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100% accuracy at time of writing cannot be guaranteed.  A listing in this website is provided for informational purposes only, and does not mean it is an endorsement.  All companies listed are tried at the reader’s own risk.  All information provided is intended as a supplement to any professional help already

given.  Before acting on suggestions from anyone, ostomates are advised to check with a doctor or stoma care nurse that the course of action is suitable

for them. Whilst every care is taken, the author will not be held responsible.









WITH PEAKS OF LEAKS


Some days I have an off-day,

few days are sometimes on.

Consistent days I have to say

are well and truly gone.


Before I get up from my bed,

I have to exercise.

To wake my muscles from the dead

or was that my own demise.


Did I awake from last night’s dream

or am I residing there.

Nothing knocks one’s self-esteem,

like living a nightmare.


Long lost now that peace of mind,

I had my life throughout.

Age is inclined to be unkind

with nowt to shout about.


Arthritic pain in every joint

can make a teardrop come.

Sometimes I wonder what’s the point,

when all is said and done.


I leak and stream from everywhere,

it never seems to stop.

I know it’s only wear and tear

from old age and the ops.


I leak from every orifice,

the smell can overwhelm.

With no control on shit or piss

within this aging realm.


Ears ooze wax and nose flows snot

and I regurgitate.

Then I tend to sweat a lot,

what a freaky, leaky state.


Bleeding nose and stoma too

and from my bum as well.

To speak these things is still taboo,

like leper rings a bell.


From my stoma faeces come,

plus mucus and some pain.

More mucus flushes from my bum

like frog’s spawn in the rain.


Once I stopped to ask a plumber

to stop my leaks and smell.

He agreed it was a bummer

for he had these leaks as well.


Sometimes I think it can’t get  worse

when not one thing is right.

I sit here making rhyming verse

because it helps me fight.


When my fighting’s over,

don’t put me in the ground.

My life has not been clover,

I feel that I’ve been drowned.


So put me in the ocean,

the wide and clear blue sea.

I have this fancy notion,

the wetness will suit me.


The sea would make me happy,

the sea could make me glad.

I would not feel so crappy,

I would not feel so sad.


I want to feel the freedom

that flows with every wave.

A flotsam, jetsam, kingdom

will be my watery grave.


For water ought to be the theme

of epitaph and score.

My nightmare turns into a dream,

where I will leak no more.





















 


 



























   















































(10.08.2010)




Reproduced by kind permission of Bill Withers.

12.06.2013






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POEMS

ON AND OFF DAYS