Refered to the hospital
Though Via my gp
When up on arrival
Now starting to worry
Suspected growth or cyst
Hopping it is not the big C
Refered to throat specialist
Also had fine needle biopsy
Something l did not anticipate
Back and fourth ,numuros scans
But l supose now that my fate
Then rests in their hands
Hoping l was for a diagnosis
What are chances of survival
Should l start my bucket list
What if it is though terminal
Now it seems l still await
The results of needle test
And my emotional state
It seems at this time a mess
Not making any future plans
Anything to put my mind at rest
Then l am told very swollen glands
An infected lymph node
never have guessed
Written febuary 2014 horrible time was really ill very scary time
"Bpd"
My legs are falling off
Ripping from my body
My eyes are melting
"ADHD"
My head
It will explode
Don't you see?
"Manic Depressive, Manic Episodes?"
This disease it is me
It laughs it shrieks
My blood vessels have branded
Into themselves
Into my soul
It's Memory
"Bipolar."
"Mood swings. Anxiety. Try this medication please"
Straight jacket laugh
Writhe against my restraints
I have buried
That girl
In the ashes of yesterday
Still
The cage is iron not steel
Strong enough
Weak enough
I will never heal
You Make Me Smile
the diagnosis came as a shock
life altering-all came to a stop
several surgical scar forming resections
steady course of skin burning radiation
multiple courses of poisonous chemotherapy
grueling grind of gut-wrenching nausea
valleys of deep depression
alternate with hills of happiness
each day another day of life
totally different than the day before
through it all you have
managed to maintain your
sharp wit and sly humor
I am truly amazed that
despite the desperate circumstances
you can make me smile
POLITICAL DIAGNOSIS
Political gout,
has sprung wintering pain; it's
time for healing spring:-
she sits at the bar near chamberlain high school,
her nails chewed to nothing,
a lipstick smear on the rim of her glass.
the men orbit her like moths,
drawn to her heat,
but she keeps her eyes on the jukebox,
fingers twitching against
the lacquered wood.
there’s something inside her—
a scream buried too deep
or a wound sewn too tight.
she scratches at the edges,
but it won’t bleed,
won’t break.
just festers.
the bartender pours her another,
and she drinks it fast,
chasing a man she’ll never catch.
Do you think we’re the sort of girls to sit around on a Sunday night?
EAH (loud buzzer sound) you’d be wrong!!
What’s the opposite of seasonal depression - seasonal euphoria?
I’m self-diagnosing here, but I think I’ve got it.
I have all the symptoms:
Excessive happiness: a level of joy statistically improbable.
Compulsive smiling: grinning under the most mundane circumstances.
Irrational optimism: the feeling everything will turn out all right.
Compulsive socializing: relentlessly engaging in parties and outings.
Impulsive behavior: capricious decisions that lead to.. stuff.
Difficulty focusing: trouble concentrating on ‘serious subjects.’
Increased appetites: A craving for.. everything fun.
I have to call it. The symptoms are limpid, my diagnosis is:
Summer, seasonal euphoria, and it feels pretty good.
.
.
Songs for this:
Rooftop by Kelly Jones
The Game of Love by Katrina & the Waves
DeadBeat Club by The B-52s
Here I am still hanging around
Feet firmly planted on the solid ground
Throughout my ordeal
Smiling widely I feel
Like starting anew a plan quite sound
(... a plan so well received)
LOVE DIAGNOSIS
She said, “911, what’s your emergency?”
I said, “My heart… it’s acting strange.”
She replied, “In what way? Fast? Uneven?”
I said, “It flutters like it’s lost its rhythm.”
“Try some water. Take a breath,” she said.
But my voice cracked, “There’s more…
It’s like butterflies are throwing a riot in my gut.”
She chuckled gently, “Ma’am… is this life-threatening?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I feel fine but not really.
It’s like I’m glowing and drowning at the same time.”
“This doesn’t sound like a medical crisis.”
“But what if feelings can be emergencies too?”
I asked, “Is it normal to think of someone this much?
To have their voice echo in my silence?”
She asked, “Are they aware they’ve moved in?”
I sighed, “They’re innocent but guilty in my mind.”
“Shall I connect you to the courtroom instead?”
“Is that where heartbreak is prosecuted?” I asked.
She laughed, “Only if you file charges.”
“Then what should I do with all this emotion?”
“Feel it,” she said. “This is love’s symptom.”
“Oh…” I paused. “So I’m… in love?”
“Yes, and that’s the diagnosis,” she said.
“A beautiful affliction
The kind you don’t cure, just carry.”
Your diagnosis is not your destiny
Grace to you in this century
You shall receive mercy
Because you show mercy to others
Season's change
Life rearranges itself
In proportion to your faith
God is able
We see this throughout the Bible
So know that your diagnosis is not your destiny
Your diagnosis is not your destiny
Grace to you in this century
You shall receive mercy
Because you show mercy to others
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
my brain
simmers like scrambled
eggs
on a stovetop burner
round like that clock
hanging on the wall
tick tock ticking away...
observing eyes fixed
watching with intent
me a-waiting test results
brain flopping into
overload
circuits too hot
frying into shut-down.
mindless
be I
awaiting fate
as though
already dead
sit I.
My father, an officer in army, his friend too,
A hypochondriac friend who was always blue,
Said I’m off to see the quack,
Doc said, odds against you stack,
Diagnosis: you’re pregnant Rex, out he flew!
They told me I had twelve days to live
the entire life I have known;
final visits with the people I love.
The sickness was serious.
So do all the things now and what you
wish to do evermore.
I contacted everyone I ever wronged
and asked for forgiveness.
Understandably, each of them was busy
and did not reply.
One note did arrive and indicated that,
if indeed, I died in twelve days,
I well deserved it.
To which I replied,
"I have lived the Heaven of Eleven Days,
and the twelve day diagnosis is dissolved."
Salt tears drip from leaves,
To land on tea colored pages.
Hopes and dreams,
Written in the ink of history
Slowly blur and drip
Into the underworld of the
Abandoned and long forgotten.
Salt waters of the ocean
And tumbling waves turn
Stones and pebbles to sand,
Erasing familiar shapes
And throwing up barriers
To once precious memories.
Dimming eyes look out on
Unfamiliar landscapes of a mind
Inching inexorably into
A vast emptiness that steals
Learned behaviors, abilities
And the past, leaving nothing.
The empty eyes wander
But do not understand, for
The spirit that occupied this frame
Has broken mortal chains.
It now soars free, no longer captive
To earth and mortal life.
The doctor gave the diagnosis of pernicious anemia
Which then explained the new found fatigue
In the past, he had been able to take on any enterprise
An astral imagination was his adherent
To help carry out his entrepreneurial spirit
Now all of his gifts seeped slowly like sand through the hour glass
He had wanted to traverse over the poverty of his childhood
He refused to accept any sort blemish
That would dampen the ladder to his success
His visage upon his final goals landed
Rural plots turned into verdant open land, tools, equipment stored
Now like a sentry he guards his fold
Date: October 30, 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Contest: Eight Word Challenge
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