Reading Anne Sexton's poem, "Old," elicited this sassy retort ...
I'm afraid of needles. I'm tired of rubber sheets and tubes. I'm tired of faces I don't know .... *
... hovering over me like the infernal lights frozen in my eyes, keeping their death watch. Buzzards. I'm not dead, yet. They stare at the monitor screens, waiting for the moment I breathe my last, waiting for the opportunity to pick the flesh from my bones. I have nothing else. If I could talk, could move, I'd rip out every last tube and give them a piece of my mind to remember me by. Now, wouldn't that be something to see. Think I'll stick around just to watch the surprised looks on their faces ...
Imagine yourself wonded, in no man's land, with a long night ahead before dawn and help cames, with trickling blood like a broken fawcet, then...think about the surprise looks finding you alive!
Resilience...that buzzards will stay hungry a little longer.
Georg
"Death Watch"
A very interesting and powerful take on this issue.
Thought provoking also "... hovering over me like the
infernal lights frozen in my
eyes, keeping their death watch. Buzzards.
I'm not dead, yet." incredible wording here~enjoyed this pov.
Well I have lain in that bed already a couple times in my life and I wasn't old but I was dying so I do know the feeling and the frustration which you have captured so well here.
ok poetess great poem, this reminds me of one of my favorite aunts who lay in a coma in the hospital untill she died, they practically starved her too death for about two months. She was in her 80's and there was no hope of her recouperating, knowing her she was thinking just like your poem
Reviewed by LadyJtalks LadyJzTalkZone (Reader)
Reviewed on May 15, 2007
You could hear someone thinking these thoughts as they lay there incapable of anything else. Good write. Lady J
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
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God Bless
Love and hugs
Lena
God Bless
Michelle~
wouldn't that be something to see.
Indeed it would.
Hugs Angela
Resilience...that buzzards will stay hungry a little longer.
Georg
Abdi-Noor
Please be safe,
Karen
A very interesting and powerful take on this issue.
Thought provoking also "... hovering over me like the
infernal lights frozen in my
eyes, keeping their death watch. Buzzards.
I'm not dead, yet." incredible wording here~enjoyed this pov.
Blessings of enlightenments,
From the Heart...
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
Fee
Par excellence!!
Love Tinka
...That'll learn 'em! LOL Boy, this IS a sassy write; I bet you'd do it too! LOL Very well done; brava!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin sis, Karen Lynn. :D