An Ultimate Reality Check Limerick 1.1

When the time comes for the mind to ponder
Afterlife and what’s “over yonder,”

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Acrostic Poem – CHEMO

To rid the body of cancer’s nasty stuff, they pump it full of even nastier stuff…
Giving new insight into the expression, “Pick your poison.”

What Comes Before Silence

Death is not bitter
death is a silence
But dying is bitter.
Dying is hard.
With you,
it was the sound.

It was like drowning,
no detail spared,
in slow motion…

with metastases of cancer
that filled the lungs
and grew, sending out
ghastly spawn to live in bone

And So It Begins

And so it begins, again,
that urge to shrink from
the cool touch of machines;
the hushed offices,
the looks of concern,
the competent compassion.
Maddening, imprecise precision–
“the blood test found something, we
need to do more tests…..
something’s there
on her scans…”
a blurry, thicker patch there,
spots on bone, lung, breast, too.

Shortsighted Downfall

Inoperable:
The spread of Climate’s cancer,
While men still suck cigs.

My Heart Hurts

 

The last few years have been strangely visited by the passing of so many friends, their parents, their spouses, their children, their best lifelong friends. When you go through such a loss it helps knowing you have friends, family, and God to turn to when the pain is overwhelming and just too much to bear.  However, there are many lonely nights where it is just you and God, sharing the burden of loss.

My Heart Hurts

Waking up this morning with life’s plans rolling along.

With children, family, and friends in their places where they belong.

Hearing that my cousin has cancer drove me to my knees in pain.

My friend called to say her granddaughter has a tumor on her brain.

Closet Closure

I searched for me

in the mangled remains

of my preciously rebellious hair,

Down gushing streams

of silent pain,

Cancer of the Soul

I see me now,
And reflect on a time when
Once lost ,
Needing to be found again

I see those years,
Just a walk on part
On the stage
Of my life
In a house I occupied,
But where I did not
Live
In a bed I slept,
But did not
Dream

not for real, but what else do you call it?

He gave love a name
and tucked skeletons
under the stairs to rust.

Using too-big words
in order to taste asphalt
was almost as cancerous
as saccharine rhetoric.

cancer haiku — triplet

was it spring, or is each moment all we have?

cancer – haiku

somethings happen in the past, but one doesn’t forget…

tastebuds

A poem for those who have gone through radiation for cancer…
I wrote it some months ago…