Best On The Brink Poems
Our Felicity knows no rest and was
Often admonished by her Head Nurse.
It happened one day she was out for an errand
When a small boy was admitted to emergency.
With little thought she hurried to help,
forgetting she had no gloves on, nor a face mask.
The boy was very sick and required great care.
The Head Nurse realized something was going to happen.
Both were put in isolation separately. Felicity's
First symptom was a high fever. Blood samples were taken
And examined with urgency. A deadly bug had attacked them.
Immediately she was put on two drips, one for dehydration
And one to combat the bugs. It would be a slow recovery.
No one was allowed near her and she became weak.
In Malta, we say illness enters in tonnes and leaves in pounds.
So was it with Felicity. Gone was her smile, her singing,
And she became quite thin. Her father became a wreck.
But God has His ways, and slowly she began to recover.
Finally, she was discharged but with orders from the Head Nurse.
You are not to come to work before my consent,
You will not lose your job. But you must eat and rest.
Her parents were at her beck and call.
He bought her a comfy sofa, a large television,
And a blue comfortable Outdoor Hammock Chair Hang Swing
Erected under a large oak tree that was blessed with a breeze.
Soon but slowly she regained her smile, her good-looking figure
And even ventured for short walks along the winding river.
She learned to appreciate her birds’ singing and the lovely blooms.
She began to frequent gardens and admire the various flowers.
Finally, after some months she was allowed to resume her work.
The Head nurse was adamant. Morning shifts only for a while,
With fixed hours. No extra work and no emergency visits.
She still attended church but changed her tune to
God will find a way. Blessed be God.
This poem is fiction but taken from my experience with life in a hospital.
The anorexia is not conspicuous,
being half-submerged, just
breaking through.
She’s a powdered mirage.
Her skin a hyaline shear
drawn over a necklace
of clavicle bones.
She knows her chest
is returning to childhood,
she wants to shelter there,
to be her own child.
Small breasts bob under
burgundy nipples,
buds made more prominent,
anchored as they are
to shipwrecked ribs.
Designer bling distracts.
Cameras whir, she poses,
one hand on a denuded hip,
not resting there,
but stealthily carrying
an ounce of flesh,
toward a spotlight.
We collude with her,
applaud the way
she decorates a condition.
We all know her emaciated beauty
is a mutual hoodwink.
We know that the closer to death
sexuality becomes,
the more rapacious our appetite,
the more we will wail,
as she slips
through our hungry hands.
This subject is too fraught for eloquent poetry
So please indulge me in a straightforward thought or three
For the first time in its modern history
Israel is on the brink of internal catastrophe
True, there's been bleeding before, sometimes severe
But to the rescue rode a Menachem Begin or a Golda Meir
Yet never before has the military been disaffected
And without it, the specter of an Israel unprotected ...
Morphing into invasions by Syria, Jordan, Hezbollah and Iran
Israeli captives marched to their doom in Tyre and Amman
Leaving Russia and China free to move in for the kill
Every holy site in Jerusalem ~ oceans of blood spilled
The world thrown into chaotic darkness, its center destroyed
All thanks to cowardly Bibi, who, fearing jail-time, turned paranoid
May his senses return immediately ~
Or may he vanish mysteriously
Misbegotten pair,
two-faced aggravation,
the seduction of sweet solace
or the inarticulation of despair.
Uneasy 'neath the spell of peerless rapture,
false respite from the ravages of fear,
or defenseless and imperilled
by a sadness that is too extreme to bear.
********
...for all bi-polar sufferers.
Do you guys detect a pattern emerging
About to O.D... on the precipice I'm verging
Too much damn happy
On the brink of sappy
Must reverse this trend, with danger I'm flirting
Bone-drained, there is no respite, no split second of peace. The “sundowner”, a hyper-active toddler in a man’s vehicle, never sleeps nor sits.
When I succumb to that one precious moment of rest; I am awakened to a furnace running full blast in a freezing cold house and on a nineteen degree night. A butter knife has removed a window; the culprit and dementia-mind panics; he’s terrified of being trapped in a fire. There’s no arguing with dementia-mind; it’s best to play along with the his ideas.
Another day of madness and I awake to a frantically screeching doorbell; it’s his nurse. I've revived in the floor. A migraine faint pulled me down; I’ve had no sleep for eight nights, you see. Sweet respite…she says she’ll, “sit with him”, so I can lie down a bit; a pleasant miracle; such happenstance is a rarity.
Dementia-mind has no solutions, only hallucinations, delusions; absence of mind and aggression for the “sundowners”. I watch at breakfast, as he pours his milk upon the floor; he has no clue of what he is doing or why;
he stares, mindless. When the eyes go blank it’s obvious; he’s not in there. A robot gone haywire, used to be my Father. The last thing to go, were his mathematical skills. Dementia-mind has forgotten so many people; how to swallow, but recalls numbers…
“Who is that man?” he demands, pointing at himself in the mirror. My exhausted mind briefly forgets and I mistakenly reply, “You dad.” The firestorm is initiated; he calls me a, “liar”. Self recognition has failed him now; the flame of his mind is burning low; soon to extinguish.
He’s fed and dressed, but I’ve no time to eat; if he should sleep an hour today; I must cook for the week. It’s the only opportunity I have…when and if he sleeps. I must not go to the bathroom; he’ll break something or fall. I must hold myself until my sister arrives.
The “passives” are painful to watch, as they deteriorate, but the “sundowners” are constant exhaustion. I was in the ER, almost as much as, he. You see, there’s no one to care for the caregiver, but themselves and when they can’t, exhaustion and malnutrition escalate. Dementia-mind is round-the-clock work and two doing the work of six people, takes its’ toll. The disease never discriminates; it destroys everyone.
(My Father died with dementia, a form of Alzheimer's in 2003, after a 15 year battle.)
On the Brink
Many do reach this point,
Death’s an option . . .
Not the only one though,
As illusion is here too . . .
Just wondering what this is all about:
Life, Death, Heaven, Hell, Glory, Sorrow?
Half-Empty . . . Half-Full . . . And . . .
Leprechauns with Big Buckets of Gold.
Seeking God’s solace,
Whilst finding Lucifer’s smirk and smile.
One’s soul—
The sticking point always,
And tonight is the night of
The Full Moon.
Why should I be surprised?
Maybe the Moon might know?
Looks like everyone knows anyway . . .
Looks like everyone is onboard with this event.
The Cat’s got your tongue?
Ah . . . now you’re not so sure are you?
They do say that blood drips and flows,
And that it dries cake-hard over time.
You can’t really explain and justify this one:
The blood, the stench, and death are too much.
A plea and fervent prayer are the truest options,
And remember that God is waiting and watching.
The bright-white, full moon no longer speaks . . .
And now . . . neither do you . . . but God understands.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 12, 2020 (Lyric)
On the brink of crying,
on the brink of dying,
what are you gonna do?On the brink of cryin‘,
On the brink of dyin‘,
You’ve gotta listen to your soul now, too.
Now think of this situation,
This is a poem, but also a conversation
If you don’t want to hurt those around you
You’ve gotta help yourself first then the other few
On the brink of cryin‘,
On the brink of dyin‘,
What are you gonna do?
On the brink of cryin‘,
On the brink of dyin‘,
If you don’t wanna hear the truth
Then you better not do something stupid, but instead new
On the brink of cryin‘,
On the brink of dyin‘,
What are you gonna do?
On the brink,
On the brink,
I’m on the brink of cryin’
‘Cause inside I’m
‘Cause inside I’m
‘Cause inside I’m dyin’
I’m on the,
I’m on the, I’m on the brink.
My wife and I stroll hand in hand
As evening drops its lilac veil
When, off the river, stirs a chill,
Which sends her cuddling to my arms
With face upturned to taste my lips—
The gloaming brightens as we kiss.
For quite a while, that pose we hold:
Two lovers on the brink of night
‘Neath wisps of salmon cirrus clouds
‘Til twilight’s purple, darker hue
Impels us to return back home,
Arriving on the cusp of love.
As you watched the abuse carried out,
My soul was broken, no doubt.
A connection can never be made,
As my nurturer and protector, I was betrayed.
Setting the stage for scant regard,
Not knowing how to protect myself by putting up my guard.
No loving childhood remembrances,
No I love you or tender embraces.
I finally had to let go and grieve,
It will never be the relationship I believe.
In order to begin the healing process,
I had to step away and decompress.
In the rain,
In the spring.
He needs a drink
A strong drink
He is on the brink.
The drain is up his neck,
But the sailor is on the deck,
Waiting to embark before the
check-in
He is on the brink.
He shuffled a deck of cards on
the table.
Held on tight to the cords on the
stable.
He is on the brink.
Anxiety grips, nerves all over
He needs a drink, he is on the brink.
Ranting and shouting hysterically
But constrained physically.
He wanted to propose to her
But he needed a drink to ....
Come out of the brink
Dutch courage is all he has now.
He is cowered when dry;
He needs a drink to get out,
He is on the brink when dry.
Here I stand, on the brink,
Like a house on a cliff,
Ready to fall anytime,
Crashing into the rocks below,
But I have seen such houses,
Weathering severe storms,
Staying put for years,
I wonder, can I do the same?
Here I stand, on the brink,
Ready to accept my fate,
With all the loss and animosity,
I have reached the end of line,
But then I remember,
The lone tree on the hill,
Rain or hail, wind or drought,
It lives on, a proud survivor,
Though alone but alive,
I wonder, could I do the same?
Sometimes I'm left to just sit, just write
Just think out of spite, with or without the delight
Of the look on their face showing nothin' but fright
Sometimes I sit in the dark to just drink, just think
Just waste away, teetering on the brink, don't blink
You know there's a purpose when I'm using this ink
Sometimes I just lay in the smoke, no choke
Theres nothing left to provoke, just my heart is broke
From those words you spoke, too cruel for a joke
the antiquitous souls.
" perhaps uninvitable?"
mellowing amberred coals
[portioned minds] ,
on the brink of unstable?
Stability became a commidity .
fathoms of time ago.
drinking from a fountain of
bereavement.
They've forgotten of the seeds?
in need, to be sewn.
We are on the brink
of another world war
but this time
with a lot less gore
no need to go home and
lock your door
you'll never know
what the hell we're
fighting for.
take a look at the pale
blue sky,
for it will soon be glowing red
then comes the time, we most
dread.
most of the people are already
dead.
others just sit and wait
to learn of their oncoming
fate.
the president is in a state
he knew played the game.
he knew the stakes,
so say goodbye to the
united states.
now the shelters are all
cramped and full,
lost souls waiting
for the next bomb
to fall.
will there ever be peace
at all
god only knows the answer
to it all