CAPTIVATING CANCER'S CAPTIVATING CANCER

I skipped Day 20 yesterday of the WEGO Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge (I'm allowed two "get out of writing" passes). But today's exercise (Day #21) is wild and wacky and I couldn't wait to try it! (It's one of my favorites of the writing challenge thus far.) We were told to log on to Madlibs, fill in the requested parts of speech, then generate a poem from it. It's trippy! Mine came out in the rhythm of Sylvia Plath. Check it out!
 
CAPTIVATING CANCER'S CAPTIVATING CANCER
By Renn and Sylvia Plath
 
I chew my sweaters and all the moon clashes in darkness; 
I argue my Rockefellers and all is understand again.
(I gnaw and separate you up inside my hammer.)

The woods go fretting about in a mindful crawl,
And reclaim societies that identify within.
I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.

A liar improves from the ledge, but the screenplay's mountain justifies,
And dominates gold and silver's river:
I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.

I imagine you believed the way you swindle,
But I congratulate your twisted mind and struggle with your difference.
(I gnaw and separate you up inside my hammer.)

I should have believed a ghost instead;
At least when laughter begins, they deploy back again.
I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.
(I gnaw and separate you up inside my hammer.) 

I chew my dreams as the moon clashes darkness;
I argue my Rockefellers and all is gnawing again.
(I understand I believe you up inside my society.)

The woods go fretting about in mindful alarm,
And reclaim relief identifying within:
I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.

I dreamt that you cried me into surgery
And flew me steady, giving me quite a crawl.
(I understand I believe you up inside my society.)

The screenplay improves from the ledge, and the liar's mountain justifies:
dominating gold and silver rivers:
I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.

I wish you'd crash the way you swindle, But I congratulate your twisted mind and struggle with your difference. (I understand I believe you up inside my society.)

I should have believed a liar instead; At least when laughter begins, they deploy back again. I justify my violet and all the companion trains each afternoon.
(I understand I believe you up inside my society.)

ORANGE YOU GLAD

Day 12 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge — stream of consciousness day. I have been directed to "just write, don't stop, don't edit." Here goes.

I'm not sure I understand people's reactions when they find out you have a life-threatening illness. Why does this news cause so many people to retreat like turtles?

Sticking your head in the sand is a handy trick, I have mastered it (and it has served me) well, but don't I get a free pass to stick my head in the sand? After all, I'm the one left dealing with this whole mess.

The folks surrounding me, resting on branches far and near, can slip back into their "before" lives while I — I must live in my "after" life.

Maybe this is just how it goes. We all, at some time or another, must deal with issues that threaten our lives and our way of life. Maybe I'm just like them. Maybe I'm no different. Maybe they are the normal ones. Maybe their behavior is appropriate. Maybe I expect too much. Maybe none of it matters at all. Maybe I over think it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Copyright TheBigCandMe 2012)

Cancer is a shakedown. If you grab hold of an orange tree and shake real hard, you're gonna loose a lot of fruit. I feel like an orange rolling around in the dusty grass, lodged up against a tree trunk. (Between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.) Some days I feel like the orange in the back, left to rot. Other days I'm the bright and shiny fruit shouting "pick me, pick me!" 

I'm not still on the tree. But I like to imagine what it would be like to be back on the tree: To be plump and perfect, juicy and sweet, unblemished, waiting in anticipation for what lies ahead. I used to be that fruit. Used to feel bright, shiny and new. This cancer sh*t, it's bad for the tree and its bad for me. Like real harsh weather, brutal heat or too much rain — cancer literally beats the life out of you.

But blogging... somehow, blogging makes it all better. (Maybe not all, but some; I'll take some better. I'll take mo' better.) Gotta give the orange a voice. It has plenty to say, even when it's rolling around beneath the tree. Pick it up, wash it off — voila, like new! (Who knew?)

It's not so bad. Smells good.

Orange you glad?