Wednesday, April 3, 2013

2013.04.03 Poetry of Rob Brakeman

I'm proud and pleased to share with my blog readers my son Rob's poetry.  He has recently become a blogger himself. You can find his work on www.robbrakemanpoetry.com.  Poetry is one of the creative endeavors that, to me, is very spiritual. Why?  Because it has a way of going to the heart and soul of the matter, giving it full dignity as it is, grit and all, while at the same time communicating hope and new life. Matter and Spirit together.

Here is a poem Rob wrote some nine years ago when his brother was critically ill and Rob kept vigil in the hospital. His brother would do the same for him.

ANOTHER LATE NIGHT

an already slow elevator that stops on every floor
doctors and nurses, interns and surgeons
light blue OR scrubs and white coats
pens, clipboards and beepers
white sheets
the strange and continual smell of onion soup?
is that it?  onion soup?
peristaltic pumps clicking on and off,
beeping too loudly when the bags are empty
intravenous pick line and dried blood
that yellow paste around every IV insertion
morphine
codeine
Tylenol
bed sores
blood pressure and pulse
an impatient nurse
no information
waiting
fluorescent lights
ileostomy
colo-rectal
gastroenterology
adhesions and adhesiolysis
holy shit

and there you were
in the middle of it all
like a small pea
held delicately between the forefinger and thumb of a giant


   by Rob Brakeman when his brother John was in the hospital, 2004-5



1 comment:

J. Brakeman said...

This is so honest and one of my favorite Bro poems. - Johnny