Long Anesthetic Poems
Long Anesthetic Poems. Below are the most popular long Anesthetic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anesthetic poems by poem length and keyword.
Monoku Series: General Hospital
i had a brain mri last month
as expected, they found nothing
i asked could i do my own anesthetic
doc said, "knock yourself out"
last week i went to urgent care
it felt neither urgent nor caring
they had a specialist:
her specialty is diseases of the rich
she longs to open up her own clinic
but doesn't have the patients
my doc's advice: if you're skinny, don't eat fast
if you're not, don't eat... fast!
isn't it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do,
"practice"?
overseen on a patient's chart:
no fever or chills but spouse claims she
was very hot in bed last night
Humor Attribution: #3 - Edmo Snord, #4 - Tom Lehrer, #7 - George Carlin, all others found online and converted
to monoku form by yours truly.
Enjoy your Sunday, everybody!
A woman’s spirit hovers
above an inert body that is hers.
She sees the surgeons cutting
and then sees their frantic efforts
as they try to bring her back to life.
She had died and yet is able
to describe exactly everything
they’d said and done
when her anesthetic wears off!
Others – many others – have had
similar experiences called NDE’s.
Many see a tunnel or a light,
and some with loved ones long departed
may briefly unite.
Their hearts are gladdened.
They wish not to go back to this life
that most of us fight so hard to stay in.
But God alone determines when we die,
and so we know it was not time for THEM either.
Science cannot prove the afterlife,
nor can it disprove it.
How can anyone explain NDE’s
wherein the subjects’ hearts stop beating
or there is no brain activity?
They try to say the mind hallucinates
when on the brink of death,
but how can they account for miraculous recoveries?
And how do they account for the utter joy and love felt
by the many who get that precious glimpse of heaven?
What kind of light of such resplendence
could make a person wish
his soul had not even been returned to his earthly body?
Things that mortals cannot understand
in time (and in death) will be comprehended.
Lucky are the ones for whom
near death comes to them,
for death to them would have to be
a thing never more to fear again-and instead-
would be a thing to live for!
N/A April 27, 2022 in Chantelle Anne Cooke's Near Death Experience Poetry Contest
Submitted Sept. 18, 2022 for Sotto Poet's Your Second Chance 2Nd Submission: Poetry Contest
Josh’s drinking days were long behind him. The three beers he drank before ordering his meal; the two beers he drank during his meal; and, the two Bailey’s he consumed after his meal had taken their effect on the middle-aged man. He talked incessantly to the bartenders, bothered the two young ladies who sat at the bar a few stools away and staggered back and forth to the men’s room a dozen times.
Finally, reluctantly, after many hours had passed, Josh paid his tab, leaving a generous, alcohol influenced tip and wobbled out the door. Not sure which direction to go to return to his hotel, Josh simply started off down the street, still thinking about his wife.
How much time passed is unclear, but he was many blocks away when he suddenly realized he was not wearing his fedora. Josh did an about-face and tried to retrace his steps to the bar and bar stool where he knew his hit sat waiting for him. Josh walked into and out of a number of bars he mistook for the one he dined in. Although he was fooled by the outside facades, once he stepped in, he knew it was the wrong bar.
When Josh finally stumbled upon the bar that he recognized as the one he had dined in, it was closed and the doors were locked. It was 3:00 am.
Tears came to Josh’s eyes. Josh felt as if losing the hat his wife had given him was a harbinger of the end and he was not ready to reach that point. Josh simply had to retrieve that hat. He had to get his wife back. Somewhere, deep down in his drunken soul, Josh mustered up the strength to lift the city trash can from the corner of the street and smash it through the large glass window in front of the bar – he was oblivious to the alarms that started blaring.
Josh managed to crawl into the bar through the broken window unaware of the glass shards cutting his wrists, stomach and throat. The moister from the blood simply mixed with the moister from his sweat. The numbness and anesthetic nature of the abundance of alcohol he was not used to masked the extent of his injuries.
When the police arrived on the scene, Josh was found in the darkness, clutching his fedora at the foot of the stool where he had eaten his dinner.
Josh’s wife received the phone call later that morning announcing his passing.
He was buried with the fedora.
"Please, please give me some milk?
The Last words of Michael Jackson
(Milk was his nickname for the general anesthetic Propofol he took to sleep.)
A dream so wonderful it could not last
An impressive voice so vast lay mute in death
His light was stilled and my soul shattered
It dripped with grief for what could have been
The songs of a young boy sublime
So full of promise, health and stardom
A talent glorious- that in immortality it lasts
Some condemned, some were traitors, liars
His life became empty- his journey a struggle
But his amazing music is what he left us
His talent an inspiration to the young and old
and his dancing steps lead us up to heaven
In death his "milk" drug killed him
Oh, could no one help? His doctor?
No family, friend, manager ? I would have
I can still hear his voice- it comforts me
His journey was of waves rising and lowering
He sang until his quiet voice was stilled in death
Yes, I mourn his passing, the ravaged talent
and the people who left him alone suffering
Your toe bone's connected to your foot bone
That's usually how this ditty begins
Continuing on up there's your ankle bone
Commonly known as your shin
If you ever get kicked in your shin bone
You'll feel what is known as pain
Your eyes will cross and you'll wet yourself
Never wanna feel that again
Better to have your finger nails ripped out
With pliers and no anesthetic
Though that can be really painful as well
But ankle pain makes you frenetic
You'll utter words you didn't know you knew
But some will likely need deciphering
Probably create some new ones of your own
Block the ears of all the wee kidlings
Now if your ankle and head bones are connected
You've had some terrible mishap
Suggest you see a surgeon right away
Or your ass could wind up in your lap!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Started drinking fruit flavoured water now
Not the tastiest but I'll keep trying, I vow
In the winter months I always seem to gain
Inactivity is the culprit, exercising's a pain
When I walk, it's much more like a waddle
Sure don't resemble a Givenchy model
Gonna keep on trying to recapture my youth
Downed another swig of gin and vermouth
Now everything appears to be quite copacetic
Gin works wonders as an anesthetic
So getting back to the fruit flavoured water
A lot more concerned than this guy oughta
I'm just eighty-six so why should I care
Soon I'll be trapped in my big easy chair
Cathie will feed me some ground up mush
Dentures it seems, down the toilet got flushed
But there's a silver lining just waiting for me
If I could only get rid of my gimpy old knee
Bottom line is this, sure had a great life
Came up a big winner on the roll of the dice
Fade to grey
Take my hand and let me set fire to your mind.
I want to see, what you are hiding inside.
I’m blinded by the light of your eyes
And I just called to say, I never lied.
Wishing upon a shooting star.
I would shoot it down to give it to you;
If that is your wish,
Then let me, become your Prince.
For I am the one who has travelled far,
To prove I deserve a chance at a kiss.
I followed a rainbow and it led me to you.
You are sun, I am rain;
We are evenly matched and love is in bloom.
The world is our theatre;
Our script is unwritten.
With you I have become totally smitten;
You are a kitten.
Beauty pours out of you;
You are my poetry soup.
I drink you in to taste you.
You give meaning to my view.
This is what I see;
A Queen, I must kneel.
My love I shall worship you,
For I am humble and you are unbelievable!
Give me your hand in marriage
And you shall soothe the damaged,
Voice inside my heart,
That only knows of the lies I hear, in yet another adage.
Embrace me once again;
Be the moth to my flame
And I shall be grateful,
To be no longer hateful…
Goodbye to yesterday.
Cure my disease with a simple kiss.
You are my nurse,
You are my anesthetic;
My medicine and my A and E.
Sound the alarm!
Ring the chapel bells,
Before all Hell breaks loose;
Let us wed so I can heal myself.
Paranoia over cheating;
Banish this memory,
Let me be who I used to be…
Fade to grey with me.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Started drinking fruit flavoured water now
Not the tastiest but I'll keep trying, I vow
In the winter months I always seem to gain
Inactivity is the culprit, exercising's a pain
When I walk, it's much more like a waddle
Sure don't resemble a Givenchy model
Gonna keep on trying to recapture my youth
Downed another swig of gin and vermouth
Now everything appears to be quite copacetic
Gin works wonders as an anesthetic
So getting back to the fruit flavoured water
A lot more concerned than this guy oughta
I'm almost eighty-eight so why should I care
Soon I'll be trapped in my big easy chair
Wifey will feed me some ground up mush
Dentures down the toilet gets flushed
But there's a silver lining waiting for me
If I could only get rid of my gimpy old knee
Bottom line is this, sure had a great life
Came up a big winner by a roll of the dice
(This verse is painted for my Loving Daughter P Suzanna Christy on her 8th birthday)
It was the day she began to move out,
She’d been in the cradle of her mother’s womb
Some seven years before silently in her dreams,
And her dreams! Who knows? But He knows.
Her mother, yea, yet to be a mother then!
Then in her travail, yet rejoicing in God’s Gift,
With her friend and neighbors close by she was wriggling.
Her father, yea, yet to be a father then!
Then in his journey, anxious, yet praying all the way,
None but the Father in Christ is beside him.
She reaches the eighth milestone of life,
How she hath reached is by His Mercy.
I remember the day of entry into the world,
She made a cry within and it was not heard unto us,
We could not know why she had cried within,
But we know for she had prayed within,
And now we’ve learnt that her first cry would be to Him.
Her mother’s friend took her in his arms,
And showered thousand kisses on her tiny forehead,
And it is he always the God-sent providence unto them.
Her mother rose from her anesthetic sleep,
And her every breath, it’s the fact, pronounced THANKS unto HIM.
She longed for her God’s Gift and took her in her arms of love.
I watched her imprinting kisses on the silky cheeks.
Every one wept and there were tears of joy,
I collected those tears in the deep of my heart.
She hath reached the eighth milestone of life:
She flutters as the dancing star in the sky,
Like the tiny trout in the running brook she plays,
Sweet like the ripe apple ‘midst the orchard,
‘cross the horizons of joy and laughter she traverses,
Dressed in the Blessings from Above,
She looks purple with floating frilled skirt,
She wears the smiles of her mother,
Filled with friendly wishes from her school mates,
She walks amidst the song of her little blooms.
I can’t hold her joy she experiences,
And so her mother shares it with her
And too with her for she hath carried my prayer in her womb.
She grows with the Heavenly Grace,
And does proclaim the Glory of Heaven in her life.
Now she’s a little plant to grow more flowers,
And every flower shall be the message of His Mercy
The Paying (I wish) Public marvels
at what comes out: those explosive, star-spangled
phrases and melodies (the few times I get it right);
but what of the great-real that went in, the life-struggles,
the tears, the soul-smothering isolation – not to forget
the little left of me, squirming squiggly, imprisoned
with the many nameless, sparsely filled, crumpled-up
white-pulp battlefields in the wastebasket – my inky piles of bones –
clawed-out guts (the years of painful extraction,
likened to going to the dentist, then being told, that I have a serious abscess,
needing an immediate Root Canal, though unfortunately
Covid has prevented our delivery of anesthetic)...
Oh well, here goes again:
Roses are red – so is a poet's blood;
The moon strings silvery, strum-able beams –
myself too busy to play them, running on a
treadmill, going nowhere, in my Write-blocked-nightmare,
ominously pulled from words my stalled mind should be chasing...
So, my Love (Poetry), she does
and she does not – till one
mightily fit for publication:)