Best Kidneys Poems
Twas the night before Christmas and I was a gasp
at the rumors that filled me with an odious fright.
For Santa Claus was now tired of working for free
and would be harvesting organs well into the night.
He would be looking for kidneys, livers and hearts
as well as others too numerous to mention.
All this was designed to lower his cost of production
and help his Elves with their healthcare and pension.
The reporters reported the disheartening news
that dear Santa had put an end to holiday cheer.
And to lock all our windows and batten the doors
to prevent a Christmas which could end only in tears.
Now the Media's record of telling the truth
was often wrong and extremely spotty at best.
So I had faith in Saint Nick and his message of hope
and would not give in to the lies they address.
So I fell into slumber to awake Christmas morning
and put my trust in the jolly old Elf.
But awoke latter that night when the stomping of hooves
caused several books to fall from the shelf.
Quickly grabbing a candle... I flew down the stairs
to see my tree laden with presents and toys.
As dear Santa had come through with his usual flair
and my trepidation turned to wonder and joy.
So I opened a window and peered through the night
and spotted the old Elf at the head of his sleigh.
I heard him yell from afar as he drove out of sight,
'You should rest in bed for most of the day.'
I pondered his point... unsure what he meant
as my body began to shimmy and shiver.
And as sure as the bells that would ring Christmas morn...
that fat bastard had taken half of my liver.
So as I lay in the bed and considered my stress
and the reason for my tension and plight.
But put it aside... when I realized by giving an organ
I put the spirit of Christmas in a more favorable light.
The End
Night before Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Date: Nov 29/2019
‘Hey stomach,’ says anus,
‘Would you cut the crap.’
“It’s not me,’ stomach says;
‘I won’t take the wrap.
It’s what they’re eating,
So blame teeth and mouth.
I’m innocent,’ says stomach,
‘For that filth down south.’
Brain has a good laugh
At organ expenses,
By prodding infighting
Over false offenses.
‘Are you kidding me,
You two dumb kidneys.
Always a teamed pair
For a fight that’s not fair!’
Roared livid liver
Who was hardly pleased,
That they blamed him
For the smelly feces.
‘Oh stop it now, liver
Just sit there and filter.
We said no such thing;
Don’t get out of kilter.’
‘Tee-he-he,’ laughs brain.
My plan’s working well,
To keep each organ
At odds over a smell,
That they have no power
To change or repair,
And since they can’t think
They’ll stay unaware.’
Hands and mouth kept
Eating junk by the hour.
Having been brainwashed,
They blindly devour.
Long ago brain trained eyes
To focus on the news,
Now it was time for all
Parts, to pay ‘their’ dues.
Bones pipe up, and say,
‘Something doesn’t feel right,
Hey muscles loosen up;
Why do you squeeze so tight?’
Muscles answer and say,
‘Colon and intestines
Are the guilty squeezers,
Causing congestion.
I’m just doing my part
At the request of the brain.’
‘But muscles,’ says bones,
‘It’s causing me pain.’
And after a while
Brain has all body parts,
At odds with themselves;
Over endless bad farts.
Organs, blood, and guts
Could not get along;
They once did their jobs
Keeping the body strong.
But brain has the answer,
‘Let’s vote on what to do.
Either I run the show,
Or you deal with bad poo!’
Yes, brain got them quibbling
And each held a grudge.
All based on false info
That made brain, ‘King Judge’.
So each part gave in
To that sneaky design,
And waited for orders
From brain to assign.
But brain was a liar
And steered organs wrong.
The body collapsed;
It didn’t take long.
Just like brain, most statesmen,
Fool us like we’re tarts.
Let’s not die for their lies,
But stay whole, not apart.
As I see it there is no cure
Meds can help that's for sure
But meds can make things alot worse
Mental health is a real bad curse
The meds will help you sleep at night
Or even help you fight or flight
The effects may damage your internal store
Kidneys livers even more
I know this at first hand
So join me on this awareness stand
I stand here totally med free
Trying to think rationally
Its about trapped memories
We must search for the keys
The only way to rid this fear
Process the memory shed a tear
To process the memory we must go back
Get the processor back on track
Its a complex piece of machinery
It's called the brain can't you see
They talk of trauma and incidents
Put it in the box sounds magnificent
The filing cabinet is over flowing
PTSD just keeps on growing
So relax and ground yourself
Another winner in mental health
Do this and return from hell
Use sight,touch, sound and even smell
Bring yourself out of the dark place
Look around for the friendly face
Open up and talk it through
This victory does belong to you
Many types of help out there
A lot of family and friends do care
Don't try to fight it on your own
The black dog has just grown
Try the doctors or self refer
You need help that's for sure
Once in the system your tool box is bigger
Hit the black dog with the big yellow digger
He will never totally disappear
You will be stronger have no fear
When he raises his ugly head
Your strength will put him back to bed
I am referring to therapy
Non intrusive just you see
It's not for everyone I do know
But surely it is worth a go
Finally I will just say
Take every day
DAY BY DAY
Stay strong and remain positive
You've deserved the right to live
Incredibly hung ,
with the one bung lung,
And kidneys not quite a failing,
He went to the dentist ,
Tooth reefed out,
Sucked ciggys without inhaling.
The guys in the bar,
Sucked on cigars,
Checked him, the toilet, ha,
Were enthral led with ,
The girth n gift ,
“how come it are”
Said, “Wear no jocks,
Or stinking feet socks,”
Too big for the average shiela,
She took one quick look,
Went back to her book,
Said jam it in a jam jar.
Aha.
Don Johnson
watch out for the jammy jars,
plum jam or apricot good tuckers are,
but not 4 jamming Jimmy...ha,
not 4 jamming Jimbob...
At 85, the old lady inches slowly
towards her living room
holding firmly to her walker,
her mind is sharp-as sharp as it's ever
been.
Her legs have become weak
with age,
she can no longer see clearly,
any visitors who ring at her door;
nor can she hear them.
Her friends have all passed
leaving her alone,
the last remaining
"Golden Girl."
At 15, the cat sits quietly in
the doorway,
the days of chasing balls and
imaginary birds
have long since passed.
Her body aches with arthritis
and her kidneys are failing.
Reaching her chair, the old lady
slowly lowers herself
careful not to fall.
She raises the footrest
and covers her legs with the quilt
she keeps nearby.
Seeing this silent signal
the old cat moves across the room
and, with great effort
jumps into her lap.
The two, having grown old together
settle into the familar comfort
that each has come to know.
A gentle pet on the head,
a grateful purr
they close their eyes.
Sausage and custard and ice cream with mustard
Chocolate coated Kentucky Fried Bustard
Whipped cream with mushrooms or frogspawn on toast
These are the foods that an ogre likes most
Volcanic craters and baths full of gators
A pantry thats choc full of gagged and bound waiters
sleeping on bones in a pterosaurs nest
These are the places an ogre likes best
Eyeballs and elbows, the odd severed nose
Ankles and legs and a number of toes
Earlobes and kidneys and hearts to dissect
Things that an ogre just loves to collect
Teeth that are bleeding and eyes that are red
Skin like the skin of somebody that’s dead
One missing ear and a hole in the throat
And chomping raw meat from the leg of a goat
So now that you have him laid clear in your head
The image you see is of someone to dread
For sometimes the truth is a pain in the neck
And ogres in real life are nothing like Shrek
When I was born
I was adorn
With parts in pairs
For here and there
And being male
Two nuts to scale
Due to a sale
A two-for-one
Then I inhaled
Into two lungs
Yet with one tongue
Let those lungs wail
When I began
As a new son
The BOGO plan
Was the bargain
By-one-get-one
Like my two ears
And their two drums
Yet twice the tears
From two squished thumbs
And I’ll be clear
I’d opt for one
Or maybe none
I got two arms
In that twin deal
Great on the farm
Not at a meal
Two hands on arms
Stuffed my tummy
With chicken parm
And lots of honey
Since my mummy
Made food yummy
Though meant no harm
I felt crummy
I got two knees
And two kidneys
But tell me please
Couldn’t they part
With one more heart
Two hearts would be
A cause for glee
Don’t you agree
Then I’d restart
This work of art
And reach eighty
Or that times three
I got two holes
Flanking my nose
Where fingers go
For nearby strolls
Thank god my toes
Stuck on two soles
Way down below
Can’t reach those holes
Boy that would blow
Yet when I doze
Who is to know
Where toes repose
I have two thighs
Made just for guys
A pair of eyes
In just one head
Which makes me dread
As not too wise
And so they’ve said
That I’ll drop dead
Since hooked on meds
Plus over fed
On pies and fries
And yeasty bread
I got two feet
At half the price
Two sets of cheeks
One for a seat
They say is nice
Two-for-one’s sweet
And can’t be beat
For parts seem cheap
When they come twice
But don’t you cheat
If not complete
To get parts thrice
When I was 12 weeks pregnant
my husband and I found out news
News that would change our lives
Shake our entire foundation.
My first son
my loved
Wanted
Long-waited for child
had local exstrophy
During what we thought was a routine checkup
We found out that his lower abdominal wall had not formed correctly
He had a mass as big as his head between his little legs
In the ultrasound
I could barely see his legs because of it
His tiny feet were already clubbed
His spinal cord was tethered
The doctor told us he would never walk or have a functioning bladder
A week later
The situation worsened
We found out his kidneys weren’t working
His lungs wouldn’t develop
After eagerly preparing for our first son
My husband and I
Found out he would die by suffocation upon delivery
If he survived that long
Faced with horrible and difficult odds
My husband and I did what we knew
What was best for our son
Our family
We made the decision to end the pregnancy through abortion
My husband and I loved our first son and wanted him dearly
We named him Thomas
I will forever mourn him
The decision to have an abortion challenged my beliefs around life
My faith
But I have never for a second doubted
This was the right thing to do for myself
My family
Especially Thomas
06122020
A dad he was to my man,
lost in a world of abuse.
Selling all he had in life,
to fund his addictions.
Digging flesh from bone,
stabbing bugs crawling wild.
Demons appear in torment,
beaconing him deeper.
A knife into the thigh,
sent him sickly out.
Hospital tests for all,
not knowing the truth.
Infections settle silently,
staff reared its ugly head.
Confined in solitary moments,
being alone and scared.
Stitches close the injury,
sickness embeds his soul.
Taunting images haunt him,
through every corned space.
Eyes cloud with blurred vision,
surgery required suddenly quick.
Sight saved from blindness,
doctors breathe with a sigh.
Something else has happened,
immune system has shut down.
Disease rested in his marrow,
the fight fire life has begun.
Myloid Dysplastics Disease,
fogs his body hard and cold.
Respirators knocking loudly,
asleep he has no choice.
A gasp of air was his final,
machines took over from there.
The last time we would see him,
full of any kind of life of his own.
Two weeks has gone by,
no change for the better.
Septic shock attacks kidneys,
we all seen him enter heaven.
It was a total all together,
from the time he stabbed his leg.
Four months from that day,
his end would be forever...
MY FIVE SENSES
In my fifties I disavow the taste
but back in elementary school
the image would drift into daydreams —
pork kidneys with savory gravy
went well with the pucker of dills.
The fleabag oil of dog fur,
the weighted polish on nails,
and the brush of bangs on my forehead —
equally threatening.
Honeysuckle to a virgin’s pulse points,
like the aroma of heaven. Lavender seeds
sewn into a sachet. A long sniff,
the bag pressed to the tip of my nose.
My patrons walk into the library, eyes wandering,
lips gripped tight in thought, but with a proper hello
the curvature of their lips in upswing, eyes meet mine
and for a scintilla of time our hearts touch. Likewise —
the smiling eyes of children virtually untouched by experience.
Background sound unsettling, loud sounds deafening,
chomping, chewing — I run! Yet the good conversation
of friends at the table, at work, on vacation — I hug.
My five senses not always sensible, surely sensitive,
and poetic fodder — even in the negative sense.
7/25/2018
My Five Senses
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
Do-B-Do was my first cat as an adult.
I really wasn’t sure I even wanted a cat.
My ex wanted a kitten and I gave in,
we picked the sweet fluffy female one.
She was a grey tabby with yellow eyes.
I soon fell in love with her, she was feisty!
She loved to lay with me at night and
snuggle up to my chest, purring for hours.
She was my best friend and made me laugh.
She had a unique cry, like a Siamese breed.
My ex was not very kind and sometimes explosive.
He became angry and I remember hiding her,
she quietly stayed put in the laundry basket.
I think she knew what was happening, that
I was protecting her from the monster.
She was with me through some dark times.
She helped me through deaths and a divorce.
She cuddled with me every night for years.
She was very jealous of my attention to others,
but warmed up to my husband right away.
She adapted to having six cat siblings
and moving to a new place to live.
She loved to chatter at the birds.
She would sit and wait at the window to watch.
I never let her run free outside, afraid to lose her.
She lived to be twenty-two years old.
Her kidneys were failing, we tried to save her.
I remember looking her in eyes that day.
She said to me it was time to let her go as
I saw a vision of an orange colored tabby.
I was so heartbroken after her death.
I decided it was time for another female cat.
I went to the animal shelter and there she was,
a beautiful calico cat, I knew this was the cat for me.
That day Ru-B was adopted and I felt at peace.
8/8/2020
Contest: All Pets Go To Heaven
Sponsor: Constance La France
The odor of turnips,
of seasoned cabbage water - borscht
flushed through musing kidneys.
Listening to Zhukovsky, Vysotsky, Tyutchev,
not comprehending a word of it.
Working my way backward
through an alphabet that echoes
proto-Slavic roots and chugs.
Muses that are a gloved slap of love,
an aching tooth,
a fondness for black-ice
words that gnaw wet socks and fingertips.
Suspicions wriggle like long dead Popes –
the smell of tobacco and damp sheets.
A dusting of earth shaken from chilled rhizomes.
Words simmer like sleeping Cossacks.
Whiffs of green water, grain, and potato,
the anguish of bruised beets.
A poetry that peels onion,
a crop used
in the pickling of cucumbers,
and other forever preserved romances.
There is a song in my heart
it beckons me everyday
It begins to pull my heart strings
playing like a harp
Smooth melody fills my lungs
while my kidneys hum a tune
My hips sway side to side
as my toes begin to tap
Hands and arms move in motion
while my lips hang on every note
Now is always now.
that now is now gone;
here comes a new now
(and so it goes.)
My Italian Aunt
once told me:
'"Allen, whatever you do,
don't grow old."
She was in her eighties then;
bad back, eyes gone dim,
kidneys in serious lack.
Like a withered tree
she shriveled up
and blew away.
I took her words to wisdom
always knowing that
it can't be done.
OLD FOLKS ARE WORTH A FORTUNE
Old folks are worth A fortune
With silver in their hair, gold in
Their teeth, stones in their kidneys,
Lead in their feet and gas in their stomachs
I have become more social the passing
Of the years. I’m seeing five gentlemen every day
As soon as I wake, will forever help me
Get out of bed, Then I go to the John.
Then Charley Horse come along and when he leave
Arthur Rites shows up and stays the day,
He doesn’t stay in one place he likes to take me.
From joint to joint, after A busy day I’m glad to go to bed
With Ben Gay
My Minister said I needed to think of the hereafter
I told him I do all the time if I’m in the basement-
upstairs or in the kitchen- I ask myself “Now, What
am I here after
BY: Adella Jackson MY MOTHER