Best Prosthesis Poems
The human spirit needs places where
nature has not been rearranged
by the hand of man
Author Unknown
A metal rail now mocks the space
where a massive trunk once rose two hundred feet,
and a long stairway, and a sign,and a doorway
make up ‘The Stump Hotel.’
As a roadside attraction this once magnificent tree
is more suggestive of an amputee
whose prosthesis
could never recapture the living limb or,
a whisper of the spark within.
Think -of the many who came and stood,
here on this altered stump.
Did anyone look up to see its phantom trunk
rising to the moon?
101 in a ROW contest - 12
Contest Judged: 9/8/2016 10:36:00 AM
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
8th Place
Published in “ PS, It’s Poetry” Anthology available on Amazon.
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
and crumpled
yellowed with age.
Though forgotten
never erased. Never
extinguished.
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
supplementing blood
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
The pencil
whispers
words,
lightly brushes her lips
against slate,
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
The screen
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
It hides
away your words,
entombs them
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
Loss of a Mate
By Leonard Kleeman
The loss of a mate is a terrible thing,
particularly when wed together for over 50 years.
You will miss your mate all the time
and for the rest of your life, no matter what happens.
It is like losing an arm or a leg.
It is no longer there but you miss it considerably.
And there really is no replacement.
Even if you get a prosthesis.
The limb is still missing and you feel it.
The prosthesis helps but it is not the same.
When you remove it the missing part becomes
apparent and you feel the deep emotion
of having lost something forever.
It is physical and it is emotional and it is always on your mind
no matter how it appears to others.
With the loss of a mate,
a lifetime is lost and you know it,
sense it,
and will never forget it.
The above is metaphorical concerning finding a companion after the loss of a spouse. Children usually do not understand the meaning of companionship and the loneliness that occurs with that condition. They have to understand that a companion is not a replacement of the one who has passed away. The companion is a prosthesis for the soul.
The Moby Dick Reunion
One hundred fifty nine years have passed
Since Melville published his novel.
Seven hundred twenty pages in length
Some say it was much too nautical.
All of the characters have gathered.
They’re going to have a reunion.
Rumor has it, they say, that Herman himself
Is making a huge revelation.
Ishmael is the first to arrive,
And it’s he who was telling the story.
That’s only right, in the book he survived,
He deserves to get all the glory.
Fedallah and Moby were next in line,
Just in from the Dr. Phil Show.
Their friendship had grown a lot lately.
The harpooner was psychic you know!
When he and Phil studied the big fishes mind,
They found out his reason for anger.
The fact that he was albino
Had burned in his mind like a canker.
Ahab, it seems, was equally mean,
And caused a lot of his stress.
He’d cornered the whale with harpoon boats,
And offered no way for egress.
Moby’s life has been changed forever.
He’s hitched to a really cute killer.
She’s working part time at Sea World,
Seems they needed a sub for their “killer”.
The pub where they met was named Starbucks,
In honor of the owner.
The first mate was rich as a pirate.
He could even afford to buy toner.
Then through the door entered Ahab,
With a prosthesis and brand new pipe.
He finally learned to be happy,
And enjoyed a simpler life.
With him was Herman Melville,
A screenplay under his arm.
One thousand pages he’d written,
About whalers who lived on a farm?
The crew didn’t give their attention.
By now, they were tanked up on rum.
He said he was going to Hollywood,
And if they were smart they would come.
But Ahab and Moby were sobbing.
Tears falling into their mugs.
After all of their trials they found friendship
In the bottom of a jug.
Herman begged them to go make the movie.
But, their lives were happier now.
They all had families to care for,
And no urge for taking a bow.
It seems that while Melville was groveling,
Pip and Ishmael had stolen the play.
They put it in Queequey’s coffin,
And watched it float slowly away.
That was the end of the reunion.
They all went home that night,
Happy with the realization,
That their lives were all just right!
There’s a man lives in my house
He’s as quiet as a mouse
I’ve never ever seen him
Don’t hear him move about
He doesn’t seem to eat
And he doesn’t drink my beer
But though no floorboard ever creaks
I know that he is here
I don’t know where he hides away
Don’t see him come and go
How does he lurk so silently
It seems I’ll never know
I almost don’t believe in him
My sanity Kaput?
I’m sure he has a missing leg
Or maybe just a foot
But there’s no peg leg pirate
Who aims to cause me fright
No ‘Ship ahoy’ or Jim lad’
Is whispered in the night
It’s no long dead seafarer
Who dwells invisibly
My evidence is tangible
As real as you and me
There’s no sign of prosthesis
Perhaps they cost too much
But any man with just one leg
Should have at least a crutch
My wife tells me I’m off my head
But I’m no loopy liar
For every day I find his sock
In my tumble dryer
My term as a head student will come to an end.
But my three-month term I intend to extend.
I have friends here you know and acquaintances are many
I hope that votes will come, each will contribute his penny.
Take Jenny there I’m sure of her
I will not of her lovemaking refer
Don’t let that shy look distract you
Hidden inside her is quite a shrew.
My program for next term should simply be
Friendship is first, don’t you agree?
There’s Guy and Gus, they are such friends
They give me thumbs up, finger extends.
At least I hope that’s what I’m seeing
I respect them as every human being.
We all must act like a great friendly community
It will be for us friends a great opportunity.
Just like our dear sexy Moll,
A deep cleavage baring her all!!
Oh well let’s concentrate on our thesis
Forget about silicone and another prosthesis.
Between us, I heard that some are cheating,
I don’t wish to bring it before a board meeting.
What, are you leaving so soon, we have much to say.
How come everyone can’t exchange views but shy away?
NB This poem is meant for just fun.
Contrary faces, a ramshackle masquerade.
Strengths stance unwavering in face, though weakness taunts,
gaining momentum to take its place.
"Fear nothing but fear it's self" the age old adage turns battle cry for the seat of life.
Roots digging deeper through sinking soil, as foliage trembles and falls
to sediment vanishing.
Excavating fortitudes treasure chest.
A variable whose values are solutions of a cantankerous equation.
Stubborn blindness finds it's voice,
defying the obvious with a song of a soldier marching to momentums tune.
I will overcome this too!
Hope... my unequivocal tool.
Putting on the cloak of courage, masked in warriors paint.
Face to the wind, feet planted on the edge of an unknown.
Leaping into the land of no promises.
Strength repudiating the weaker course
Contrary faces, a ramshackle masquerade.
Accusation poised on the wind, what if, what about when... ?
Suddenly, a stump balanced on frail prosthesis.
Panic steals the lungs before breath can form; drips of perspiration follow the path of memories lines across weathered cheeks.
When ripened groves of wisdom remember battles won. Once again...
Contrary faces, a ramshackle masquerade.
Which face will know the victory in the challenges that
L
i
t
t
e
r
My way.
Perhaps some cobblestone shade of grey
will someday shade this contrary face,
In this ramshackle masquerade.
Fears that the
escalator to get
down to the
parking lot
stifling you..
The
Pile does not end.
Cars together as people
do not let you go
pass between.
This madness.
Clutch with madness on your mop.
Underground garage
A book of poems
Born yesterday
Crushed
Claw.
Instead of hands
Cold metal
Prosthesis
Still silent.
I'm bleeding on the way
not sold
not enough
Gorgeous
Not enough
Poet
Are you afraid?
are you afraid?
are you afraid?
not to be
shown
as a
Po-et
A young doctor with no friends asked God to give him patience. The next day the doctor walked into his office and there was five patients waiting for him, more than usual. The first patient was a young boy in a wheelchair because he had lost his legs to cancer. During the check-up the boy was very rude, but the doctor remained calm. The second patient was a man with one leg. He weighed 420 pounds and needed fitted for prosthesis. Since the doctor was the only one at the office at the time, he had to do it by himself. He was supposed to get the man up and out of the chair. Even though it was hard, he did his best and stayed calm. The last patients were a family of three with burns. One was three. He was scared and crying. His sister was five and was yelling. The mother was a widow, was hysterical and couldn’t do anything. The doctor got them treated properly.
That night he as he lay in bed he asked “God, I asked for patience, not patients.” That night he had a dream. God said to him, “I can’t give you something you already have; I can help you realize it though.” The young doctor asked, “What?” God said, “I can’t give you patience, but I can give you friends.” The young doctor again asked what, but the dream was gone.
The next day the doctor went to work still pondering the dream. When he arrived he was surprised to see the patients he had treated the day before standing there well with nothing wrong. He looked at the guy with one leg, but now had two and said “You have two legs.” The guy, said yes, and you have friends. The doctor started to ask what, but they were gone.
That next day the doctor did something he hadn’t done for ever, he went to church. When the preacher had alter call, the doctor stood up and said, “This might not be the time but I have a story to tell”. When he finished he realized God was right, he did have patience. It just took five special people to help bring it out. The whole church wanted to talk to him after the service.
He got one thing out of this ordeal that he had wanted for his whole life, friends. He also realized that everyone has patience; it just takes time to bring it out.
I am not saying his five patients were angels, but I am not saying they weren’t.
Prophet of my profits,
put your legs in the stirrups
force me out of you, shrieking
dripping of drug, reeking
immaculately dressed
adulterous, childish
a little worse for wear,
a bastard of metaphor.
Heir of my errs,
cast a neurotic prosthesis atop the saddle
trample all bards, those pleading
laden with morose and fleeting
lousy with expression
hopeful, hopeless
all my eggs in one basket,
all breathless from orphans.
President ill of precedent,
flirt your hand to the holster
load the chamber, saluting
empty the casings, alluding
rife with self-assurance
bootlicking, apple-polishing
what goes around comes around
what shall us servile accept?
Ahab needed shore leave,
And obsessed so on his dream,
Harpooning some sweet harlot
Had become his major theme.
He was just a novice mariner,
His first time far from home.
He’d made his maiden voyage
With his wild oats yet unsown.
Jezebel liked scrimshaw,
Always wore it like a queen.
She loved to dress in style
And had a taste for French cuisine.
She was just another working girl,
Young sailors were her game.
She didn’t dig Jehovah,
But she’d do Him just the same.
Ahab went on liberty
With fifty bucks in cash.
He laid down ten on his first tattoo
And a shot of sour mash.
Jezi smiled coquettishly,
Cooed, Hey there, cherry boy,
For forty shekels I’ll show you the ropes.
I shag like the real McCoy.
Jezebel naughtily lowered her veil
And shimmied her best Bette Davis.
Ahab said, "Baby, lead me astray
Where Elijah’s conceit can’t betray us."
Ahab followed Jezi
To her boudoir’s upper floor,
Singing gayly of Nantucket
Like some salty troubadour.
Ahab put his hand inside
Her open cookie jar.
The moment seemed electric,
Like Saint Elmo lit his spar.
Just then the temple cops burst in
And ruined his crescendo.
Ahab ran; they clipped his leg.
Jezebel jumped out the window.
This story and its moral
Speak of tragic dialogues:
Ahab deflowered a virgin prosthesis,
And Jezebel went to the dogs.
Planetary percussion:
the sphere reels through black space
with cries of, Help! Help!
We need Help!
"Just go shopping," speaks the Poobah Bush.
Just take this pill but look out for the headache,
the chronic constipation of promises to
perpetuate your victimization and,
oh yes ... Praise the Lord !
as indeed polar bears do believe!!
Planetary Earth child
amidst creature extinction.
What you do destroy for your condominium
as dust gathers on your soul so cold.
Who are you?
A pilot drops bombs through an open door,
several thousand feet above, too blind to see
ten thousand feet blown off the Beings.
Must have stock in a prosthesis company.
Planetary prosthesis
ah, what splint to bandage while beneath the gauze
lies the rot?
Is this a plot?
And, if not ... then surely it is
Insanity.
Planetary pestilence.
No one to care
When we are not there
Anymore.
Changing thoughts
were creating chaos in frenzy,
unabashed, following the stricken
prey, to reclaim
the violence of a stalker.
Was there any law of jungle ?
Or rule of law in the midstream
of a formless prosthesis,
gaping void, throwing up
a primordial fear.
Becoming tired of looking at
the wastes around. No mystery
was left in life. How often you
will sit on the pyre to ignite the high
priests of knowledge ?
The curved images of receding
years are disappearing. How long
you will wait,
how long ?
Satish Verma
Those Night Shoes
Behind the pane of storefront glass,
upon a pedestal, they stand,
ornate, black, sexy- six-inch heels-
these special shoes my dreams command.
A night out with a chosen love-
to dance and whirl within his arms;
my night shoes joyously will send
me to new worlds of hidden charms.
Oh, how they beckon me, those shoes!
Come try me on, their whispers say;
We'll take you to your land of dreams
where lovers dance the night away.
Tears fill my eyes- and right on time,
my mother turns my chair around.
Not now, night shoes- I'm on my way
to see a doctor whom I found-
for my prosthesis- cause, you see-
I am a right leg amputee.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Night Shoes
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged: 05/25/2019