I suck at dying poems
Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,
Hair falling out in the shower poems
And I told a half truth
When I told you I could write you one
In less than six months (It's been eight)
I apologize for being so late
I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful
Like those ribbons
I see all over the internet
Filled with cheesy generic rhymes
That read like a Hallmark audition
But already my metaphors are melting
And my similes are getting soft
I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off
When I went to Google
And the typed in the word 'happy'
Three billion links came up
Not a single inference to
Breast cancer, hair loss
No redirects to mastectomies
Yahoo wasn't any kinder
The only thing research could teach me
Is that a good day on chemo
Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black
And has no blood in it
Or when your urine
Smells better on Wednesday
Than it did on Tuesday
Sleeping less than 12 hours
When 24 would be better
America has more poets
Than it does alcoholics
And Pot smokers combined
And you chose me to be
Your Breast Cancer
Trusting me to write a poem
About the biggest battle in your life
So I refuse to finish this poem
Without something bright and hopeful
And don't think
I didn't notice your Facebook activity
Had decreased by 88%
In the last three months
And you aren't really
Coming to any more of my poetry shows
Ever again. Are you??
But we still have March, April
But even if you had one breast
Or no breast
Or if you had less hair than I do
I promise to look only in your eyes
And never ever even notice
Or even think about it
And never for a moment
Would I feel sorry for you
Yes I suck at lying too...
But I don't suck at loving you
Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning
With no Cancer at all
And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside
Your bedroom window...
And I would be right there with you
Holding your hand while we look down on Paris
And you can impress me with your French again
And if I ever make it
To the Pulitzer Poetry board
I might lose a thousand points
Just for this poem alone
And my hopes for the prize will be smitten
And some old person
With white hair will say
That was the worst love poem ever written
In twenty four hours life can drastically change.....
One moment blissfully happy walking on cloud nine
Thinking life is beautiful and wonderful, oh so divine
Then something happens that fills you with despair
Feels like you have been sent to hell without a prayer
Maybe doctors tells you have some incurable disease
Up to the heavens you look, reciting desperate pleas
Or you have cancer and you must battle for your life
It is like being stabbed in the gut with an invisible knife
You find out the one you adore, no longer loves you
The life your shared together is suddenly bid adieu
Or you lose a loved one, death causes so much pain
Barely holding self together, trying not to go insane
In twenty four hours life can drastically change.....
One moment living a life filled with sorrow and strife
Questioning your fate and the purpose of your life
Then somethings happens that fills you full of hope
A glimmer of an incline instead of a downward slope
Your disease is treatable, quality of life still intact
You decide to fight with all you got, stop being attacked
Your cancer has gone into remission, life is yours once more
You promise to live each moment fully, like you never did before
A person enters your life and shows you what love truly is about
This special love will last forever, this you know without a doubt
A newborn enters your life whom you cherish and adore
The unconditional love of a child, no one could ask for more.
In twenty four hours life can drastically change.....
It's how you chose to deal with life curves is what really matters
Try to be positive and not let negative thoughts rip you into shatters
Find the courage and the strength to face each day anew
Everyone has hurdles that their trying to live through
Their is always someone that is far worse off than you
Let family and friends help hold you together like glue
Remember you matter to those that hold you dear
Have faith and hope, don't let yourself succumb in fear
Don't dwell on yesterdays sorrows, for you can't change the past
Tomorrow is beyond our control and comes without being asked
Live for today and deal with each battle as they come
For your life is the last thing you should abstain from!
It’s true that I have cancer
Not true that it has me
For I choose to live my life
As full as it can be
It’s true they did some cutting
To get the cancer out
But I’m still fighting cancer
And it is quite a bout
It’s true that I’ll do chemo
And chemo makes you sick
While chemo kills the cancer
That’s not what makes me tick
For me, it’s love of family
My daughter and my wife
And I’ll have a brand new grandchild
And that – to me – is life
Each moment that I’m living
My love for them grows strong
And loving equals living
That’s what keeps me going on
So it’s true that I have cancer
Not true that it has me
And like a wise man said once
The truth shall set you free.
The one thing in life we all strive to be is equal in every degree,
And I think everyone should have the same rights, don’t you agree?
We can all be equal but we cannot all be the same,
There is a difference and you can’t hold other people responsible are try to point the blame.
Certain things that have happened should be buried and forgot,
Otherwise it is like a cancer that will eat at you till you rot.
We all need forgiveness in our lives and truly that is the key,
Without forgiveness none of us are free!
The next step is compassion and kindness,
Show love instead of hate, helpfulness instead of hurtfulness might be a way out of this mess!
Teach respect and honor, not bigotry and greed,
Then maybe God will water and nurture that seed.
God made each and every one of us and I don’t think this squabbling He had in mind,
So we should all bury the hatchet and live for tomorrow, for yesterday is already one day behind.
morning chemo -
She removes from her smooth head
a long pink scarf
pretty pink roses
near her hospital bed. . . .
the blush on her cheeks
homecoming time -
on all her neighbor’s trees. . .
Dedicated to Suzanne Somers, a beautiful and famous cancer survivor
(I honestly and thankfully can’t think of someone personally that I know
of who is close to me, who died of breast cancer. I probably know some
survivors who are acquaintances of mine.)
I cried for them this afternoon
Knew them since the matinee started
Saw them fall in love
At first sight, the world stopped
Everything was silent at the sight of it
They looked and were lovers
Later that day on their knees
Repeating vows that till today
They saw only in throw away plays
I cried for them, their lost love
But not for mother whose long life ended
By the Yankee Sluggers creeping disease
What was there to cry about?
As the blue ice calved from glacier slabs
Creased iron plates, made orphans, widows
And most aboard but not me or my mother
Or the yet unborn twice told tale
Tony was told she died, frantic with fear
He called out for her but got Chino instead
Saw her running to him, delirious with fear and joy
He got a bullet instead, tearing threw his back
Breaking his heart in half he fell into her arms
She covered his face with kisses and tears
And I too wept again for what could have been
What should have been for mother, died without my tears
For I knew not how to give!
Instead to those I gave tears so freely
But I knew them since the matinee started
Who cried for my three brothers
Charley, like Marley dragged his chains around
And spent a life time sawing them off, Michael who fell
From heaven one day, curly hair and welcoming smile
Orphaned by mother who just gave him away
Brain dead one day in June, the rest followed six months to the day
Brother Tom, large lonesome eyes never saw what the world wondered. Water boarded at age five, he left and never returned
Last month got cancer and died exactly one month later.
I cried today for the matinee lovers,
When I should have cried for them.
A Happy Cancer
By: Noel N. Villarosa
Sadness invades a glowing life
Agitation of what comes next after the fact
The beginning of all ends in cancer’s strife
Life to death, we fear of the day to be exact
But there are chances to replace the peril
To yield oneself to the power of God’s glory
We live each day to the fate of going until
Hiatus for sometime and serve the hospice as another journey
A chance to mingle with relatives and friends
And share happy moments to tide over hardship
A chance to smile and express the beauty at its ends
And show positive outlook to thwart phantom of death
A chance to join the crusade to search for the cure
To talk and comfort other cancer patients
Bring back juvenile act to escape discomposure
And live with someone by your side to listen
Don’t wait but give a fight to survive
There is treatment by enduring chemotherapy
Or take the chance of trying other alternatives
Rather than living in the shadow of sympathy
Travel to places to meet your pleasure
Explore and challenge oneself to new horizon
That will give you space for new treasure
To prove your will that you can still join the marathon
Be inspired by the testimony of others
That there’s a chance to alter gloomy to glory
And if by heart, they live to stay another year
Let them be called not a survivors, but a cancer conquerors
In their smile we can see the triumph by winning each day
A happy cancer
Written and posted also in voicesnet.com poetry site: 24 November 2009
As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.
As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.
I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.
I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.
And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.
And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.
He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.
And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.
Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.
She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.
I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.
I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.
The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.
Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;
But we still all cry,
Somber tears all fall in one big wave
crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.
I can feel the freezing fright and fear rattling in the marrow of my bones;
It immerses me.
I can feel the vexing uncertainty shrouding me like a black cloud;
It swallows me.
I can feel the baleful worry surrounding me like a pack of ravenous wolves;
It encircles me.
I can feel the awful dread welling and swelling up in me like a violent maelstrom;
It envelops me.
I can feel the cumbersome woe strangling me like a constricting python;
It entangles me.
I can feel the taxing stress crashing and breaking like tsunami waves on the shores of my mind;
It besets me.
I can feel the agonizing anguish beating my beleaguered soul to a bloody pulp;
It besieges me.
I can feel the terrible torment fomenting an emotional breakdown and upheaval;
It encompasses me.
I can feel the perplexing pain plaguing my heart with rancorous delight;
It inundates me.
I can feel the damnable distress torture every fiber of my being;
It binds me.
But I can also feel the wondrous spirit of Hope rising inside me like a spring of faith;
It strengthens me.
*Written for my dad who is now battling kidney cancer. All thoughts, prayers, good
vibes and well-wishes are sincerely appreciated. Thank you <3 ~Chan
On The Road Back
Serious illness instructs its victims
In the miracle of the normal life.
Spend time starting over on things you never think of,
And a new appreciation dawns
For the marvel of Being-in-the-World.
Crisis finally ended, they move me down
So I may eat like a human again and gain the strength
To walk geriatrically about the ward
Creepingly, yet exulting in my newfound freedom
From the Sargasso Sea of lines that bound me for so long.
Soon they would send me home
To where Gulliver's god asserts his primacy.
There is in every life that question never asked aloud,
Yet waits for its whisper in misfortune's ear:
Why go on?
Why the trouble of going on
When we know all things, after all,
Make an end of themselves?
What purpose served when Summer's light gives way again
To Winter's dark, itself to give way once more
Before the furious blooms of Spring,
This cycling of changes running blindly 'round
'Til all together, when at last we're called away from being
Will soon enough leave not even faint memory
That ever we, or they, had been?
Why go on,
When all are orphaned in the end,
When in due time Time itself will cease to march
When even God may wonder
To what end He set it all in motion for,
Leaving only an original Mystery
To occupy Forever?
Yet still all things contrive to persevere, especially ourselves,
Despite our cursed knowledge of Finality,
Knowing that none shall escape eclipsion,
But sensing that the weight
Of whatever we have made of our lives
Will add its dram of meaning
When the sum of it all is balanced together
In the great equation of existence.
We go on for the honor of going on,
Because there is no road back
And the bridges burn themselves behind us as we go.
The going is its own meaning
Because all moments matter to those they happen to,
Are defined by those they happen to -
And in the happening
Each soul makes its bright flash in the infinite dark,
Illumines itself in silent declaration
That it once was, and dared to be,
Despite the vanishing that follows.
When all is said and over,
It's perhaps best we measure ourselves
Against the blazing stars and wheeling galaxies
To find that we come out the larger
Than they in all their magnificence,
In our tiny, burning brilliance.