"surgeries" poems
613 200 Hours
25 550 Days
13 Cars
11 Jobs
9 Dogs
6 Surgeries
5 Children
4 Grandchildren
3 Marriages
2 Siblings
1 Weary soul.
No regrets.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
They shaved my head
and cut me open
took my skull
and my way of coping
My life had changed
in just a moment
I can't decide
but I might wish I hadn't done it.
I can't play
or practice
I have to be careful.
If I'm not cautious
with my head
I could instantly wind up dead.
My headaches aren't gone
and I'm still dizzy
all you really took
was half my aspirations.
I hadn't much warning
just a surprise.
And when I could easily die
every day is a compromise.
More just had to be taken away
because the last 13 surgeries
hadn't changed my day to day.
It's a brand new world I'm living in
where all my dreams are limited
and they're starting to run thin.
so here you have me
and I'm crying mercy.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
They say that smell
Is your strongest sense
When tied to memory.
That just a whiff of a smell
Or even thought of a
Smell can bring you back
To a place and a time that
You had previously
Thought were left behind.
For me the smell of
Bleach is comfort, as my
Nanny used it as a
Standard, household
Cleaner. I love that smell
As well as of my favorite
Dinner, mildew (reminds me of summers spent
At camp, living out of a trunk) and
My favorite flowers
Each of these smells I
Love to revisit time and
Time again. One smell
Though has embedded
Itself in my memory and if
I have my way, I’ll never
Smell it again.
Mom had Colon cancer most
Of my time in
High school.
No clue on the stage
But it was best not
To
Ask
Surgeries, chemo, radiation, the
Whole
Nine
Things seemed to be fine,
Well, even great
Until it took a turn
My mom has never been
Skinny; she is petite, but
Normal
Suddenly she looked like
A holocaust victim
She would get quiet
Draw into herself
For periods of time
Another surgery. Fine
She returned home
And then something crept in
That something was death
And I’ll never know how I knew
You just know.
The smell of something
Dying
Isn’t pleasant
It puts you on edge
And turns your stomach
Mom was confident
That she was getting better
The smell, that can’t
Be described (dying tissue, pain
Suffering) was glaring
To me
I never asked Mom or Dad
If they could smell it
Because the smell of Death
Isn’t a sense that should
Be shared
I would just maintain that
I didn’t think
Something was right
A day or so later
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
After that last
Surgery. The smell
Left. But even now
When I think back
To that time
That complicated time of
Soccer games
Chemotherapy
Apply to college
Surgeries
The one thing in the
Foreground
Is
That
Smell
Just a whiff of death
Of human decay
Of dying
Of suffering
And I’ve had my fill
For a lifetime
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
for you, we bundle into the car,
the littlest
(half my brother and twice my nuisance)
and the middlest
(14 going on favorite)
the bitterest
(only girl and pen-in-hand)
and the biggestest
(20 years
of bombastic nonsense)
30 minutes and four cornfields later
he'll start.
"i have to ***
"there's a bottle up there, dad."
"dad, i have to ***
"dad."
"dad."
"dad."
and he's going to *** in that ******* bottle
which will inevitably stay in the car for the remaining 8 and a half hours,
sloshing and yellow
too dangerously close to the color of something
you would actually drink.
the two youngest
will get into some sort of argument
some sort of argument that i will intervene in.
"shut up!" he'll say.
"chill out!" i'll shout.
"you chill out!"
and my father and my stepmother
will eye from the front seat
until one of them turns around
("relax, madeline!" sharply).
and then the oldest
like clockwork
will act like he knows more than he does about something
(my father will just chuckle, but i'll begin, "bullsh-" i'll begin, but my stepmother will hiss,
"madeline!" as if i've killed somebody
even though the 8-year-old curses even worse than i do).
he'll make a face at me
and i'll make a face at him.
the littlest will
inevitably
stomp on my seatbelt about 30 times a second
which i will not be able to stand,
and we'll get into an argument which will turn into me
versus
the whole car
(afterwards, much stewing,
and resentfully cranking my ipod up as loud as it will go).
9 hours and 12 thousand cliff-faces later
we'll get there.
we'll make it.
we'll only be
a little worse for the wear.
we will be swept up by our twelve billion aunts
our nine billion uncles
and our three billion cousins,
like we always are.
someday something will be missing.
first it was your back,
and the postponement,
and eventual cancellation of our trip.
then it was your surgeries
(why weren't they working?)
and then it was a series of words i don't understand
stage
inoperable
3
cancerous mass
lung
malignant
radiation
therapy chemo
you may crumple in
on that blackness inside you,
that's eating you alive
one lung at a time,
pushing,
on your back,
until you can't even stand.
the fabric of our family
is plucked by this
disease.
this is my poem, my plea
for you
and for us,
that you not pull into the blackness,
and that you fight the tumors and the tests
and that you win.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
My Prize for Waiting
~
*tucked in all by myself,
resting dark and quiet
in the thin place^
where the distance between
this world and the next,
is no distance at all,
but a few inches separating,
easily fordable, back and forth-able
my palms, hands down,
come to rest on my *******
and the two thumbs in unison,
begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between,
conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point
passageway to poetic mystical places,
hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping
no hurry to either arrive or depart,
in patient attendance for
rhythms of woven word arrivistes,
coming in no particular order,
asking to be seized, greedy to be
nominated and recognized, immortalized,
as great poetry, prize worthy,
kept for all time inside others poetry chests
but in the thin place,
dream records are not kept,
hazy scraps at best retained,
a recipe for a witnessed totality,
is only a soupy reduction of a
few seconds of hazed video,
that can neither give nor get
no satisfaction
the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct
the body of the meal, the real deal,
alas, there are no prizes either
for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless
poetry scraps
the only evidence of my travels,
a flushing, blushing residual flow,
slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark
of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying,
my blush, a prize for waiting but failing,
“the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^
woe to me when returned in ignominy,
medaled in only base irony,
me and philosopher Pliny,^^^
both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius,
our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash,
but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry
so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged
burnt photographs epistles,
that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle,
insufficient to weave a flax complete
and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now,
to snag another prized piece of meaningless,
my prize for waiting
in the solitude of the thin place*
3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019
~
last nights scrap
***cease your whining,
seize your waiting,
therein is your own paid price
for the prize of inspiration***
inspired by Jean Fisher,
a real prize winning poet
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 4:26 AM UTC
Hour by hour
She checks her Insta
Posts a new picture
With a Snapchat filter
If it doesn't receive any compliments
It's not good enough
Every morsel is captured
For her followers
Praised by the likes
And screenshots
Wouldn't be seen dead
Without her makeup
Clothing
It's got to be designer
Membership at the gym
To show off her trainers
Trails through pages
Like a maniac
Can't help but compare
And want what she's got
Her house is big
Her boyfriend is handsome
Her friends are cool
Her family supportive
She needs a new car
The latest Apple product
A holiday
To an exotic location
The trolls are cruel
She can't be seen with you
Her lips too thin
Her nose too big
Searching for surgeries to fix the double chin
Without the screen
Her life is meaningless
She's addicted to social media
Depressed and anxious
Jealous and bitter
She's too deep under water
To see you trying to save her
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC
I laughed in places
Where Laughter was not asked for,
In granite market towns
Beneath refugee palm trees shivering.
Running from giant hands
That were covered in car wash fluids,
The back of children's heads imprinted
On their palms.
I laughed during disciplinary procedures,
Before authority figures
With cornflakes in their red beards
And my laughter crept over the edges of their flowerbeds
And the grass laughed with me.
I laughed at funerals,
The sounds of horses beyond the churchyard
And a messenger ran down the aisle
panting and exhausted,
He had a message for my laughter
' Quick you must come at once'.
I laughed during marital feuds,
Laughter rising out of its own body
above broken guitars and dried up bonsai,
Above all the things I said
That contradict me now.
I laughed during serious films,
The tulips drooping on top of the T.V.
The sun slumped against the door,
Behind heavy curtains
I mistook for pigs on hooks.
I laughed over exercise books,
Above algebra and history
Behind impossible bra straps
That appeared out of acne and ink flicked backs.
I laughed at the swimming pool
Hiding birthmarks like stains,
Drowning above the water saying
'I am a fish I must get back in!'.
I laughed in surgeries among migraines
and told my mother that robots were taking over,
in the same rooms where they removed my brothers' verucas
And I saw the doctors small blade
escape through the window.
I laughed during friends confessions,
In between the silences of repeated songs
While pantomime dames walked past windows
make-up running in black and yellow rain.
I'm laughing while making coffee in a campervan,
I'm laughing because its a monday morning,
Because everyone else is busy,
Because we have an oil lamp from a pound-shop
Burning beneath the sound of rain on the roof,
Because the radio's silent…..
And because sausages are best done slowly.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)
The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med
The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car
His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know
The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room
Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs
The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove
One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”
The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)
The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers
The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised
Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?
But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
Build a ***** workshop
(Where we feed on your insecurities for profit)
Don’t like what your mirror has to offer
In need of a quick fix because your size 0 jeans won’t fit
Well destroy your body like our ecosystem
With plastic to make you look fantastic
Because looking like an overstocked toy is the new ****
Change your completion until there’s nothing left
While tosh points out how you’re worthless without *******
which brings out insecurity galore
You need to be Barbie if you want
Ken and his Malibu beach house
Everyone knows you’re only worth as much as your waist line
Don’t judge a book by its cover
But my generation doesn’t even read
Photo shopped teens as far as the eye can see
Post photos
That strips away your dignity
For a spot on a that new reality TV series
Forget about the news because the kardashians bought new shoes
Mom asks So what did you learn today at school
A cool equation that the other kids taught me
My body – eating + surgery +pills= picture perfect girl
Or new American dream
Big ******* small waist, always sleeping around, never complain , don’t feel ashamed that’s the only way to play the game
How many pills did you take to look that anorexic?
Who made you feel so uncomfortable in your own skin?
How many meals did you shove down the bathroom sink?
How many surgeries did it take for you to become this fake?
The sad part is I bet you even Barbie didn't have this many plastic pieces
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Put on the old LPs tonight, Alex,
from a time long before you were born.
Top of the queue was Petula Clark
belting out Don't Give Up,
defiant as an alley cat in a street fight.
Remembered how in her heyday,
she'd been forced to conceal
the fact that she was married ---
all performers being mysteriously
virginal in those days.
Thoughts segue several years
to my time in the service and
a female lieutenant who was my OIC.
Served a 20 year career,
but never knew a finer officer.
She realized leadership was saying
the things that made you want to follow.
Just after making captain,
due to pregnancy, she was forced
to terminate her service career.
Today, women routinely travel in space,
perform extreme surgeries,
design skyscrappers;
one just might become president.
And somewhere in the tenements of NYC
a young poet spins metaphor
straight from the streets and the cosmos,
constructing a world in lines
we'd all wish to enter.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
I'm not bitter no I'm not I'm mad as hell.
Mad for all those tears you caused. Mad for all the times I couldn't be happy because of you.
Mad of all the times I had fear because of you.
Mad for all those times I couldn't be free because of you .
Mad for all those times I had to sacrifice happiness by force.
You know everytime I see you I feel rage running rampage through out my veins.
I remember my hands hitting against the wall my nails gripping the sheets my breath closing my eyes closing with tears my teeth biting my lip my throat burning .
After that I would feel ***** I would wash five times a day but still feel ***** cause what you caused didn't only destroy me physicaly it destroyed me inside and no mater what I do with the outside the inside can not be washed with soap its broken and it can't be fixed up that easily no mater how many surgeries you take.
Every morning I wake up looking at you and asking myself how you sleep at night knowing you destroyed a little girl .
Knowing you killed something that was in a girl so beautiful and turned it something ugly.
You ruined me destroyed me and left me there know I'm left on my on to fix up the mess.
But no I'm not bitter I'm Mad as hEll...
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
When you were five
Your mom told you you could do anything
That you could reach new heights
That the stars were just a mile marker
Your life was just beginning
That you were unstoppable
My pep talk was a little different
You see no matter how high my heart soared
My body was scarred
My mamma said you can walk today
That sitting up won't feel as bad today
That the scar down my back was my beauty mark
That one day it may even be my trademark
Well that might be true mamma but i don't need a trademark i need a childhood
One full of sticky fingers and princess stickers
One of training wheels and a smile made of orange peels
To say i never had these things would be a lie
I've seen disney
I've had a mud fight and said you missed me
But through every laugh through every smile i had the hospital on speed dial
After 15 surgeries and about as many years my life began to change
Because with every scalpel
And even more taxing battles
My body became mine again
After three months of hospital jello
And promises of it will get better tomorrow
My legs finally belonged to me
When i said zig they didn't say zag
When my foot hit the floor i didn't wanna burst open like a chip bag
It's been 12 years since my life truly began
Everytime i walk in the room i hear the choirs of angels singing
Because I walked into a room
When i think about my life
I'm not clinging to a maybe
All that pain is nothing but a memory
But i will not forget my journey
I will never walk a straight line
Or run a marathon
But there are some things that i will do
I will be sure my past does not define me
I will not be ashamed of my disability
I will tell the world my story
Cerebral Palsy is not a disease
When you walk down the street and see me there is no need to flea
No you will not feel sorry for me
Cerebral Palsy is not a burden
It's a challenge
IT is a struggle
But it is one i happily will carry because this is who i am
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
You were born better than me for now
More prepared, your skin smoother, even,
Your black boots that look like
They’ve been licked by junkies
Your oil-eyes are able to divide the images
T.V. orange and a tangerine
One is not the other
When I will seep inside the hole in you head
I’ll pick and pull to get you
Really get you
Before your full mouth moves
I’ll nod and tell you
Quiet quiet, I know I know
I am an idiot, I run scared
I hide in cars, I cry at celebrity gossip
The red carpet is the ****** scene
Your tongue rolls the same way
Unrolls, let’s the stars fall out
Then rolls, let’s me disappear inside
I hate myself
I reach for better thing than the sky
I grab your hand in mine and I reach for
Toy monsters
For romances written by wine and fuck-buddies
For meaningless problems
For music carved in plastic
I let you unguide me, undo the zipper, unbreak my glasses, the ones that are tiny mirrors
But then you speak
And it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen
So
I make surgeries on myself like a night-doctor
I build a tree house in a pear tree that you can’t see
Yes, that’s me buried up to my head in your yard
Yes, that’s me telling strangers I am dying of sadness and lack of substance
Yes, that’s me trying to fit in your head
Yes, this is me setting myself on fire wearing nothing but your black boots
I win.
Keep ignoring me
I write better poetry (and we all know I hate poetry)
La. La. La. La.
The cursed and fated prince had prophesies, I’ve got soap operas
I’ve got night and nights of blank, blank, ****
I’ve got a freezer-burnt heart
And pictures of you drinking neon drinks
I’ve got the dichotomy and pungent mixture of art and **** of God found in the gutter
You’re drinking anti-freeze aren’t you?
That would mean so much if you were
Keep ignoring me
I’ll send you my hands when you’re done with them
They won’t work
But you can touch yourself with them
They will be gray
Paint them red
A red that can’t wash off.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 9:55 AM UTC
I am getting older
and my body is in tatters
My Doctor's say, "You're fine, You're fit"
I think they're mad as hatters
Each day a new pain rears it's head
My body falls apart
My Doctor's say, "You're fine, You're fit"
As they listen to my heart
My bladder's my new stop watch
Each night I rise to ***
I get up once at half past ten
And then just after three
I'm cold and then I'm sweating
Sometimes both in one breath
It makes me feel I'm crazy
It's a slow, nervewracking death
My knees ache every morning
And my hips pop as I walk
I have to work my jawbones
Just so I can start to talk
I've had surgeries on my body
Just to help me stay alive
I can't see where I am going
I'm can no longer go and drive
But, my Doctors say I'm healthy
They say I'm healthy as a horse
But isn't "Flicka" served in restaurants?
His flesh is now a new main course
I use a cane when I go walking
I have a seat to go upstairs
I wear a wig when I'm in public
I seem to dress myself in layers
I need a pill to wake myself up
I need another so I sleep
But because my bladder's my new stopwatch
I never go to sleep too deep
Today I'm going to get tested
To check the hearing in one ear
Please excuse me for a moment
What was that you said my dear?
Now my Doctor's keep insisting
That there's nothing wrong with me
Like I said, I think I'm crazy
They're the nuts and I'm the tree.
they've got me tricked out special
I've got orthotics and a cane
My bursititis hurts like crazy
And I think it's gonna rain
My oxygen tank is empty
And my voiding bag is not
But I'm still having those flashes
I still feel cold and hot
With the bag I sleep much better
I don't get up twice to ***
But it wasn't fun last birthday
Having a colostomy
But, my Doctor's say Don't Worry
Your'e as fit as fit can be
But I tell them it's distressing
For I'm not yet thirty three
I'm sick of always hurting
Each day more vigor do I lose
But today I am excited
I'm getting velcro for my shoes
I think some exercise might help me
With all my aches and all my pains
It may help me to feel younger
Feel like thirty two again
But my Doctors, Oh my Doctors
Say there's nothing wrong at all
It's just a natural part of aging
It's mother nature come to call
But I know, I 'm getting older
and it's just a part of life
I'm just glad I have a drug plan
To help me with this strife
Now, my O2 tank is full now
And I've got a buzzing in my head
That means my battery is running low
So...Goodnight...I'm off to bed...
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
If 20 plus years ago I had 2020 vision
Into the future would I make the same decision?
I married you feeling this could not be wrong
With 2020 vision would our love last long?
3 years into our life you chose another
I pleaded and begged while you stayed with your mother
You chose me because I fought with all my might
and stayed with me again, I got to hold you at night
If I had 2020 sight of what would take place
Would I do it again if that couldn’t be erased?
8 years in we said hello to our baby girl
It changed our hearts she is a pearl
She was perfect there is no other I would pick
Little did we know that our little one was so sick
If I had 2020 sight of what would happen
Would I change any of my actions?
11 years in we said hello to another
Our hearts expanded we wanted to smother
If I had 2020 sight then
Would I do it again?
20 years in you were diagnosed with cancer
5 surgeries later and chemo was the answer
Holding you hand while they pumped it in your veins
Crying with you as your hair fell out clogging the drain
2020 sight into the future would I still do this?
All the pain I could then miss.
Now it is the year 2020
My pain I’m feeling plenty
Knocking me to my knees
Because you said you no longer love me
A cut that cannot ever be sutured
If I had 2020 vision into the future
Would I do it again?
If you knew me then you would not have to guess
My answer to all of it is unequivocally yes
Defective Words
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 12:47 AM UTC
Momma gave birth to a dark skinned baby girl,
She said go out there baby and conquer the world…
With that in mind, little Suzie went off to school,
She paid attention and learned the golden rule…
At 9 years old, teacher asked Suzie what she'd like to be,
Oh that's easy miss, I will work in the bank on Market Street
Child please! With that tar skin and ***** hair?
Ha! You just might give the customers a scare!
Heart broken Suzie went home and told her mom,
She had many questions about where she came from…
Is something wrong with the colour of my skin?
Why is it so hard for me to fit in?
At 18 years old Suzie went out to see the world,
Wow! You're pretty! For a little black girl…
Enough is enough! I am proud of the colour of my skin,
It's obvious that you want to go where I have been…
Don't say my black isn't beautiful, when you spend hours in a tanning booth,
Don't say my black isn't beautiful, when you know I speak the truth…
The curl of my lips, and the curve of my hips, many of you desire,
So with many surgeries, and doctor visits, my image you try to acquire...
Afraid to see and admit how beautiful my chocolate skin is,
they try to brainwash me into believing that I am not His…
You're too dark, or she's too light,
Just look at her! Her complexion isn't right…
Now my brothers and sisters are trying to look like you,
Using chemicals and creams to lighten their colour that's true…
What more do you want of us?
About our thick curly hair you make a fuss…
Making relaxers and extensions for us to use,
Who can I call because this is abuse!
You seem to be very insecure,
That is why my chocolate skin you cannot ignore…
Tired seeing us on the cover of Vogue?
I bet you'd prefer if I were a rogue…
Stop beating down on the colour of my skin,
And try to know the person that is within…
Black, white, pink or blue,
My colour should not matter to you…
My black is beautiful and of it I am proud,
So I will stand tall with my head up and declare it loud…
My black is beautiful and I love every part,
And whether you agree or not, I am a work of art…
My black is beautiful, I just want you to know,
That I will wear it proudly wherever I go!
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
1.
My head itches with lice
that **** on my XY blood
and with each pierce of the scalp
anchor down the long strands of hair
that cascade down my back and fall
in my face and betray my boy-like
interior.
2.
I watch you and how you know who you are,
as you talk of hormone therapy and chest binders
or bras and wigs and make-up and dresses, and I
begin to cry because you know who you are,
even if the rest of the world does not.
3.
I want to cut my hair,
but I'm afraid my face is just too ugly
to have locks that fall to my ears,
that even short hair won't solve my problems,
won't have the cashier at the drug store call me
"sir".
4.
I'm scared of surgeries,
surgeries that would leave faint scars
beneath my ******* and allow me to walk
down a beach in trunk and a bare toned chest.
I have my binder but I will never be completely flat.
5.
I think the reason I am so scared
of cutting away the girl in me
is because I do not know
if there is really a boy inside.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
the island’s delineating shape is not its realized limitations,
nor a redoubtable defense
against the elements or invaders of the mind
the skin of the land welcomes tides and waves
as gentil lickings,
a seductress’s first caressing volley enticing, firing
but calming
even when the crashing contemptible violent contretemps come,
the winter’s stormy wrath or hurricane tongue lashings of the fall,
partially forgiven for its forced renewal,
but only,
but only so much
the island - my home,
is not a prison but a happy imposition,
its restrictions make inward looking, mirroring, front facing,
a truthfulness demanding,
our self-exploratory word surgeries are precious, precision treks,
required to survive, then revive, declaim,
then exclaim
we are island folk and though our island's firmament defined,
it's poetry
is ever unlimited
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
To be truthful, I have never understood why
So many of us have crave to look this way
Tell me that this really is not what we
Consider to be beautiful, but in fact
I think it looks rather sickening
Someone please tell me
why such a need
and urgency
to be shaped as this?
I don’t understand why
An empty stomach is worth such a
Thin waist, and thousands of money on
Transplants and surgeries are of such high
Value to you. Do you feel beautiful? Do you
Feel accepted in society? Because this is shaped like
This and this is shaped like that? Howcome you allow yourself
To fall to such conformism in a society that makes you need to be
Molded in a certain way; I think that the only curves you need to worry
About is the one on your face. Smile and I promise you that it will be more
Beautiful and worthy than such a rotten shape that you work too hard to preserve
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
*The unexpected snow, disruptive,
in ways more burdensome,
than mere fender benders and
swapping travelogue commutation miseries
ah, the tv reporters regale
with snow tales, human fails,
but where do you hear
of the children
burnt once by fire
then again, now,
again!
burnt by snow.
here, hear, listen here
technology moves forward,
grafting new shells of skin
on burnt children,
but tonite you're cozy thinking
of your valentine's heart,
not of the little ones,
whose hearts are unprotected,
by what we take so for granted
beneath our protective gloves and coats, scarfs and boots,
our prophylactic human skin,
theirs, fire ravaged,
now re-hazardous,
by southern snows burning
these children hurt,
unexpectedly,
cannot play in the snow that came so
unexpectedly,
lest it burn them worse*
"in the children's burn unit, postponed all surgeries except 'emergency'. Two days of outpatient clinic patients forced to reschedule,. That then, postpones their surgeries, second step grafting, etc. Our vents ran smoothly I heard via the generators, unlike last outage. We had to ambulance each individual patient.
I dread going in tomorrow but small comfort,
it will be warmer than my cold home."
Life first, poetry second
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Don’t have the riches of kings or even high priced CEOs
Nor the prestige that comes along with such titles
Just blessed with the wealth of wisdom so vital
Don’t have the physique of Hercules or a chiseled athlete
Nor the pack of six that embodies the adored waist
Just blessed with the muscle of fiber so ace
Don’t have the sleekness of Benz or even a speedy Porsche
Nor the glamor featured in the technology apparent
Just blessed with the motor of drive so inherent
Don’t have the smoothness of tongue or even a gabby gift
Nor the trance of words to influence the willful soul
Just blessed with the arrow of intent so bold
Don’t have the weapons of stars or even enhanced surgeries
Nor the practice that transforms them into *** beings
Just blessed with the device of a mind so keen
Don’t have the face of models or even fabled knights
Nor the ability to rescue the day with super might
Just blessed with the courage to do what’s right.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Chocolate Gemstone
You are my powerful *** drug. My love tears reality into pieces and shows the true reality, where only the dimension of eternal love and eternal happiness. Wild exotic without control passion of love feelings, there is simply no place to get hotter, this reality is very hot when your hot body passes by me, because you are in excess of beautiful and lovely. Only you need me in this universe, looking at you, I begin to moan to myself from pleasure becauce you makes me so ***** It seems that you have survived hundreds and even thousands of plastic surgeries, but no, this is absolutely natural highest beauty, the goddess of men's hearts, the eternal queen of all subscribers, all my attention is only for you.
When you touch me I shudder with happiness. You are my chocolate gemstone of love and *** Charging me with an eternal source of love and ***** fascinating with its unique universal beauty, and I again and again, again and again, I thirst for *** only with you, we have a sweet, romantic melodrama. You have a very exciting chocolate skin, I would ride you on my love rocket, would take you to the endless depths of the highest cosmos of *******
*** with you is the highest paradise of the highest universes of pleasure, which are strengthened only with you billions of times, my brain explodes every time you kiss me with your juicy, the sweetest lips, the soul flies out of the body and dances at this moment from happiness, my mind is completely immersed in spiritual pleasure, it is as if turned off. There is nothing more gigantic and powerful than my endless and eternal love and excitement, only you rule there. Your skin glitters like black latex seduction, VIP Queen of my sweet dreams. The kingdom of eternally fabulous romance, I give you the crown of the master of my romantic ****** fantasies. My love echoes in my future lives where I will only dream of you, my highest ideal, my idol, my *** totem for worship, I idolize your forms, your body is the highest peak of ****** aesthetics, there is no greater and higher enjoyment than to look at you on your body, nothing is more interesting than you. Looking at you, I see how the perfect girl should look like. Whatever you do with your appearance it makes you even sexier in my eyes.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
We are rain, we are tears;
we're the condensation
on your beer mug.
And we form,
and fall,
and feel forgotten
some times.
From heaven, to earth,
and back again,
we take trillions of tiny journeys—
assemble in sheets,
hover in mists/
trickle, splatter, pelt without mercy/
quietly collect and freeze/
loud as the sea, softer than the whisper
of death—easy to deflect and shatter,
with power to carve canyons.
From shoulders we
vault to elbows,
dance down arms,
scurry between legs,
squish between toes,
hurry down the drain
linger on linoleum
when you pad away
from the shower,
trailing steam down
a sweaty hallway—
to where he lays motionless,
breathing sunny
solstice dust
in a closet-sized room.
“Better”?
“Oh, much. And thanks for the towel, too”.
II.
Everything about you was flat.
I knew your hair was blonde
but also something else—
not dishwater
or *****
or even unclean—
“flat” was the only word that fit.
Flat as your face,
your chest,
the bottoms of your shoes,
and not a whole lot less scarred.
Flat as your eyes—
such eyes as I’d never seen;
not always awake—
hunting/wanting/sharp
like a scavenger’s
yet full of blind spots,
placed there by the drug
to impede self-perception—
and wantonly green.
I knew only your name.
You hung with Jim, haunting Mother’s—
just two junkies bumming change.
I was amazed you managed to survive.
House rule was
never trust a ******
but home alone,
in too much pain to care,
I let you take a shower,
borrow my towel.
We compared spinal surgeries;
vinyl siding on childhood homes;
monsters and movies;
fruits we didn’t like;
a nod to new music/
put on your red shoes and dance the blues
then places we’d go
when our ship came in;
the greasiness of the sun outside;
the final indignity of death—
anything but our lives just then.
From summer cotton to suddenly nothing—
no memory of how or why.
You spurned my offer
of a cigarette after
with a gesture so shy
and self-conscious
I felt myself growing
suspicious—then alarmed, confused,
and finally, amused
at my own lack of observation.
You weren’t hiding anything.
You just didn’t want
me to see you
as begging.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC
I once had a twisted spine,
But my curved back is now aligned.
With bolted screws and titanium rods,
I was lucky enough to beat the odds.
I went through not 1, but 2 surgeries.
At the best hospital in the world Children's Mercy.
I couldn't have imagined what I would have done,
If I didn't go to your hospital which I say is #1.
For what they do for kids like me,
Who have a curve of 44 degrees.
Thank you,
because my back wouldn't even have 1 *****
They told me your a survivor Ms. Zaiser.
I said I wouldn't have been if it wasn't for people like you doing things that most people wouldn't even do out of the blue.
Words can't describe how lucky am I
Even though the pain was so bad I had tears in my eyes as I cried.
Asking why can't I just say goodbye and die!
But on June 9th, 2013 is when my recovery was finally over,
I knew I would never again have uneven shoulders.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC