Heartbeat of America
A well-oiled machine does not have to mean a well-oiled environment.
As a citizen of this great land, it’s your right to dig your own grave.
Opposites may attract, but not so much when they’re at each other’s throats.
The intent to bring harm upon others is not an oath worth keeping.
The heartbeat of America is sadly in need of CPR.
The prompt at Meet the Bar with the Cadralor + Nobel Prize, hosted by Björn at dVerse ~ Poets Pub is to write a Cadralor, a poetry form co-created by Lori Howe, Christopher Cadra and Mary Carroll-Hackett. The rules of the form, as stated at Gleam: Journal of the Cadralor:
“The Cadralor is a poem of 5, unrelated, numbered stanzaic images, each of which can stand alone as a poem, is fewer than 10 lines, and ideally constrains all stanzas to the same number of lines. Imagery is crucial to cadralore: each stanza should be a whole, imagist poem, almost like a scene from a film, or a photograph. The fifth stanza acts as the crucible, alchemically pulling the unrelated stanzas together into a love poem. By “love poem,” we mean that your fifth stanza illuminates a gleaming thread that runs obliquely through the unrelated stanzas and answers the compelling question: “For what do you yearn?”
My poem probably is shorter than expected, and I suppose I’ve stood the form on its head by using an American Sentence for each of the stanzas.
Image (layered): surefirecpr.com & vectorstock.com
Neither glass nor stone,
not impervious nor shattered,
the heart that beats deep within me
has known the ache of life’s trials
and the elation of reward revealed
when most needed. The greatest
of those rewards was found
when it started beating for you.
This poem is my response to Quadrille #137: Throwing Poet Stones, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word stone in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.
The stone and the glass hearts in the photo were found on the shore of Lake Ontario
(Click image for larger view in new tab)
Emptiness for nearly sixty years.
Never knowing why. Doctors thought
they had the answer last year,
when they found a hole in my heart.
But that emptiness was filled ten years ago,
when you came into my life.
This poem is my response to MTB: The Body and Poetry, the prompt from Grace at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem using a part of the body as a metaphor.
Early last year, I was diagnosed with a Patent Foramen Ovale (PFO), or hole in my heart – the possible cause for a TIA I experienced in late 2019 (with no more occurrences). It’s a congenital condition, and the doctors have decided to monitor the situation, rather than performing surgery at my age. On the plus side for my heart, I met my wife ten years ago.
~ Day 8 ~
Awake Beyond Smoldering
It was a withering husk,
and I almost didn’t recognize it
as my own broken heart,
that which had been fractured
through years of denial
over what had been lost
long ago. But that was then,
when I could not accept the truth.
When fear of the unknown kept me
from finding a happiness
that could be mine. I turned my back
on the charred remains to find
that happiness, knowing my heart
would follow, hopeful we would succeed.
This poem is my response to MTB: Middles and Turns, the prompt from Peter at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem that takes a dramatic turn.
Image source: freevectors.net (edited here)
patent, as in open
a hole in the wall
the shortest route
between two chambers
the heart of the matter
Reena’s Exploration Challenge #145 asks for a poem
that is as short and as cryptic as possible.
If the MRI I had on Tuesday shows no indication of past stroke,
my patent foramen ovale (PFO) will remain untreated.
Also linked to Open Link Night #270 at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
Detailed chambers of the heart & PFO illustration – © Mayo Clinic
(click image to see larger view in new tab)
Broken, this heart
The key to opening it,
left behind when we parted
waits still for your return
This is my response to
Thursday Photo Prompt: Secret #writephoto
at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo, with her photo.
Also linked to Open Link Night #268 at dVerse Poets Pub.
A Day Like Any Other
With like minds, we scorn this greeting card holiday,
yet my mind still turns to you, a turn made
nearly every moment since that first turn
on the path that brought our hearts together,
since the first words I wrote for you, words
I would write on any day, even this.
My un-Valentine’s Day poem.
And more words of LOVE.
Frosted Window View
Distracted by all manner of things in the non-digital realm during this past week, from health to, well, health, I missed the deadline for Pure Haiku’s translucence theme.
My poem “Hold That Thought” (10 January 2020) was in regard to an incident I had a couple of months back, with minor symptoms that may have been a transient ischemic attack (TIA), or mini-stroke. In early January, I had an echocardiogram and a scan of my carotid arteries. The latter showed minor plaque buildup without any obstruction to blood flow, but my doctor now has me on 81mg aspirin as a precaution.
The echo showed that I have an atrial septal aneurysm (ASA). The incidence in the general adult population is about 2%. This aneurysm is not the same as the extreme circumstance of a weakened blood vessel. The wall between the upper chambers of my heart bulges to one side, a condition that I’ve likely had for all of my life. I just had to wait until my sixties to find out that it exists. Since it also has the potential to cause a stroke, my doctor referred me for an additional echocardiogram.
A transesophageal echocardiogram is just what it sounds like. Yesterday, I was sedated, and a device was placed down my esophagus to get a much closer echo of my heart. Rather than a technician, as with my first echo, this procedure was performed by a cardiologist. The results showed that, in addition to the ASA, I have an atrial septal defect, an opening in the septum separating the upper chambers of my heart. It’s a condition common to 30% of the population, often with no ill effect. There is no urgency to the situation, but I’ll receive more information from my primary in the next few days. I’ll be seeing a neurologist in September, so I suspect any decisions will be delayed until then. The cardiologist was less concerned by the results than my primary care physician was by the initial prospect. In fact, he didn’t see any issues with my level of activity. Time will tell.
Imagine how different life would be if our skin and tissue were translucent and medical diagnoses were as simple as peering into our bodies.
sparrow clings to perch
snow swirling around feeder
frosted window view
All it took was one look
into your eyes, and my heartbeat
spiked, like nothing
meant a thing before that
moment. I just fell into
those dark wells leading
to your soul, my whole being
fleeing before me
to be a part of you.
This is my response to Quadrille #75: Spike Up a Poem, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse, which is to use any form of the word spike in a quadrille, a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
Stone to Flesh
Gather the darkness in these chambers,
flowing from one to the next.
Banish it. Winter has lived here too long.
Be my salvation. Know these walls were
not always stone. They have moved
with each beat, known the fire of love.
Ear to my chest, you will hear
the surge you bring, stampeding horses
rushing to meet you, greet you.
As moon goes from crescent to full,
so will these chambers, your touch
bringing them from stone to loving flesh.
The Sunday Writing Prompt at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, from Pat (wildchild47), is to find inspiration in “The Blind Leading the Blind,” by Lisel Meuller.
Image source: freevectors.net (edited here)