Posts Tagged ‘hospital’

Helping Life: Revolutionary IMprov Haiku

April 25, 2016

Ranger's Fight on GoFundMeIt is not just life./
It is his life, their life, ours./
Goal seen. Goal obtained.

Advertisements

What Should I Announce? Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

April 23, 2015

I stare
into the linoleum void.
Cold it is.
Cold I feel.
Not so cold
as I could soon be.

Inhospitable
hospital.

Why?
My heart,
though stronger,
still ain’t
got
no
rhy-
thumumum.

So masked men
must stop-start it
again,
wire me up,
make me tubular,
give me the ultimate
heart burn.

Cauterize
my over-sized pump
that’s too energized.
That won’t sing: Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.

I hope it works
this time.
But if it doesn’t?
Who should I tell
that I might not return?

My mother worries enough
for the world.
She makes every
small
procedure
into some giant event.
Munchhausen by proxy.

So,
if I go,
I know
she’ll tell,
but probably
only my family.

My friends?
What of them?
She won’t know.

Perhaps Facebook quiet
will spread the word.
If you haven’t heard
by Saturday,
that I’m out …
I’m probably not.
Or maybe
I permanently
am.

Drugged At The Hospital, Morning: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

November 18, 2014

It’s so much better/
getting morning hard when the/
catheter is out.

Breathe Deep and Hold: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

November 17, 2014

At Jah hospital,/
Brand-new experiences./
Duuuuuuuude! I did inhale!
Utah Valley medical Center bong

Hospital Socks: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

November 17, 2014

New hospital socks -- heart ablation, Nov 2014The best part about/
hospitals is that I get/
a new pair of socks.

Hospital Drive Time: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

November 17, 2014

It’s 16°./
Got a smiley thumb-nail moon./
Runnin’ down a dream.

Who’s Abandoned? Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

March 2, 2014

While she is feeling/
abandoned, her parents are/
with her. So she’s not.

AND
Although she feels she’s/
abandoned, her parents are/
there. That’s what we do

Enduring Our Wait: Revolutionary IMprov Poetic Lament

December 17, 2013

Late at night,
I see my green-orb’d friend.
She’s Facebook connected,
in a hospital,
waiting
for a daughter
to die.

Brain infused,
so young,
she was disconnected
this afternoon,
but still struggles through,
and makes my friend
wait
for the end.
Green glowing Facebook Instant Message orb
As I see the green orb,
“mobile”,
I recall
how I’m waiting.

My daughter,
too,
brain diffused,
rushes onward
towards death.

Her time is less certain.
The inevitability,
less set.
I have some hope.
Though not much,
“There is always hope!”

And so my friend
and I
are connected
by death,
certain and uncertain;
by prayers,
faithful
— the only life support
we can offer —
and hopeless;
by love,
our hearts given
to our children;
and by a small
green
glowing
orb.