Long Surgery Poems
Long Surgery Poems. Below are the most popular long Surgery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surgery poems by poem length and keyword.
I was just four when I discovered that some grown-ups cry.
That’s because I saw my mommy dragging my daddy down the stairs,
Her eyes so full of tears that they fairly poured down her flimsy nightgown.
Daddy wasn’t crying. Daddy was dead.
When I was six, I had cause to cry on my own account.
Mommy had been dating a man, she said if they married I would be a flower girl.
One night she came into my room crying a little and said she was sorry, they eloped.
I cried quietly. I’m not sure it was all for me.
At eleven, a whole new kind of tears entered my life.
Asleep in my room late at night, I awoke to my mom screaming and sobbing.
My three-year-old sister slept next to me so I just listened as my stepfather beat her.
I cried so hard. I thought I would never stop.
Age 20 and happy to be in college away from the pain.
Divorced, mom found a new love in vodka, and he controlled her more than her ex.
I brought my love home to meet her, and she asked him how he could like a fat, lazy slob like me?
I knew I shouldn’t cry. It didn’t stop me.
In my life have been many opportunities to cry.
Being told I would die when my daughter was a baby and I thirty-two,
The death of my mother, my youngest daughter’s fiancé dying of cystic fibrosis.
With each tear I fade a little. I’m almost gone.
So now in my 50s, I find out my oldest daughter is sick.
Stage four lymphoma, and she didn’t cry through chemo, hair loss,
Almost dying four times in treatment, emergency surgery, pulmonary embolism.
It’s okay. I cried enough for both of us.
She is twenty-six, and sometimes I can hear her crying.
Her lymphoma is back, creeping into her spine like an armed terrorist,
And while it is a small encampment that hasn’t grown, our fear, sadness, and helplessness increases daily.
I hear her cry. I make sure she can’t hear me.
I am approaching sixty; sometimes I feel one hundred.
I wonder if God has allotted us a finite number of tears for our lifetime,
If those tears are stored in the chambers of our heart and we need to conserve some for what tomorrow holds.
Let her last tear be her last tear. But give me one last tear — sparkling and light — dancing down my cheek in gratitude as I fade to clear.
fbruary 2, 2019
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!
He Knew When She stopped Smiling
-------------------------------------------
"Dissonance" by: De Manière Negatiboa
---------------------------------------------
Surgery niceness, started the response, it
caused most of us to see things
in a different light. Maybe we shouldn't
have wrote this song! We collaborated to
write and of the 14 main characters
involved with this creational piece
thought it represented a classical
mastering. Most of the critique
caused others to frown. It tuned
our ears tom want to hear better
things the lady said. She avoided
eye contact and completely turned her body
away from me. Avoided me like I was the Plague
Moving away from me to reduce her anxiety
or discomfort, such as ignoring
messages or avoiding conversations.
It made her happy to say she liked the music
but the song was like stepping in the horses dung
wearing a wedding gown. "You don't want it
on you, you know!" Days later she thank us for
our decency by removing the lyrics and smiled
enough to give me a little solace to comfort
me. They didn't like it is all we could say!
----------------------------------------------------
"rebuilding a sense of integrity"
Rebounding from a review of your talent
or chose of material "pathetic" and "horrendous"
-----------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------
Stoned out of concentration, my eyes stared deep into the padded grey church walls, ambient coloured lights flashed through the tinted windows dancing up the ceilings, and tunes of melodious worship shadowed past my ears.
I never wanted a cut on my body. "you have a cyst in both ovaries and it requires prompt surgery." The doctor's words eluded my thoughts, fleeting like flickering LEDs.
I wanted a miracle desperately. Shattered in tears, I spoke to God, asked him to heal me,
to give me a first-hand embrace of his mercy and I'll share mine too.
Faith is a mix of troubles and losses, dreams on hold, hurts and tears. But with it, God sends a blanket of stability. One month later, the test came back negative. I testified.
Heaven's grace
By Michelle Morris
04/11/2022
Count back from 10
Leave your body behind
Get the surgery done
Out of sight, out of mind
If only we could heal
Our problems the same way
Cut them out with scalpels
Disposed of in medical waste
But life is complicated
More often than we realise
We can try to simplify it
But it's difficult with emotional ties
Being human takes its toll
That's why we die at the end
No one should live forever
The lessons are part of our journey
Everyone has their problems
No one is exempt from the tests
We only choose different paths
To learn and grow to be our best
Everyone has choices to make
No one else can do it for our souls
The triumphs and the losses
Are ultimately ours to hold
Maybe if we count back from 10
Breathe slowly and meditate
We'll find solutions in the ethers
And raise ourselves to Heaven's grace
© Michelle Morris, 2022
It’s 2023 and the war between the sexes has reached a fevered pitch
Maybe it’s what they call 3-D chess
But whatever, the boundaries have shifted
Blurred and literally merged
Or at least now we pretend they have
As the enemy storms the gates
And being given the key to the city
Finds she/he/they/it safely ensconced within.
Someone recently told me I don’t understand
The difference between sex and gender
Yet it seems to me the difference is obvious
One based in fact
The other in make-believe
But I understand what they mean
We live in a new world
Of make believes on many fronts.
So which is it sex or gender
When some male (sex) declares they are a woman (gender)
To compete and dominate the real female athletes
What about when one or the other takes sex hormones
Are they really trying to change their gender or sex
What about with surgery, adding or subtracting parts
Have they done anything to their gender or sex?
Real men and women want to know.
The answer is the same every time
Sex is real, assigned in utero and fixed
While gender a mere label, increasingly made up, self-identified and fluid.
When forensic scientists search for evidence what do they find
When a society has to draft all able-bodied males
Will all those tranny girls be dismissed and tranny boys included
And when the fit hits the proverbial shan which will be left standing?
Real people need to know.
(10/25/23)
ba ba boom
back to the ocean i go
ba ba boom
it is where i long and need to be
ba ba boom
my heart has calmed, and my conscience is free
ba ba boom
the wave crash medicinally as i listen to oldies with my feet up
ba ba boom
as quiet time comes, i teach myself about simple respect so rarely given
ba ba boom
i wish my Sweets was here to seal the deal
ba ba boom
i say a prayer for her first knee replacement surgery to go well
ba ba boom
i am strong enough to remain faithful for love always brings me home
ba ba boom
back to the real world i go
ba ba boom
i am a greedy man, so i will be back for more by the score
8/12/16
It started out with our hands across the lands
For women and man
Later on, changed to wood, and stones
As well as tools made of bones
After a while it was gold
For the lucky, priviledged and old
It stilled grabbed hold
Of many souls
Because they wanted power and full control
Next came copper
Helping others progress and prosper
Deposits found above and below the water
As well as near or far from any poplars
Truth be told
It's disputed on which came first copper, silver or gold?
Let's go on to silver
It helped many pilfer
And was made into currency during Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter
Then came lead
Helping others get ahead
Despite how many bled and wound up dead
Underneath skies that were occasionally red
After this was tin
Giving certain people the advantage so that they could win
As other planets and the Earth continued to spin
Now it was iron
That was acquired
Forged and made while using fire
And the same could be said prior
Doesn't matter if
Many metals came after this
The last one I will speak on for now is mercury
Still to this day all these metals and others are used currently
Some of which make tools used in surgery
Either way all are valuable in some way and can net some currency
Still to this day hands are used
Time has shown and prove
By: Dalton Ogletree
I am thankful for the surgeon who saved my husband’s life
Without his intervention I could have been a grieving wife
I admit that I detested reading poetry in my younger days
Shakespeare’s works bored me; I still can’t give them praise!
I am thankful that I began writing at a time of awful stress
My husband was in surgery, my fears I could not suppress
I started to enjoy poetry, and I have embraced this change
The fact I adore writing poems, I still find pretty strange!
I am thankful for the pal who urged me to join Poetry Soup
She loved my sense of humour, and my many poems on poop
I’m blessed with many ‘souper’ pals, and want folk to know it
This self confessed poetry hater is now a twice published poet!
I liked her better when she was old
and on her own.
She hated company, and no one called.
She wasn’t the mother I remembered;
she was better and worse,
as I was.
After her surgery,
she stayed in a nursing home
deteriorating.
Her apartment was sold to pay for her care.
When she died we emptied the place,
there was not much to keep,
no photographs or mementos.
One kitchen cabinet was full of unopened
blood pressure tablets,
hundreds.
She preferred to drink.
If she had confided in me
I would have told her
that despite the warnings,
she could have done both,
like I do,
but we were never that close.