Best Surgically Poems
strange it was there just the other day
hanging about as usual,
reminding me in my mirrored image
of my definite femininity
now gone, am I less of a woman?
will you look at me differently,
or strangely as I do myself?
I never really gave it much thought before
of how things come in pairs
how lonely one would be without the other
how misshaped one appears,
no longer jutting forward,
proclaiming sensuality
thrusting into the limelight,
now scars and a flattened ego,
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing
men, look at me in horror,
women in shock and pity
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them
my left breast is missing
no not missing, taken, stolen...
it was just a lump a few weeks ago
a tiny pea shaped knob,
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was
what purpose I served in society
am I still a woman, a sexual being?
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so
but yearns for its mate,
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed
I can still hear its scream
"The Right Eye Removed"
intuition guides a feline mind
to feel vain glorious
in the poetry of dreams
stretching limits of awareness
velvet pawed
a burnt orange
bittersweet marmalade coat
delicious to kiss
the point between
the ears that listen for signs
mink stole he wears
himself striped around my neck
finding new ways
to purr through his dark night
into the mystery of
his opaque opalus opallios world
his left analytical
glistening topaz
prehistoric amber
shines like glass
black iris blooming
in a pool of honey
questioning ideas
that run through his
greyhound strides
the right eye removed
bone white phantom oculus
poached out by a thief
with a pad, pen and
surgically precise knife
drugged on strong catnip
the discarded damaged marble
thrown in a bin overnight
he works his way around
this bad romance
feels the colours of light
he is sensually sincere
licking necks and ears
and the other's eyes
twin forest jade stones
the foreign ponds
of something new
holding tight
this kamikaze pilot
flying across high rise cupboards
treasure boxes to plunder
tricky to navigate
he is immersed in a new life
the changing colours
of a small heart
with big dreams
romancing streams of
rainbow koi seen in his mind
he is a Japanese ninja warrior
a good luck token
protector of Moonlight
and ground zero
the bed…that he has claimed,
all his
and he is loved
perfection in
the damage of
the war zone delivered
to him at birth
he is free to wonder
and he wanders
this brave and distinguished hunter
preying with delight
he bows on all fours
he stops still
and in the reflection
that is left
I look at him
and I see
we are two
of one mind
searching
for the same
all along
am I her’s,
or is she mine
am I his
or is he mine
it no longer matters
old souls
we belong
in this time
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
Opallios. Greek.
“to see a change in colour”
Opalus. Latin.
“precious jewel”
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
You've seen that look before,
so many times that you lost count
It's the look of hopelessness,
the look of despair
Vacant eyes that no longer care
Who let the emptiness in,
who stole their zest for life
Who squeezed the vitality out,
who removed their heart with a cold butcher's knife
Was this travesty done swift and surgically,
or perhaps it happened incrementally
Bit by bit,
drip by drip
Everything they every cared about
got clean ripped from their hands
Maybe they lost their kids
on a drunk driving holiday
Maybe lost the spouse,
when forgiving them was too hard a thing to pray
Maybe lost the house after losing the job
Whatever the reasons, former associates and friends shun them now,
because maybe they think that they're cursed with plain bad luck
Maybe having no family to speak of,
got them thinking life sucks
Down on their luck right now
would be a kind thing to say
But in their heart they know better,
for every sin committed, there's a pound of flesh to pay
So they wander around lifelessly
with that vacant look in their eye
Just wasting the time away until the day they die
She bathes my soul within her
Sanguine waters ardently
Inundating my senses whole
I become upon her embrace
We become one spirit aloof
Within both light and darkness
Depraving sharp hunting eyes
Perceiving the mirrors self image
Of high tribulation chiseled
Stone falling across studio floors
Swept scrupulous and surgically
Transfusing this beauty of essence
Upon the humid air of breath
Sweetly scented floral calling
Across unmeasured distances
Trekked of unfettered resolve
Heightening as you draw close
Tending my wounds unshaken
Confidence in trusting touch
Eases tautness now diminishing
Away flying into night taking
Pieces of you in my pocket
Clutching for hope and strength
Of this blossom rooting deeply
Within one another we discover
All that we behold and feared
I give to you willingly…untainted
Wholly my poetic heartsong
Inscribed within and without
My trusted two thousand miles
"You can't shout. You can't even cry.
The 7 Gentlemen are coming by.
Looking in windows. Knocking on doors.
They need to take seven and they might take yours.
You can't call to Mom. You can't say a word.
You're going to die screaming but you won't be heard."
The above is supposedly from some ancient fairy tale.
I've tried researching its origins but to no avail.
Has anyone heard the fairy tale titled The 7 Gentlemen?
If you have, I'd appreciate any information my friend.
PS
The "7 of what they need to take that might be yours" are human hearts.
As the story goes, supposedly 7 Gentlemen arrive in the dead of night in some rural out of
the way town. They open up a magic box that steals the voices of everyone in the
community while they sleep. For the 7 days thereafter the 7 Gentlemen search for victims.
When they find one, they surgically remove their heart while the victim is still alive. The
victim can't scream or call for help because the victim's voice is locked in the magic box
along with the others. After the Gentlemen have collected 7 hearts, well, to be honest I don't
know what the hell happens next or why in the bloody hell they need to harvest these darn
hearts for in the first place. Which is why I now find myself obsessively researching this
ancient fairy tale which may or may not actually exist.
Once again
“Man”
Fails
A faulty miscarriage of stanzas and exhaled anomalies,
“Man” withers
Unto a Shakespearean passing
“Man” testifies
Verbal precedence above cedar scented opinions
While providing expired empathy to their disfigured reflection
Oh, how their insolent pride glimmers
Similar to Cubic Zirconium weddings
Oh, how their “manhood”
Falsely supplicates
For even “thicker” pride
Another daftly implored lie
“Man” inhales pompous remorse,
Gripping rusted axe on toxicant bosom,
Declaring knighthood upon ignorant crowd
Another verse of celebrated memories,
Sabotaged
Because
“Man”
Remains glued to authoritative eras of yesterday,
With forcefully dimpled “smile”
Unable
To surgically remove equilibrium's paralysis
…
But, humanity shall resurrect
Against demoted seer
To declare that this tide of “man”
Does not
Belong here
©Drake J. Eszes
I relaxed on the couch to feel at ease,
the psychiatrist sat across from me.
This wasn’t any normal physician-
He was my subconscious personified.
A flow of panic surged through my body-
Beads of sweat slowly trailed down my face-
My heart began beating erratically-
My eyes darted in search of an exit-
There wasn’t an exit available!
The sense of fear was running down my spine,
I’m trapped within the walls of my own mind
taunted by the horrors that lie within.
The psychiatrist peered through my file
his eyes scrutinized every incident.
I coughed to break the silence in the room,
but it still constricted the atmosphere.
He initiated conversation:
a trivial attempt to gain rapport.
We discussed my past and current events.
Each story was surgically dissected;
it was torture being under the knife.
I was wide awake through the incisions;
helpless against the tools of a madman.
I grimaced through the pain of memories-
I opened old wounds then they were sown shut-
I’m plagued by a beast that lingers inside-
I need to run before I’m devoured!
My inner turmoil came to a close;
he arrived at a clear diagnosis.
He noted the cycling mood changes:
a constant battle between highs and lows.
The faulty sense of attachment issues
bred in from a childhood beginning.
Sporadic moments of self-destruction;
accompanied by parties and drinking.
The guilt from burning bridges to loved ones
constructed my imposed wall to the world.
He told me he understands my poems
and the theme behind each one I wrote.
From the introspection, private musings
love, temptations and whimsical humor;
it’s a way to channel my redemption
to add a purpose to this unhinged life.
The meeting was officially over.
I unraveled a new revelation:
I’m a continual work in progress
finding my road to a recovery.
You were seduced by silicate reflections,
unflattering images
of your perceived epidermal imperfections
The bedroom mirror showed you
your deepest fear
It's crystalline voice told you
what you wanted to hear
Enhance your beauty
surgically
Change your outer self
cosmetically
But the silicate mirror lied,
it didn't tell you the whole truth
about shedding some of your skin
Once the laser knife goes in,
and parts of yourself
gets thrown in the trash bin
You won't recognize yourself anymore
Someone else is gonna be looking back at you,
somebody you never knew
This person is gonna sell to you,
that they're better than your natural self
Rearranged celluloid perfection
erases the flaws you always seemed to see
The mirror speaks with superfluous authority,
lying so seductively
The new you didn't erase your inner scars permanently,
but you're the magazine cover you always wanted to be
The lying mirror says you acted so bravely ...
Enhanced your beauty
surgically
Changed your outer self
cosmetically
You did what the mirror told you to do,
made yourself into a better you
But the beauty you wanted so desperately,
had already began to fade ...
the moment your skin kissed the blade
The silicate seducer tricked you,
played on your vanity,
played on your insecurity
And as your body withers away over time,
the disingenuous mirror is gonna chortle to you: tell you
that your faded, altered beauty was a self-inflicted crime
I have been struggling with a faded thought
until my mind's become confused and tangled.
At a crossroad, this battle is being fought
between my stubborn brain and wounded heart.
I've great fear one of them will be strangled.
I thought I knew what my life was all about,
but perhaps my heart has been deceived.
I'm suffering a sense of loss; filled with doubt
hoping I haven't taken a misguided route.
I'm finding that life is not as I had perceived.
Their controversy is deeply rooted down,
encompassing what is far beyond my vision.
I search my memory, but it makes me frown,
and my grieving heart will not backdown.
I'm left wrestling in the wallows of indecision.
I won't deny that what troubles me the most
is my attempt at arbitration has gone unheeded.
I'd just as soon try reasoning with a bedpost,
than a brain and heart that are nearly sclerosed.
Neither wants to be the one who has conceded.
I'm fervently trying to make them understand
that if there's to be any hope of our salvation,
they must stop their outrageous grandstand
before I'm forced to give a harsher reprimand.
They suggested I give the other a total ablation!
Surgically remove my brain? I gave it thought,
but it was something that I would have to keep.
We'd all expire if I agreed to dispose of my heart.
That certainly would not be clever on my part!
My anatomy is cursed with two black sheep!
I'm stuck in the middle and I've made a decision,
to threaten them to make peace or they're out.
If they don't come to terms, I'll have to audition
for a new mind and heart who'll be in submission.
I felt a bit cruel, but enjoyed watching them pout!
Alfred Hitchcock,
known for his awe and shock.
May have tried to impress Betty Hutton,
by surgically removing his belly button.
His belly button was surgically removed !!
© Feb 2011 For Caties's clerihew contest
I get this job every year
I have never been to medical school and I am just a lowly nurse
Yet it seems that every year my family hands me the electric scalpels and puts me to work
I surgically slice and dice ole Turkey Lurkey
Once he comes out of the oven he begins to get that nervous look upon his face
"I wonder how she will approach me this year?
Will it be the prone presentation or supine?
One year we ordered Cornish hens and it was sublime!
No carving required!"
This year I have a new blade and it is revved up and rearing to go
First I delicately removed his thighs and cut perpendicular through his breast
His gizzards were harvested at the beginning of the surgery all neatly tucked away in a nice little baggy
After Turkey Lurkey’s flesh was neatly arranged on the tray
I took the remaining juices and basted him one more time
Lean and tender and just on time
He arrived to the table straight from the O.R.
Happy Thanksgiving from my surgical suite to yours!
Sincerely,
The Turkey Surgeon,
Gwendolen Rix
This is my official Thanksgiving Day poem!
11-27-14
A nonchalant paw hangs, eye’s shut, ears open
My sentimental pretence maintains your interest
You do not know my cruelty, my brutality, my malice
Your sustaining hand is safe…for now
Lithe shoulders slink in alternate motion
Unblinking, gyroscopic saucer eyes bore into my target
Locked on, committed, beyond recall, the safety is off
A spring now uncoiled, scribes an arc, sudden death from above
I gaze through you, aloof and unimpressed
A carefree yawn, a stretch then, back to murderous fantasy
Surgically sharp, speed and precision is my marque
I am death, the consummate killer…Oh, my name?
…It’s Tiddles
CE - Capture/Exterminate
Not only is this inhumane, it doesn't work at any rate.
A "vacuum effect" is all that will create,
vacuuming outside ferals into a territory already great
for food, shelter and to repopulate.
Within a few months the very same problem you'll have to face.
CR - Capture/Relocate
Again, the "vacuum effect" is all that will create.
Outside ferals will move in after the others relocate.
Relocated ferals often live harsher lives before dying a harsh fate.
It doesn't work, and again is very inhumane at any rate.
TNR - Trap/Neuter/Return
The most humane and most effective solution,
for maintaining and controlling feral cat overpopulation.
A surgically fixed and healthy feral cat colony,
is beneficial to any and every human community.
They'll keep outside intact feral cats out of "their" territory.
Fights for mating rites will greatly decrease,
no more unwanted litters of kittens being born regularly,
all while keeping our community vermin free.
TNR feral cats provide a service for our community,
and in return all they ask from anybody,
is that we make their lives as comfortable as can possibly be.
There Is Only One
true feral cat option.
“Boys will be girls,
and girls will be boys”
Utter false parenting
The power of impotent suggestion
by the ignorant immature
God made the male and the female;
and at birth,
it’s womb evident navel plain to tell
Gomorrah girls will be Bela boys
Changed genitalia minds
are gonna walk
down the aisle
like a Bride of Frankenstein
Gather ‘round the closet campfire,
Darwinian boys and girls
Listen to some evolutionary jock shock tales
of baseball leather love
for hard diamonds and cold pearls,
stroked by velvet gloves
Id disorientation: It’s a New Age sexual theme,
the corporate suits
sell a lot of hybrid products of male femininity
And even more of the hormonal reverse it seems
Bela boys will be Gomorrah girls
Changed genitalia hearts
are gonna hit
dat adder moving, morality target
with da Cinderfella darts
Bearded boys
razor living in their estrogen doll houses
Ponytail girls
panty changing into testosterone spouses
Unnatural selection ... spiritual rebellion
Gomorrah girls playing mean soldier boy games,
Bela boys singing girl blues, such a bosom shame
The more bod sexes make the gender change,
the pod mental breakdowns all look the same
Third gender is so androgynous wrong,
Mrs. Lara Croft once was Mr. Indiana Jones
And future tomb raiders are gonna find
a third gender class of human gen-eng bones
Lofty laboratory gender transformation
of the surgically altered physique
Changed body ID specimen specification,
third choice oft be motive oblique
Bela boys love to role like a girl,
Gomorrah girls dress play the other way
Unnatural selection ... Zeboiim hellion
Girls changing into boys,
and boys changing into girls
As the natural light dims,
dark Admah desire
changes the face of the world