I was them
used to feel like them
when I was younger and charging hard
but now I just utter prayers
for each Lamborghini that goes by
and I say
I hope your car is faster than cancer.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I will turn your kisses into similes
kissing you is like watching a sunset; slow, and beautiful.
Don’t tell me you love me,
simply because
your words will form metaphors in my mouth
you are a thunderstorm my heart is not ready for.
Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am selfish,
every breath you take, every word you speak
*I will find a way to turn that into a composition of letters and sounds
for my own purpose.*
Don’t try to be with me,
simply because
I will try to trap you with my words
every space in my broken sentences will be filled with thoughts of you.
Stay with me,
I’ll turn your existence into a poem
stay with me,
I’ll engrave your name into my verses
stay with me,
stay with me,
stay with me,
so I don’t have to turn my heartache into a poem of sorrow once again.
I have not felt at ease with the world in a while,
but that has changed,
simply because
you are my world now
*everything I do,
I do for you.*
So this is a warning;
don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am a thief who is good with words,
*I will steal your love
and turn it into stories of malignancy and almosts.*
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
The bugles will blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
All tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking won’t stop
After Midnight
The bottom has topped
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Last palate uncleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
A star for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
The plain and the slack
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and turn
After Midnight
Lost vision relearns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—new eyes that believe
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
I am one of the lucky ones that has a high sensitivity to malignancy
I still wear it myself like a cape in the cold
but I can detect a sick person almost right away
some say that’s not very nice to say
though I’d rather know who’s a waste of my time than find out later when I’ve invested my heart & soul into the person
that’s part of what makes me a sick person,
investing myself too much in other people
and isn’t it funny
how we forget about these people that meant so much to us
once
obsession has its terminus
there are cusps a person trips off of that leave them falling,
spiralling into a new obsession or phase or life
or numbness
that’s why memory is so beautiful
even if it hurts a lot
it reminds us we are never going to be the same as we used to be
there’s something peaceful about that
though the sick find it tormenting
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
Last bugle to blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
Old tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking will stop
After Midnight
The bottom will top
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Lost palates are cleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
Two stars for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
That voice in the back
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and churn
After Midnight
Lost vision returns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—creation redeemed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
Self-loathing, in all of its malignancy, whispers
"You're worthless, just like him!"
my chest constricts, my ribs prison to a heart
that refuses to pound its percussive rhythm
The summer's dying!
the summer's dying!
and I, I am a rose
shedding my bloom in protest
the winter's passing, my only hope
Songs of exodus soon fill the air as crows ascend
painting the horizon black like an empty womb
"They always go" I whisper "They always go"
their melody haunting to those of us bound to earth
"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
bright eyes gleam, as each one sings
"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
promising freedom to those with wings
Bending low and curling inward, I lay
as my petals fall down around me
fluttering about like broken wings
migrant hearts, like theirs need open skies
so I found my freedom in the letting go
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Five four three two one,
Fire spews,
Flames violently shoot out of the golden boosters,
Cold ice breaking off the shell,
The white noise fills the air,
The ground shakes with panic,
And liftoff,
The manmade seraph lifts into the sky,
The Golden Flame forcing it further up,
We watch not with excited eyes,
But with sad hearts and long faces,
We know,
We know today is the last day this bird will fly,
We have slain an angel,
We have slain American Patriotism,
We have slain ourselves,
The Space Shuttle may just have been a chemical reaction lifting mass into the sky,
But it let us explore,
It let us discover space,
The bitter, beautiful darkness that surrounds and blankets the planet,
And now we have told her she must die,
Regressive politics turning into a malignancy against mankind,
Killing the Human spirit,
Spreading,
Cancerous tumors mark landforms on the map,
Goodbye,
My Dear Space Shuttle,
My technological love,
You always inspired me,
It's my turn now.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
The highs and lows of living life
Occur in sweeping loops
The ups and downs of everything
Are determined by the groups
Of numbers as they glide
Across a digital display,
In rendering the parabolas
Of this game of life we play.
The winning runs of business
A sweet windfall of cash
Temptation to extend that deal
Beyond …is perhaps rash;
It may just tip the balance
Commence the start of the decline
And your parabolic plunge
Will see you quailing to divine.
How you claw your way to solvency
You sweat to make it right,
How you battle tax malignancy
To surmount official might.
The administrative penchants
Of administrative types
Who insist on crossing every “T”
And switching “OUT” the lights.
Having made it, you sit astride the top
And bask in shining light.
You cast off the cloak of caution,
Claim success as yours by right.
But by morning there’s a thunderstorm
A headache and a snag,
By lunch evicted on the street
With your belongings in a bag.
The ups and downs of life my friend
Are a parabolic coast
One day you’re sitting pretty
The next day you are toast.
The only consolation
Of this constant change of state
Is the reconstructive challenge
In re-determining your fate.
So gird yourself my beauty
Hitch your belt another notch
And launch yourself at living
Before you seek that midnight watch.
For tomorrow is a mystery
The possibilities are vast
And paradoxically speaking
The very best is usually last.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
20th July 2008
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 4:55 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
Auto-annihilation is stupid,
It breaks hearts.
And ruins lives,
I hate that I was ever self-destructive,
I rue the day I became entranced
By its shadowy charisma,
While alcohol spoiled my life:
Poor Jo-Jo was right
To warn her cherished daughter
Of its insidious malignancy.
I was one of the felicitous ones
In that it didn’t entirely destroy me,
But despite its lack of glamour,
In comparison to
other more romanticised intoxicants,
It’s among the most lethiferous of drugs
That stole from me
What remained of my gorgeous youth.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
** I wrote this long ago for a friend with cancer - a small malignancy the size of a pearl in her lung. The hateful thing metastasised to her pancreas after two years in the shadows - she lost her battle last week. She was 73. She was firm friends with my mother my entire life, and her own children Isobel and Craig are like my own flesh and blood. I was unable to attend the funeral due to ill health, but she requested this poem be read out at her funeral - I'm sharing it here as a tribute to her, and I've changed names to preserve her privacy and dignity. **
This kingdom's hewn of time and words
And glances flashing over
Shadows, shapes and silhouettes
And pearls of smoke and ochre.
Rude invaders! Generals!
Who dares encroach our borders?
"Naught but pearls my princess, so
We strike! At dawn! No quarter!".
Set shoulders low and feet aplant
And curl your fingers slowly.
Your enemy is swift and lean,
Ten thousand times below you.
No mercy from a princess who
Instilled in fresh disciples
Wisdom, courage, whimsy, love and
When it's called for... rifles.
Gather muskets! Catapults!
Oh marshalls! Summon nurses!
The game's afoot and outcomes?
Well, who dwells on whom we versus?
For masses swell behind you and your
Gleaming armour guides us.
Swords aflame! We saw! We came!
Wakes of pearls behind us!
Ten years hence, one hundred, more
Louises, Davids, Andrews,
Will sing with you your victory,
Sandy Alexandrou.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
My leaves have begun to turn
from the green of photosynthesis
to that pumpkin Autumn orange
descending below October skies
landing on the lush lawn of November.
Flat grey skies of overcast.
Of rain filled clouds - stretching-
as far as the horizon line
bursting at their rolling seems
to see this season’s first thunderstorm.
Once I am bare, naked, & exposed
the snow will come in blankets
covering all signs of my yearly decay
the malignancy of once being a sapling
who sprouted an eon of Springs ago.
My arms extended in every direction
inching and reaching for a sun
that has been masked and dimmed
in acceptance of this cycle of life
this years seasonal downtime.
The first rays of a new Spring
stimulate my entire being
sprouting new buds to leaf in quantity
giving momentary hope from knowing
that I am only living for the Fall.
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 9:42 PM UTC
Stare at the universe for a little while, you’ll see
Something resembling you and me: a quite sobbing vacuity
Draining all pellucid stars of luster and bravery.
I won’t be home for the rest of my life, hard as it is to take in,
Something went missing in what never was
That all the timbers strip away at the passing years
In anger and patience that slapped me in the face
When I said I’d never be happy again. My pockets are full
Of icy penance for crimes distance and apathy revealed.
Shimmer do the walks ways in the missing parts of the night sky
Shaped, somehow, by you and every blazing heart
Is a comet to earth: ******* vibrantly a poorly strung bandage.
And every light to cross the concourse of hopeless prophesy
And my constructs of relative suffering, an oil-light suicide.
History is always-already the behest of malignancy, but it’s sweet
The protection as I’ve weaponized every interaction to be,
We could have been cause-and-effect and danced like
Idols, gods, and fools in the sky of our experience, but
The God of Small Things, I, bear down on dis-eases rejection.
Like surgery, the tiny cells bereft of the cause of blood, the cause
Of complaint, can do nothing but new hearts reject.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
looked at you for too long
and then i realized
you are human, too
fallible
uncertain
flawed
piously pined for
palatial splendor i
placed in my dreams of you,
imperfect you
and it's no ones fault
a figure headed facade
fabricated by figments
of my frivolous imagination
put you on a pedestal
made you divine
made you holy
you, the ceiling
high above my head
and i, looking up
in the sistine chapel
untouchable
untarnished
couldn't see the cracks
beneath the varnish
then, close enough to study
a faint fresco with critical eyes
fantasy faded in the fault lines
of your frowning face
looked for too long
until i realized
you were just as broken as me
a collection of shattered pieces
shrouded and shy
once a shrine
now a shriek
wide eyes on you
a sinner, still
i called you sacred
ignoring the nature of
the irreverent, the profane
liked the luster
of longing lingering
on my lips
when i breathed your name
the veil torn
the truth beheld
and you are not god
gambling grief and
gleaming gloom
thought i could be
the sun to your moon
majesty to malignancy
momentarily merciful
moreover cruel
monstrous mr monsoon
after all, human, too
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
It is in the realms of being that she ,
flutters, as if inevitable
It is she that traverses the mires of misery,
And infuses the spirits of darkness
Hope, that mistress of ill fortune,
Who deals in honey tongues and flowery words
She twists speech and engages minds
Ensnaring all in her deceit.
She is a lie.
In her absence dwells the warmth of self.
Courage comes when she flees,
For there is no fight that is fought,
Better in her absence.
No impossibility achieved in her presence.
The paths of victory, lead through
The Death of Hope.
The gusts of change leave her shattered in their wake
For when she is vanquished, defeat itself is sweet.
And when her fickle whims are laid to rest
When the constructs of her malignancy laid bare
Comes the sweet dawn of truth.
Her end leads to greater roads.
Those not of victory,but of glory
Of valour that cannot be written
In scripts of her choosing.
The last bugle shall play
The sounds of that charge shall take up our times
The fires shall burn for their sake alone.
And when we come upon that new dawn,
Hallowed in its darkness,
We shall have arrived,
At The Death of Hope.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
Pain's accretion--black snaked with royal purple--
therewith and more of, in cold case of less--
pain inexorable.
Fear's favorite pet spoilt with handling.
Pain's redemptive quality is repulsed by plain
sight, it must mobilize malignancy, purloin the
jury, condemn, palm hope to hopelessness.
Fixity--its host must remain in firm attendance.
Enough is ready...a ripened type of monologue...
the crosshairs of silence.
To grow demented from overstimulation,
breaking the same news to what needs dying.
Fetal position suffices...warm, a spinning vinyl
record scratching toward dawn.
The woodwork calls a name--as a woman hoarse...
with labor pain...rebirth.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Tinnitus is here since the first time,
The first time you had ditched me...
Oh yeah it had gotten okay temporarily,
Because you patched up momentarily.
Now I have an even stronger Vertigo,
Ever after I am of some knowledge..
How did you put up such a good act,
Why did you double cross me?
He confirmed what your mom told me,
That he had come down to your town..
Before I did, much before you knew me,
Even earlier than you stepped in my life...
I don't want to know who you cheated,
He might as well feel double-crossed.
You're right, that's your personal issue,
I am nobody to make comments on it.
Now I suspect that I have a Neuroma,
They dub it as Acoustic Neuroma.
You may ask me simply,
"What sense is that self-diagnosis?"
Well I just observed the symptoms,
***A persistent headache,
Dizziness,
Drowsiness,
Vertigo,
Tinnitus.***
The confirmatory test will be held soon,
It is not often always a malignancy,
And I will just hope for the best.
I really hope that it is not cancerous,
For that would bankrupt the family,
Cancer - that too a brain tumour...
As if I had gulped down barrels of wine,
Vertigo is as though I'm inebriated,
It is seriously very irritating.
Irritating me for long is this tinnitus,
Now vertigo has just added to them,
My miserable mysterious miseries.
But don't you worry and keep playing,
You're an excellent playgirl,
There're so many boys as toys for you.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
I’ve burnt through so many cigarettes that
my mother would be ashamed of me.
And I could blame my father
for leaving his 100’s by his wallet and keys,
giving me the nicotine for free.
What will it cost him, though?
My lungs were becoming his lungs.
It’s frightening how a vice
turns into an addiction
that turns into an idol
that turns into malignancy.
I watched him hold a lighter.
I watched him hold the cancer between his fingers.
I’m watching him turn into the ash
that fills the ash tray sitting in our backyard.
It’s funny how weak one sees another
when one has overcome a dependency.
Put down the matches,
and give your lungs a break.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Came a night without a moon, the stars were hidden too
So I began to search for light I thought I'd find in you
Follow me and trust my steps, you whispered in my ear
And soon your breathy voice became the only one I'd hear
Closer came your flesh to mine, inside your chest I hid
Away from comprehension and from all of what I did
My thoughts had run to marry yours, to make our union known
But I could not commit myself and nothing could be shown
So there I was, a part of you, malignancy within
And yet you seemed to treat me like your body's only skin
I'd stretch and clothe your heavy bones, enhance your sense of touch
To feel the burns you'd give to me if I had asked too much
And so the days would pass along, I waited just to die
For then you'd have to carve me out, remove me from your mind
And gentleness need not apply for it has long been lost
So use your mouth and finish this, I finally accost
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
Vast islands of floating debris
Following the ocean currents.
in the Northern Pacific Gyre.
Man made litter
Shaming our species.
Wasteland oasis
Covering hundreds of millions of acres
Of Ocean Blue.
Mother Earth
Polluted, Corrupted
with
a malignancy
needing
eradication.
When? When will we learn??
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 11:47 PM UTC
Malignancy burrowing
Deep down within me
Grinding the good
To a deep reddish dust,
Flailing about
I try hard to contain it
The pain is intense
But stop it I must.
Malignancy tunneling
Down through my conscience
Baring the thoughts
That I wish least to see,
Revealing the ugliness
Locked in their content
Revealing maliciousness
Portrayed in me.
Desperately trying
To hold the malignancy
Desperately trying
To stop the release,
But out through the keyhole
It flows to the atmosphere
Out to the public
Out to the police.
Malignancy laughs
As a form of appeasement
Malignancy reaches
To hold out it's hand,
Malignancy calms
My hammering heartbeat
The secret's out there
And I'm dead in the sand.
Marshalg
On a rare sick day
@theBach
9 January 2010
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
I'm too small
As small as a dot on the crumpled paper
I'm just one of thousands
Even invisible in this cruel world
Sheltered in a narrow and thin shells
Hiding behind the leaves which begin to change color
My first house
finally I was born
as something strange
I'm the ugly
My body covered with bristle
Feebly crawling along a twig
Gnaw the leaves around and make holes
Run away from the birds
Grappling with weaver ants
Makes me fell to the ground
until my bristle loss
Only worm greets
They hate me so
I could get killed, not all of them accept
until I'm stuck in another dimension
I'm the lonely hiding caterpillars
Imprisoned inside a small obsolete pouch
Trying to **** time
Struggling in the darkness to reach beauty
That's enough of this stopover
wade through the rigors of the long wait that handcuff
I was reborn
being different and they like me
Abundant happiness arrives
fly indefinitely with both my beautiful wings
I can go to wonderful place that I want
penetrate malignancy
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
The day he locked himself out is not specific, a
Monday or a Thursday, some square on some calendar
I tossed in the trash years ago.
We lived in a small white house yards off a small suburban street. I dubbed it The White House. I cannot remember how many of my holidays passed inside. It's all stuck in fog.
Some time later my mother and brother and myself moved not a quarter mile from The White House; a trailer park, owned by Aunt Charlene and her callousness. She cares deeply for my mother. I still pass The White House as I drive to my great-grandma's home, years later. It is hidden from the street, all branch and leaf and overgrowth, flora hiding its face from the cars and their people, the birds, sunlight, illumination.
My great-grandmother's eyes are thick with a knowledge I am fortunate to not possess. Great-grandma. My father's grandma. Mother told me he began to drink when Grandpa Jesse died and never managed to shelf it. I meditate on my genes. My great-grandma is 84-years on this earth. I have trouble bringing myself to talk to her.
It is so much. So fast. I am a man now—not grown, hardly seasoned, no hint of gray—of 21-years. I have not seen my father since I started smoking. I wonder, now, following all these years of silence what, exactly, we might have to say to one another. He may ask about my girlfriend: I may ask of his. Years apart, a ridged gap, and yet still a kinship, some foreign hurt deeply threading the vein.
The malignancy of feelings.
I bury my anger and let it age, whiskey soaking in the oak, cultivating a taste, a character, an identity. I cannot change this. It is my blood. I will always bear his name. He may die before me. I will always bear his name.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
You come in the light and steal our young, while they are in their silent slumber.
I have seen you break their skin asunder, with glee displaying their insides for your greedy eyes to see.
You take in the name of hunger and leave us wanton, while they are in their silent slumber.
I have seen you in all of your malignancy, for it’s your stomach our children now encumber.
You leave in the night and let us protect what is left; all the while they are in their silent slumber.
I have seen you and others, our young only help to swell your number.
Said the duck to the human.
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 2:41 AM UTC