Short Scalpel Poems

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...

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     pliers… scalpel… knife… 

       drat… I feel the pulse of life… 

          if not for my wife… 



     _______________________
      MILs = Mothers-in-Law
...

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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...

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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.

...

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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…...

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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....

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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......

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axe or scalpel                                                                                                       cutting to joints and marrow                                                                                          a cure or kill...

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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.

...

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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....

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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)...

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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....

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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....

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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....

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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....

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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…....

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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…....

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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...

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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!...

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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...

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Stab me with passion my cherub
Let me bleed love 
And forever adore my gorgeous scar 

Bite my lips hard my love
Hurt it all you can
I wanna enjoy the pain from the taste of your lips 

If I am the wound from which poetry bleeds 
Keep running a scalpel till I breathe no more 
Let me depart leaving a beautiful corpse 

Kill me slowly 
Torment me with your sweet pain 
I enjoy every moment of the tarnation...

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The angry ticking of the wall’s fiend,
Washes the troubles and time away,
To Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I wish it could drown me faster,
So that I could tour Europe with you Mom,
I miss you,
And love you dearly,
And wish I were with you,
And with each tick,
Comes a sharp but fleeting pain,
Piercing me like a scalpel in my heart’s core.
The wispy air,
Of this foreign place,
Or is it really home?...

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