Short Anesthesia Poems

Time Trump Was In Tunisia

We remember when Trump was in Tunisia,
And he had suffered from case of amnesia,
Idiot outright,
To his delight,
So would start giving him more anesthesia.

Jim Horn...

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You think you’ve hurt me
You think you’ve caused me pain
Honestly honey,
This heart’s been wounded 
Way before you came along
Really baby,
I’m numb to all of it,
No anesthesia needed
Truly, my love
Nothing you do 
Causes me sorrow
...

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Stuck in the middle of uncertainty-
Tormented by my own sanity.

Prisoner of my treacherous past...
Cast thy fear and show the light.

As numb as an anesthesia
Halt my pains and tears away...

Words left unspoken...
Wondering what went wrong....

Carpe Diem.......

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Merrily merrily I say unto thee
It's time to go in for surgery!
Anesthesia pumping through my veins; knocked out for forty five
Oh please oh please do not let me die
Post-op's a *****, tortuous at that
Splints in my nose, feeling so whack
But **** it I say, this could be more dire
It could be worse, I could be on fire!...

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You sacraficed you happiness---------FOR
Your family and husband,-------------THE
Intelligent, loving, generous, caring,-- GIVER
I love you, precious-----------------MOTHER
Forgive the---------------------- PROTECTOR
He's just a hard working man-------MUFFIN


(I am still under anesthesia,if it doesn't make sense!! LOL!)...

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Eyes fixated on a clock with no hands. 
Waiting for the grim reaper to pay me an expected visit.
Trying in vain to bargain my freedom, but to no avail. My bounty worth more than my bribe could ever hope to be.
As I accepted my exit from this mortal coil a calmness came over me.
It was not the afterlife I was entering, but the after effects of anesthesia.
My surgery had been a success....

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Madge, do you sometimes sit down and hear
The songs that winced across your fence, do
Think of the desert place our childhood grew up
Drinking those songs like anesthesia, old
Things now, but lasting more brightly to bring
A sense of distance from the lost, and a sense
Longing for the past, a sense of wanting things
To last, and the past to try again some part
While from away the haunting song teases the heart...

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Under anesthesia 
the elixir drips from the language
of poor and you come out
from the blue sea
holding a red lotus
between the teeth. The
sweet words take me to the
fire and smoke where
was a mangled corpse of a meaning.
The power of people now shows
the people of power.

You cannot read the signs
and arrows. The acid burns will
give the dying statement. Those 
who doused the flames should
be punished.


Satish Verma...

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You would think by now I know its vain
There was this time no anesthesia
Even though I was not immune to pain
Just the light dulce et gloria
And I was blind like Samson without the flame
I woke to winter and empty trees
Nothing to hide nakedness and shame
Except the chilly blanket of the breeze
I gave her a spade and told her plant
She made a sickle and a wreath
And I sang to it – still their sycophant
The gardener dreams while breathe....

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concentric life,
because the peach velvet
returns as wrinkled skin.

remember the old book in the bedroom?
it contained your now dead laugh,
old food scraps,
everything you said
about the weight of pain
and about the failure of anesthesia
who created the graves full of screams.

there is no more perfect frame
for this morning caged in dim lights.

anyway, only we knew:
the earth melting means
that the rush of the rockets makes sense....

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