Best Pancreas Poems
He’s 85 and he says he isn’t going to die.
Stooped over very badly, maybe two feet shorter now
than he used to be in his prime
and walking very slowly with his cane,
he insists on opening his own doors,
saying this while breathing heavily.
He refuses elderly care and drives a car.
He tells us he is never going to die.
Two surgeries since Christmas (nearly dying on the table);
two visits to ER this week alone;
with blood pressure so low it’s fightening,
oxygen the lowest of the low,
a pancreas with blockage, unhealthy lungs
and a heart that seems to scorn
the pacemaker recently therein inserted,
he tells us he isn’t going to die.
He says he wants to get around
to working on his beloved stained glass projects,
but they stay in his garage,
for he’s sleeping more and more.
He says he wants to write his autobiography, for
his life was fascinating; he invented things,
started up a business and had his dream house built.
Always he said he would not die.
Tonight he’s in ER having a cat scan.
He fell against his bathtub very dizzy, then threw up
and finally decided to call the paramedics.
Doctors can’t seem to help him further.
All that they can do for him they’ve done already.
He told us lately he’s been having dreams
about the wife he lost a year ago.
I bet he’ll say tomorrow that he’s never going to die.
(Written March 3, 2019 about a man well known by my husband and me. This year he is 86 years old and working on his stained glass projects)!
I look into the mirror
And who is that I see?
Someone I don't recognise
Is looking back at me
The lines upon the forehead
That are called ‘worry lines'
Are caused by getting stressed
Far too many times
A line next to the right eyebrow
It’s the liver that's to blame
Due to excess alcohol
Or so the doctors claim
The line next to the left eyebrow
Is connected to the spleen
So much for thinking the body
Is like a finely-tuned machine
At the corner of both eyes
Are very deep crow’s feet
These are connected to all organs
As they admit defeat
We used to call them ‘smile lines'
But not much smiling has been done
When you have ill-health
Life is not much fun
Black bags under the eyes
Are signalling poor circulation
Or maybe just a lack of sleep
Nightmares without an explanation
The pancreas could be at fault
If there are ‘laughter lines'
But they could just be caused
By laughing numerous times
Lines above the upper lip
They could be caused by smoking
But they also indicate spleen trouble
Those lines are thought-provoking
Lines upon the neck
Otherwise known as a ‘double-chin’
Can be caused by too much gluten
Putting a thyroid in the spin
In the mirrors reflection
There are so many lines to see
Then I realise the person in the mirror
Yes, it’s me!
Epitaph for the Test Dogs
What you did for us, not many know,
because you did it so long ago.
Victoria’s reign to flapper days,
you lived in labs while other dogs played.
Pancreas removed from each of you,
you were, then, rendered diabetic too.
Were insulin shots something to trust?
Since they worked for you, they were tried on us.
They worked like magic when they were tried.
Type I diabetics no longer died.
To you, furry friends, this tribute we give.
You gave up normal lives so we could live.
Contest: How you live or have been healed from a difficult and challenging health condition?
A strong and new friendship was born at the cancer clinic
Both cry, they had lost the driving force to look forward
The pleasure of a long life and everything they had planned for the future
Hopes and longings ... lost dreams like the shadow of the snake in paradise
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
Everyday life is characterized by grief but also joy
They knew how precious this friendship was //
They talk about everything, even what has never been told before
Like two burning lights that become one
Dealing with the strongest storms ... incoming waves that wrap
Emotional support and confidence in death's waiting room
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
The inkhouse at the writing desk, the tears turn black
They do not have time to wait, see if the wounds will grow //
Life before and after diagnosed cancer of the pancreas
Uncontrolled cell growth, the most dangerous cancer
There are many emotions, thoughts and reactions
A journey separating the road from the deep mountains
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
Anxiety, the treatment is tough, they both know it
An emotional roller coaster, they both spin //
Brothers without blood tie, neither the same mother or father
The last journey was planned without luggage
Two young men, the youngest 28 and the oldest 32
I know, because I followed them as a nurse at hospital
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
"Light a candle for us tonight, nurse Ann"
A small wish in meaningless battle that eventually ends with a loss //
~ ~ ~
Listen ... clear clinking from heavy keys,
on the other side of the door
The angels are waiting
The pain disappeared
The sun went down
Rest in peace
Amen
12.03.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
1st place in the contest
An appliance has a warranty,
Right there in black and white.
You can get your money back
If it won’t work just right.
And purchasing a car provides
Assurance in two styles –
It’s guaranteed for either months
Or, which comes first, in miles.
The human body does not have
A paper that imparts
The promise of the life imbued
In all its many parts.
So sometimes organs need repair,
Especially with age;
And when such breakdowns happen,
It is very hard to gauge.
Your heart may suddenly decide
It’s thumped its final beat;
Or possibly, your knees get bored
With holding up your feet.
Your retina may think it’s time
For it to just detach;
And maybe hidden cancer cells
Wake up and start to hatch.
Sections of your brain may feel
They’re kind of overloaded.
Liver, kidneys, pancreas
May start to look corroded.
Symptoms warn us, sort of like
That dread check-engine light;
Then we must take action
To bring order back from blight.
Just think of how much easier
And calm our lives would be,
If, with our birth certificates,
We got a warranty!
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)
I ogled through the open Atelier,
And chance into a spacious grotto,
Wanting to carry out an exploration of voodoo kingdom,
I made a pact with my kinetic limbs,
On they ride and halt at interval
Introducing to the eccentric phantasmagoria sheen;
The jaunty strokes dance on sheet nondescript,
A splash here fund a dash there, presenting views
Of nucleus of venerable attenuation of skeletons,
Damp dark commingle with laser flavour colours in a bout,
The power in waves transformed curves alive,
In practice of the occult, evergreen vision on screens;
The spirit-fay on the bark of Iroko,
Entangling themselves in limn haphazard liquid manner,
Chorusing in their parasitic wail:
You won't go until you bless me.
The wizard tore deep into the belly of denizen,
And offer sacks of intestine, pancreas and spleen,
Liver and heart on thorns of kernels,
Including a farrago of feeze, symbolism of shaggy
figures,
The ragged cupboard of labourer’s model,
Hole infested trusted rusted metals bind tight with
arteries,
And rope of twirling circles,
Tin filled up to shed.
A funny thing happened on my way to my house
I shouldn’t have taken the bus on that day
A digestive issue was starting to rise
My house I feared was a long trip away
I hurt deep inside it was not a surprise
My poor enzyme levels were ready to flop
The pancreas nutrients were going to drop
And finally the bus had come to a stop
I ran to my bathroom and prepared to plop
My zipper got stuck and I feared for the worst
A gas evoked smoke ashamed and accursed
It finally opened a privy ejection
then I sat still and had a reflection
If I encounter this same situation
Meds will be with me to prevent this causation
A funny thing happened Contest
Sponsored by Robert Haigh
July 22, 2018
Myself I am troubling
The stress level is doubling
Gastric juices are bubbling
My pancreas is rumbling
Life is turning
The stomach is churning
Forehead is burning
The inner life is yearning
Resources are shrinking
Friendships are stinking
Is life yet linking
Or is everything just sinking
Decisions are made
Plans have been laid
I think I am afraid
Life's been frayed
1
On St Patrick’s day my score was nine point two.
Maybe I am about to get the regular flu.
In spite of all the tablets I take.
The magic number Six I cannot make.
2
Every night the Insulin counts to twenty six.
Resembling a drug addict going for a fix.
I am told it goes into the cell.
What good it does I cannot really tell.
3
The Pancreas has gone away to sleep.
The reward of all the chocolate now I reap.
A perpetual hostage to tablets and syringe.
Doctor says that nature takes revenge.
4
Every morning at eight the score I keep.
And when it’s high I want to sit and weep.
Would I be better off in not knowing.
And let sugar keep on flowing.
5
It seems to me I am the master of my fate.
At least for diabetes at any rate.
I will still have to measure, measure,measure.
And build in exercise for my leisure.
6
I know a diabetic man who is eighty one.
He still treasures life and has his fun.
In spite of limitations we can go on.
Live,love life and hum our song.
Healthy people you better think twice. While you are feeling so good go out and enjoy your life. I got Type 1 Diabetes when I was 11 years of age.When the doctor came in my hospital room and told me I will never forget that day. Growing up with this illness while you are a kid, is like playing a card game with all of its tricks. I'm almost 40 years old its been 26 years and at some point everyday I still shed a tear. I'm sure all of you out there knows what the saying being a guinea pig is . Well I'm sick and tired of the experiments I just want to live. They removed some of my toe I do 5 shots a day it's not fair my pancreas died and went away. So I feel like a pancreas and it consumes my thoughts all the time because how I take care of myself is rather I live or die.
I put my lips to his cheek
Reminded me of winter time, not ice cold
Without warmth yes, but with texture
hard to the touch like a rubber glove on a rock
Thoughts will never leave me
Sad thing is this is the memory that stands out most
Not the little things like dinner or TV
But past conversations about death
Sitting on the front stoop at night conversing
He wanted to believe, yet as time drew near he recollected.
"When I was an altar boy..." and he went on.
And as we stared into the dark, star-filled sky, I was terrified of truths.
Philadelphia was never so quiet, so lonely, so alien.
I could tell he was doubting his own beliefs
Nearing death, as he knew he was, things became concrete.
The inevitable set in and so did regrets.
In that moment I told him how i felt, to reassure him of his beliefs.
It made a difference, re-establishing his faith, so to speak
Mine as well. All I could think of is how scared I would be
If I were He. I prayed.
For strength, and for him.
Out loud, to whoever wanted to listen...
I tried to revive him, you know, for minutes like hours
Hands cupped, pumping on chest
Got too amped, scared, my adrenaline submerged my pancreas.
Broke his rib cage as he had broken promises
I sat there and was lost for second time in my life
Left the room that had been his as a child
Went downstairs took my mind away for a minute
Cannabis didn’t help, I sat there alone
Waiting for the wagon to come and take my new old friend
Big city life, wagon was late, 3 hours sitting
With the carcass of “from which I came” upstairs
We had a moment, both all alone, both on different planes,
We always were
A huge part of me just vanished that day
My spontaneity, my innocence, my mirrored image
No more “life of the party”, I wanted to be alone
Lost, stranded, discarded and left alone
Left me when I was seven, met up again when I was twenty-two
Fifteen year gap between father and son
He could’ve done better, done right
He didn’t, so I did
No regrets; never regret, or regress
If I didn’t move on, I would be him
Stuck in the past
But I am not him, nothing like him.
Yet I am still here, still alone
Questioning as he did
Sitting on the front stoop
Contemplating the Inevitable.
Four joints excercising their right
to tense up
Oh how the Pancreas aides in
such a drawstring.
Conscience kidnapped for a spell
while these fierce,
No, cowardly beings
earn their way into darkness.
Like the pedophile with no
child, sitting in the playground
"just reading a book"
while children play.
What a facade!
We know why both exist
It's the sickness,
No fingers to mouth, pondering, posing questions.
That neither know, it's their vision
changed the make-up
so they feel normal
When alone.
When they speak they do get seek ta feel
Zzzxer crackers in versa von
Do they run from veggonize ankles
Eating expunged various vogon crumbs
Do these aliens have pancreas
Do they even have veet can they dance
Vogons they do run, they walk
Zzzxer versa von
Vogons run their mouths thrown toward the skies
Va va so filled ca is ca acquittal
Venomous voluntarily space agent
Conform to humanities complexity
Vogonian running not on ta veet?
Vogons rules!
1/10/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
just Like That Problematic Systematic Lazy Earth Men ---
grease in the skillet
pancreas full of it?
yeah
just like that
pure as the white driven snow
when you got nowhere to go
yeah, yeah
just like that, just like that
ants on the ground in fall
work ever so harder than man
what is it that we won't understand
And are there lazy men in heaven
Scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Break my toys, and I'll break yours
Boys will be just boys
Where is the joy
just like that
apples falls off the tree
yeah
mosquitoes kisses me
Must be in love
Sucks up all my blood
yeah, yeah
just like that, just like that
perpetual motion detector
fell asleep listening to Ricky Nelson?
Scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Head lice and dandruff watch out for sure...
yeah, yeah
just like that, just like that
what is it that we won't understand
And are there lazy men in heaven
Problematic systematic lazy earth men
what is it that we won't understand
12/3/18
Daily we check our blood,
Interested in our score,
Another day of lancing,
Better not ignore,
Eating used to be such a pleasure,
Tomorrow could be taking insulin shots,
Earnestly trying to eat good,
So I can help my irregular pancreas.
This disease is spreading like wildfire,
all throughout the land,
it doesn't care who you are,
young girl or old man,
some people have to take shots,
as was the case with my Dad,
I'm sure he felt like a pin cushion,
as he'd jabbed it into his flab,
for now my husband and son
have it to a lesser degree,
they have to take metformin,
and God willing wont ever have
to take shots of insulin.