"neurosurgeon" poems - Hello Poetry

They print their lives on a price tag, Those big fat numbers, All they do is brag. My daughter’s a neurosurgeon, Graduated from Johns Hopkins, Saving lives by the hundreds. My son a number-crunching accountant, A career that keeps his wallet thick, And his pockets filled. They wonder what I do, I tell them I work with words. They gasp, Eyes widen. I tell them that, I can count the spaces between adjacent letters in a word, String words together to build a sentence, Layer each sentence above another like bricks, Place a single powerful mark of punctuation in between, The glue that holds the bricks intact and forms a wall. A wall of stanzas, Connected by commas and semicolons. A wall of paragraphs, Big enough to block numbers out. Because words fill souls while numbers fill pockets. Words are immeasurable. Infinite.

0

Nov 8, 2018

Nov 8, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC

imajingation

Numbers

They print their lives on a price tag, Those big fat numbers, All they do is brag. My daughter’s a neurosurgeon, Graduated from Johns Hopkins, Saving lives by the hundreds. My son a number-crunching accountant, A career that keeps his wallet thick, And his pockets filled. They wonder what I do, I tell them I work with words. They gasp, Eyes widen. I tell them that, I can count the spaces between adjacent letters in a word, String words together to build a sentence, Layer each sentence above another like bricks, Place a single powerful mark of punctuation in between, The glue that holds the bricks intact and forms a wall. A wall of stanzas, Connected by commas and semicolons. A wall of paragraphs, Big enough to block numbers out. Because words fill souls while numbers fill pockets. Words are immeasurable. Infinite.

26

….concerning my adventures in Hell, as others have spoken of theirs in Heaven, and of the extrapolations thereof… 1 All right, you guys I mean even neurosurgeons are telling us now how real is Heaven They’ve been there and back so I guess you’d believe me (just me an irreverent poet) if I told you there’s Hell for I’ve been there and catapulted back: I mean trust me, guys 2 So in my nights I was there in Hell and the Red Master said: “You’ve got a choice, buddy to determine your eternity” Well I knew straight away I was in Big **** Should have read my Big Book when I was on Planet Earth 3 Red Master showed me a room where the inmates were up to their necks in **** and I said: “No, I’ll give this the miss” And so Red Master showed me the next room where the inmates were in **** to their noses and I said, “Pass…let’s move on to the last ” And sure enough the third room was comfy – the inmates were up to their knees in **** and each enjoying a cup of coffee And I told the Red Master I could live with this but then the Red Master screamed at the inmates there: “ All Right, you pigs! Break Time over! Back on your heads in your **** 4 And it was then I was shot back to Earth and so whether Heaven or Hell Neurosurgeon or Poet you can be certain now Heaven and Hell exist – One for the Wise, one for the Fool It’s your call, buddy - Big Book or Big ****

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Nov 26, 2012

Nov 26, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC

raj-arumugam

CONCERNING my ADVENTURES in HELL

….concerning my adventures in Hell, as others have spoken of theirs in Heaven, and of the extrapolations thereof… 1 All right, you guys I mean even neurosurgeons are telling us now how real is Heaven They’ve been there and back so I guess you’d believe me (just me an irreverent poet) if I told you there’s Hell for I’ve been there and catapulted back: I mean trust me, guys 2 So in my nights I was there in Hell and the Red Master said: “You’ve got a choice, buddy to determine your eternity” Well I knew straight away I was in Big **** Should have read my Big Book when I was on Planet Earth 3 Red Master showed me a room where the inmates were up to their necks in **** and I said: “No, I’ll give this the miss” And so Red Master showed me the next room where the inmates were in **** to their noses and I said, “Pass…let’s move on to the last ” And sure enough the third room was comfy – the inmates were up to their knees in **** and each enjoying a cup of coffee And I told the Red Master I could live with this but then the Red Master screamed at the inmates there: “ All Right, you pigs! Break Time over! Back on your heads in your **** 4 And it was then I was shot back to Earth and so whether Heaven or Hell Neurosurgeon or Poet you can be certain now Heaven and Hell exist – One for the Wise, one for the Fool It’s your call, buddy - Big Book or Big ****

46

I am alright is what I say even when I have flashbacks everyday of the intimidating looking paramedic carrying me into the ambulance car as if I’m shattered porcelain. We’re alright is what my mom says even when she leaves the house she constantly calls and when we aren’t in the same room she repeats “Kelly? Just making sure you’re alright”. I am alright is what I say even when I have to look away when the clock strikes 9:27 am because that’s when everything suddenly went black and then spotted white. We’re alright is what my mom says, a single parent paying MRI scans, emergency room bills, antiseizure medication, the neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the epileptic neurosurgeon, without a cent from my father, and her worry lines are piercingly more clear to me. Does anyone really wanna hear the truth? I rub my fingers across my head imagining ripping out the millions of neurons lighting paths across my brain. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I’ve kept my mouth shut because it’s polite but I want to tell everyone who’s pretending to be my friend because they feel sorry for me to **** off because my health is none of their business. It all catches up to me when I sit in the hallway at Cincinnati Children’s and I watch kids with tubes down their noses and needles in their arms and think to myself: I can’t be one of them, can I? This can’t be real, can it? But I guess I’m alright. The meds make me feel foggy, like I’m somewhere between awake and asleep. Where my mind feels like it fell through a trapdoor and into a vacuum. If it was up to me I wouldn’t leave the house. The only places I feel safe are in the nurses office or in between the 4 walls of a hospital with my mom holding my hand. That’s what seizures do. Turn an 18 year old girl into a 5 year old, wanting to run in a closet and slam the door so nobody has to see it happen again. No going down stairs alone, no locking the door when showering, no getting drunk at parties, no driving, no living your life. So you wonder if I’m alright? If alright means seeing my mom cry for the first time in years, if alright means sleeping 3 hours a night, if alright means having to rely on others because I can’t do anything by myself.. Maybe I’m tired of lying. Maybe I’m not alright.

0

Mar 20, 2015

Mar 20, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC

kelly-nolan

Untitled

I am alright is what I say even when I have flashbacks everyday of the intimidating looking paramedic carrying me into the ambulance car as if I’m shattered porcelain. We’re alright is what my mom says even when she leaves the house she constantly calls and when we aren’t in the same room she repeats “Kelly? Just making sure you’re alright”. I am alright is what I say even when I have to look away when the clock strikes 9:27 am because that’s when everything suddenly went black and then spotted white. We’re alright is what my mom says, a single parent paying MRI scans, emergency room bills, antiseizure medication, the neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the epileptic neurosurgeon, without a cent from my father, and her worry lines are piercingly more clear to me. Does anyone really wanna hear the truth? I rub my fingers across my head imagining ripping out the millions of neurons lighting paths across my brain. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I’ve kept my mouth shut because it’s polite but I want to tell everyone who’s pretending to be my friend because they feel sorry for me to **** off because my health is none of their business. It all catches up to me when I sit in the hallway at Cincinnati Children’s and I watch kids with tubes down their noses and needles in their arms and think to myself: I can’t be one of them, can I? This can’t be real, can it? But I guess I’m alright. The meds make me feel foggy, like I’m somewhere between awake and asleep. Where my mind feels like it fell through a trapdoor and into a vacuum. If it was up to me I wouldn’t leave the house. The only places I feel safe are in the nurses office or in between the 4 walls of a hospital with my mom holding my hand. That’s what seizures do. Turn an 18 year old girl into a 5 year old, wanting to run in a closet and slam the door so nobody has to see it happen again. No going down stairs alone, no locking the door when showering, no getting drunk at parties, no driving, no living your life. So you wonder if I’m alright? If alright means seeing my mom cry for the first time in years, if alright means sleeping 3 hours a night, if alright means having to rely on others because I can’t do anything by myself.. Maybe I’m tired of lying. Maybe I’m not alright.

23

xvii. my dear neurosurgeon failed to find my eyes, he only looked at my mouth, my left jaw, whine a little, and gave me analgesic - i f orgot what's the na me - that replaced my f ace with the mo on. it's moon face. still present until this very moment just because my body wants to remember. i maintain my diet like there's no tomorrow but actually there is & boy did it grace my stomach with a crying gift, an angel's tears, an angel lives near the volcano everything turns sour. i wasn't hurting at that time. now i am. turning not only my face to the moon, my whole body is the moon, even my fingers are the moon but they are the crater part so when i touch a boy he disappears - when i touch a girl i disappear. i've never wanted to be a boy, only some nights i am so fragile i become masculine. it's not that i've never felt feminine, i do, every time i am catcalled i do, every time my father kisses me like a jewel i do, every time my brother treats me like a marionette i do, every time i'm seen as angry i swear i do. my mother is angry all the time but that doesn't do anything about her womanhood - her husband still sees her as a good, and yes, the eyes of a man are like the sun, nothing at all like mine. my eyes are the only part of me that is not the moon, that is pluto. i've been to so many doctors i am very sure it's not the minds nor the medicines. it's funny that my dear neurosurgeon didn't even graze my skin - the only time a knife tore my epidermis open it was a slim box cutter. i've been to so many doctors, i am very sure.

0

Jul 16, 2016

Jul 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC

Pea

fragment :: We aspire to be anonymous

xvii. my dear neurosurgeon failed to find my eyes, he only looked at my mouth, my left jaw, whine a little, and gave me analgesic - i f orgot what's the na me - that replaced my f ace with the mo on. it's moon face. still present until this very moment just because my body wants to remember. i maintain my diet like there's no tomorrow but actually there is & boy did it grace my stomach with a crying gift, an angel's tears, an angel lives near the volcano everything turns sour. i wasn't hurting at that time. now i am. turning not only my face to the moon, my whole body is the moon, even my fingers are the moon but they are the crater part so when i touch a boy he disappears - when i touch a girl i disappear. i've never wanted to be a boy, only some nights i am so fragile i become masculine. it's not that i've never felt feminine, i do, every time i am catcalled i do, every time my father kisses me like a jewel i do, every time my brother treats me like a marionette i do, every time i'm seen as angry i swear i do. my mother is angry all the time but that doesn't do anything about her womanhood - her husband still sees her as a good, and yes, the eyes of a man are like the sun, nothing at all like mine. my eyes are the only part of me that is not the moon, that is pluto. i've been to so many doctors i am very sure it's not the minds nor the medicines. it's funny that my dear neurosurgeon didn't even graze my skin - the only time a knife tore my epidermis open it was a slim box cutter. i've been to so many doctors, i am very sure.

62

You're never home Sometimes I like it I really do like it You don't feel like my dad You feel like a visiter That thinks he has authority The fact that I'm more scared of My neurosurgeon than you What kind of father are you? You make me hurt More than is needed By you being gone You never talking to me I've gotten to the point that I don't even like you You are ruining my life

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Feb 3, 2015

Feb 3, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC

hopeless-wonderland

Father

You're never home Sometimes I like it I really do like it You don't feel like my dad You feel like a visiter That thinks he has authority The fact that I'm more scared of My neurosurgeon than you What kind of father are you? You make me hurt More than is needed By you being gone You never talking to me I've gotten to the point that I don't even like you You are ruining my life

16

@JEANCARLO_OCHOSI Poetical medical references my chest caves every time you step in for a kiss because your breath stinks and I love the taste switch pace lips laced with venom my style gets in her, feel my tongue with fur as she purrs. My words are whirl winds my girlfriend makes me mix my nerves with syrup and stir them, the neurosurgeon to fix your lifestyle when it worsens I'm cursing enemies who can't read and see the allegory it's like I got actual ghost to write for me. Shall I commit to this anthropomorphic story? Constantly transforming to any animal is definitely possible do not doubt me because I will never doubt you.

0

May 13, 2015

May 13, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC

Ahchosi

Jude Your Breath Really Does Stink

@JEANCARLO_OCHOSI Poetical medical references my chest caves every time you step in for a kiss because your breath stinks and I love the taste switch pace lips laced with venom my style gets in her, feel my tongue with fur as she purrs. My words are whirl winds my girlfriend makes me mix my nerves with syrup and stir them, the neurosurgeon to fix your lifestyle when it worsens I'm cursing enemies who can't read and see the allegory it's like I got actual ghost to write for me. Shall I commit to this anthropomorphic story? Constantly transforming to any animal is definitely possible do not doubt me because I will never doubt you.

1

today, my darling wife meets a neurosurgeon it turns out the herniation of a disk is pressing on the spine causing numbness, discomfort, and potentially paralysis… unable to focus or concentrate I find myself meditating on worst case scenarios perhaps the sullen poet in me has been waiting for tangible crisis – brooding dude in a foul mood not enough sick time to make the trip I sit in an office thinking about interstate travel doctors office magazines and the sterile smell of the smaller, more important waiting room void of reading material but full of fun tongue depressors and knobs and dials on the blood pressure cuff – Inmates surround my tiny desk asking questions about their degree path inquiring about next term’s schedule and can I print for them… all the while I am not even in my body… instead I float hovering near the mental image of my wife alone in a waiting room calmly reading US Weekly while the fate of the next 40 years of our lives lays on a MRI on a desk in an office –

0

Aug 19, 2015

Aug 19, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC

s-lyman-temple

reality dose....

today, my darling wife meets a neurosurgeon it turns out the herniation of a disk is pressing on the spine causing numbness, discomfort, and potentially paralysis… unable to focus or concentrate I find myself meditating on worst case scenarios perhaps the sullen poet in me has been waiting for tangible crisis – brooding dude in a foul mood not enough sick time to make the trip I sit in an office thinking about interstate travel doctors office magazines and the sterile smell of the smaller, more important waiting room void of reading material but full of fun tongue depressors and knobs and dials on the blood pressure cuff – Inmates surround my tiny desk asking questions about their degree path inquiring about next term’s schedule and can I print for them… all the while I am not even in my body… instead I float hovering near the mental image of my wife alone in a waiting room calmly reading US Weekly while the fate of the next 40 years of our lives lays on a MRI on a desk in an office –

33