Short Scalpel Poems
Short Scalpel Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scalpel by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scalpel by length and keyword.
The pen
is a sword
that slays
in skilled hands
it is a scalpel
that dissects
my own
however
is a blunt instrument
and it beats the truth out of me
pliers… scalpel… knife…
drat… I feel the pulse of life…
if not for my wife…
_______________________
MILs = Mothers-in-Law
I dont want to mount
the hardships of the sky
if the earth’s labor pain
is false or the action
stillborn with or without
scalpel the doctor
humiliates process
--R.K.SINGH
Life erodes the body; riding its waves, leaves one drained.
Spirit’s education, is wear and tear; the mortal is cut short.
Beware the reaper’s scythe; the scalpel of death, cuts swift and clean.
The pen indeed
as scalpel or
a sword
one to remove the cancer
while the other
to make the operation
unnecessary
as the pen
is a rose
and its rhyme,
where the poet
prefers to live
but such angels
cannot dwell…
Cut me cut me! Oh scalpel of thy surgeon,
Expose my inner organs to the world to see,
As I lay on the operating table helplessly,
My life now lies in the hands of those standing over me,
I live if they did right and I die if they don’t.
standing emancipated
suffering Mengele's obsession
an unsterilized scalpel
peeling away skin
with religious zeal
cries falling upon deaf ears
in piles with teeth
screaming in horror
anesthetizied
by Nazi madness...
axe or scalpel cutting to joints and marrow a cure or kill
Unloveable
It’s my only vice —
don’t make me say it twice.
A master of none,
a better way to say:
I’m an expert at nothing,
but I do many things.
I pick and I pull
until they aren’t there,
leaving me with the scalpel
to make the repairs.
ticks on my back
saying knock knock knock
no joke
wood ticks no doubt
deep woods varmints
burrowing in
biting me with gusto
heads buried beneath my skin
making me crazy
go get my Uzi,
my shotgun, my scalpel, my pen
I have a poem idea and it is a win.
Dr. Kay Scarpetta,
Does wonders with a scalpel and also with sharp cheddar.
A medical examiner depicted in Cornwell's book,
She is much preferred as a gourmet cook!
Dr. Kay Scarpetta is the main character who is a medical examiner in Patricia Cornwell's books.
Carving nature at the joints
the scalpel glistens clean
Motion severed night from day
all stillness duly preened
Slicing creation half by half
its essence caught between
Feasting on marrow dripping free
—trapped inside a dream
(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: May, 2023)
Listen to poem:
This secret thing
grew in your breast --
a dark lump of terror
which you revealed to no one;
it ate through you,
until it became, finally,
too terrible to hide.
Now, even the cold scalpel,
which leaves less than it takes
of what you were once,
cannot excise the horror.
opens his mouth, crimson tongue of seduction,
velvet blanket, petals by, as I delve,
a plunderer of pleasure, my lips, a ship of delight,
charting the uncharted waters of his terrain.
guess you could say we're having a real 'cutthroat' relationship - I'm making the final edit....with a scalpel.
Behind these doors and below
The grand stage lights,
The music spills over the seats
Like moss green and grey;
A sense of scalpel and pin
Crouches down and crawls;
Silence within.
Tapping of the foots -
Envy of oozing as if tree-roots.
Raindrops except the rain;
Audience except individuals.
Transfixed upon a lucite sunray
the iron blood of longshoremen
washed beneath the whisperings of the bay
a pupil canvas pierced through
by the scalpel of elephantine deceit
vision yellowed in the flowering of a lost identity
the young man swallows deeply and mourns
the gist of his first twenty-nine years.
Stone by stone you kill me.
Petal by petal I die –
holding a scalpel
to unwrite my name.
Violence
erupts among words.
A temple breaks.
O goddess ! don’t cry beyond silence.
The infant’s milk
spills in darkness.
Antiquity raises a wall
around the mother.
I am vanishing now,
freezing my assets.
Satish Verma
Can you scalpel the soul with the knives of your science,
Separate sin with your blade—
And dissect human psyches with all your reliance
Placed in experiments made?
Empirical evidence augurs for “yes”—
Instinct suggests “maybe not”—
And there’s gore on the table. The wound is a mess.
Wisdomless knowledge you’ve got.
I'm going to dermatology,
They will push a needle in.
They will cut me with a scalpel
To cut away some skin.
She told me not to worry,
It's just a little prick,
I thought they were taking it from my foot,
So now I'm worried sick.
Sorry to anyone who has to go through this procedure,just my way of handling it.
6/9/2021
The scalpel left a jagged split,
And heavy silver staples but
To bind the edges of the skin,
And lock the sudden ache
within.
Yet through that raw and ruined
seam,
The scar became a pane of
glass,
A rusted lantern in the dark,
The wound took fire from the
spark,
Transforming what was torn and
blind,
Into lens to look behind.
The rose, having
no-longer
place to go…
for even, outside the gardens,
the wild well knows
that beauty, uncultivated,
never grows….
One does not use
soil tilled
by a scalpel;
and bodies of
unborn
to fertilize…
such eyes
cannot blossom
(though the shape
of bulbs)
nor ever produce
for the nose
one fragrance
divinely
pleasing….
The rose, having
no longer
place to go…
for even, outside the gardens,
the wild well knows
that beauty, uncultivated,
never grows….
One does not use
soil tilled
by a scalpel;
and bodies of
unborn
to fertilize…
such eyes
cannot blossom
(though the shape
of bulbs)
nor ever produce
for the nose
one fragrance
divinely
pleasing….
Sometimes, at the edge of the pasture
under the eaves of trees, the soft
greens of spring slide through my eyes
and paint the curves and shadows of
you to float like the bare-bottomed moon
settling softly into the grass out there
where the sky is sliced from the earth
as clean as if by a surgeon’s scalpel.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
12/29/2019
Molded
like clay
life
will do.
Experience,
the scalpel
that shapes.
Time is the
medium for
the art to
be formed.
All around
can be seen
unfinished
works,
works that
require
much effort
to complete.
Each
product shaped
by a scalpel
unique
to itself.
Finished products
sadly
are never
truly finished
as the
medium
runs out!
Alas it was too much – the revelation
that charisma has an expiration date
cold discomfort of the scalpel - beauty’s fate
the paragon of pulchritude – deception.
Lust’s blazing passion age cannot sustain
yet reflection over time reveals the core
of hearts all lover’s first learned to adore
slow walking in a cold September rain
John G. Lawless
©7/6/2018