Image rights to giara

Nightshade

A kiss of sweet solitude
under the tender moonlight
every dream worth dreaming
found in the whispering wind
calling for my dark memories
longing for my waning purity
yet I linger a little longer
a soft warning stirs me
yet tender lips seduce
succumbing softly
my lovely nightshade

-Poem by Dragon Blogger

Image rights to Noteseda

Crawling Out
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Canopies of host
A bustling of hidden life
Cocoons now erupt

Leaves Awaken
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These cold footed hosts
Stirring from the dancing of leaves
Cherry blossoms blush

Morning Greetings: Warmer
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A touch of morning
Moist grass showers my bare feet
The sun fries dewdrops.

Image rights to Mommyof4Ruggies

Mae had been practicing medicine in one of the Western provinces of the Australian outback for the past eight years and she loved her job. Her patients admired her genuine kindness and sympathy for their illnesses.

Sometimes, there were patients that, because of their loyalty to her treatments and the satisfaction from her approach in management, had grown fond of her and considered her more than just their doctor; they call her their friend.

Chris was one of those who called her a friend; his wife, Deborah, had been having regular check-ups with Mae. His wife was being tested for ovarian cancer due to a progressively enlarging lower abdomen with constant pelvic discomfort and increased frequency in urination frequency. It was because of Mae’s expert clinical eye that she requested an ovarian cancer screening. Since she was working at a town clinic, Mae asked Chris to bring his wife to the General Hospital in the city for the medical exams.

Chris relied so much on Mae and they had formed a close relationship. Mae’s words and encouragement helped the husband and wife face the stresses of the condition.

It was more than two weeks ago, when Mae received a distressing phone call from Chris.

“Doctor, my wife’s tests were all positive for ovarian cancer,” spoke Chris through sobs in between his words.

“I’ll see you at the clinic as soon as you come back to town and we’ll discuss the options,” replied Mae, trying hard to stay objective during the conversation. “I could refer you to a surgeon I know who specializes in that kind of condition.

“Doc please, Deborah is only twenty four and our kids are still young. Help us,” Chris pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. He hung up.

Mae could not help herself any longer; she was on her way to her car and felt her knees gave way. She managed to open the door and seated herself with her shoes touching the ground. Tears fell down from her eyes, plunging heavily onto the hungry withered asphalt road. She never showed her emotions in front of her patients so she let out the tears only when she knew she was alone. She closed her eyes and started praying for a miracle.

Mae requested the same tests at another hospital hoping for some sign that there could be something else that could have caused the condition. She also referred Chris and Deborah to one of her colleagues for a second opinion, but the tests came back the same.

It took eighteen days for the tests and retests, for the consultations with different specialists, and for the preparation for surgery to be completed. The latest CT scans showed a mass in the left ovary with involvement of Deborah’s lymph nodes and the tumor markers were shouting out positive for ovarian tumor.

Mae patiently waited for the operation to be over. Attending to her other patients at her little clinic in the Western Provinces, she kept in touch with Chris, in the surgical waiting room, through her mobile phone. It was now lunch time and Mae had just seen a patient when Chris called her.

“Doctor,” he spoke hurriedly trying to catch his breath. “The surgeons removed the tumor and they sent the specimen to the Pathologist to identify it.”

“And?” Mae asked expecting her heart to leap out of her chest.

“…and the Pathologist confirmed that it was not cancer!” Chris’ voice exploded from the receiver. “It’s not cancer, Doc. It’s a miracle.”

“Thank goodness, I’ll fly out to visit Deborah after my clinic later,” Mae promised.

She ended the call and closed her eyes in a short prayer. In spite of all the tests done, all the “positive” results, there was no cancer. She had prayed for a miracle and God had answered.

Once again, tears ran down from Mae’s eyes. This time, they fell on the floor dancing as they splattered on her shoes.

Image rights to besimo

Cold Morning
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Kiss of morning breeze
Brought shivers to my warm skin
I inhaled snowflakes.

Unexpected feeling
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Bare feet kissed the floor
Metal sheet carved cold blisters
A shock of surprise

Warming up
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Greetings with goosebumps
From an icy kiss of snow
Temperature rose

Image rights to Daphne Ouwersloot

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Dust -
rode the wind,
Stinging this poet’s eye.
A lone tear
drew a salty line
that trailed down
from the edges
of the inflamed window
of his thoughts.
A spark of memory
augmented -
but the tear,
raced to the vault
then this poet,
with ink in one hand,
wrote his emotions down
with uneven strokes.