"neuropathy" poems
My bones are shattered porcelains
And Dr Frankenstein is recreating
My body from the toes up
I have more screws than tarsals
More plates than fibulas
More scars than cracked paint on derelict homes
Greens, yellows, blues, blacks and purple
Dye my leg in splendid hues
Plaster decorates my toes and pokes under my knees
Pins and needles tingle constantly
But these are made of steel as well as
Peripheral neuropathy
My hospital discharge form
Reads like poetry
Displaced tibea
Goes on adventure and brings back
Swollen instead of souvenirs
And crushed ligaments as testament
To broken steps they have fallen on
Perhaps it is not as profound as sunsets or romance
But I am finding beauty in pain
Intricacies in injury
And the limits of my creativity
To distract from nightmares
Of how this happened
And to drown out the hungry goblins
Deep in my guts demanding opiates
Like drunken teenagers
They loot my stash and trash my viscera
Legal or not I'm still a ******
Writing poetry rather than sleeping-
Confronting demons with stanzas.
Over screams I am armed with the arsenals
Of metaphor, personification and symbolism
Whatever the pain, my posse of poetry and prose
Has always got my back
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls
this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.
I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******
Give me another hit
buffer my pain.
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.
It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.
This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.
Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.
Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside
I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.
my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.
There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy
but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy fucks,
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--
But when you check out,
please donate.
Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
The man who sleeps in the diner's back booth
will not care if your mother suffers from
plantar diabetic neuropathy, or that your
cousin read **** and gulps *****
No, trivial matters will not worry him
because he ****** himself dormant
after he awakens, that will be
his primary concern.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
Mabel is breathing....
no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
life for others.
No one needs her.
She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
So no people remember her, I will!
I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
ode to Mabel
Mabel is breathing....
no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
life for others.
No one needs her.
She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
no one remembers her. I will!
I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
Chances are, you have to do a 'search', then order one on line. If you're under 60 years of age, you probably never heard of it, anyway.
Walking in to a pharmacy, or drug store, asking a young clerk, who is in their late teens, or early twenties, or even 40's to 50's, knowing very well what their reponse will be before you ask the question, becomes'comical', seeing the puzzled expression on their faces, especially when the companies web site indicates the store has it "in stock. A"simple little tool", inexpensive, but to some, of which I am one, 'priceless.' It can relieve a huge amount of frustration in seconds, put a smile on your face, make your day "bright" again, saves time, can help prevent being late for appointments, and it has been around for centuries, long before the 'zipper' was invented. Approximately eight inches long, solid handle, with a curved wire tip, two and a quarter inches in length. I introduce you, to,"The Button Hook!", Tah-Dah!
This "simple little tool" is used by many who are afflicted with such maladies, as arthritis, or have neuropathy issues in their hands, making it difficult to button a shirt, pants, etc. Just insert the wire end through the buttonhole, loop it around the button, pull it through.
Some tools have a 'hook' on the opposite end of the handle, to help pull shoelaces through the eyelets.
I realize this is not a poem, but there are many on the site in my age range that may have similar issues, or perhaps physical issues due to injury or illness. Just wanted to pass this on to you.(I posted a photo on my Facebook timeline.)
richard riddle 06-06-2016
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
I walked with Colby,
he never walked with me
His spirit to guide us,
his love in the lead
We circled the globe
a time and a half
His tail was my compass
to guide us steadfast
In all kinds of weather
we stuck to the trail
Under sunshine and rain
our forays prevailed
In May of last year
he collapsed on our walk
And with valor he tried
but his body would balk
Its been downhill since then
with him not knowing why
The knowing inside me
his neuropathy slide
I knew it was coming
as he struggled to stay
And he fought till the end
on this very sad day
As I looked in his eyes
for the last final time
Willing to give up my life
for his health to revive
The fates were against us
his clock had run out
The pain in his parting
—the joy I’m without
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November 9th, 2018)
‘Today, I lost The Best Friend I Ever Had’
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
Abilifuck
My soul was set inflamed
pinched nerves i thought i was dreaming
i took the neuropathy less travelled
this turned out to be bad
bipolar affective disorder BAD
But now (thanks doc)
I have the Abilify to do anything I want
I've made a Paxil to myself
to be as sane as I can be
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC