Breast Cancer Poems
Writing is a great form of therapy and healing. Enjoy the original compositions from our Survivingbreastcancer.org Community! Be Inspired.
Chemo Cocktails
By Reyne M. Husky
Getting my cocktails, one moment please
From my favorite nurse putting me at ease
She connects my port on the count of three
Making sure that I’m pain free.
I play my ukulele just to pass the time
And sing my favorite songs to help me unwind
I can go to places, right here in my chair
Imaginary friends popping up everywhere.
I’m feeling kind of beat, from the chemo meds
My hands and feet are turning red
Can’t wait, to get home to my bed
To sleep off the things, dancing in my head.
Out Damn Spot
By William Laferriere
Out damn spot
exclaimed the iniquitous Lady M
In William’s foremost tale
her fears well accounted for
And the psychological toll
knavishly awaiting all
Out damn spot
Out damn spot
fill those diagnosed dreams
A metastasizing growth
proves every bit as daunting
As the Lady M’s infamous lament
so we too think, walk and talk about
Out damn spot
Out damn spot
when the Lady somehow manages
To fall into a fitful sleep
she’s plagued by the nightmare
Of blood and death on her hands
her dreams too are made of iron and steel
Out damn spot
Out damn spot
she rubs her hands
And tries to erase
“here’s yet a spot” she laments
“The small of blood still”
she cries out in desperation
Out damn spot
Out damn spot
the grief, the guilt
Sleep no more becomes the haunt
and what is to become
Of the life we so anticipated
the anatomy of grief prevails
Out damnable spot
Peeling Equals Healing
By Pooja Jain
Hey You...Who me?
I am an onion.
I keep peeling each layer of my life‘s experiences.
I keep learning.
Little me, loved to be in the bubble of my family, my friends, my school and my home town.
I got stronger at heart.
Time came to give my heart away and with that leave my bubble too.
This young lady was ready to step in a new home, new country with confidence.
For years, I worked hard to make ends meet and I made home a heaven on earth.
Then I was ready to welcome a new life in the world.
What a bundle of joy my boy is ...
My baby boy made me a proud mom.
Life was going good.
Helping others and being a conscious world citizen.
Who knew ?
The peeling would now be done with a sharper knife.
My body and soul were cut into pieces.
A cancer diagnosis followed by a pandemic.
Double the trouble ....
Double the learning ....
One more year has gone by... 365 days of peeling and learning.
The pain equals gain ...
The more layers I peel
The more I learn.
The more I get closer to nothing
I ask ... is that nothing... everything?
The Last Poet Standing
By Ilene Kaminsky
For Melissa Blank and Ben North
Lasting longer than the rest
The final poet stood up
Amidst thousands of books
Burned down around her feet
Now ashes to ashes, now complete.
Dust to dust sunrise to dusk
She asked the gods to slip
Into her mind what she couldn’t find
Descriptions, colors, thoughts
Flowers she’s never seen, people she
May never meet.
And instead of bursting into flame
The room cried a storm of tears
And their ashes washed away down to the street
Where they sunk into the earth
Melting the soil leaving only
The voices behind with her to hold.
Yet only the words “death”
And “afraid”
And “cancer”
Came instead.
She cried out loud
“You don’t even know me, yet you defend me.” Pleading,”please. Give me back my words, please.”
Their brilliant brains battered them.
Now in their silence and rest,
The fates leaving her alone to give some reason.
Resonance of what happens now,
What do we do today
Now they’ve gone away.
A child asks these stupid things
Adults respond without a clue
Nothing to say, less they can do.
Yet,
She persisted and insisted on their behalf.
It’s no good, to herself again
Another crumpled page atop
The mountain piled high.
That night she sat
Opening and straightening and reading
But throwing each into the stove.
Her words cremated and remain forever unheard.
Her heart beat hard in her chest
Under the thousand pounds of weight.
She’d heard a ton of stones
Weighs exactly the same as a
Ton of feathers,
Rocks kill quick
While feathers from an unseen bird
Float into her mouth taking her breath and
Slowly suffocating the poetess.
The world turned again
And written in her hand the morning after
She picked up the papers reading
Only “death” and “fear” and “cancer”
Not one the right answer.
The poem, it’s complete
Yet one simple question remained
Unanswerable. What’s there to gain
By knowledge, here anyway?
But why choose me?
In her head a baritone voice said:
“You tell me why.”
And then she did.
Waves
By Dawn Oswald
As I stare into the blue waves, I fear nothing
The beautiful blue waves take all my thoughts away
Away the cancer goes
That little bit of time I stare into those blue waves I am a peace
I am beautiful
I am strong
I can do anything
O beautiful blue waves stay with me forever so I can be at peace
Is it possible?
Yes,
When you are down take a deep breathe and remember me- the blue waves
Dream of them and let them take away your pain
For I am here to wave at you
Just breathe and think of the blue waves
Stare into that space and think of the beautiful blue waves
Let your thoughts go
Let it take your cancer away
Stare
Stare into the blue waves and fear nothing
Insomniac: Stage IV
By Ilene Kaminsky
Morning yawns and stretches its arms
To part the curtains of night.
Tired midwife to light from
From her expectant horizon
The earth inches towards her morning.
Clean, cool fingers weave threads
Of sweet perfumed wisteria and more
Unnamable long forgotten blooms.
Clean and combed through dew damp air.
Buds nodding on their stems,
Draw blood from my veins with thorns
Like cat claws after a scare.
Suddenly clouds burst and showers fall
To save dry backyards and crops
Now cut away from the view unguarded
From natures reach over treetops.
Lost years and fences already raised
Desperate for mending and tattered.
Puddled earth evicts worried worms,
Plucked by late rising birds from their
Broken homes.
While in my solitary confinement,
Within an escapable white picket fenced
Yard, I wave farewell to school busses
And to the workers who clean up the world.
Alone to remember cubes and corners
Push pinned photos, plaques of platitudes,
Email boxes and bustling buildings
Where tight schedules and bright slides
Bore like radiation into the heads of
Departments of the thoughtless and benign.
My wooden porch now a port of call for
Rain long overdue for such late afternoons.
I’m stuck in an everlasting April spring day.
As sprinklers timed soak the lawn
The sun’s last rays motion with
Long, scolding fingers at
Now unknowable faded faces
Trapped like tonight’s fish for supper
In this morning’s papers.
Laid out on a communal table
Where wisdom and innocence
Convene to discuss the current
Events of still births and deaths.
Hands engaged with wild gestures
Waving forks and spoons for effect -
Interrupting pointless chatter to flatter
And cut meat from a fatted calf.
Everyone silenced by politeness,
Sliced right through the art of the matter.
The evening’s news flickers
Behind shades of taffeta mmllooookmm
Hiding shadow boxes inside windows.
Like a sober fly in a glass of whiskey
Wet wings legs spinning drowned
The hands of its god take it down.
I walk with solitude as she unwraps
Her arms thick with compassion
Beckoning me inside for consolation.
Using one wave to cast away
Anyone who might see me crying.
We sit together on a dark park bench
Watching every creature under suburban
Skies that all fit on a single broom stick.
If no one bothers then no one counts
Things yet unseen, like angels
Atop a pin head. Yet we must believe
That stars still sparkle until the dark unveils
Who’s home and left behind
To sing unearthly cries of grief.
Arched branches bow green
Soft leaves shake and flow
From willows left weeping
While night whispers to me:
Please save us all.
As the trees fade to black,
Wind whips at my face.
From the fringes, howls
Break into my mind.
I can no longer breathe
hidden and weak
In the between
With these heavier things.
Grateful
By Brookshire McDonald
I once wrote an essay
Entitled my three “tits”.
Now I am inspired to write
A poem to “it”.
Most of you are quite aware
Breast cancer I had in my two
Which has made me express
More compassion and love for you.
This year marks cancer anniversary
Of number seventeen.
Through each of those I have been blessed
During the days in between.
You are in my prayers every night
Of the week,
As on your journey
Peace you do seek.
To have found a new asset
Of awareness of others
Has been a true blessing
From my sisters and brothers.
I am grateful beyond all of this
In my life
That I didn’t have the third “tit”
To bring me added strife!
A POEM (or Sharing My Moment Remembered)
By P.A.M
She laughed with delight
as I explained
the frission of sunshine
that lept after his sparkling orbs
recognized unexpectedly
tantalizing fleeting
just before they dipped again into
a dim and unknown past.
Because, she explained,
in the midst of tragedy
facing death in it's brutal subtle grip
edging closer still
to a vile darkening fate
LIFE in its beautiful power
asserted itself
and claimed a right to love
to dreams
to passions not yet danced.
The irrepressible spark
LIT.
Embarking on an Ahab quest
Lashed to love again.
It’s Another Thing Now
By Ilene Kaminsky
I am willing to stand in gentle rain as the red sun sets,
But not to stand in a wind storm of sorrow and regret.
I used to own all the cloudless azure mornings still to come,
Before I knew my darkness could yield to the sun.
It is another thing now.
I am willing to see the sea sparkle in my lover’s sky blue eyes,
But not shield to my own for fear of drowning in life’s demise.
With honest hearts I will share the depths of my pain,
But with doubting minds I’ve no time left to explain.
It is another thing now.
I once slept deep cradled in his willing arms to rest,
Tonight I’m alone, an ailing hospital guest.
For warmer climes I’d give my body away to science,
To have a chance for a single night slowly dancing in silence.
It’s another thing now.
My time is limited and the day’s run late,
And I’m too busy netting butterflies to follow hardened dates.
There’s no time to waste on those who demand plans written in pen —
But long ago and once upon a time I had a calendar without end.
It’s another thing now.
Awareness
By Brookshire McDonald
Surviving breast cancer.org has enabled us
To become friends really fast.
My hope is that all our friendships
Will last and last.
Our boobs have brought us together
As our stories we do share
Over states and even countries
We come from almost everywhere.
Boobs of ours
Measured A,B,C,orD;
And one of you even claimed
To have been a G!
Plastic surgeons try to match them up
The best they can do.
Mine don’t match at all;
I don’t know about you.
With breast cancer diagnosis
Many options come your way-
Lumpectomy, mastectomy, reconstruction, tattoos
Or flat to stay.
Having fallen from a ladder
My journey did endure
Three leg surgeries, a blood clot, then two primary breast cancers
And many prayers for sure.
I admire each of you
As through breast cancer you go.
Your struggles, courage, and strengths
Really do show.
On top of that road
You are traveling today
COVID-19 has thrown
A wrench into play.
Dealing with just one issue
Was a master feat.
Each of you now
Has additional obstacles to beat.
I can laugh with you,
And I can cry with you,
But I can’t really imagine
All you’re going through.
As you travel this journey-
Not a choice you did choose,
You are reaffirming my faith
That I didn’t lose.
You awakened my awareness'
Of how blessed I have been;
And to have you as my cancer sisters
Has introduced a special kin.
You may not realize it
As your journey you do fight,
But each positive gesture of yours
Brings to someone a promising light.