Hospital haiku. December 4–8.

I trim the stems of
hospital tulips with my
ostomy scissors

Lounging
Medically important lounging photo by Uther ‘Prolific Playwright/Published Poet’ Dean.

 

My plans to blog on the daily were slightly messed around by ill health. After several days in a row of leaving work early due to feeling rather deathly, I finally relented and went into ED on Friday night, thinking that they would give me some fluids and maybe some codeine and send me on my way. But now it’s Monday afternoon and I only just got home a few hours ago.

So to make up for the days lost to a phone-only internet void (and, you know, being hospital-level unwell), here is a selection of random, occasionally drug addled, haiku/short poetry from those lost days.

HOSPITAL HAIKU

I trim the stems of
hospital tulips with my
ostomy scissors

His fingers fly
Writing; counting syllables
Of five, seven, five

The nurse’s glove broke
Latex gave way to warm flesh
Precious skin contact

Mail, Facebook, Twitter
Textual interactions
Words to keep afloat

Tonight at midnight
Lost in an internet blur
I may read Buzzfeed

Arms take turns itching
Fingers one-by-one on fire
Then last are the shins

Pillows that whistle
Every time you try to
Gently rest your head

White blankets and sheets
Lightly patterned white/blue gowns
Pale ghosts at night

I would try to sleep
But I have already and
The steroids say no.

Now waiting, waiting
Free me to the outside world
It’s almost sunny

Orange juice is a
Generous term for this stuff.

hospital haiku (365 pieces – january 3rd)

on ward thirty two
needle in my savaged arm
watch a bruise blossom

how the rain falls now
poems for the soul that cries
every waking hour

this is infusion
my arm is a-lure-ing and
meds put me to sleep

taste the bitter pill
feel the clammy summer air
give up / write haiku

air like coffee grounds
a mind full of similes
and disinfectant