Way back a learned man tried to teach his
Students, the treatment of using leeches.
And to those who had doubting defiance,
They were told to, ‘Just trust the science.’
After all what’s wrong with bloodletting,
When good health is what you’ll be getting.
Yet sometimes leeching was overdone,
Which aided the death of George Washington.
Two hundred years ago some Calomel,
Was supposed to make sick patients well.
But some people cried out ‘It has cured me,’
To avoid ingesting more mercury.
And shockingly there’s coffee enemas,
To ease constipation dilemmas.
Yet its cure is just ‘pie-in-the-sky’,
Joining that list of cures, that are sci-fi.
Sci-fi persists with Coronavirus,
Since shots can bring on myocarditis.
Still, people long to be in compliance,
Coz for god’s sake, they trust the sci-fi-ence.
Why be like past sci-fi-ence enablers,
Who believe the paid off ‘expert’ fablers.
Why not take time to learn alternate views,
And debunk myths with good health and good news.
Categories:
enemas, hope, satire, science,
Form: Rhyme
Crutched like so many sheep
in a paddock
surgery,chemo or rays
the hoped for recovery
or hastened decay.
Categories:
enemas, life,
Form: Free verse
The remaining days
have no distinction.
My children
have abandoned me
to the care of Shady Acres
Nursing Home.
My friends, all dead now;
and I sit amidst
a crowd of breathing zombies
staring blindly out the window
or into the fuzzy TV screen.
The nurses, smiling sadistic
bitches who prod my skin
and orifices with needles,
enemas and other assorted
tools of torture.
I lie awake at night,
listening to the droning
snores of my roommate.
The room smells like piss
mixed with Pine Sol and tears.
I hope soon to shake
the welcome hand of death.
For these remaining days
have no distinction.
Categories:
enemas, death,
Form: Free verse
BEWARE OF ENEMIES AND ENEMAS
Beware the scare to share with sharpened steel
To note the difference ‘tween fantasy and or the surreal
Take heed for what I say ‘tis truth unclothed before thee
Three routes but bear right and wrong you couldst just be
Oh that old trail’s been there for too many years to count
That road be akin to a mustang who no one would ever mount
The other two lead to a place where no one has ever returned to recount their tale
And obviously it’s not a place where someone could send me any mail
Tread contritely to the ones you’ve hurt who bare now the knives
Because it could be a matter of who lives and which one survives
This is no missive to depress you nor make anger the way of the day
And I know because you’re all young but my black hair has now become gray
So I give you this lesson not to order you, discipline you nor tell thee what to do
You’ve got three ways to go but only one leads to peace and tranquility for you
I’ve known where to go when the road splits and I’ve known since I was an infant
And here you are at fifty-five, still consternated and no, I will not give you a hint
I ~© 2011.….free cee!~
Categories:
enemas, angst,
Form: Quatrain