Best Tumour Poems
Who'd have thought words make them react like this,
failing to see my wit, just the unattractiveness.
An eye for crudeness that'll overpower the humorous.
I'm sure within their brain a tumour lives.
Has your face ever felt the force of a fist?
It'll twist your perception like a contortionist,
because offence and pain aint two of the same.
One requires staples so that the blood's contained,
the other's just a thought you'd rather not maintain.
I get that neither are a source used to entertain,
but at the end of the day crudeness aint pain.
Offence is just a nuisance you choose to refuse,
it aint a scar, a cut or a bruise.
Scars are something you can never remove,
but when I got mine I made jokes that amused.
So can you help me now please and give me some clues,
when I'd been hit by a knuckle duster I was less confused.
Do you really feel pain when I'm crude and rude?
Please explain how words upset and leave you offended.
How does it feel and how do you end it?
Is it just simple natural sounds that you can't stand?
Compare that to soldiers losing limbs and can't stand.
If this is you I've just one thing to say my friend,
your life is easy if words drive you around the bend.
POTD
5/7/2018
The doctors have been slaving
but they have worked in vain
A thirteen year old boy has no future
A tumour gnaws at his brain
But his mother is smiling .
She calls his friends over
and begs , Please help me
Help the final days of my baby
To be all they can be
Still she wears that smile.
We play the games boys play
Our friends play too
Though he may be dying
To himself he is true
and still his mother smiled.
Whenever he giggled
He did so with delight
Then home to hug mother
As day turned to night
Still she wore that smile.
His days growing shorter
His time almost nigh
We'd sit by his bedside
Still not knowing why
His mother wore that smile.
In the arms of his mother
Our friend passed away
I love you, I love you
I can still hear her say
He closed his eyes as his mother smiled.
He now rests in forever
Where only true love can be
The smile of his mother
Was his last memory
Now I understand why she wore that smile.
Give me fire give me blaze,
Those who live by the sword shall die by the blade,
Caged in a mind so evil filled with hatred and blame,
The wounds healed but the scares remained
A constant reminder of a past lived as an out cast,
Suicidal thoughts grew in his head like a tumour ,
A permanent solution to end his life of misery after years of searching he realised the pain never left like the right hand and all hope was now in a hoovering draculin sword above his head with no escape,
His conscience pleaded with his emotions they was still time for change like the coins in his hand were once a note,
Suicide was never an option those were the words in his mind as he regained consciousness from this dream.
I stood tall in front of the head stone.
A bunch of cheap flowers in my hands
Were given to me by my uncle.
I felt all the discomfort of the world.
What was I doing there, staring at a tomb?
I was told my mother was buried there.
I had never seen my mother, I felt no bond.
Evil tongues said she died of an overdose.
Ashamed I never wanted to know of her ever.
Now on my eighteenth birthday
My uncle made me visit her tomb.
So I stood emotionless, just staring.
My uncle told me to mumble a prayer,
To whom? To this supposed mother of mine?
She had died ages ago. Eighteen years?
I did not know nor did I want to know.
She was dead. Let her rest in sacred peace.
After all I wished her no ill will nor anger.
I tossed the flowers on her grave and turned to go.
My uncle stopped me and silently handed me an envelop.
Written on the large missive were just a few words:
“From your mother.” Inside was a letter.
I turned on my uncle, but he was gone.
My first instinct was to throw the envelop away.
Who could say it was from this mother?
But curiosity got the better of me and read:
“Dear daughter, I saw you being born as tears fell
Without control, for I knew I will never
See you grow up and learn what life has in store.
Your father disappeared as soon as I got pregnant.
Giving you birth was painful but worth it.
For you had to live, and I hoped, live to the full.
For me life is now at an end, for my tumour
Will surely kill me, as all doctors said.
They gave me just one solution, that to abort you.
Then they would remove the tumour that will kill me.
But I refused. Why should I kill you?
What wrong had you done to deserve death?
So I preferred to die so you could live.
May God bless you and keep you whole.”
I read the letter twice, faintly unimpressed.
Then I saw there was a photo in the envelop.
A perfect picture of my mother, very much like me.
Then tears fell.
Then I knelt down and prayed.
29 March 2021
Mother - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
My heart hurts my soul is depleted
I used to walk around feeling so undefeated
The pain is at a tipping point & I just can't beat it
My brain is killing me & my body follows suit
Sometimes I wonder if I should just pick it up & shoot
Early morning headaches feel like a tumour
Take 12 of these it'll make relief come sooner
Spinal tap & a few MRI's later
They say more pills will make my chances greater
Side effects put me in a dark place
Im scared when I look in the mirror I'll see my killers face
But my son shouldn't have to live through that disgrace
Why me is the answer I want to know
When I pray where do those thoughts go
I tried to be the best person I could
But my life is like a scalpel trying to cut through wood
Pull myself up by my boot straps like you knew I could
I can't say it any clearer but you still misunderstood
Hoard healthy highs
End etch enough
Add apt apply
Roam rivers rough
Trendy true tries
Hope hurls healing
Etch earns ending
Art aims asking
Reap real risking
Trust truth tasking
Help hurting hires
Embrace empty
Apt art aspires
Relieve rowdy
Toilsome touch tires
Hoist heavy hounds
End each explore
Art airs astound
Risk ripe restore
Trip tipsy town
Harsh hurting heat
Endow entreat
Applause appliqué
Reach rich repeats
Toss tasty treats
Hoist heavy heart
Empty e-mail
Amaze apart
Rouse ransoms rail
Taste tension tart
Hide harsh humour
Ends empower
Art aims armour
Rude rhymes rumour
Trim trash tumour
Leon Enriquez
02 May 2014
Singapore
In the dark of night
The monsters came
Creeping and creaking,
Breathing my name.
Peeking through windows
Slipping under my bed
Upon closing my eyes
They entered my head.
Coming out of the fog
Intending to kill
Chasing and racing
Craving blood for a swill.
I’d wake to my screams
Coming out of my throat
Heart beating fiercely
Like a drum to the note.
Then they’d be gone
Heading back to the shadows
Waiting till dusk
Like death for the gallows.
They'd always be back
Taunting my mind
Scratching and scraping
Whenever inclined.
As I got older
They changed how they fed
Feasting on doubts
Their method instead.
Using my forbears
Their sins and their crimes
Planting the seeds
In the back of my mind.
Could the sins of the father
Be the sins of the son
Promoting the notion
Wrongs may be rerun.
Could the demons from past
Walk to the future
Festering inside me
Much like a tumour.
Maybe this blood
That courses my veins
Is genetically soiled
Carries a stain.
So if you hear screams
In the dead of night
It’s me and my terrors
Please consider my plight.
And now to bed, and try once more for sleep,
but soon the subconscious starts to then weep
the rotten/rotting truth into the deep
of mind and body; those slow seconds seep.
Thus not weeks later doth the cough begin,
and nights loom painful, like ritual sin,
the pores leak and drip the guilt onto skin,
while the soul howls quietly, and death creeps in.
And over the years that pass forth so quick,
that constant cough becomes a tumour, thick,
inside corrupted lungs where it does stick,
cancerous cells into a heart of sick.
The cruelty of time that drives on by,
would it'd never make a person cry,
but anyone who lives each day a lie,
scars their own epitaph before they die.
Its been two years and i’m 15 now,
The tumour just sits there,
Waiting, staying, lingering,
Doing absolutely no harm to anything,
It’s not hurting anything physically,
Although I wish I could say the same mentally.
I’m not allowed to feel negatively about my situation,
Why should i?
Im lucky that Im healthy,
Im lucky that I still live my life,
So why do I still panic?
And cry and break down every time I hear the words:
Brain tumour,
Why am I not allowed to cry and break down?
I know exactly why.
I can’t cry and break down,
So I can be strong for everyone else,
So I can joke about it,
So I can say:
It’s just having a little boogy up there, it’s not doing anything.
When in fact it is doing something.
Something that scans and mri’s cant pick up,
Something that brain surgeons and nuerologists cant diagnose,
Something that no one else but me can see.
It’s tearing me apart, but I wouldn’t tell anyone that,
They would tell me that I shouldn’t feel this way
They wouldn’t understand.
How do you say "Goodbye" to a friend
How do you realise her life had to end
What a huge gap you leave which will never be filled
Remembering your smile your manner so mild
I will remember you with fond memories, Castle wont be the same
Remembering our bingo jaunts a fortune to attain
The curb you put on my spending
Whilst waiting for bingo to begin *
"Now Seren"' you would say just £5 each to start
We wont bother with this and that
I used to laugh saying ok
sneaking another in when she looked away
The time i won seven hundred pounds was so funny you see
I just calmly pressed the claim button, she yelled like a banshee
Thinking it was maybe a hundred wasnt that impressed
Til i saw it was much more than i had ever guessed
Your with your folks now Betti you have missed them so,
We will all get through this with you watching us, I know.
Hwyl fawr Betti oeddech yn ffrind da, bydd yn methu ti
goodbye Betti you were a good friend, will miss you so.
*. Can play slot boards at Castle Bingo Hall whilst waiting for session to start.
Costs 50p -£1 a game.
Betti was same age as me, diagnosed, tumour on lung 10days before she died, Left it too late to get help.
Funeral today at 12.30
My veins now spill forth scarlet waters,
Rent by serrated silver teeth.
Like Her breast sinewed all life,
Fervoured my wrist, when She jilted me...
Repleted by once Her love;
Now became Death, a nocturnal drapery...
"My Goddess What didst Thou to me,
Lust priapic to Thine ardent ****?''
A sylph bewinged like an Angel,
That withered love infected me...
A morbid plume falling from grace,
The celestial eye ebonied.
"My Love; Doth thou not want me?
Hath I becometh a Daemon?"
...
No...
this blooded brine, mortal wine,
this etch on my pale canvas.
is nothing more but a single sign,
To pain's anathema,
-yet you my love...
Will nascent from my blood,
and be robed in ether cardinal...
My suicide, although it's sin
Will leave you happy with akin.
My body was a tumour around my soul,
but waning life, will take control...
>I DID IT
This morning I did it, now I must write, I did.
That bubbles burst now in my heart.
As one might not believe what I do say.
But I did it, it is in my head.
And I did it lying in my bed.
Do you want to know what I did do?
Would you honest Indian, believe me, would you?
Well, I was lying in my bed almost flat.
Wearing my pyjamas, minus me nightcap.
I took a few deep breaths, I did do.
Concentrated, tensed all my muscles up too.
Surprised myself, I’m telling you.
Then as I took, a deep gulp of air.
I was, sitting upright, I was so there.
What, no applause, no cheeky cheers?
I sat up. I did in bed.
I’ll remember this Sunday 20-3-16 I will.
It means the exercises in the Hydrotherapy Pool.
At Ipswich Hospital, used as a mobility tool.
Are working on The mad Author me.
Okay, I did it only once, slowly.
The shock, as I said, was a big surprise.
You see, since May four years ago.
From my bed, I could not arise.
When surgeons removed my tumour you know.
But now I did, I did do it.
I’ll tell the world, I will it’s true.
I’ll tell BBC News, Poetry Soup
My Facebook page, Smarty’s too.
I’ll tell the lot. That’s what I’ll do.
Then tomorrow, I’ll try to do it again.
And hope it causes no more.
Blinking pain.
(This may not seem a reason for a poem of celebration. However, to me it is. The operation to remove my gist left a weakness right across my stomach. I thought I'd never regain strength there again. From the position of lying on my back. The only way I could stand was to roll over onto my front, then start the process of slowly kneeling, then, pressing down with my hands on the floor, then gradually grasping at some form of support, pull myself upright. This is a milestone to me.TmA)<
If one was to ask
Why some wounds take longer
to heal than other's
Maybe it's because
Though the human body
is blessed with miraculous
power's of healing
Like flesh once cut and we
bleed a scab and scar will
form and skin grow back again
A broken bone can reset
itself twice as strong
Our internal organs over time
can eventually regenerate
And a brain tumour and virus
be gotten over
Yet whereas a broken heart
examined under diagnosis
will not display or show up
any visible sign of damage
And so maybe that's why
the aforementioned question
is so hard to answer or place
a healing time upon
And in sometimes a broken
heart or loss of a loved one
can lead unto and bring
on death before it's time
Because what a heart is
supposed to do is pump
blood and oxygen onto the
brain
Yet and but somtimes may
feel inclined to give up on
life and fail to skip a beat
If cupids arrow is pulled out
by the love and loss of one's
true life partner departs
And word's once spoken
and said and an a oath
or promise made such as
Till death do us part
Mean exactly that
My smoking has spread cancer
All over me now
Still my strength's the answer
I'm not shutting down
Growing larger everyday
The rumour of my tumour
They need to cut it out
But I'm still in a good humour
Living each day
One at a time
You want to see me dead?
Well I guess I don't mind
Not blind to the detriment of my health
First you must be poor to appreciate wealth
Boobies every female has a pair but what if a tumour appears
Go to your doctor their nothing to fear because your doctor
will always be here.
They may be test like mammogram and biopsy
and MRI.
But you know deep inside
that your doctor will help you stay alive.