My husband has been having some problems with a sore throat
He has been to his family doctor who made him an appointment with a ENT
He kept getting worse so went to a clinic here in town and was given meds twice
And he has not gotten better
Today we go to the ENT
It took over a month to see this person
Just pray with us that it is not anything serious
My cough was empty, my lungs struggling
There was no mucus, I was worn out from the hacking
My mother put Vicks vapor rub all over me
The soles of my feet, my back, my neck, my chest
It was two a.m. we were desperate for sleep.
She fixed me vanilla chamomile tea
Stirred in honey
Drink this, she told me. You will be much better
Nothing helped my sore throat before this tea.
After this tea, I was a little better
My cough subsided enough so I could sleep
This was 1962, and I have never forgotten it.
A bottle of sore throat relief spray lies on my desk
Along with sixteen torn up pages of past written poems
My cell phone sits here too, a box of Kleenexes, six notebooks
There are two computer monitors on this desk
I like clutter, it makes me feel safe and loved
Is that a barrette? I watch it moving steadily away
A tiny pincher bug, adding a bit of life to this mess
we walk alone as the time commends
as the need arises as the love fulfills
mother of each day’s world
I have engaged in intimacies before
holding a cat as he died
a child with a sore throat
sitting in court beside a scared twenty year old
going to jail for freeing a pig
what seems to be a mistake is often
a brave step into situations which
prior to this
had appeared unapproachable
but things look strange only when the full pattern is lost
chant to fear, encompassing it in wholeness
align outer with inner
and give yourself new names each day
horse-that-walks-in-darkness
spirit-who-flies-above-clouds
and become eternally new
love sits high on old crooked legs
and recycled gold paint from the dumpster
after so many years
after animal rights
after finding love
I write the Book of Hours
for life gets more archetypal at the end
and old age is not a disease
accepting this we round the circle
into the hexagram of Peace
I've had a sore throat
And no energy lately
But I've been out swimming
And feel so much better
Swimming isn't just about exercise
It's a form of good recreation
You know it's super good stress relief
It's like a moment when all
The deliberate worries I've ever had
Vanished like water.
sore throat medicine
eye glasses
left shoe
potted plant
a six-foot tree branch
pieces from someone else’s porch
walnut
stuffing from an Amazon box
things brought into the house
through the doggie door
by our new puppy
who ignores expensive dog chews
preferring to find his own entertainment
what do you write about?
I look on my desk
besides two computer monitors I have
sore throat spray
plastic owl with a rotating head
snowman Christmas felt craft kit
two-sided ceramic dish in crisscross design
Disney princess counting numbers game
red sunglasses with lens that are black
nickel coin collection from my dad
large print thesaurus and dictionary
broken pencil
Dick Blick catalog
tiny scrap of gum
hair gel
empty glass
toy glow creature
Yes,
I could clean this off
but in a week it would look the same
just new contenders
broth
fever
remedy
chicken noodle
helps you with sore throat
tasty vegetable soup
salty and warm going down
you can add it to anything
I drink it plain when I have a bad cold
Teresa of Ávila
Dreamt the passion of God.
A physical fire
Burned an image of his power.
An image I envisioned was one so dull
Full of pain
A nightmare stabbing my mind's eye.
A frail image of my mother
Some quivering voice I remember
In my dimension of inception
That my mother was at her end.
A disruptive anxiety burdens a peace
But that day, it was at bay.
Paralysed by a hidden sight that I couldn't bear
Petrified by a dream, one that was so rare.
This despicable numbness I endure
Sympathises the fools of fiction.
As reality shapes its needle
To fill with its anaesthesia of truth
And inject into those who walk in wonder.
Today, I trudged through that trail
Of some twenty-fourth year
My Lucky Strike ablaze
And my hands on the balcony window.
Experiencing no sore throat
That I remembered from youth,
Only a deep sensation of numbed limbs
Suffering this cold spring night.
Even the cigarette wasn't fazed
Of the wind’s devouring passion
Blowing its burning ashes.
Things we remember and some that we won't:
changing batteries on a remote,
building sand castles with a moat.,
applying a second coat,
grabbing an umbrella to tote,
sharing an ice cream float,
limiting salt, so we don't bloat,
mailing the thank you notes you wrote,
buying lozengers for a sore throat,
wearing a life jacket when on a boat,
remembering where your supposed to vote,
taking yoga with a goat..
I was just 12 years old
having had many a sore throat
so the Doc said tonsils out
to hospital I go, had no vote
This happened on pre-Christmas week
going into hospital on the Tuesday
had the surgery done two days later
When I was sent to sleep without delay
I then recovered back in the ward
with a real treat of ice cream
which softly soothed down my throat
what a relief flowed like a stream
Then the Dr. said all to go home
on Christmas eve, all except me
for in my throat I had a blood clot
so on the next day I would be free
Christmas day 1966 I got home
mum and dad came to collect
got all my presents when I got home
so this hospital visit I would not forget
Bhai shoru me tum meray mun me daltay thay,
Shayad yehi vajah say mera gala kharab rehta.
Note.Bhai throat fukiing is unkind please stop it.
In my mournful country ballad I wrote
My heart's achin' like a giraffe with a sore throat
But when folks hear giraffe
They just throw things and laugh
Somehow I seem to have hit a wrong note
2/5/23
In my mournful country ballad I wrote
My heart's achin' like a giraffe with a sore throat
But when folks hear giraffe
They just throw things and laugh
Somehow I seem to have hit a wrong note
12/20/22
T'was a sun day of sunday,
Many are thoughts gazing he a gay,
The frost alike bitter his taste,
Asked he a favor, shun he tried,
But shy he, say "no" not in haste.
All are living fossils, so he was told,
Countless eyes staring like the sun smiling.
All his is in solitude thence, crowd makes him fright,
His voice touch the walls but his ears never hears;
Nervous, instant sore throat, body cold,
Voice dull, scared of boos, the whole stares.
Since he is lone, he shivers in anxiety.
Atlas, came Alice! confident he is; now is bold,
All these, t'is me!
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