Tag: poems about surgery

The Evolution of Vice

I can’t seem to get my coffee right
it’s too strong or too weak
burnt because I forget
half-brewed because I’m impatient
and none of it tastes as good
as a hot cup on a cold morning
when I was young and hopeful —
romantic even;
somehow everything now
in this wicked, hobbled world
is just not right,
and I wonder if whiskey
might better suit the mood,
neat with a long, hard drag
off a Marlboro
might at least allow an exhale
now and then.

Tags change, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about surgery, Poetry, poetry about transition, poetry in 2026, poetry in troubled times

Creativity Poetry

Rusty Poet with a New Knee

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date February 3, 2026
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wondering
if the surgeon
replaced
the poem lobe
with mechanical parts
as well
the kind that seize up in cold
work or don’t work
at a whim
inflame from lack of use
or too much use
or just so much use that
whatever — ow!
it seems the poemflow
is missing its synovial fluid
like my knee
that I must pump back and forth
swinging (without the whee!)
until it decides to perform;
perhaps I must swing my head
shake it no
nod it yes
agree to some higher power
to let the poem in
YES. NOW. PLEASE.
It’s been sitting there
for a week
waiting to move
waiting to become
waiting to transform
waiting
like me
waiting

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about recovery, poems about surgery, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

Pointlessness

The warmed blanket
offers as much comfort
as the ghost
who held me in dreams
said all the right things
too late to even consider
a new lease
fucking cliché
at this age
find myself wishing
I were the type
to waste away in bed
where dreams
at least offer promise.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about change, poems about healing, poems about inspiration, poems about surgery, poems about transition, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

In Which the Poet Considers Her Way Forward

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date November 12, 2025
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As one ghost lies dying
from heart ache,
another suffers tragic loss,
and a third fades quietly
into the ether,
she is reminded that
always,
in the epic final battle,
everything resurfaces:
there are fires burning,
smoldering moments of despair,
a defeated arch nemesis,
a warrior waning and

AND

a heroine — walking wounded —
considering the sunrise
its event horizon
the point of no return
from all of this
and all of them
these lost souls
her poetic impetus

what will become of her now?

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about change, poems about healing, poems about inspiration, poems about surgery, poems about transition, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

She Was Broken

By the time I can walk
freely to the backyard again,
my summer friends have flown,
their brightness replaced
by soft subtle grays,
and I can’t help but wonder
about the cardinal,
her wing askew,
who spent the season
managing her brokeness
as deftly as I navigated
my own;
she moved about
as best as she could,
stayed strong;
found her stride
and her song.
I miss her now,
these cold mornings
more quiet
without our shared infirmary,
and I imagine her
somewhere safe,
like myself,
moving without limit.

*As if on cue, I saw my cardinal friend in the backyard just this morning, the first time in a month!

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about change, poems about healing, poems about inspiration, poems about surgery, poems about transition, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

Fall Afternoon in the Yard with a New Knee

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date November 10, 2025
No Comments on Fall Afternoon in the Yard with a New Knee

Do the birds know
I am not myself
moving gently towards them
seeds in one pocket
water in the other
barefoot in the cool, damp grass
tticking to call the cardinals
tticking to say I have not forgotten you
I have been here all along
just moving more slowly
finding my way to solid ground
done with the flitterings of grief
and old limitations —
so what of loss?
these leaves had to fall
it is the natural order
churning and churning
everything changing
the leaves, the river,
and time tticking too

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, Poem, Poems, poems about change, poems about healing, poems about inspiration, poems about surgery, poems about transition, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

Poet AWOL

The 8″ battle scar
explains the retreat
in glorious, punctuated detail
so no apologies
or all apologies
for having been
absent from duty
absent from craft
absent from self
our tactical strategy
required split-second timing
a vanguard deployment
of the strongest self
armed and ready
for the battle
of chemical warfare
and severed skin,
of breaking bones
and hammered metals;
while the correspondent self
held the flank,
taking cryptic notes
to send by wire later,
when the haze cleared.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life of a poet, Poem, Poems, poems about healing, poems about surgery, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

Strange Thing, This Inspiration

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date November 6, 2025
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a poem inspired by Stranger Things, post-op drugs, and him again

The meditation takes me
to the Upside Down —
a crossover of dreams
and Spielberg memories,
where muses suddenly appear
with the Next Great Idea!
on a dark plane of black water,
the beaming light of
What Comes After This;
but he is there, too,
and I say the goodbye
I never get to say
except in dreams
and poems I want to fold up
and leave in secret places,
like the Upside Down,
where maybe he
travels sometimes,
this kindred spirit
who is so familiar
I am always certain
we have crossed paths
in some other life…
or is that just this
rich, deep darkness
of conjuring?
the magic of a poet
turning things over
to see what might be, maybe,
substance for another poem?

Tags Connecticut Poet, hospital poems, Inspiration, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, Poem, Poems, poems about healing, poems about inspiration, poems about surgery, Poetry

Creativity Poetry

Superwoman Post-Op, 3:30 a.m.

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date November 4, 2025
No Comments on Superwoman Post-Op, 3:30 a.m.

I am holding up the world, still

from a hospital bed

with tubes connected to a wall

I cannot move.

Even here,

the hard work of caretaking

caretakers and my self

all the while admiring

the strong muscles

I have sculpted to do this job,

wondering if I might find

a softer way.