Poetry anyone?

I have not found a place to share creative outlets like original poetry, so I thought I'd start a conversation.



I was diagnosed 10/10/07 and had my bilateral mastectomy 12/6/07.



I wrote this poem on December 3rd. It was one of those moments where the poem came to me and said, "I have something to say." Who am I to deny her a voice?



Born Cancer, Won't Die of Cancer



Cancer slinked in quietly dressed in black… unnoticed,

acting all nonchalant so as not to draw attention to itself.

Never suspecting its eventual discovery, it made itself at home.

Caught like a thief in the spotlight of modern medicine, it was

extricated from my breasts and sentenced to death.

Reclaiming what has been stolen from me is impossible,

nevertheless, I am content, for I have emerged the victor.

I have survived to tell the tale.



I'd love to hear original works of others out there. Writing is such a healing tool.



Your SIS(Sister In Survival)

Kimberly

Not exactly a poem, but a tale I wrote within another thread. It started with a comment about who would want to be the guy taking care of septic tanks...then lots of other things were tossed into the conversation...and someone said we had all the makings of a country western song...so I took on the task.



My Septic is Erupting



Good afternoon my dears, and welcome to my tale (alas I’m not a Country Western Song writer) woven together with all the bits and pieces of life shared here:



It is quiet here on the eve before the New Year,

and I vividly imagine that all around the Earth,

people are waiting anxiously the stroke of midnight,

and the much anticipated Twenty-08’s birth.



Out on the ranch, I hear the train’s whistle hail its arrival,

and am delighted by the glistening blanket of dazzling white.

I am content as I take stock of the season, but unaware,

oblivious,and in the dark about our poor septic tank’s plight.



All the children, now gone, had come home as they do every year,

each with their significant others and ‘kids’ in tow,

a motley crew of canines, quite a sight to behold,

happily romping and chasing one another in newly fallen snow.



Our sweet ole deaf pup, who can be grumpy and pee indoors sometimes,

mothered the newest batch of kittens with the greatest of ease,

and from her warm bed, watched a death-defying circus act

featuring Momma Cat and her siblings on the Christmas tree trapeze.



I toast to the experiences, which have made me who I am,

but instead of champagne, I drink momma’s recipe for a coffee martini,

which I try to rationalize should keep me awake to greet 2008,

when I will once again emphatically resolve to fit into my bikini.



Simmering slowly all day,the potato soup makes my tummy growl, and

this simple meal reminds me to meet each day with gratitude,

not having what I want, but loving what I have,

like being alive and loved, and nurturing a positive attitude.



Although still on vacation, the cat has not let me sleep in,

and before the magic hour, my sleepy eyelids begin to droop,

but just at the stroke of midnight there is a deep rumbling outside;

the septic tank has erupted, and my yard smells like…well… POOP.



Well, Happy New Year to us all, I laugh,

the saying, Shit Happens, has never been truer.

I’m thankful I can call my septic guy

to clean up this smelly sewer.



I do believe we’ve come full circle ladies…and it all started with the thought of who would want to do such a yucky job! TaDa!!!



Your SIS(Sister In Survival)

Kimberly

YEAH!!!! Thank you Alaska Deb for posting on this thread. Maybe now it will catch on.

I loved your poem...the things you're in charge of...great use of sensory details...Interesting how all the things are inanimate and often an old treasure...and yet the only living thing you're in charge of...you really aren't in charge of...it has its own agenda. Thank you for sharing, Deb.



Your SIS (Sister In Survival)

Kimberly

After much needed rain,the sun is shining

on this final day of twenty-07,

and I think of the many dear ones

watching over us from heaven.



Massive pearly gates and golden-winged angels

isn’t exactly what I imagine in this place,

but rather somewhere souls give dissertations,

accounting for their time in this Earthbound space.



I imagine much hearty, deeply felt laughter

as each recognizes their many mistakes,

and the futile agonizing they’d done

causing their hearts to physically ache.



I try to listen for my loved ones’ messages,

but sometimes the mundane gets in the way

as it screams over persistent loving whispers,

making it difficult to understand all there is to say.



The message that always comes through though,

no matter how loud the man-made din clatters,

is truth... we are all of the same human race,

and acting always in love is all that really matters.


It matters not what religion we hold dear,

nor what political party we call our own,

for we can all agree we bleed the same red,

and will ultimately reap what we each have sown.



So as I go into this newest of years,

that message kept near to my hear,

I will aspire to treat all with love,

knowing of this universe, we are all a part.



HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

LET US ALL ASPIRE TO MAKE

2008 MORE THAN GREAT!!!!
Your SIS(Sister In Survival)
Kimberly

Ok, so as I anticipate my first chemotini tomorrow...this little creation has been simmering...it's ready to serve up now.



Club Survival - 1/07/-08



I imagine my cancer cells

impeccably dressed in

don’t care

how much it costs

dramatic designer black.

I picture them,

analogous

to the rich hip twenty-somethings,

the ones who have no sense

of responsibility,

only feelings of entitlement;

the won’t happen to me indestructible crowd,

all gathering at the newest club in town…

Club Survival.



It is one of those

red-velvet-roped-

can’t-get-in-

unless-

you’re-one-of-them-

kind of places.

Club Survival is

where everyone,

who thinks they are anyone,

is drinking copious amounts

of the newest martini craze,

introduced by me,

the club’s owner

and bartender.



This can’t get enough of it drink-

The Black Cat Chemotini.

And not wanting to be

on the outside

of the in-crowd,

they all drink up.



The Black Cat Chemotini,

so named

for the superstitious belief

it is bad luck

for a black cat to

cross your path,

strongly appeals to

this fate tempting defiant crowd.



The Black Cat has a splash of Decadron,

which has a stimulant affect

and keeps the in-crowd wired,

like those energy drinks

they are addicted to,

allowing them to stay up all night

drinking more than they might otherwise

as they mingle

superficially

with one another.

To that splash is added equal parts

of a few secret ingredients,

hard to pronounce, so

I just call it adding the CAT,

and viola!



The fact that they go home,

and don’t feel the effects at first

is the beauty of it.

It lulls them into

a false sense of security

convinces them

they really are in charge.

But,by the time they realize

what’s really happening,

it is too late…

they are completely addicted

to the lure of the Black Cat.



These impetuous youth

sell their souls

to get their next fix,

which I gladly serve

shaken, not stirred,

with a twist of lemon

and a smile

before sending them

on their way…

Ta, Ta, dahlings.

Kiss. Kiss.

So, I woke up yesterday with a poem or something that needed expressing about my life and survival. I wrote out some notes, which helps me focus, then left it for the day. This morning...this came out...

I've been a survivor since birth...and I don't intend to stop now.



Since Birth 1/13/08



June 28, 1961

9:28pm

Three pounds…

Three ounces…

Two months early.



“What an ugly baby,”

“She’ll never survive,”

I hear whispered.

Outside of me,

or in my deepest self?



I am confused. Lost.

I know there is someone

I have to find.

I know I have to reach her.

Where are you?



No human touch.

No human warmth.

No human bond.

Just me… and nothing

but the desire to reach her.



Two months.

The amount of time needed

to complete what was started,

spent in my own little world.

I know how to leave my body

without anyone even knowing.

I have visited her.



This gift will serve me well

later in my life,

when those words…

whispered in the halls

and in my soul

come back to haunt me.



Even when I am finally rescued,

it feels foreign,

like everyone else knows

the customs and the language,

but she’s there...



...and I breath

deep breaths of her

in her presence,

knowing I am where I should be,

as uncomfortable as it all is,

at last with my Twin B.





Dedicated to my twin sister, who I can't even imagine living upon this planet without. I have come such a long way since the 'haunting of those words' and so much of that is due to having her...my anchor.



SIS Kimberly

This poem woke me this morning at 4am. I jotted down the message, then went back to bed, only to spend the last hour helping it realize itself.



Lighten Up 1/18/08



Lighten up on life

because there is no

race to run.

First place is not

something you want to claim.

Those things you are collecting,

what a waste,

will amount to nothing worthwhile,

I guarantee,

got no value

like those dreams you never chased.



All those hearts

you’re passing by without a thought,

afraid they will distract you

from your goal,

are the gems of your journey

slipping away

because getting ahead is

all you can see.

“Pushing hard,

can’t look up,

no time today.”



It’s a trap,

can’t you see it there

ready to swallow?

It doesn’t care if you

Are at your most productive

You’re fair game

as long as you choose

to run the race.

The myth has been woven

into your ‘should do’ script.

You didn’t read between the lines;

there are alternatives in place.



There is still time,

my friend,

to make a change,

if you will just stop

long enough to hear.

You can slow down,

just take a deep breath in,

and pay no mind

to those who gain the lead

because in the end,

there is no big prize to win.



Step off the racetrack

you call your life

and look up

instead of at your feet.

Take notice

of what the world has

to offer to you.

See the faces

of those who want

only your time

because its how you

live and love that counts,

not the job you do.



Lighten up on life

because there is no

race to run.

First place is not

something you want to claim.

Those things you are collecting,

what a waste,

will amount to nothing worthwhile,

I guarantee,

got no value

like those dreams you never chased.



SIS Kimberly

Welcome Karla...I'm so glad you found us and can't wait to read your poem. SIS Kimberly

Excellent message Karla...I just reminded all of my friends in my last email update that if they hadn't gotten their cancer screening tests and physicals in the past year to get it done.



SIS Kimberly