Ode to the RBC

From the heart the red corpuscle
carries oxygen to muscle,
goes all around in just one minute
then returns with none left in it
recharging in the lungs before
the heart can whoosh it out once more.

Oh tell me Red, how does it seem
to be a prisoner to haem
and tote round all that iron and stuff
and make sure our organs get enough?
You do so much for little praise
and only live ten dozen days.

Those other cells? – we won’t go near ’em.
all busy working in the serum,
whizzing at a rate of knots
some fight infection, some make clots,
and it hurts your pride to hear them say
“red blood cells don’t have DNA”

But worry not, dear little cell,
we know your story very well
and oxygen’s our main life stay,
without you we’d just fade away!
So carry on and do your bit –
and keep up our haematocrit…

Lost for words

why did she choose Calliope
as her artistic muse
brain damage not the kindest friend
when finding words to choose

the swirling vortex of her mind
keeps battling every day
to communicate with other folk
but words just slide away

it is the same with poetry
yet she jumps into the breach
and sees them glinting in the dark
somehow just out of reach

she waits for what can seem like hours
so hopeful that she’ll tease
from every tangled skein of thought
that very word to please

vocabulary was once her thing
but those days are far behind
that eloquence she used to have
has faded from her mind

So her poetry is simple
and she envies those whose rhyme
embraces all that artistry
from once upon a time

Facial Recognition

Is this the face that’s best left hid from view,
of those who feel themselves a better race,
who’ve never thought to question all they knew,
is this the face?

While caught up in their lives of keeping pace,
their main intent to get all that’s their due,
the rights of others never reaching through.
Is this the face?

Not wondering if what they hear is true,
no reaching out to see if it’s the case,
such mindlessness can be a heady brew.
Is this the face?