SeanPresleyWrites

Cancer Poems

NOTE:

Cancer made me write these poems,

Maybe cancer made you read them,

Survived, I share them with the world,

I hope that you don't need them

But if you do, my hearts all up in you

to help you fight the demons.

BUTTERFLY

Cancer Poem #23

From butterfly to cocoon, My cancer metamorphosis, Back to the womb to develop me anew, Positions turn fetal and dependent,
A midlife death I mourn, yet, My rebirth is embraced, Sagacity blooms, Mother cancer I thank you, Set free, I’m flying your way now.

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WRITING ROOM

Cancer Poem #48

As I sit waiting again, the root crawls back to mind, I became a poet, to kill the demons of this waiting room time,
In the waiting room, the waiting room, With pending words debating doom, My writing gives my fears the broom,
Stacks of germ and tear stained magazines, Stare at me as I write verses to shroud my silent screams, My body will do what it does, it’s in the genes, My mind can be tricked with a pen however, opening healthy scenes, The hard way learned, experience earned, One cold reality of cancer, the waiting room burns,
Thank you Frost, Longfellow and Twain, Inspired, I douse the pyres burning cancerous in my brain, My name is called, I’m off to climb other walls, Other patients are impatiently yielding, Waiting done, writing won, Mr. Presley has left the building.

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WRITING STONE UNROLLED

Cancer Poem #53

This is happening, I might die, and soon, Clear the room, I need to write, it's already half past noon, The clock tick-tocks, suddenly knocking loud, Life passes un-fogged, conclusions rain from my inner cumulus cloud,
Voice cleared, by the sobering winds of cancer's wrath, My pitcher of words tips forth, extolling my journeys path, Over the cup flows, the meanings of failure and imperfection, The puddled saucer, conjures Chaucer, charming alleged resurrections,
Get out; reach out, stories of wisdom within me, wherever you are, All that I am, all that I know, leap to the pages, all trophies, all scars, For those who care now, or in the future have a need, I lay me down to paper, in written word I bleed,
A wishful boy, a tempered man, in the end, a poet was he, He left us stacks, piled high on racks, his life for us to read, Cancer wrung dry his heart, pre-ashes, he bore his soul, The usual stories, some boring, some glories, back to earth, a writing stone rolled.

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THE SURFACE FURY

Cancer Poem #69

The water feels, but doesn't worry, slow below the surface fury, Over the rocks and past, Not stopping to look at the moss in the cracks, The water roils fast, then slows, Shades of white, of green and blue, the passing sky and foliage, reflect their hues, With the darkened tones of the gravel below,
The water feels but doesn't worry, slow below the surface fury, From melted snows, the liquid flows, As though it knows which way to go, Bubbling white, then popping clear, when falling down each step, With a crisscross shimmer, and a fish darting glimmer, The clear water reflects, but declares no winners,
By the creek side I sit, cancer ravaged in my chair, The water fast, but in no hurry, The water sees, but doesn't care, The water feels, but doesn't worry, Slow below the surface fury.

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I WONDER IF

Cancer Poem #66

With an agnostic sigh, a shrug, and a skyward glance, I pleaded for my life that year, I'm still here, by Him or by chance,
Cancer made me pray those days, Survived, I wonder if... Alive, I wonder if... Sill agnostic, But thankful for my gift.

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A NEW CAREER: YEAH BUT I DON'T WANNA

Cancer Poem #90

Yeah but, I don't wanna be a cancer poet, Tag, I'm it, reluctantly I self-bestow it, Filled pages and empty pens in my knapsack, A new career, born from therapy writing, this lagniappe, Ink and tears, from collection bags to career, falling in my sad lap,
Rhyming with my disease, interpretive dancers and mythical Prancers, Healing, through denotations in verbs, trying to hash out smart answers, I heard the call, I let it ring, I didn't want to know it, Yeah but, I don't wanna be a cancer poet.

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HELLO '18

Cancer Poem #102

Hello deuce thousand ’18, Never thought I’d get here, semicolon; I mean, My doctors said some fucked up things,
Oh 8, wasn’t so great, A left mate, cancer was my new date, Can’t believe I rewrote the whole slate,
19’ll be here soon, Maybe I should worry that I drink at noon, Maybe I should don’t-worry-be-happy; remember that tune?
I’m talkin’ to you ’18, But I don’t expect the present to present me with presents of truth, If you don’t remember; every December drops memories of gifts from raised roofs, I forgot what I was gonna say, ’18, Never thought I’d get here, semi-colon; I mean, My doctors said some fucked up things, It’s late July, ’18,
My cancer tears are long dry, I mean; Why am I compelled to keep dwelling on the sting?
The truth is in the aftermath, From ’08 to ’18 equals 10, It all adds up if you’re happy to be alive.

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