Before I get into today’s prompt, I just wanted to mention that I’ve got a call out for submissions for the 2014 Poet’s Market. Read the submission guidelines here.
For this week’s prompt, write an operation poem. There are many types of operations. In fact, medical operations alone are so varied that a surgeon could put together a whole book of operational procedures. Then, there are military operations and more general uses of the word operation. Some might even say we have a neat poetry operation happening at Poetic Asides (and they’d be right).
Here’s my attempt at an operation poem:
“Scalpel”
For some unknown reason, my greatest fear
is needles, or the scorn of my own doctor,
or discovering I’ve caused my own health
problems, though you never pierce the surface
of my psyche, perhaps because I know
once you emerge I’ll be under the spell
of anesthetic (or I’ll be asleep
dreaming a dreamless sleep, completely out),
or maybe you cut so seamlessly through
my fears that I block you out, finding that
I’m more afraid of the eyes and the mask
than the tools they use to parse my body.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
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bypass
by juanita lewison-snyder
keyboard-like scalpel
inserts word into chamber
poetic bypass
doctor holds paddles
juices the heart once more, then
OMG haiku!
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Did this really fast…..
D-day,
Ten Blade.
smooth
operation,
funny bone,
In the zone,
A large
Undertaking,
A scar,
in the making.
Scrubbin in?
In somewhat the same, if not similar vein (all pun intended…), as Bruce (if I may use your first name…)
A song, of sorts (or out of sorts…)
g
———————————
OPERATION
(c) 2012 – G. Smith (BMI)
————————————-
Growing up as a lil’ kid,
The games that we would play,
When we were stuck in the house and the weather
Was cold and wet and gray;
Chutes and Ladders, Candyland,
Monopoly and Clue;
Sorry and Aggravation,
What I liked best was Operation,
And you know what you had to do…
You take out the Adam’s apple,
Take out the water on the knee;
Take out the writer’s cramp and bread basket,
But leave this one for me,
My favorite part…
Take out the broken heart…
As I got a lil’ bit older,
The games got older, too;
Spin the bottle, truth or dare,
Twister, and the fun would ensue.
But some games didn’t have rules, it seemed,
They were hardest on the beginner,
And sometime there was no clear winner,
But the loser wound up with shattered dreams…
And you can take the butterflies from my stomach,
Take the wish bone and funny bone, too;
I can spare the spare ribs, I suppose,
But the best thing you can do;
Is take the most painful part;
Please take my broken heart.
Yeah, take the butterflies from my stomach;
Take the wish bone and funny bone, too;
I can spare the spare ribs, I suppose,
And the best thing that you can do,
Is take the most painful part;
Please take,
My broken heart.
Just take,
My broken heart.
(Oh the ankle bone’s connected to the – knee bone…)
Open your wallet to
Pay
Ever higher premiums
Rates never go down
Again and again
Told pre existing does not qualify, your
Existence is optional
I note I’m not the first one to use this metaphor, but this was fun:
Operation Blues
Well, baby, you’re just like a surgeon,
you take everything outta me.
Yeah, woman, you’re like a surgeon,
you just take everything outta me.
I’m like that guy in the Operation game,
laid out in my misery.
I get butterflies in my stomach
when I think of how we used to be.
Yeah, them butterflies are in my stomach,
when I think of how we used to be.
My belly’s tossin’ and turnin’ so bad,
I don’t even feel the water on my knee.
You kicked me in the bread basket, baby,
and you hurt my funny bone.
Yeah, you kicked me in the bread basket,
and you done hurt my funny bone.
I get a lump in my Adam’s Apple,
when I think about bein’ alone.
I got a charley horse and a wrenched ankle
and I hurt from every part.
Yeah, got a charley horse and wrenched ankle,
and I just hurt from every part.
I get writer’s cramp just from writin’
‘bout how you pulled out my broken heart.
You were a shock to my system, baby,
from my head down to my toes.
Yeah, you were a shock to my system,
from my head down to my toes.
You’re such a smooth operator, but baby,
you know, you never lit up my nose.
Bloodletting
This I must say,
this confession on page
is taken from the deepest part
of me, soul and heart.
The first line comes easily,
but the rest proves more difficult
details and truths
that must see the sun,
something people must hear.
something they must know.
When the first draft is written
a poem is born,
and I’m proud
as I hold it up in front of me
and allow it to breath.
Upon further examination,
I discover something must change,
a misplaced comma,
a word or a line.
I realize a line I love
for its brilliance
or the truth it portrays
must be cut
with great pain
but the poem is saved,
and the line,
hidden in the folder
waits for another day.
BRAVO, Mike! Well captured!
Bloodletting
This I must say,
this confession on page
taken from the deepest part
of me, soul and heart.
The first line comes easily,
but the rest proves more difficult
details and truths
that must see the sun,
something people must hear.
something they must know.
When the first draft is written
a poem is born,
and I’m proud
as I hold it up in front of me
and allow it to breathe.
Upon further examination,
I discover something must change,
a misplaced comma,
a word or a line.
I realize a line I love
for its brilliance
or the truth it portrays
must be cut
with great pain
but the poem is saved,
and the line,
hidden in the folder
waits for another day.
Bloodletting
This I must say,
this confession on page
is taken from the deepest part
of me, soul and heart.
The first line comes easily,
but the rest proves more difficult,
details and truths
that must see the sun,
something people must hear.
something they must know about me.
When the first draft is written
a poem is born,
and I’m proud
as I hold it up in front of me
and allow it to breath.
Upon further examination,
I discover something must change,
a misplaced comma,
a word or a line.
I realize a line I love
for its brilliance
or the truth it portrays
must be cut
with great pain,
but the poem is save,
and the line,
hidden in the folder
waits for another day.
Procedures, steps, order of operations and chain of commands.
Ways of doing things or expectations, rules and demands,
but the one that I love the most is “because I said so.”
This is the best to consider when trying to get something done.
Whether it’s made to make sense or
send one spiraling into mayhem,
“because I said so,” will get the job done.
I love the simplicity, the elegance, the sublime ingenuity.
When mom says “I said so” we are all on the get go to get things done.
“A Necessary Operation”
The heavy door slams shut with a crash!
See yourself through the broken glass
of a mirror, but dimly.
A sliver of soiled soap;
the place paperless!
Spigot not hot-
watering:
Flush and
run…!
*shudder*
Strangers
to bed, he
said, dancing to his
sweet words and
long kisses
this inglorious morning’s
dawn’s operation
After Heart Surgery
Arteries cut,
repaired,
and sewn shut,
stitch
by stitch;
so new and tight
you can’t sleep,
or eat,
or read.
You are tingling,
critical;
There is no one
you want for president.
Nothing for breakfast
that you like.
In the evening
you walk by the river
where blue herons
nested high
in a leafless tree
until storms came
one year
and the birds were gone.
Black cormorants
stand on the rocks
at the breakwater.
They gaze upriver
as if they see
something coming.
Delicate daisies wave at the clouds
They ask for more sun, more warmth
They feel the cool breath of autumn
Whistling through the trees
It sings a mournful tune
A song of death for this field of recurring life
A speck of dust in a cosmic operation
Too big to see or know
But we can wave to it and plea
Alongside the desperate, dying daisies
Quiet Support
Magic man of needles and threads of meridians
Who patiently stands in his own space
Solid in knowing, kind of heart
As agony, pain and relief flow through his hands
Even at times with his own disquiet
He remains steady – steadfast on his own path
For him too over the years
Lifes purpose unfolds and is revealed
The Road To Grandfatherhood
It begins with a precise slice
a rib separator
and a humming saw
and then
there it is
pulsing
glorious
crimson fist
knocking insistently
on a closed
aortic door
until glinting
through
the ess curves
of forested
autumnal arteries
blossoming capillaries
and hair pin turns
the scalpel
slices
clear the choked
vegetation and
with silken
thread sews
possibility
from certain fragility of
a boy child’s life into
the platinum future
of the shimmer haired grandfather
smiling as a yet unborn child
on a yet unvisited sunlit beach day
runs a tiny finger along the
cross-hatched faded line
from sternum to scapula
and asks in a clear voice
“Why do you have a zipper Papa?”
Exploring Mommy
They said it was an “exploratory”
In those days before sonograms
They made a long cut and went
Inside to see what Mommy had
When I, at four, already knew
They would find only blood and
Good stuffing
No Sleep
I don’t want to go under
not really my thing
I would rather be awake
so I can hear every ping.
My tolerance is high
I can stand a little tugging
I’ll be a model patient
I promise no slugging.
Just please don’t put me under
for I’m quite afraid
the sleep will be too good
and my life will fade.
So I’ll let you know
when I feel a bit of pain,
you can keep your anesthesia
I will thankfully abstain.
SORTING
A careful operation that. . .
Sorting her clothes.
Moving up and down the racks,
From closet to closet, from group to group,
Closing a chapter in one fell swoop.
Preparing her things to be taken away,
Knowing tomorrow will be another hard day.
Just wading through; just getting by; just praying
For the day when you don’t have to try
To try so hard to forget the pain
To wake up, to smile, to live again.
Warning Label
Do not operate heavy equipment
When under the influences of:
Alcohol, drugs, prescription medication,
Cough syrup, laxatives, sleep deprivation,
Freezing conditions, wintery precipitation,
Nighttime hours, prolonged solar radiation,
Seasonal depression, extended illumination,
Oppressive supervisor, co-worker confrontation,
Marital discord, hypnosis, meditation,
Excessive heat, or other hazardous situation.
With all the injuries that may befall,
Just don’t operate heavy machinery at all.
ON THE BEACH
The sun’s awash with its warmth
here, barefoot on the sand, the water
a short walk away everybody scattered
on blankets and towels, cabanas and pup tents
umbrellas and lounge chairs, relax. It’s easy here,
yet, in the corner Mama and daughter
under the sun. The light is there
for a reason . . . you see
lice running through her daughter’s long blonde hair
“No no ma petite, it wouldn’t do
to rush out to the waves, infested with creatures
rushing about your golden tresses. You
deserve better than that. Lie back, relax,
enjoy the sea as it laps along the shore—” “Ouch!”
la petite fille shouts. Mama tells her it’s
good for her. “When you grow up
ma cherie, you will thank me . . . as the boys
stroke your soft hair, those hideous things
skitter about your crowning glory, their hands
blackened by the carcasses of dead insects. I come
to spare you the embarrassment.” Her daughter smiles
as the comb moves through her hair, “See this!”
It’s ugly. What would a self respecting young man would say
if he knew the woman of his dreams
was infested with creepy crawly things,” “Ouch!”
her daughter notices a petit garcon walk past her,
a thick swath of long brown locks
falling down below his shoulders
winking . . . Holding
his hand out to her, knowing nothing helps. Maybe later,
after Mama is done. Nodding back
to the petit garcon with the wide smile
and the dimple on his cheek, “Your welcome
to come any time.” Patiently
the picture closes out, “You may go!” Mama
says to her daughter. Looking for the boy
she finds him . . . slips and falls. Lying like a mermaid
swept onto to shore. The boy gazes upon her
leaps for joy, rolling onto the sand,
his hair impressed into the beach floor, “Infested,”
he laughs.
“So am I,” she giggles. Rising hand in hand
they run towards the waves.
Zev Davis
Public Restroom Etiquette
I close the stall door to be alone
Do not start a conversation
With me or talk on your cell
Do not comment on the
Sounds you hear or the
Smells you may smell
It’s not mine
Any
way.
Sorry all I was having too much fun to stop
When We Were Kids
Running, laughing, playing.
Mom calls you in for dinner.
No dessert gonna go play some more!
Getting dark, time to go in.
One more round please?
Nobody else has to go in.
Today texting video games
Running, laughing, playing
All virtual.
Merging
I drive therefore I am
I see you to my right
I know what you’re thinking
Before you even think it.
The space between me
And the car in front
Is my safety cushion
Not your opportunity.
And yet you cut in front
And slam on your brakes
Because you’re in a hurry
That move saved you 2 seconds.
Engineers worked very hard
Inventing an amazing piece of equipment.
It’s called a turn signal.
I know you have one.
Anyone else having trouble logging in or posting? I gave up yesterday, tried again today, and finally emailed myself and made it work ( I hope) on the iPad.)
Since the Surgery
she winces at jokes
about breasts,
big boobs,
flat chests
she’s awkward with hugs
and embraces,
fearing pity
on others’ faces.
she’s grown tired
of hats
and scarves,
of camouflage like that
she cries in the tub,
in the car,
running her fingers
over the scar
she’s quick to joke
and tease
just to put others
at ease
she never stops at mirrors,
to check her smile,
her hair, her
off-kilter profile
so sad
Perfect ! Thank goodness you were able to post! Truly one of your best – considering your body of work quite a major citation! BRAVO … empathic, powerful, compelling, heart-wrenching drops of pure strength in the face of….
Operation surgical strike
The video game console
where the operator earned his second armed services
medal watching from the heavens
with his surgical strike drones
protecting an anxious population
watches the unsuspecting enemies and
their sitcom life on hi def screen –
work, dishes, church, bedding the wife, family time
with the children all recorded and analyzed.
In Pakistan, when the brown American
and his 16 year old son
were targeted for elimination,
the wedding party strike was deemed unfortunate
but necessary in the media,
the operator’s suffering at killing
the family he had come to know so well
an exemplary act of service to his country.
And what kind of world do we live in, he thinks,
when here in Arizona, Northern California
white american extremists
hiding in our midst
must be monitored, observed –
his circling, lazy drones just waiting for the order,
for just the right moment to strike
these terrorists so much like himself.
http://unevenstevencu.blogspot.com/
Normal
Normal,
the nurse’s verdict,
velcro ripping like a gunshot
in the newly quiet space.
Normal,
her obligatory checklist -
stabbing pains and excessive bleeding
to be reported.
Normal,
the hour long wait with numerous
normal magazines
and your normal friend accompanying you -
the helpless look in your ride’s eyes
telling you
that everything will be back
to normal soon -
work in the morning
and no worries -
it was the right decision,
just the wrong time.
So normal
they keep telling you,
at night
your hand resting on your belly
an aching little need still
fluttering quickly
under your fingers
like a heart beat
inside of
you.
http://unevenstevencu.blogspot.com/
ABSOLUTELY BREATH-TAKING
Oh my … be still my heart…
Touchingly, powerfully penned.
ABOVE THE FRAY
You have opinions, passion, and rage.
You could perpetuate partisanship,
But you don’t operate that way.
Operation Communication
Why is communication
Such an operation?
Even trying to untangle
My tongue long enough
To say hello can be
A most arduous endeavor,
And some days it doesn’t
Matter how many words
I frantically spew, I just
Can’t be understood.
Some days the most
Polished speech falls
In ashes at your feet,
Leaving me stammering
And you confused
(And perhaps bemused).
Some days every word
Flying flawlessly from
Most careful lips
Is twisted beyond
Recognition by minds
Convinced my words
Are cruelly barbed
No matter how softly
I have fashioned them.
Some days I just want
To abandon this operation
And wave the white flag,
Or maybe just wear it
Over my troublesome
Lips as a fitting gag.
I think you communicated this very well
Haha thanks!
Lovely and then delightful and then the bearer of a huge smile with that brilliant last image of white flag of surrender as gag over troublesome lips! Kudos!
Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Driver
When operating this vehicle,
know that you are in charge
of yourself and others.
Lives depend on your actions
or reactions. Did you see
that Stop sign? Speed Limit?
Did you Yield or were you
wielding a small black phone?
Did you Merge, or were you
overwhelmed by an urge
to text? How vexing! You had
to swerve to miss that person
crossing at the curb. The next
time, one person or both
may end up Dead-ended.
I posted mine on merging before I saw yours; not plagiarizing! lol Very nice!
Magnific at Beauty Pageant
So many
lovely long legs charged
big talkers
miles around
to work their magic, do their
dazzle—operate.
HOW TO OPERATE A GIZMO
Of course it doesn’t work. Is it
electronic? connected to the internet?
Consider software glitches, circuit
overload. Maybe they’ve updated
your system till suddenly you’re
extinct. Turn off the power. Get up
out of your chair. Walk out the door.
Someone said, your human mind
(connected by the proper hookups to
your body) is the most sophisticated
gizmo known to man. Turn it on.
Bravo!
BACK TO READ TOMORROW ….!!!!
Tonsilled
My brother danced
into the doctor’s office
where we had our tonsils
out – he was four and believed
the stories of endless ice-cream
He sung while we waited our turn
I was ten and slunk in the corner
of the couch
Two hours later –
He screamed post-anesthesia confused
“Let me out of jail” from his cribbed recovery
While I threw up in a sparkling bedpan
And classmates back at school had
to learn as the word of the week
to spell my the reason for my absence
Oh what memories really good
Do Not Look Behind The Curtain of Crystal Waters
(a try at a double acrostic)
Oh if it were possible to only see
Pull a whimsical curtain around the
Egregious raping of dignity torn
Round the manicured bend, there hovering
Aquamarine reflected mystical magic
Theatre of sparkle, sea, sun, sand, all
Incomprehensible beauty – sullied-slutted
Overcome by indifferent victimizers
Neatly spreading limbs of slutted innocents
Oh
protect
each
Reaching dream
Arching
Toward
Inevitability
Of
Negation
WHOOPS ERROR!!!! APOLOGIES……………
REPOST
Do Not Look Behind The Curtain of Crystal Waters
(a try at a double acrostic)
Oh if it were possible to only see
Pull a whimsical curtain around the
Egregious raping of dignity torn
Round the manicured bend, there hovering
Aquamarine reflected magic of
Theatred sparkle: sea, sun, sand, mystic
Incomprehensible beauty – sullied all
Overcome by indifferent victimizers slutting
Neatly spreading limbs of un-suspecting virgins inveigled
Oh
Protect
Each
Reaching dream
Arching
Toward
Inevitability
Of
Negation
THIS NEEDED TO BE REPOSTED —— !!!! SO SORRY
Cutting Him Out
Sister enters, black chignon glimmering
Crimson lips slashing that famous alabaster skin
Smoky eyes black ice, and
When she speaks she forms each word
with the round vowels and sharp consonants
of a singer
and leaves spaces – as a knifer might
pause between stabbing
“I don’t like the way you walk”
“I don’t like the way you talk”
“I don’t like you”
She exits
silk pants sinuous swishing
drifting her signature scent
Nightgowned little sister freezes
in the hallway where she’s been
peeking
watches the quiet room
watches her almost uncle
who just two days ago
took her to fireworks at
the beach – lying on a
blanket with Sister
both of them holding a hand
under the navy exploding sky
just two days ago
Little sister watches him
rise from bended
knee – straighten his pants
slip the ring box
into his pocket, and leave
right after their eyes meet
and he
winks with a wet eye and a crooked
sad smile, and that way he
has of tipping two fingers to
her in their special salute
Quietly with a click
more riotous than
a shotgun blast
to her heart
he closes the door
behind him.
great description in the first verse
Thanks guy!
Tonsillectomy
When you asked if I would like a back rub,
I said yes,
He was an intern,
I thought it was normal.
Then later I woke up in the post operation room,
With some strings coming out my throat,
And it hurt a lot.
The nurse came over and yanked them out,
I passed out again.
Later, I woke up in my room,
Everything was almost normal,
My throat was a little sore.
Someone said I had hemorrhaged in the operation,
I felt lucky I did not know and the next day I
Ate some potato chips, I think it was supposed to be
Ice cream.
Suddenly
Knowing that something was not quite right
My instincts told me not to leave it to long
Go get it checked
When the doctor told us
What was wrong
I got a fright
You were just so small
You felt the pain and all
Running around
Made harder
We thought maybe you
Must have had a fall
First doctor said it was one of two things
The specialist confirmed
And pulled on our heart strings
You were in hospital that night
Operated on the next morning
Kissing your cheek
My eyes were bawling
You were brave
You did your best
Having you as a daughter
We know we are blessed
A hip that was saved by a screw
Inserted into a socket
You’re now on the mend
We are stuck to you
Like glue
Fighting back
When you move it hurts and cracks
One day it may come out
We hope that it will be okay
Awwww ….. some poems just get you right …. here. You got me
Thanks it actually got me also writing it
HOW A SPELL OPERATES
Rough gutturals more ancient than
human speech, but quick as
magic her tongue. Who dares to analyze
how a dog spell operates? This new
puppy lolls on the bed, as if at ease but
her spine stretched in a bow-
curve ready to let the arrow – her spirit –
fly. She lies, for the moment,
still, her eyes deep brown questions.
How to explain those graves dug
under oak trees, the final rest – we say –
of old dogs who left us without
a word? Those dead dogs move
sleep into dream, their eyes shining
stones, their tongues magic.
Driving Miss Jackie
(Cascade)
She’s driving me tomorrow to my D&C.
Out of all of us drivers, I am the weakest link.
My sister, the friend my momma gave me.
She drives me places I dare not go alone.
With Tom-Tom by our side, nothing could go wrong.
She’s driving me tomorrow to my D&C.
I COULD drive myself but I’m afraid, you see.
Don’t want to be late to my hysteroscopy.
Out of all of us drivers, I am the weakest link.
She’s single and looking, let there be NO DOUBT
When God granted sisters, I simply lucked out.
My sister, the friend my momma gave me.
Aww…
very sweet
Here’s mine. A little morbid, but hey, that’s where my mind went …
First taste of death
post-tonsillectomy
cough/splutter/gasp
(stitches give way in the middle of the
night borne away on the
tide of blood)
emergency surgery
ashen after white
christmas the dream of death so
convincing someone
else wakes up in the
hospital.
Melanie Marttila (a.k.a. Sassafras)
Ctrl-Z
Some mornings you’re so fragile
it feels as if you could stub your toe on the wind.
Another day Shane asks me
if they invented an operation to let you live
the rest of your life in the second person,
would you get it?
Who says that ain’t already the case? Descartes rambles.
Don’t all roll your eyes at once.
Now, about that surgery.
It all depends on who gets what. The eyeballs, for instance. Are they shared?
Of course control and consciousness have to be divvied up.
You do what you are told.
Your hands are cold.
Your thoughts, you’re told,
are only yours once they pass to the other side of the mountain
and have been picked apart by the fog.
Of course you made Shane up,
making me Shane and you me.
No, this is not Choose Your Own Adventure.
Some mornings, the sun will still look all wrong,
but the universe will be there and so will you.
I think if I had been your mom, I would have always felt the need to be on my toes.
Hahaha. Marie – I think I can honestly say that is the most interesting feedback I have ever gotten. Thanks
And THAT comment just made me laugh!
HEADLAND
Tide pushes against the river flowing down,
a subtle rush and clash of currents,
operation that undercuts the cliff a little more
each moon, each storm. Fresh and salt
water mixing, dissolving land – that promontory
where yesterday you walked your dogs
against wind and small rain, pushing into
the rising gale, toward the edge
where the view is always best, where you can
look down on the flux of sea
with river, that deception of waters; nature’s
urge toward ocean. You’ll walk until
its salt gets into your skin, its tidal pull
moves behind your eyes. Will you find a way
back to your car, your safe home?
very nice. great details and continuation of the push and pull and flux throughout the poem.
“The Final Operation”
I know the knife is coming.
But I won’t feel it now.
They put me on ice
After they detached my head,
But they don’t know
Dead things aren’t always dead.
After the ice
They brought the fire
My skin searing and burning
In that cubical pyre
And then they prepared me
In ways I won’t relate,
Before heaving me out
On a cold, silver slate
Before the eager eyes
Then they bow their heads
Are they praying for my soul
Or just waiting to be fed?
No, I don’t fear the knife
I don’t fear the slate
I always dreaded Thanksgiving
But at least I taste great.
yummy good take on the prompt
lol I thought this was going in a completely dark direction until the second to the last line; well done
Really good kept me wanting more love it
Interfering with the Mundane
Caution: Poeming may
interfere with the mundane
operation of
your mind as it becomes taxed
by your imagination!
Yup!!
Interferes with work sometimes too
Robert, I have to admit that you’ve chosen something that threw me for a large loop today. Having had several of those devils performed, I cringed at returning to the memories of them. I did something else instead. Hope you enjoy the acrostic.
Operating on My Life
Approaching life’s operating room
propels thoughts of other procedures,
peopled by friends and foes alike,
each holding scalpels or sutures,
never asking my permission,
deciding their own necessities
each day regarding how I fit their
canon of requirements to be met;
to subtract or add to my existence.
Obvious friends suture hugs, smiles,
making for me a blessed life,
yet tempered by foes’ knives, cutting
out conceit with jibes and mockery,
pretending to know all while knowing little.
Experience shaves away unnecessary growths,
rectifying, refining, and sculping a base,
allowing me its use for greater gains in life.
Total recovery comes as I recognize that
in each cut soothed by a smile or touch,
only healing take place, which ultimately
negates any pain received during the procedure.
So true!
Walking on Eggshells
Dodging direct answers
and trying not to ask
the wrong questions.
Trying to keep the
status quo
in place
as best one can
when a
rageaholic
resides
within.
Like playing a
life-sized
version
of
that children’s board game,
Operation,
but when the buzzer
sounds,
more
than eggs
are breaking.
Diana Terrill Clark
Good one, Diana. This is so very true for us all.
One more Olympic operation from me…
Oh, Danny Boyle
Oh, Danny Boyle, the show, the show was stunning
From Glastonbury Tor we watched the sheep
The belching smoke, and all the cycles flying
the sing-along with Paul that made us weep.
And when the Queen got in that helicopter
and popped her chute above her subjects down below
our hearts were filled with pride and admiration
for the silver fox who neatly stole the show.
Then with the flourish of a thousand nurses dancing
a host of Mary Poppins and a slice of Mr Bean
we showed the world this land is off its rocker
with the largest baby anyone has seen
But most of all, we carry the memorial
of the lives sung in “Abide With Me.”
No one present could forget the stark reminder
of our nations’ shared humanity.
We hold that flame for our shared humanity.
Of COURSE I sang along with this. ^_^ It is lovely. <3
You just told me all that happened at the beginning of an event I did not see. Thanks, Andrew. I have few regrets at having no TV. I do have twinges now and again, though. Good job. Enjoyed this tribute.
Oh. My. Word! Oh, Danny Boy, you’ve outdone yourself her!
Standing O!
Appendectomies: Buy One Get One Free
The day I had my appendix removed, the nurses
accused the surgeon of running a special.
Such an odd thing—to have many people
in a small town need the same surgery
on the same day. What’s behind the mystery?
Is it that the surgeon’s children prayed
for more money to go to private schools?
Or maybe there’s an appendix germ,
like the flu, that no one knows about.
Or maybe each surgery has its own demon
and the appendix demon had to fulfill a quota
or be doomed to wander in a herd of pigs.
Or maybe that’s why they invented
the word “coincidence.”
Some coincidences are just plain weird.
How many were there? Maybe it has to do with the tides and the full moon?? LOL I’m glad you’re okay, Connie!
(And what a fun poem!)
Excellent questions, Connie. I hope you find out sometime before you have to have something else done. Or, do yourself a favor and go for that 2nd opinion. The first one might be a bit biased.
Loved it, and totally understood the feelings. That’s sort of how we were as kids with our tonsils. I think half the kids in town had it done that same summer.
Operation Directions
(2 Player Game)
Careful,
the edges buzz
if you
cross the line.
Ignore those
butterflies in your stomach
your charley horse sigh
wrench-rankled ankle
and the writer’s cramp
that says
let’s just take an aspirin
and quit awhile.
Breathe deep,
spare ribs aching,
funny bone waiting
for the proverbial
punch line.
Pay no attention
to the water
(on the knee)
under the bridge,
his bobbing
Adam’s apple,
this numbing
brain freeze
or your
broken heart;
just
make a wish
-bone deep
and bread basket
sure and tick-tock true
and
Snap!
that rubber band
back,
connect
to something new.
.
I totally couldn’t remember all of the pieces to that game! Our poems have it in common today. ^_^ (So glad you’re back from vacay!!)
I had to Google ‘em, Diana.
LOVED yours. Commented on your site, when it came to my email inbox.
Fun, De. Laughed all the way through as I imagined each piece and move.
Funny … maybe it’s the state of mind I am in today, but this is the second time in one day that I have taken what others see as a fun and lighthearted piece, and see it as having a deeper and bit darker second meaning.
Am I way off base here?
Regardless, well done as ALWAYS, De. You always, always blow me away.
You’re dead on, Marie. Though I’m happy if it makes someone smile, as well. But yes, original thought was much darker.
Thanks for the sweet comment.
(y) YESSSS!!
De, I love how this one works at several levels. So poignant, just below the surface…
Daily Operations
Her mornings as predictable
as the sunrise in the east.
6:00- Top 40 tunes blast her out
of bed straight to the kitchen
where she pours a cup of coffee
x3, stumbles to the computer
operating on ½ a mind until
the caffeine kicks in, which is
usually when her kids wake up.
They rise like barnyard
animals, yawn and stretch
scooch to the bathroom
catch half a mirror glimpse
then plop down on the couch
like burlap sacks of hay.
¾ a cup of Grape Nuts later-
hot, that is, with 2% milk-
she whisks about the house
clanking silverware, passing
a spoon to one, knife to another
like a heart surgeon.
Love this.
Yes! Just like that. ^_^ Good work, Laurie!
So much fun and satire in this one. Love it, Laurie.
Thanks… can anyone relate?
Once upon another lifetime for sure .. . not so much this lazy go-round, but I do remember, I do … well-said.
A productive home indeed lovely
Vasectomy
Vitrectomy
Abuse by small instruments, tiny snippers, clippers, snappers, and zappers
Hard tables, cold hands, and soft sheets, chills to shiver your inner soul
Leather strapping, no hands clapping, a little bit more, a little bit sore
A life blocked, maybe two, possibly a herd of ankle biters prevented from walking the lands
A sight saver and technological miracle, a wall of priceless technology
Not even the master surgeon understands
Visions of Hoover dance in my head
Oh the vanity
Oh the sanity!
“Oh the sanity!” ^_^ LOL
Good one, Power. Such a concise image and explanation at both ends of the spectrum.
Had one love the poem lol
Which one? This is about two cuts.
Perhaps It Was the Anesthesia
The nurse said, “We’ve got you.”
She had no way to know that
I thought I had numbed the pain
of the decisions thrust upon me
as I watched the swans make shadows
swirling a mindless path,
but tears still rendered me
unwanted, vulnerable,
defenseless to my fate,
and I cried
before I let them cut me up.
<3 Wonderful and sad, Patricia. <3
Such an open piece, Patricia. It says so much. So well worth the read.
Oh my … I don’t like picturing you in this position, Patricia.
Hugs to you, and kudos for this powerful piece.
Sounds like you were so brave good for you. Lovely poem and so brave.
Robert, that’s a stunner to start the day off. Wow. To me it reads almost like one of those anesthetic-induced dreams – the fear, loss of control, eyes, mask, cutting below the surface. Love it.
I agree 100%.
Sort of on a tangent, but you can tell what’s on the TV at our house…
Watching water polo
I don’t understand water polo
the way they are operating seems like
a game of keepaway at a hotel pool.
Maybe if the half-dazed TV commentators bothered
to explain the rules, I wouldn’t feel so bad that
I don’t understand water polo,
but I have the sneaky suspicion that until last week these good
folks probably thought this sport was played on horse-back.
The way they are operating seems like
they haven’t got a clue what’s going on, or why the whistle keeps
blowing, let alone why I should care about fourteen grown men playing
a game of keepaway at a hotel pool.
Is this a form you’ve created? Very intriguing and you’ve worked it in a way that make sense and is a smooth delivery.
btw, the only time I’ve played water polo was in a hotel pool in Bangkok–just like a game of keep-away.
Hi, Susan. The form is called a “cascade poem.” Lots of fun to play with!
Haven’t caught any of the water-polo, but the way you talk about the dazed announcers hits the nail on the head! LOL
It’s always been keep-away to me, too. Thanks, Andrew for the laugh and the reminder.
Not a fan of water polo but there is something about it that keeps you watching if you know what i mean. Great poem by the way.
Thks Laurie …
Phew – that accomplished I can now say how much I really liked your poem Robert … which mirrors pretty closely many of my own feelings about doctors, needles and other things medical; I especially like the reference to never piercing the surface of your psyche (our last refuge in my view) … nicely done.
Love your poem, Robert.
Operation First Cut
Surely, she thought
there has to be some advantage
to living way around the other side
of the cotton-pickin’ world …
Yesss – first in at the street
Operation – successful!
S.E.Ingraham
Haha… good one, Sharon!
Good one, Sharon. Loved it.
SHARON! Well done! And you are the one who complains about needing to be wordy? I’d say this proves you can handle both ends of the spectrum!
So funny!
Great fun!
Really lovely