Long Pancreatic Poems
Long Pancreatic Poems. Below are the most popular long Pancreatic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pancreatic poems by poem length and keyword.
I had known and interacted with him for at least twenty years. It would be great if I could remember the first time I met him, but I shall never forget the LAST time I looked into his eyes.
He was a staff pastor at our church with multiple assignments. Never have I met anyone more dedicated to his ministry.
We were happy when he consented to take some extra time off. At first, it was announced that he would be on a 30-day sabbatical, but I'm not sure if anyone knew that his sabbatical would be interrupted. During that period, he had a medical appointment that proved very negative. Following that appointment, another announcement was made of his condition. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer that was of the none-treatable variety. He was given a short time to live and we all took it very hard.
It was decided that our church would have a celebration of his life before his demise. There were many people at the amazing service, but I was able to make eye contact with him and his family. I thought that was the closest I would come to saying goodbye to our beloved pastor. However, as I was driving out of the parking lot, I spotted him in his daughter's car engaged with others. I knew that this moment with him alive might be my LAST. So I stopped, and exiting my vehicle, I proceeded quickly and stooped my head through the window while he was speaking with someone else. I kissed him on the forehead and slowly walked away, sadly. That was the LAST time I touched him, the LAST time I saw him alive, but that affectionate moment will last a lifetime.
11272018PoSoupContest, The Last, Silent One; 2P
In the quiet whispers of the night,
I hear the impending dawn chuckle
a shadow verse
of glimpse of soon-coming,
like a white horse, hero of a romance looming.
Blue sides echo with turn,
a long standing joy taking burn.
But down in the water below,
Leviathan stealths, deep and low,
in demi-urge- surging,- mingling with
the flowing pangea of dreams,
a birth pang showing.
mirrored creation phi relativity.
As I listen to the water's song,
On nights where reflection reflects strong,
It seeps into my being, magnetically long
Becoming part of my very throes in ideallic throngs.
The quietness creeps into every nook,
worn sense lingers in each shadowed look-
looking back.
A heavy burden I must brook,
cup it into my hand at my appearance took.
Yet in the midst of all the pangs,
pancreatic paleolithic lithographic phi heart strings.
Smoking jackets - storybook glistening spines,
nightcapped bungalows of review and time.
Love still shines through- in endless flame,
in projector rewind of black and white
memories seeking colors divine.
Life, though fleeting, is not in vain,
though it endlessly tortures me,
it also brings lights and
thunder and quenching rains.
What truly matters, that is what will be,
bee to remain for my queen.
Through avenues of the dead intertwined with mine?
In this life, my purpose I find-
sticks and stones, haphazard bones of
nothing but stark reality, alone.
That is, what we will sea.
The Deep,
of matters keeped.
My thoughts of rose- picked by hues of meter
by my sense of prose in
magic's clothe s.
Or is it salt-peter.
1
some are going ahead
some are going back
having my fingers wielded
on an old type-writer
i’m thinking what should i do
a pretty long time passed away
since the village alphabet
had bade me farewell
in my recent thinking
there is a severe harikiri
the song
that i have sung in a deep forest
in front of the wild flowers
now when i am sitting
under the ceiling-fan
of the heaven
i can see that both
the lyric and the tune of the song
have vanished
2
this morning
i’ve woke up little earlier
to observe the dawn
the flags of my behaviour
are posted in the grass-land
around me
no one should take them
as the handkerchiefs of
a demon
a group of people is harvesting
the paddy of the spring-season
i too join them to remember
the water-game of the ducks
i’m speaking less
or keeping mum
but there remains so many topics
to be discussed
the battle of the ballots…
the global recession…
the climate-change…
the terrorism…
the joint-force…
3
i’ve made a thorough discussion
with myself
so many arguments which lead to
even so much fighting
i see that there has been not
much lamentation or brooding
not much grief or sorrow
not much tension or anxiety
of my own
all the time
surrounding me only is a grey
non-attachment
and a joy sans any emotion
then i think
if the rose can forget its sorrow and distress
why should I remember them
with so much pain and pancreatic problems
He demands a unilateral appointment with all of us and more often than not, appears suddenly without warning, without mercy, leaving grief, sorrow, and tears. He has been given 'a power of passage', but he too has an appointment and a destiny with destruction and doom. But until then, he comes and goes, and takes without giving. There was LEE, a giant of a man and lover of people who after a couple of years of lung sickness, died last summer. Then there was PAT, who over the years had many encounters of illness and survived. But in the summer of 2018, he was attacked with pancreatic cancer that took him away from us. My good friend BOB came down with throat cancer. I must admit that I had fears and frets over him, but I and others continued to exercise our faith on Bob's behalf, and thank God he recovered greatly. A few months ago, there was GENE who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died last Fall, but not before we celebrated with him his wonderful life. A couple of weeks ago, my friend GERRY passed on after much discomfort. Someday, death will cease his sway over us and we will celebrate his demise. To everything, and yes to death itself, there is a time and a season.
03012019PoSoupContest, Dance of Death, Chantelle Cooke
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
Rachel
Oh Rachel, my most valued
friend
You were taken to soon in the end
Are first it was breast cancer that you were bound to beat
The radiation burnt you from the heat
They took your breasts and tried to recreate
But something went wrong and you were ok with your fate
They couldn’t do the reconstruction but you were okay
You would live through another day
Fast forward and you were cleared for a year
It brought a lot of joy and cheer
To celebrate you went on a cruise
You knew you had nothing to lose
During the vacation something was not right
It brought you into yet another fight
Pancreatic cancer, stage one, it won’t be that bad you said
But soon there would be tears to shed
By the time the surgery was to happen, it went to stage four
They said there was nothing they could do for you anymore
You lived only a few months from that day
We are all left here to continue to pray
You gave with your heart and always lent an ear
Always so happy and never had fear
As you fought, you had kindness and grace
Always calming others and never a sad face
The one thing you asked was to take care of your boys
The cancer didn’t care what it destroys
My heart and mind thinks of you all the time
Taking you too soon was a crime.
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Most of us should know that the fourth Thursday,
is called a Thanksgiving Day celebration.
The first Tuesday after the first Monday,
we elect the leaders of our nation.
Maybe you even know the first Sunday,
is when Daylight Savings comes to an end.
But did you know on November the first,
National Pomegranate Month begins.
Also, Native Heritage and Military Family Month,
Epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, and COPD awareness.
How about NAN-O-WRI-MO or Pancreatic Cancer too,
we’ll throw in No Shave November just for fairness.
The first Wednesday is Eating Healthy Day,
the first Thursday is Man Makes Dinner.
The first Friday is Samoan Arbor Day,
and of course, Black Friday is always a winner.
Who can forget World Vegan Day,
or Coronation Day of the fifth Druk in Bhutan.
It’s Liberty Day in the Virgin Islands,
Self-Defense Forces Commemoration in Japan.
It is Veterans Day on the eleventh,
Pneumonia Day on the twelve.
Parfait day on the twenty-fifth,
if you don’t care about your health.
I could just go on and on listing them,
but just between me and you.
We’d still be here reading next November,
and we probably still would not be through.
Was it Banting and Best,
Collip and McLeod’s feat ?
Whose efforts bore fruits,
And ‘Insulin’ was discovered.
Or was it the Compassionate Creator.
Who really Sorted out the pancreatic mystery,
And Granted man the sense,
To perfect the pancreatic extract,
That was injected to people with diabetes,
Safely and successfully !
A new era dawned in the history of medicine.
Many hopeless souls,
Got relieved and cheerful.
On being Gifted Insulin,
The “lifeline” so much awaited before.
Since that landmark discovery,
Diabetes has witnessed many more breakthroughs.
Each one a lesson, to the faltering human.
Not to despair and to carry on the struggle,
Despite upheavals and failures.
And never to loose the trust on our ‘True Benefector’.
We should always strive keeping us upright,
And keep words and deeds like a mirror.
Kindling the dreary paths for others,
And rescuing fondering hearts, from deep waters .
Ahead, Medicine has many more challenges.
Diabetes also needs more plunges,
Into the oceans of research and practice.
As in 1921, the insulin got invented.
May one day, “Diabetes” get eradicated.
La La La,
Ya Ya Ya,
Ga Ga Ga.
Awesome like totally Awesome.
Cool Like I was and she was like Waaah
And I was like "YaYa" and she was like "Ye Ye".
Welcome everyone to my little soiree.
I have fish from France and caviar from the sea.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Mrs Goldfish you have a baby tadpole.
Now Son I want you to make me proud.
Never spit first. Wait until they spit at you then
return fire. Make me proud.
Actually my son painted it. He clearly shows
a tendency for Monetesque brush strokes.
Although if you look carefully you can just
detect the Da Da influence.
Mother I hate you. I always have.
I'm going to drown myself in a bath full of honey.
I will just slowly sink away thinking of bees.
I tried so hard with that boy. I gave him everything
But I guess the Artist doesn't fit in a Scientific world.
And the Scientist doesn't fit in an Artist world.
Mrs Goldfish you have 17 different cancers. Some
are lymphomas others are organ cancers. Lung and
pancreatic cancer.
Perhaps you should sit down dear.
I don't feel well. Goodnight all.
he's dancing
he swayze her in his arms
it's a movie
an old movie
he is happy
a very unique joy
doing what he adores
a love like parents feel for their new born baby
it's a love you don’t know exists
until the very moment you live it
usually only reserved for your art or children
i am watching Patrick with a tear in my eye
tell my friends ‘it's just a bit of dust’
i'm sad
no
more then sad
in that moment he is unaware he will die young
unaware he will fight like a brave warrior
take on pancreatic cancer without even a whimper
he beats it for maybe an extra year of life
in the end
the end
(an all too familiar
set of words)
the last two words of a film
this is different
an end
a human life stolen
sends a chill
even
through arctic regions
the dirty C
too many lost
to this disease
draws my ire
he does die
young
he passes as gracefully as he danced
i'm watching the movie
i think to myself
no i speak it out loud
pancreatic cancer
now that's what i call
Dirty Dancing
in response to his baptist cousin’s question
as to whether he had started looking to
religion
as a way of dealing with his newfound pancreatic cancer
of which
nothing medical could be done
he simply replied, “no”---
to one son asking if philosophy was doing anything for him
he repeated the same---
in fact, it wasn’t until he was asked if anything at all
had brought him meaning in those last days,
that he answered without pause---
“poetry.”
beyond all the vast reading that this brilliant man had done in his life
all the intellectual horizons that he had pondered
it was the
“slow meanders” & “stuttering embers”
which brought him life---
the flavors of words which he himself could never cook up
those rhythms &
rhymes
which the likes straight-up philosophers had never seemed to grasp
with the same
umph
that poetry did.
may the rest of us be so lucky as to “stockpile” our hearts & minds with the words of our
favorite poets
&
lyricists
who have formed the backbone of every step through this hopscotch game we call
life.