Best Surgeons Poems
Hands of Surgeons
Our friend Bob Lynott is undergoing
cancer surgery today at Duke University.
God, hands of surgeons be sure to guide;
Who we trust and on them have relied;
Now is not near;
Our prayers hear;
Give them things needed and not denied.
Jim Horn
This should be sent out to each member of
St. James Episcopal Church, Shallotte, NC.
Hope he will be here singing in choir this
Sunday with his great tenor voice.
They want to be brain surgeons, astronauts, movie stars,
NFL quarterbacks, influencers, video game designers, dancers
Their excited energy lifts into a pink cloud of happiness
It zooms over my head and dances around the room
They share their illusions of grandeur with excited giggles
They are my Girl Scouts, and I have no idea what I am doing
Having a slumber party with eighteen super excited girls.
All I want to do is have a cup of coffee and go back to bed.
They begin chanting their breakfast demands; their energy intimidates me.
I paste on my fake morning face hoping I can survive two more hours.
Surgeons of soundless suffering, led by ministers of madness,
The dead drown whilst muttering of intolerable sadness.
Atop the tallest towers of the dark city
Aloft spires of insanity, so do they weave
the existential lies of mortality.
Where the living are led to conceive and so believe
That which is mad, continuously the surgeons weave
And knit half truths of life, disguising words of strife
with lies as their knife unto the remains of humanity.
Surgeons who cut and tear with
Words too elaborate to question or mentally bare
or visually see.
The ministers of madness, feed the masses with words
That ought to be the chirping of birds,
Words that sound near obliterate
born of tongueless mouths that art illiterate.
Hand surgeon, aptly named Charlie
Had a habit most folk view bizarrely
Each day before patients lay on his table
He sniffed a line or two which made him able
To slice and dice, hyped up head felt cathartic
Injuries presented, varied and complex
Imbibed biological Bibles, known reflex
Mere matchstick puzzle, bones twenty seven
Mirror met snow snakes, elongated elevens
Intensified his focus on anethesised subjects
Doc performs ops. at astounding rates
Each one completed, eager Charlie takes
Another line, consumed with smoothest relish
Ability to tinker successfully, truly embellished
Speed increase propels the money he makes!
High as Heaven Charlie felt himself a professor
Straight surgery defunct, fine skills suppressor
To rip skin open and zip through job, elating
Benefits of blow for bone shifts, no debating
Need to nourish nostrils with coke, incessant
11th September 2020
Of course, this phenomena is common in many industries,
including surgery. Not sure if in contemporary time,
surgeons are drug tested, but I doubt they are.
- Have been told first hand by a surgeon that it's
regularly practiced to hone their performance.
- Unfortunately, patients are not audiences
being performed to!!
- Perhaps the general public has faith in their
white collar workers, to avoid overuse.
Just testing the night
The surgeons of sky
to see
a Sky-net so faulted and frank
unflinching but still true
Full of expectation and hope...Just touching the night
feeling the texture of it
Remembering you and hoping that you're well
like a stupid loyal dog
a stupid girl remembering
You're a shadow
that plays games...appearing ...dissappearing
I should never remember ....you
a will of a wisp in the forest of thought and fleeting idea
an adventure had...the pulse of the adrenaline as one takes off in a car
knowing and not knowing exactly what will happen
thrilled by chase and surmounting miles to find out
But I always do...recall
Membranes of gossamer cloth
wafting in English winds
I recall them with such intensely sweet melancholy
but that was a continent and... a relationship ago
You my artist
my brilliant meme...a dancing man experience I can always recall with a little smile
are waiting on me
not
too smart for ruses and bruises now
we both know better
your skin is still your skin
the scruff on your chin is still growing long or trimmed short or cast off completely with white
its whiteness scares you
you don't scare easily
no you don't care and I suppose...neither do I
but testing the way the wind is blow-ing
One finger whetted by lip and kiss
held to the sky
feeling the coolness on one side or the other
The Surgeons of the sky...
do they ever cry about you and I?
or do they just kind of laugh and mumble among themselves
A surgeon dreams of slicing livers.
A dentist dreams of teeth and gums.
Proctologists envision fingers
and thumbs.
Believe you me, are business workers
dealing in raw flesh and bones
but they are often broke
because consumers exist not
in this world of flesh
Poets and plastic surgeons-whittling away
adding here, subtracting there
bandaging a verse or stitching a face
trying to make plain into pretty
perfection just a small slice away.
A masterpiece is what they seek
A mountain of trash for every gem
cutting and slicing stretching and trimming
seeking the perfect profile or seamless rhyme,
but filling the world with rivers of gibberish
and mirror obsessed Frankensteins.
I wait and wonder
What life will bring
When i am well again
Will my heart sing.
I wait for the news
Of an op to replace
This heart of mine
A new future to face
The surgeon will come
In a day or so
Until i have surgery
Home, i dont go
Must stay here and rest
Watch the world go by,
Try to keep smiling
Try not to cry
I cry for myself,
My friends, my all,
Were all waiting
For the surgeons call.