Category Archives: cancer poetry

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Cancer Poetry Project 2

cancer poetry project

 

I received my copy of The Cancer Poetry Project 2 this week! I finally managed to tear myself away from rereading my own poem in print to survey the book as a whole.

Like the first book, it is a diverse collection of poetry by cancer patients and their families and caregivers. For such a dark, deathly subject, the book is alive and vibrant. Karin Miller’s keen eye brought together a rich collection of poetry that speaks to me the patient, but also to me, the human. It is poetry that will connect you to the writers.

You can order the book through Karin’s website cancerpoetryproject.com.

 

Sam

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Cancer Poetry Project – approaching completion

cancer-poetry-project-karin-b-miller-paperback-cover-art

 

Hi all,

You may remember me talking about the Cancer Poetry Project, an amazing anthology of poems by cancer patients, family members and caregivers. Now the Cancer Poetry Project 2 is approaching completion. I am honoured to have a poem that has been picked for this volume and we expect an April publication.

Karin Miller, the founder and editor has launched a Kickstart campaign to defer the initial costs of publication. Consider supporting this worthwhile project. The first volume of poems is gorgeous and is a wonderful way for patients to connect with the experiences of others who have gone before them.

All the best

 

Sam

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Ultra Sounds Monday, February 11, 2013

Hi all,

I am delighted to have received a new poem from Nigel Paul.  Nigel is a “writer and artist with a strong interest in the relationships between media, culture, society and politics.” You may remember Nigel from a poem published here last April, (She’s) Dancing With The Idiots (Tonight).

Even though I have moved the focus away from submissions, if you have something you are hankering to share please do still send it my way. I will be pleased to consider it for posting.

All the best

Sam

The Park Bench

I held her hand tightly,

As she started to tell me,

Is this what park benches are for?

 

 

She said it’s the sinking heart feeling,

That hurts her the most,

And the voice of her mother’s ghost,

Saying ‘You should’ve done better,

You should’ve done more,’

And it’s the memory of that voice,

That breaks our silence,

Creates the ripples,

Causes the creases of laughter,

‘You were the only daughter,’

I sit and tell her,

Is this what park benches are for?

 

 

And we sat and we drifted,

Through memories and smiles,

For many a-passer-by,

And we didn’t even cry,

When it started to rain,

And she didn’t even cry,

When he spoke of the pain,

I just held her hand tightly,

And I listened with care,

Is this what park benches are for?

Because I know I’ll be beck here,

To hold this memory so dear,

As I hold on to her tightly,

Because today is just today.

NDP

6/2/13

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Ultra Sounds Mondays, November 5, 2012

 

Good morning everyone. It’s a cold day here in Ontario, Canada. I’m pulling out my longjohns tonight!

No new posts for you today I am sad to say (c’mon people, I’m waiting to hear from you!) So instead I thought I would post some links to previous contributors, so you can catch up on what they are up to.

 

Amy Marash has a great new cartoon here.

More wonderful work from Anna Moriarty Lev here.

Barbara Crooker’s poem “November, Sky Full of Bruises” could have been written for me. It make me think back to a November 12 years ago.

Dorit Fuhg has added to her portfolio of Art for Cancer prints - gorgeous.

Check out the latest works of my hero Viola Moriarty here.

Charles Phelps-Penry posted a newer cancer poem in July that I really like.

 

Well there’s a start. It’s a fertile bunch of creators that have posted over this last year. I would love to post your creative work. Take a look at submissions guidelines and keep the creativity flowing.

 

Enjoy the rest of your Monday.

Sam

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Ultra Sounds Monday, October 29, 2012

Good windy morning to all of you in the Eastern part of Canada and the U.S. I hope you are all safely snuggled somewhere to weather the weather.

Today’s post is one of my own works. This poem is about the oft-overlooked caregiver of us needy patients. They give and give and give and often nobody notices.

Sam

An Ode to a Caregiver

by Samantha Albert

 

In the business of illness

the patient is the star,

with agents and  handlers,

groupies and entourages.

“Do you need some chicken soup?”

“You are so brave, so inspirational!”

“Tell me your every need, your every wish and I will fill it.”

The patient is the celebrity, the self-indulged.

They are encouraged to focus on themselves

To take care of themselves

To talk about themselves

Their jokes are funnier

Their words are more profound

Than they ever were before

But if the patient is the star

what is the caregiver?

Chief cook and bottle washer.

Launderer of dirty linen.

The one who makes the money to pay for the medication

The one who cheerfully brings endless cups of tea.

The one who explains why mama has to be away so often.

The one who responds to grumpy moods with a sympathetic, “Are you having a hard day? “

The one who is scared, but can’t show it.

The one who, no matter how much they love the patient,

is always a bit of an outsider to the illness.

The one who must carry on with the life of two,

while the patient is otherwise engaged.

Where are their groupies?

Where are the reporters?

Where is the fanfare?

Leave the patient in anonymity for a while.

Cast your spotlights

on the quiet one in the background.

Celebrate him

Appreciate his dedication

Acknowledge his courage

Recognize his love

June, 2011

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Ultra Sounds Mondays, October 22, 2012

I was pleased to find a beautiful poem in my inbox from Emily Lasinsky of Pennsylvania, USA.  This poem makes me want to meet her remarkable grandmother.  I will let Emily speak in her own words. Enjoy.

Sam

Emily Lasinsky is an emerging artist and writer from Indiana, PA. She has a deep passion for creating art and writing, and believes these expressive practices play an essential role in shaping the self.  She is currently a graduate student pursuing her M.A. degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, and she hopes to use these expressive forms when counseling others in the future. Her artwork has been published by Touch: The Journal of Healing. Her poetry has been published in The Commonline Journal.

My connection to cancer:                            

My grandmother (father’s side) is a thyroid cancer survivor. My aunt is a breast cancer survivor. My grandmother (mother’s side), whom I am very close to, is currently battling breast cancer. I wrote “Lessons of Bare Surfaces and Pink Suitcases” as a way to express my want to help and be there for her, yet feeling that I could never repay her for what she has given me. This poem was something I could give her.

__________________________________________________________________

Lessons of Bare Surfaces and Pink Suitcases

By Emily Lasinsky

Taken aback.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen the effects,

Would have never known the difference,

No change in spirit.

Curls are no more,

Instead, a shiny, bare surface,

But you are not of this surface,

And there is nothing bare within.

My eyes swell-a common drill,

Leaking liquid soldiers that fight my troubles.

But today-they fight for you.

They meet your deep, pink suitcases,

Oh, the weight they must carry.

Wish I could carry that weight.

You tell me not to cry, to get a hold of myself,

But I can’t-I want to hold you.

Thoughts of gratefulness,

Desire to repay all the love you’ve given me.

To bottle it up and release it just when you need it the most.

Yet, in all your trials,

Your focus in still on me.

Undeserving me.

There’s something that you see that hasn’t quite come into my scope,

Although I believe I’m beginning to understand,

You already possess the perspective of faith and hope.

A lens that can only be produced through experience and pain,

One that becomes clearer as we struggle to make losses gains.

While I may not be able to fully grasp such concepts in my own life, you have set an inspirational example, and I want share with you some things you may not see:

The radiation is no match for the radiance of your soul,

Shining through big brown eyes and smiles after prayers,

Creating conversations with those you meet along your journey,

Sharing laughter that can cut through any disease,

no matter how thick the layers.

Some hear the word cancer and think, “This is the end,”

But you thought, “This is the beginning of something I will get through.”

Though you recognize it is not easy, you still keep going, moving forward

even on the bad days.

You are a symbol of hope

and proof,

That those with Cancer

Not only Can survive,

But they can develop a new perspective,

One in which they not only live, but thrive.

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Ultra Sounds Monday, June 25, 2012

Good morning all,

Since I have a little pull with the moderator of this blog, I decided to post one of my own poems for today’s submission.

I wrote this poem after stumbling across an old picture of myself on a canoe trip before becoming ill.  I was blinded by the memory of once being strong enough to carry a heavy backpack along a three kilometre portage. I had forgotten that once upon a time, I wasn’t sick. Here was proof. The poem reflects the mixture of emotions I felt in response to this picture.

Enjoy

Sam

 

 

 

The Girl with the Backpack

 

The picture is a little fuzzy

She didn’t want to be photographed

The large backpack was heavy

The long portage waited

“Just take the picture already”

Tall and strong

Long hair pulled back

With the wisps blowing in the breeze

She was ready to hack it off

So heavy and hot

Not knowing that a few years later

Chemotherapy would do the job for her.

 

She couldn’t know this would be the last trip

That her changing body wouldn’t allow her to go

to that place of deep quiet and true darkness anymore

She was a bit crabby that day

Maybe it was that time of the month

The chemotherapy claimed that too

Something she never thought she would miss

You want to tell that girl to shape up

To stop whining about the heat and mosquitoes

To pay close attention

So that she could replay the details later

 

I would like to be her again

Just for a day

To remember what was:

the smell of green

The cool silkiness of the water on bare skin

The clarity of the stars at night

The feel of paddle in hand

Traveling away and away

 

Yet for all of her physical vitality

She was a frail creature on the inside

Jell-O

She was easily led away from herself

She writhed with self-consciousness

Avoided the hard things

And felt herself always on shifting sands.

She didn’t know how to be her.

 

She is stronger now

With fortitude she never imagined

Grounded like a tree

Yes she would like to hide in her old self a while

Trade up for a healthy body

But would not sacrifice the hard-earned sturdiness

that helps her now come back from the woods and face the future.

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Ultra Sounds Mondays, May 21, 2012

Hello everyone,

It is a lazy Monday on a long weekend here in Canada. I hope you are all enjoying your day.

Today’s poetry submission comes from Margery Hauser. Here is what Margery has to say about herself:

In 1999 I was diagnosed with cervical cancer and had surgery that, at the time, we all thought had taken care of the problem.  However, it came back for a return engagement in 2008 and again in 2010, now taking up residence in lymph nodes and moving its way up from my pelvis into my abdomen. The poems below were written in response to various experiences during diagnosis and treatment.  I have had work appear in Poetica Magazine, Möbius, The Jewish women’s Literary Annual, Umbrella, and other journals, both print and online.

 

I am delighted to post some of Margery’s poetry for you. These poems reflect back to me my own experiences, in eloquent, elegant language. Look for more of Margery’s work later this summer here at Ultra Sounds.

 

Sam

 

 

Three Haiku

In the waiting room
time snails, stalls, stutters, suspends:
Impatient patient
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -
Blue hospital gown
prevents exam room gooseflesh
but not chill of fear
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -
Clear skies and clear scans
I smile my way along streets
sparkling with sunlight
_________________________________
Before Chemo

Ninja-steeled for battle
black robed
I determine time and place
No victim helplessly shorn
before death march
nor shaven-skulled
shame-branded traitor
not a novice
humbly submitting to God’s will
Rather a warrior
defiant, powerful
who will not mourn
each disappearing strand
in shower or on pillow
I choose the time by my volition
parade my choice
prevail
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Ultra Sounds Monday, April 30, 2012

I hope your week is starting off well. To give it a shake I offer you a poem by Nigel Paul. Nigel is a “writer and artist with a strong interest in the relationships between media, culture, society and politics.”

Nigel says:

 I was driven to write it as my family have been affected by cancer on a number of occasions and I feel that there is little more tragic than cancer in the young.

This poem will stay with you. Do check out Nigel’s other work.

Sam

 

 

(She’s) Dancing With The Idiots (Tonight)

by Nigel Paul

 

She’s just nineteen and she’s got cancer and she’s the only one that knows,

She doesn’t want to tell anyone until she knows that the cancer grows,

And although the secret eats her, like the cancer eats her,

She’s dancing with the idiots tonight.

They say that ignorance is bliss, knowledge is a dangerous thing,

But when you’re forced to count and can only hope,

You see things for what they are,

So the show goes on, the boys flock round, stop and stare, pretend to care,

It means nothing to her now,

She sees things for what they are,

It’s not a game of  ’let’s pretend’, it’s clear thinking and self preservation,

It’s the sensible thing to do,

Carry on, put on the show and dance with the idiots tonight,

They say the truth will out, the story will be told,

And she will look into their eyes, searching for the genuine sympathy, the genuine empathy,

And the truth will out,

But until she is ready, until it’s time,

She’s dancing with the idiots tonight,

And we cry, a sadness by proxy, our personal release, our personal relief,

And we will cry,

So let us dance like only an idiot can dance,

Let’s dance as only idiots dance,

Let’s dance like idiots tonight.