Except for docs and pills that work,
I’d know not who I am.
Frightening to learn and bravely see
where I really stand.
I live the person God has made,
a creation striving to grow
and deep within the core of soul
is a purpose I've yet to know.
I am a woman, mellowed with age,
tough times and moments of grief.
But in my spirit God still lives, so
perfection I must seek.
I love the person that I am,
His image personified,
knowing my losses weren't in vain.
God keeps count of all tears I've cried.
And one day in the morning dew
a fresh caress will be,
awakening my strongest self
to the purpose God has for me.
Schools and many stores are closed;
Banks and barbers, too.
If you need to buy some stamps,
There’s nothing you can do.
Docs and dentists do not work;
The Market has no trades
And you may find a door that’s locked
At pool halls or arcades.
It’s a day for chilling out,
Relaxing in your home –
The perfect time to make some calls
Or read or write a poem.
For New Year’s Day’s the last hurrah
Before we’re back in gear.
The holiday is over, as
Tomorrow will make clear.
Middle aged man in Docs,
vintage leather jacket and
grey haired pubes around his cock.
Ill fitting tour shirts rekindling a hazy past.
Barrowlands, The Bunnymen. Hammersmith Odeon,The Clash.
U2 at University pre Bono crawling up his own ****.
Danced and hugged on stage with Terry Hall,
arrested for d&d outside Bradfords Great Hall,
after watching John Cooper Clarke supporting The Fall.
Life reinvigorated by the post punk explosion,
no longer searching the NME gig guide,
but a Spotify recommendation.
or an even sadder email notification.
A pre gig meal opposed to a walk home pie in a barm.
Ear buds for the tinnitus and Bisoprolol to keep calm.
Heartbreak to watch the talent unrewarded,
by a government devoid of a cultural foresight.
Stifled opportunities
through Tory Brexit lies,
Allowing the corporations of Cowles and the EMI’s to
reap million upon million,
leaving the grassroots unnurtured, venues struggling to stay open.
Our greatest export,
an industry broken.
Relationships with doctors
Can be awkward, even though
You discuss the same old problems
Every time that you may go.
Yet if you have a physician
You have seen for many years,
All self-consciousness and tension
Somehow quickly disappears.
He’ll remember all your symptoms –
Be they serious or not –
And will take his time explaining
What you have or haven’t got.
There might even be some jokes about
Appointments in the past
And you realize that you’re lucky,
For such bonds so rarely last.
As my other docs retired
Or switched practices on me,
I feel grateful I’m connected, still,
To my same old G.P.*
*General Practitioner
I went to the docs for a blood test; routine
That morning I’d been on the weighing machine
So I knew my weight and my height… give or take
(And, okay, I don’t look a lot like a rake)
He asked me my height and he asked me my weight
Which I may not have known on an earlier date
I said, “Five-eleven and fifteen stone-ish,”
Then thought I’d impress him… “I eat lots of fish.”
But he shook his head with a quiet, “Tutt tutt”
As I sat and stared at the size of his gut
He told me that I ought to lose excess weight
I just had to say, “Are you serious, Mate?”
I think that upset him, for that’s when he said,
“Male, sixty-five? Hop up on the bed…”
Through dry lips I muttered, “O, heavens above.”
He said, “This won’t hurt,” and he slipped on a glove…
See I never see it as fault
She eats in bed
English quite a hurdle for a Scot
but even the eating in bed
makes me s…………………,,,, e
………………m……………..l
………………………..I
English
Yeah I said it twice quite a biggie
She’s perfectly obscure
The crumbs in the crease where her lips lay
Even the persistent serial killer docs
As in documentary
Not as in Serial killer doctors
Or a serial killer who kills doctors
Personally I think she is looking for tips
in case I piss her off
Jokes on her
I never will
There is a movement amongst Republican ranks
in The United States Congress, regarding the
the absence of religion in schools, and its
herald revival, like some Bible Belt Tent
-- minus the tambourines, being it is
The Halls of Congress -- after all.
In the wings awaits assorted
groups whose numbers had
enlarged, recently, due to
liberal channels, and that
is not of recent long ere
the days of backwoods
racism, --not all guilty
be the righteous few.
It's as if my, 'White
Lies' short story
-- resurrected.
Satanist sides with
the right wing in
hopes, it seem
they've filed a
proper docs.
to be a type
viable sort,
of faith be
admitted.
FYIs
Cyber poets seeking buried treasure
filled with rushed rapture A.I’s hurried;
Robotic words never ringing no soul,
outraged console steady lagging;
Pop goes the weasel suddenly alive;
Bourgeois contrive it’s meant to be;
Left a jack in the box out of control
technology stole all the word docs;
Infinite is always within arm’s reach,
victims of a breach much too often;
Criminals that dip into a writer’s mind,
the destructive kind with quite a quip;
Murderous impersonation DM’s,
virtuous victim’s dark liaison;
Laying waste to the pen’s process it falls,
there’s nothing that calls or will impress;
Desperately seeking any sparkle,
you are not mortal and you’re stealing;
Cyber poets they cannot look within,
weak source of jargon without a hook.
So the death sentence is lifted
I kicked cancers ass
They found no trace of it with surgery
free of that sh*t at last!
Now it's on to radiation
to become a spiderwoman queen
Not exactly what I want to do
but it erases all traces unseen
Those microscopic morsels
the little single cells
that may have escaped that toxic elixir
as we nuked them all to hell.
And they can find no trace of cancer
past the breast I am clear
And it was a lumpectomy
so I still have the breast, Oh dear!
And yes that heavy burden is lifted
my docs original decree
It was you have a 60 percent chance of being alive
in five years you see
And well I think the odds are now much better
something like 98
And for now at least I don't have to carry
that heavy weight.
It's nice to be back Artimus (C) Susan Manley 10:28AM 1/26/24
Away in an asylum
No release from his bed
Poor Fred can't escape
The loud voice in his head
The medic’s crowd round
By the bed where Fred lay
They admit they can’t help
There's no treatment today
Doctors are convinced
He’s not mentally ill
So they cannot assist him
There’s no magic pill
The voice they discover
Belongs to Fred’s wife
She’s so overbearing
And causes great strife
Docs are in agreement
That they fear for Fred’s life
He’ll stay with them fee free
To escape from his wife!
Fred loves the asylum
He lives there to this day
If his wife comes to visit
Staff just turn her away!
Hold the door open
Pull out your chair
Give you my jacket
Comb your brown hair
Cook you a banquet
Play you a song
Listen when speaking
Offer my arm
Wrap you in afghan
Slippers on feet
Make you fresh coffee
Talk to you sweet
Write you a poem
Hug you when sad
Warm up your car
Set up iPad
Help you choose music
Edit your docs
Crosswords together
Aran wool socks
Let you control
Think the world of
Respect your decisions
Quietly love
Wife is helping her husband fill out the forms for labs.
It says doctor’s name she tells him.
I can read! He snaps.
So put it down, she says.
I don’t know the doctor’s name.
Davis, says she.
Then she leans in closer.
Put no there. Put yes there, check that box. Your blood type is B.
Where do I put that? He asks.
I feel sorry for his wife who has now also become his mother.
My body builds up too much iron;
My wife’s blood, not enough.
We tired of going to all those docs;
At night, we just hook up.
----------
*A fairly common (1:200) condition known as hemochromatosis results in iron being stored in various organs, including the liver. Undetected, it can cause serious health issues, but it is readily treatable.
As I lay me down to dream
Please don't let me fight or scream
Keep the nightmares far away
Don't let me watch
The death replay.
Let me have
One peaceful night
To stay asleep until the light.
Don't let me wake to sob and cry
Over and over
I've watched them die.
Just a few hours in a quiet world
No pink caskets or baby girl.
No body bags stacked 3 feet high
The smell of death from ground to sky.
No cold sweats, shaking in the dark.
The things I've seen has left it's mark.
Docs and pills and counseling,
Don't ever do a single thing.
So you suck it up and just turn cold.
Just let it go, is what I've been told.
You think I really want this pain?
To wallow in hell, going insane.
Not be able to FEEL like you?
I would have already,
If it was that easy to do!!
But tonight,
Just let me sleep,
Dear lord let it be dreamless and deep.
A small bat was flying in my house
circling over the bed.
With a pole and a boxing glove
I struck it to the floor.
Rabies shots we would get
while the docs cracked open it's head.
25-September-2021
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