Ovi -
we cover every issue
Μονοπάτι της Εκεχειρίας  
Ovi Bookshop - Free Ebook
worldwide creative inspiration
Ovi Language
Michael R. Czinkota: As I See It...
Stop violence against women
Tony Zuvela - Cartoons, Illustrations
Stop human trafficking
BBC News :   - 
iBite :   - 
by Pamela Hunt
2009-04-23 09:07:45
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author
DeliciousRedditFacebookDigg! StumbleUpon
I'm in a bed…
I cannot move!
Not one toe…I cannot speak,
People come in and gawk…
One…a blur of white; an angel?

A giant, white-gauze complaint on my every morning!

She…is; I sense, a gentle spirit, a breeze, she is my breath…
Not supplied only by and in essence a machine….
Manufactured concern!

Activity…a hub-bub of action…
I can feel ‘energy…
I cannot see, touch or feel in a tangible way!

When things quiet down….as they do each day-
It becomes for me a butterfly’s life!

As if the morning having fluttered around me in vapid and colorful flight,
Now is draped in silence...like cashmere mafia….

Now lights…..somewhere!

All but my mind now is still….

God…I'm alone with God, and he is a gentle teacher.
Once I feared he was causing my mind to jump through hoops,
Now he is going easy on me, my mind being a tender and wounded deer!

Like a bird that can’t fly…
I lie on the side of the road, called un-certainty!

Will I live or die?
I rest for now, the funny thing is….

I know things!
I know things that no one else notices….

It  “irks the snot out of me” too, because there is a spider on the wall, in the corner over   there….

No one sees it but me!

It’s black…..
Like coffee, java or lava, like sledge in the veins…

The i.v. Drip-me, I've become-

I feel scared!
Should I make the spider my friend?
Then I can rest better at night knowing it won't bite me!

I give him a name…Harry, my uncle was named harry!

Hairy spider…..

I’m a roadie, I can tell strangers who poke their noses in to my room- and stare at

I am a roadie for rip van winkle!

Mom comes in….mom, mother, moo-me…..

She touches me….
My hand, forehead!

I don’t tell her I don’t like this…for one I cannot speak and-
If I could…I wouldn’t because I don’t want to hurt her feelings!

I am in a coma….

Emotions, heart-felt feelings, all a waste of time and energy!

I can feel “love…..

I do not crave sex, food or titillation!

Through dreams I create my world and partake of pleasurable and sometimes
Painful things….

I feel my maker is dealing with me, my thoughts deleting un-desirable ones,
Preparing me for possible death and reign…

And inserting more pleasant thoughts and in-sights!
I am thankful to my maker!

I am not thankful for hairy the spider!

He is watching me, resentful I know it –the devil!

How do I get the nurse, the blur-white gauze angel to squash it?

And there is another gripe….

There is…and I am not making this up…my swollen brain has become
Creative and perceptive in strange ways now, different!

Like….I know for certain, without checking-
That stuck to the wastebasket, in the bathroom….
Is a despicable piece of green, ABC (already been chewed) gum!

It is there….someone has put a small, white plastic bag right over it!
I know its there, but should I allow myself to be annoyed….which I am,
And actually driven to madness over this?

The gauze white blur smears into the room, which is oblique, hazy, maybe not
There at all….

She is box energy….noise, not loud…click, and when I was not in a coma that was called TV!

I have a TV dinner….
An evangelist feeding me manna from a box….

Soul food!

I laugh in my sub-conscious pain today, to ask a question would be silly!

Can I teach harry spider tricks?
Maybe he could fetch the remote control for me?

Remote control?

Maybe they will make a robot out of me, develop a brain like a transistor and control me!

I lay immoveable rock….
On a clean linen beach of antiseptic waves in a cement ocean!

Do I flail phantom arms, panic and want someone to notice?
Do I scream and no one hears?

Sometimes I fear….what is nothing to fear-and that is;
Fear itself!

That you worry I might feel like s butterfly sometimes,
With its wings tacked to a corkboard, and become frightened;
Choking on my own spit!

I had this worry….

A fleeting slice like a knife through my psyche….

There, then gone!

I dream I'm an angel and I fly….
Right out the window!

Or through the walls….

“Good-bye hairy spider!” I have to go!”

Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author

Get it off your chest
 (comments policy)

Alexander Mikhaylov2009-04-23 23:55:12
Quite nice, actually... Except 'cashmere mafia…' - I think that one sounds a bit off: cashmere does not go well with mafia, in my opinion (well, keep it in mind that it is only my private opinion. I might be wrong:)
In any case, I think it is a good piece of poetry although... I have a strong and perhaps an irrational impression on my part that you were trying to say something else, something entirely different. The quiestion is: why did not you tell it?

© Copyright CHAMELEON PROJECT Tmi 2005-2008  -  Sitemap  -  Add to favourites  -  Link to Ovi
Privacy Policy  -  Contact  -  RSS Feeds  -  Search  -  Submissions  -  Subscribe  -  About Ovi