Best Recuperation Poems
JUSTIFICATION
Oh, what a distressing frustrating situation,
I’ve suddenly lost all my poetic imagination,
Nothing tickles me pink, no stimulation,
I want to create a poem of deep inspiration,
Which will meet everyone’s expectation,
But my thoughts are edging towards nullification,
I want to scream out loud, a slow dilapidation,
I’m reaching an uncomfortable exasperation,
My muse, has succumbed to misinformation,
Intimidation, and deviant calculation,
Goodness gracious,
Heard word she wants my poetic elimination.
Someone is knocking at my door, to my jubilation,
There stands a muse, I welcome with elation,
She is well known for helping those
Experiencing mortification,
Such a refreshing sight, she must after
Careful deliberation,
Give one month’s notification,
Looking forward to her presence,
Such a welcome application,
She will help me with my recuperation.
Behold, a rhyme is forming, what scintillation,
Delivering both articulation and jollification,
My previous muse jumped from poet to poet,
Everyone realized, fickle her motivation,
But my new muse and I realized justification,
We Popped a bottle of champagne in celebration.
There are wounds that may seem very repulsive,
they show on sleeves and inside of a painful soul-
Some demons just become too much and impulsive
and can eat your essence and swallow you whole.
For some people life just has taken its daily toll.
But scars are nothing except beautiful imperfections,
damage to the heart can be warranted as appealing-
Only sutures on a slash can become a connection,
giving you reasons to move on and start healing.
Lines left from hurt can give you back your feeling.
It seems like everyone looks at internal scars as if ugly,
they cringe and scour at the sight of any affliction-
I see them as a mystery of something lovely,
not just hideous marks from a very old infliction.
If only this world didn’t live in complete contradiction.
I see the marvel and wonder in a scar from the past,
it brings amazement as I think about their journey-
What anguish did they live and how long did it last?
What could their honest recovering story really be?
For I see in their eyes they have found love’s recovery.
Tears were shed yet they have found restoration,
there may be no erasing the lines that were engraved,
but I know deep down they have found recuperation
and somewhere along the way their souls were saved.
For it was nothing except healing that they craved.
I may be different saying scars are beautifully created,
they show growth and strength from yesterday’s pain,
and I pray that in hope and faith they are saturated,
where only memories of resilience can remain.
For we all have beautiful scars running through our veins.
*Something most people see as ugly but which you see as beautiful*
Jamie's Interesting Contest 3
April 28, 2018
Serving one's country used to be a task done
with loyalty and pride,
but, the truth sets in after the perilous ride,
Veterans are let down by the promises made,
After the adrenaline subsides,
They are left hanging in the shade,
without aid,
homes, families
and incomes,
Abandoned without hope,
thinking that they are only
as good as their last battle,
shifted around like unwanted cattle,
How can America prosper with
these uncomfortabilities on their hands?
Veterans and their families deserve
a life that's becoming of the sacrifices
they made,
They deserve to feel pride and a sense of
satisfaction, long after the battle and
recuperation.....
Moving from left to right Cancer day and night Cancer the day heaven
Witnessed the pain women experiencing, suck their bellies the chemotherapy
Machines drank hundred thousand souls shaver from their hearts personifies by the scent of Cancer.
The air we breathe break to air pollution because of Cancer, the scent of
Imagination polluted by cancer they can't deny death is everywhere because of Cancer people lost their happiness to cancer.
The day earth descends to call upon you were aback serial killer
I blame you for denying my generation to smell pure air, you're too bad to
Take innocent souls from us, why you allow us nagging at you, don't you
Ashamed how invincible you are, look how ugly you're in my imagination.
I preferred to see you suck any
Individuals that banks our resources to foreign bank accounts, the
Thundering of Cancer may padlock his mouth; I know you're so powerful of drinking their imagination to maggots
People were happy in there, gardens until they heard about you, you torn
Thousands life apart to concept of apartheid, you denied us the opportunity
To lactates our kids then the breasts of women no longer the pyramid of Egypt the smile on your face rouged our destiny to languish under bigger chemotherapy machines, because of Cancer to cashew taste the limbs you took away never forgiven you.
Mind you Mr. Cancer to our coffers are empty you aren't right to leave these
Greedy individuals from escaping our lands passing through your mouth open without catching their brains, their actions are greater than Adolf Hitler wall.
The freedom you jeopardize to prosthetic Cancer to innocent guts cries
In silent pain to itself, you attacked that person indefinitely as well you
Control their hope no more to smile with friends or siblings under your
Sandal and you continue weeding their hope from recuperation.
365 days of the Alcohol Experiment
After 30 days the need to continue was evident.
Italian adventure to Rome Florence and Venice, cosy restaurants and no wine a penance!
Elation on completion of a holiday with alcohol deletion.
Real rest, renewal and recuperation.
Not hangovers, exhaustion and a turn to work depletion.
No barriers of painkilling built up around me but open and available and at last truly living!
A feeling of real health never known,
sober sleep the deepest.
3 am awakenings not repeated.
Weight more stable than for 35 years
Alcohol free means energ--ie
Faced my AF fears and after 8 years trying, succeeded.
Now Coffee and company with intimate conversation not superficial chat, slurred speech and inebriation.
AF tribe explosion. Deep friendships unfolding.
laughs and special moments. Discovering worthyness and self love and whaw that I am enough!
Lliving in the moment not for the alcohol moment.
Sober socialising discovered.
Alcohol companies, brainwashing adverts pedalling lies uncovered.
Culture driven by alcohol is epidemical
Profits & Taxes guaranteed by a chemical.
Facing trauma and grief with a stable mood. Alcohol as the cause of anxiety and depression understood.
Just 10 months AF with my beautiful mother.
Such quality time above any other.
Emotional transparency, expression and facing the pain. Not numbing and smothering self again.
It's a brave new world of no regret experience.
Just wished I had known and not spent years delerious.
I'm not looking back not giving in now!
This new life I've found will much more than do
Cause it's wonderful, beautiful, amazing and true and I wish for a total culture that's new!
IVF
Times without number
That’s as far as one could remember
Or better still conjecture
At this end of this ocean we stood, at the edge
Aghast at the tardiness of virility
Invisible except for its vivid physiognomy
That swirled and rolled and spent itself
In a recurring recuperation of empathy
Till rains agoraphobic arrived
As a successful ‘in vitro’ in the glass sky
A sodden blast of breeze scattering a mound of leaves
Breathing into the fertile insides
Slick in fermentation
Sticking to sticky bloodied life.
9 Mar 13
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Entry for Rick Parise's contest
For PD's 'Freeverse contest' now on 13 mar 13
Land of lost time... dark isolation
Unobserved recuperation
Not recoverable worry
Nonrecordable story
Unused daily recreation
User only designation
Wasted, postponed, cancellation
Collected space... never to see
Land of lost time
Equal time delineation
Priceless in evaluation
Time forgotten and not to be
Barren fields for eternity
No need for negotiation
Land of lost time
August 17, 2018
Rondeau Contest
By Joseph May
Image #4
A stomach virus laid me out,
My husband down as well
And then we were surprised to hear
Somebody ring the bell.
Two bags delivered to our door
With Gatorade and soup,
Saltines and even Alka-Seltzer,
Quite a sickbed group.
Our son arranged to save the day
With Amazon – the Prime –
To help recuperation
And give fodder for my rhyme!
At last contentment is undulating around me.
The fragmented shards of discord quieted and still.
The year began in mayhem and ends in peaceful silence.
A ceasefire in hostilities; an armistice. Resolution.
In conclusion, I am happy with the simplicity I found;
the pruning of possessions, the clarity of clearing;
space, time, direction and a settling into certitude.
A period of recuperation; a time of renewal.
I reached deep into my soul and found a pool of tranquility.
Its waters cleansed and refreshed me and I splashed
its sparkling rejuvenation into the bleak crevices
of discontentment, emerging energised and whole.
Now contentment is undulating around me and I am strong.
I belong at last. The past is past and the future beckons.
The year began in mayhem and ends in peaceful resolution,
and, in conclusion, I am happy with the simplicity I found.
It’s been a tough year for you, Linda-Marie
Surgery and recuperation take time
The Soup clan still prays for your recovery
Our prayers, like loving hymns, to the heavens climb
This year on your birthday you’ll kiss your sweet beau
Another candle means you'll have strength to grow
How blessed you are to have a birthday in May
Revel in happiness each year and each day
*Entry for Linda-Marie’s “May Day” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
I swung with a vengeance but missed that damned fly
The breeze I’d created caused him to pass by
My electric racquet in underarm mode
Still failed to make that bluebottle explode
It filled me with hate as it buzzed round my plate
I swung and I swung and became more irate
That foul little demon was soon to be dead
As soon as it took itself off of my head
Now, I’m not a coward in anyone’s book
But I’m in no hurry to smell my brain cook
I angled my zapper to strike as it rose
And almost set fire to the tip of my nose
It flitted at speed like a Pac-Man on heat
But I am a human… I will not be beat
My dinner was cooling and it wasn’t salad
I’ll murder that fly and then write me a ballad
Overarm, underarm, back-hand and flip
My energised racquet was firm in my grip
At one point it landed on chandelier-high
And I had to wave that light fitting goodbye
My sausage was cold (can we please keep this clean)
And I had become a fly killing machine
A back somersault and a cartwheel or two
My electric racquet had flashed neon blue
Poor little Tiddles, she trusted me so
Her recuperation has some way to go
But I’ll give her cuddles and snuggles and then
I dearly regret that I zapped her again
Twas kinda Dick Whittington, but in reverse
Tiddles left home and I don’t know what’s worse
My poor little kitten is out on her own
But that demon-fly is at rest on my phone
How great the temptation to say what the hell
And batter that fly and my iPhone as well
But then it took off and it sped through the air
I swung and I swiped and set fire to my hair
Okay I confess; just a few hairs got singed
But I don’t have many and that’s why I whinged
In anger I swiped at the sound of its hums
Which came close to giving me two deep fried plums
How bloody long can a bluebottle live
My electric racquet and I cannot give
Yet more gymnastics to vanquish our foe
As I shoot some volts through my right hand big toe
I whirled like a dervish and now on a mission
I swung like a thing that had infra red vision
But, boy, did I cheer at the quiet little ‘phut!’
As that fly took a window to find it was shut
***
But now I feel guilty for I’ve done okay
Though I don’t know who saw me swinging away
I owe my new job to that small airborne menace
My local school wants me to teach the kids tennis
Little Santa Helpers
Santa has outsourced his services to child labourers from Bangladesh they
fit zero-sized through chimneys much easier and the leaner they are the
better they share full of joy in the globalised feast of winter communion
Detached they are from ‘wrongful’ beliefs and so much happier for their distant
faithful relation to Christmas plus they are used to half naked toil with
loin cloths draped in native design and fig-leafed in the wider scheme of migrant
extortion minimum wage wasted on them but they might get some
tips from little children on other sides of divides if those can catch them in glee
But then there are milk ‘Ho Ho Beer’ and biscuits by the fireplace laced with
incense and Prozac not licensed for young ones maybe but the booze as willing
sign of cross-culturalization is surely inclusive and a Peace offering sponsored by
‘Alcohol Without Borders’ while the odd trace of Ritalin keeps ordered control
Santa is not really burnt out but neo-liberal delegation is the vogue of the month
and post traumatic stress drones and hoovers on his sick note nevertheless
as his bonuses and shares float on Panamanian waters and now he needs a lungi
as well instead of the red coat extra large without doubt as he burps in the sand
The Bangladeshis meanwhile chirp in silent frost bitten nights but at least there
are soot and ashes no sunburn sometimes carrots with broom sticks thereafter
almost a year of ‘social’ benefits homely rest recuperation free time for Mohamed
They scrub brush and sand their dehydrated skins by the Ganges until they come
to accept the ‘Terms of their Trade’ bow to diversity’s splendour and discern what
is dirt and what their skin colour and it’s the latter that keeps them employed
28th November 2016
Blot out the whole emerging gesture
To demonstrate leading astray thy pace;
Don't rebound to toil and wrestle,
Be temperate tilt not at any rate!
Outrun ne'er surpass in celebrity quartan,
Submission ties settle better productive gain;
Prepare to ignite flame of fixed canon
Must evade excruciate feeble in vain;
Riches give delight yet defend not,
Slaking thirst aqua less attract rabies;
Pride of sagacity weak riot crazy spot,
Mere contentment if alive relay miseries;
Deny not troth behave alike recuperation
Spurt what ambition turn amative thee;
Man! thou hold energy to alter cultivation
Please the almighty by culminating blemish free;
Only provident would give certain dexterity
With vigour, venture, assume design marvelous;
Where its sacred light confirm privity:
Personality seems observing rare not fabulous.
On occasion I ran the marathon
when I was younger and all my powers
of recuperation were much greater than
they are now. I remember in the hours
after the run was over how every bone
and joint in my body aged and ached.
Remembered, too, the moment in the zone
when strides were easy, and breath unslaked,
and moments around the twentieth mile,
when the calf muscle failed and the joints pained,
and FINISHING!, when will, pride and denial
overcame the weakness that flesh ordained.
Hate to admit, now, the twentieth mile,
when virtues replaced by philosopher's smile.
I know longer think of your eyes
When I see the ocean
Or your hair when I see the sun
The wounds are finally healing
Though the scars will never be gone.
No longer will I carelessly toss
My heart out into the wind
Now I’ll be slow in giving
Before I love again.