"underwent" poems
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
THATS WHERE MY LIFE CHANGED
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.
So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.
I’M A SURVIVOR and I’VE MADE IT....
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
She also underwent breast reduction surgery in 1992, and has said on the subject:
"I really love my body and the way it is right now. There's something very awkward about women and their ******* because men look at them so much. When they're huge, you become very self-conscious. Your back hurts. You find that whatever you wear, you look heavy in. It's uncomfortable. I've learned something, though, about ******* through my years of pondering and pontificating, and that is:
Men love them, and I love that."
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Everything has a connection,
for it continues with a punctuation,
as you wish for some clarification,
end up with water, that underwent dehydration,
that thinks of the beautification,
you lose time that has division,
you want to go on a integration,
but end up with encapsulation.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish， Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.
But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.
She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.
The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.
For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.
"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."
The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.
Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.
"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."
Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.
In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.
"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Dearly departed, we are gathered here today
To gaze in quiet wonder at the beauty of the grave
To remark in awe and gander at the body that here lies
And to spy the stiffened cheekbones beneath her sunken eyes
How pretty can a smile be when placed upon her corpse
While the fruit she has brought us leaks at life's divorce
But the truth is not a tragedy that we have underwent
And timing is imperfect, but in our breast is evident
So let us gather here to celebrate the Joyus Chorus' call
Let's join our hands to embrace the death of one and all
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Since I've loved you dear,
Brain underwent change,
To a sentimental piece of junk,
With two halves constituting it,
All brains have two 1/2s,
And my brain is strange.
There's nothing right in the left half of my brain,
And there's nothing left in the right half of my brain,
Yes, ever since me having loved you my lovely dear.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Providing you survive the drive inside the suicide lane,
The inane objections of several secular seconds will both drive you insane and tame the frame of irrational sanity,
Which stripped away the man in me,
And grabbed my sleeve convincingly to lament the angry laugh of free...
Enterprise; do I comprise of many lies,
As you do?
A gift or prize; yes I surmise the former plays no voodoo.
Like the latter,
Piter pater, I ask exactly, "Do you,"
Truly
care
to know...
If existence is but chatter in a blankness with no matter,
And no welcome mat to meet the merry-minded Happy Hatter's
Dash to seek that ****** infatuation with the sadder shift of anger which,
Shook the sheets to show off that the banker is an actor,
Who washes
Shame
Away
In calm, hot showers.
What empowerment.
We underwent the chance event,
Which supplemented discontent with the rich and single one percent,
How kind it was of him to lend,
His hand,
For both of mine.
What malcontent.
We thought dissent would overthrow the circus tent,
Which represented forced consent with the oppressed by blissful fraudulence
Remaining 99 percent.
Peasants, plebeians, proletariat;
We poke the U.N. Secretariat,
To ask again,
"Are we there yet?"
"Are we there yet?"
And silence is how were always met.
We drop it, trust they won't forget,
About us, suffering cold sweats;
As we fear unwanted debt,
They won't forget,
They won't forget,
They won't forget
About us.
Yet competition takes it place,
And twists that sympathetic face,
To grab a poor man's knowledge base,
To ask him,
"What do
I gain
from assisting
The likes
Of you?"
The poor man bellows, "you're poor too!
Like those who can't afford shampoo.
You can't afford my point of view,
It risks a loss that's overdue,
And money makes you misconstrue,
Existence."
And if existence is but chatter in a blankness with no matter,
And no welcome mat to meet the merry-minded Happy Hatter's
Dash to seek that ****** infatuation with the sadder shift of anger which,
Shook the sheets to show off that the banker is an actor;
He forgot the human aspect should always be the biggest factor,
On his spreadsheets as he calculates productivity's next chapter;
What empowerment.
We underwent the chance event,
Which supplemented discontent with the rich and single one percent,
How kind it was of him to lend,
His hand,
For both of mine.
This isn't right.
I question fines,
And wonder, where's the kindness?
What happened to our kindred spirits?
Did we leave all that behind us?
Is money truly all we want,
And happiness put second?
The future is unwritten,
So follow me;
Expect resistance.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
I have a heart full of cement
Solid... Permanent
I've sang your lament over and over again
But every song has the same intent
Like something permanent.
I regret not having a patent on your scent,
Or the way your teeth are bent or broken.
Like at some point a decent person
Had a cruel accident
But, against your jaw
..........A fists descent...
...To punish you..........
And forever augment that one percent of you.
I don't know the intent of the event
But, I do know you underwent some hell
To get to me, in our present
But, that doesn't matter my gent
My denouement is becoming distant
...you are here...
And there you went.
But, our two souls are water and powder
We create cement...
Permanent
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
T-Treading with a very measured gait
I-Inviting his balancing pole to equate
G-Grounding each foot at precise rate
H-Holding a toe grip by a sheerest fate
T-Tensile cable he doth easily intimidate
R-Reckons he'll get to the other end secure
O-Overcoming the snare of the floors lure
P-Plying skills which shall always endure
E-Elevated at a height where the air is pure
W-Wowing the audience seated in the tent
A-Applause he garners for his amazing event
L-Lightly he takes his final steps of torment
K-Kisses thrown at the walker who is spent
E-Elation he now feels and so very content
R- Risk and great pressure he underwent
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
the words fluttered,
swung, swept, swooshed,
bemoaned, bereaved, bedazzled,
leapt, lauded, littered,
hovered, heckled, hiccuped,
made U-turns, took deep dips,
underwent saucy somersaults,
played like notes,
acted like songs,
usurped as oaths,
humbled as prayers,
slaughtered as killers,
punctuated, presided, presumed,
abetted, adhered, attacked
while the paper endured all with love.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 7:50 AM UTC
If a man screams at the top of his lungs
He is making is opinion known
If a woman screams at the top of her lungs
She is hysterical
For a woman will never be able to have her opinion known
Because if she screams
She is crazy
But if a man screams
It is normal and that he has the right to be heard
While a woman must be silenced and should not be loud
Sit like a lady and keep your mouth quiet.
Even if you underwent a traumatic event,
No one will believe you so just don't scream
You are a hysterical woman
He is a kind soul who would never touch a woman if she didn't want it.
All this evidence adds up in our minds but in theirs, she is HYSTERICAL.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
During the day and all night long
I am hearing a very peculiar song.
There's unstruck music much like an infinite melody
resonating inside my head; an enchanting symphony.
It has no real tune or beat which one can recognise
only by hearing it then as all else is a compromise.
In silence and solitude it's usually heard without end
an invisible companion and sweetly sounding friend.
If one is listening intently and endeavours to get to its source,
can hear one finer sound inside another, which is not by force.
Who can rightly say from where it comes and where it does go?
perhaps only a true mystic has the knowledge or ability to show.
With practical wisdom and a clear spiritual insight
by his grace and advice can lead one into the light.
Until, at last, reaching that inclusive shore of infinite silence
which the experience of there being is a permanent abidance.
Could this be the long lost legendary music of the spheres?
that few people of times past underwent the trouble to hear.
And when it’s continually heard confers many an untold blessing
the likes of which most people now would not even be guessing.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 7:11 AM UTC
It seems I’ve always been dyslexic
But, I really didn’t know.
I just discovered this about myself
About a year ago.
It was a matter of some bedevilment
To deal with left and right
Up and down, on and off, and more
Excepting day and night.
Opposites like yes or no, black or white,
Were never easy or fun.
Then the days of computers came along
With their trials of zero and one.
It’s a basic lack of understanding things
At a minimal kind of level.
It always seemed I was forever lost
Between the sea and the devil.
I began to realize how deep the effect
Ran within my learning curve.
It was more than just a simple matter
Of which way I would swerve
When riding a bike or driving a car;
I could never drive in Kent.
I would invariably choose the wrong way
When the road was forked or bent.
I don’t take any of this in any light way,
It helps me to understand
Having problems in my studies long ago,
To piece together strand by strand
The insults and the teasing I underwent
When I made the wrong choices.
I can now put to rest my sense of doubt
That stems from chiding voices.
It was such a subtle thing, and back then,
In the methods of long ago,
The parents and the teachers muddled on
Because they really didn’t know
That many of us were not ignoramuses
We just had an uphill fight
We had a dilemma in equal opposites
Like in and out or left and right.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
I hardly journey there anymore.
Those ruins are far and distant,
Far and distant, and black and grey.
Relics are moon rocks in the frozen landscape.
The grand façade of the pantheon has
Crumbled into sand. I could crush it all into
Dust beneath my heel.
The mind itself is an eye, a camera obscura,
Lit not by the moon—
That old pinged marble—
Over whose surface I skim in my tiny submarine.
The lunar scene fills my vision,
Film noir.
I spy the cold garden. In the heart of it
Gleams the litter of my chicken bones.
My cowardice the wicked reminder,
Consequence of the role I performed
For the impassive audience. I underwent
A sea change in the theatre of their minds.
On some other plane
Holy voyeurs peer through spyglass,
Seeking to undress the celestial paramour.
Such delicious vacancy—
**** statue in an arena of eyes,
Gristle picked clean by vultures.
The air is ****** dry. Cold stars
Abound in the black sky.
Smeared ink the lingering impression,
Smudged thumbprint.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC
The clock is ticking
...
And it's time
...It's time
It's time that we get our act together
And disengage ourselves from the miseducation and disorientation
That we have been suffering from for quite some time now.
I'm tired
... I'm tired
I'm tired of witnessing the sentences of the corrupted minds chained up to face the consequences of their crimes
By trading in their freedom
Trading in their wisdom
For wasted time
I'm sighing
...I'm sighing
I'm sighing because me and my people are blinded by the quote on quote finest
Presuming to purchase from producers
Why are we only consumers?
Just followers of every mindless introducer who is on the screen rhyming steadily binding our youth's futures
I'm crying
...I'm crying
I'm crying for the losses of our precious souls, our beautiful smiles that are buried beneath the ground
By a repetitive loud sound
Coming out of another hand that is brown
I find it
... I find it
I find it aggravating that the colored brother and sister are becoming further and further lacerated
Just because me and my brothers underwent emasculation doesn't mean that we should stall on our sisters complete emancipation
LOVE HER and free her from all agitation
These are our mothers and the foundations of our nation
I'm reminded
... I'm reminded
I'm reminded of our history, our lengthy history which to most of us is a mystery
Way before Arabs, Europeans, Hispanics, and American Natives got creative and began to enslave us.
Before our spirits became diminished by religion
We valued family, tradition, education, productivity, ownership, land, earth and everything that take part in a birth
Most importantly we valued LOVE
So I'm dying
... I'm dying
I'm dying because we are so reliant and dependent on someone who is much more different and much less interested
Our declension is their intentions
But when we see the illusion on the television
We see a little succession
Why is it that we can easily make the team or get in the studio to sing
But to become a businessmen is not quite our thing?
I'm dying
Because we all just living a dream
A dream that was once our reality
I'm dying
Because we are all asleep
I'm dying
Because we are afraid to wake up
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
there was a lot of love
in this decade
the people joined
a peace parade
the air was filled
with an upbeat atmosphere
the flower children
were on a higher sphere
tunes started to sound
like they'd been set free
the musicians weren't
bound by a formalized key
fashion underwent
a considerable change
whereupon the beaded
look wasn't so strange
may these scant clues
aid all of you
in finding what decade
I'm taking you to
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC
Mr Torbay was a shape shifter
the electorate were to find out
over his years of representing us
he shifted shape on two occasions
on his being elected
to council
he wore the hat of a labor man
when he got elected
to a our state seat
the hat he had
upon his head
was that of an independent
as the geography
of the political landscape
did change
Mr Torbay also underwent
a shape shifting change
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
The original dream
Shared a vision of happiness,
Harmonious circumstances
Character witnesses to a life,
That flowed unerringly
Across a landscape
Of perfection.
Then came the descendants;
Other dreams,
Where illusions were introduced
And the landscape underwent
Subtle changes,
Twists and turns
Seemingly random, chaotic eddies
Fractal logic prevailing;
The dream deviated
Always pushing and swelling
At the edge of
Its ever-expanding territory.
Standing anywhere along that edge
One can see a little more or less
Of the horizon
Than at any other position,
Equilateral sight
Into the possibilities
Of the future,
And looking back
A seemingly random path,
And though chaotic
It clearly made sense,
At each individual instant.
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 2:41 AM UTC
Tis not in commitment
To love that warrants beauty,
For fickle a girl beauty is indeed, not to be bent
By sorrow and pain filled gazers and dandies,
Eyes gleaming in fleeting hope, without sense,
That their smiles, enwrapped and dependent,
Will have recompense
By her gaze, resplendent,
And perhaps, if in good favor,
Have admiration bestowed on them amorously.
But nay, beauty is a fickle girl. Alas, we love her.
So as the breeze sings melancholy,
And the leaves reflect her lips of flame,
As milky clouds remind of her skin,
When her hair is night, dark and sleek, putting others to shame,
Filled with expectation
And apparitions of loveliness,
I think of the sweet longing,
Hoping for the moment not to pass.
The sweet longing
I loved then,
For a moment,
Lingering in the agony of emotion,
In a short eternity that I underwent.
I then found beauty.
But then the lights were no longer low,
The emotions, so resplendent in ardor, escaped me.
The façade was gone after the show.
Nay tis not in commitment to serve
Love that hold beauty.
Tis in the memory of nerve,
Tumultuous as a stormy sea.
Tis in the very slow-grown enthrallment
Of her melodious voice.
Tis in the memory of through what my heart went
When I told it to her by my choice.
When I told how it was stolen by her raven hair,
By her star-drenched skin,
By her cherry lips at which I’d stare,
And the voice so in apprehension, rife with emotion from within.
Tis not in the resolution itself
Of intricate harmonies and dissonances,
So pleasing to the ear in their discord and wealth,
But in the expectations and resonances
Of this ecstasy,
That resides beauty,
Which is why I told her my love and melancholy,
Letting her forget, and proceeding to flee.
For the wonderful nostalgic memory
Of the shortness of breath,
Would by intimacy,
Certainly be put to death.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:11 PM UTC
Byron underwent
Stent implants
For a few
Ailing arteries.
He soon waxed on
About his people
On the other side.
Friends and fans
And family
To kiss and greet
When he arrives.
I know he'll die
Of a broken heart
When he doesn't
Wake up alive,
He won't consider,
Instead,
That he won't
Wake up dead.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
she have to die a thousand deaths,
for people to laugh a thousand smile.
she have to bleed a liter of blood,
for her name to be remembered.
so never underestimate poets and their poetry,
for they have to underwent direst of circumstances,
to be solely accepted.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
If you asked me a year ago I would've told
You that meeting him was as accurate
As there being a second planet earth.
I would've told you all about
How much I doubted my worth.
Presented you with elaborate detail
On my fathers affair
My views on life
And why love is never fair.
A year ago you would've found me wrapped up
In the lies I'd been told
Came across the girl who's
Heart was once warm
And thus turned cold.
Who I was then
Is not who I am now
Because when I wake up
I'm no longer alone
I finally started picking up my phone.
You'll come across the girl from years ago
Sher underwent a recovery
Like never before.
Aided by his touch
And healed by his love
She became his priority
Knowing her healing was a must.
So now if you look
I'll be in his arms
Curled up in this newfound love
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Blood tinged with the taste of iron
As it follows the ridges that
Move the fluid like aqueducts, and
Deposit it into my mouth.
I let it pool and sit like stagnant water
Until I spit and paint the canvas
A mosaic of Crimson Red that represents
All the hours that you spent
Drenched in sweat from all the rounds commenced
Never overwhelmed by what you underwent
This red’s respect, across from me
A nodding head with arms and legs, and
He bleeds like me.
Inside these ropes we are all silent poets
Unspoken codes and a violent
Calm devotion to only speak with
Measured fists and feints.
Inner pain hidden behind punch combinations
Like a writer hides his heart behind a metaphor.
You never see the crowd all circled round
Like a pack of laser focused vultures
Looking for scraps of skin to feed
Some inner need to watch a warrior bleed.
They root for me, as long as I stand tall upon my feet, but
A buckled knee creates a switch of scenes,
Now they scream and plea for him to finish me.
I list as if this ring sits
Atop a ship hit broadside by rogue waves, but
A fighter hides his pain within a flame
Kept deep inside a hanging lantern
That adorns his heart and keeps him standing.
Now he moves with clenched fists
To man the sails and turn the ship, and
Aim it right at his, because if your drowning
You know **** well he is coming with
Body shots placed straight under his ribs
Now he sinks quick, gasping for air
Afloat on hope alone, searching for a beacon
To lead him from the deep end, but
He heads for the cliffs at the end of your fist, and
Your shoreline is his jawline
He washes up stiff, rinsed out and spit
Like the blood on your lips.
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 2:28 PM UTC