There is no better surgeon than one with many scars.
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Like A Surgeon
I finally made it through med school
Somehow I made it through
Im just an intern
I still make a mistake or two
I was last in my class
Barely passsed at the institute
Now Im trying to avoid, yah Im trying to avoid
A malpractise suit
Hey, like a surgeon
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Organ transplants are my line
Better give me all your gause nurse
This patients fading fast
Complications have set in
Dont know how long hell last
Let me see, that i.v.
Here we go - time to operate
Ill pull his indsides out, pull his insides out
And see what he ate
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Heres a waiver for you to sign
Woe, woe, woe
Its a fact - Im a quack
The disgrace of the a.m.a.
cause my patients die, yah my patients die
Before they can pay
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Got your kidneys on my mind
Like a surgeon, ooh like a surgeon
When I reach inside
With my scalpel, and my forceps, and retractors
Oh oh, oh oh, woe, oh
Ooh baby, yah
I can hear your heartbeat
For the very last time
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scars
Now I see that you are pushing me away,
The scars remain as my pain,
I can see that my veins are full of scars,
Scars of remaining past,
Scars from all those cutting,
Scars from all the pain I went through,
Love is vain,
The rain might pour down,
But nothing has stop me from seeing the scars I have left behind,
Nothing can’t stop me from seeing the remaining scars,
All my scars, all my memories remain as my pain.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Trumpet
A friend fell and smashed up his teeth and jaw,
And ended up in 'casualty' what's more,
The surgeon came to sew up his damaged face,
And put his teeth and jaw back into place.
He asked the surgeon, if he would be able to play the trumpet,
No problem at all, the surgeon said, superbly, that I can bet.
Oh, how amazing, said my friend, Gosh, I must tell my wife,
Because, I've never ever played a trumpet, in my life.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Swinging the Lead
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Jesus Holds My Hand
I saw Jesus last night.
He layed beside me,
held my hand.
I felt his scars.
They didn't make me sad.
The scars are happy.
Jesus said i have scars too.
You just can't see them.
My scars cut deep
So i can't escape them.
Jesus said to give him my scars.
That he carried the sorows of the world.
I gave my scars to God last night.
He still holds my hand.
And i love Jesus.
Can you?
A Butcher Was Called for The Surgeon İnterview
'Yes, Thank you very much for your interest
About the Surgeon vacancy,
But we're sorry to inform you
That your application has been rejected.'
'Why Sir? '
'They agreed that both of you cut
With your sharp instruments
And take everything out for biopsy.
But the difference they say
A Surgeon fix everything as earlier
And you throw half of the gadgets into trash bin! '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Scars
We all have scars.
Some visible and some hidden to the world.
We sometimes try to hide the physically scars because we think it is ugly,
but really having scars is not a bad thing.
It reminds us we can heal and get through the bad times both physically and mentally when we are ripped or torn apart.
So embrace you scars and keep on healing.
For healing and battling is a part of life.
Let people see your scars and how strong you are by healing.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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The Widow
I don't think men of eighty odd
Should let a surgeon operate;
Better to pray for peace with God,
And reconcile oneself to Fate:
At four-score years we really should
Be quite prepared to go for good.
That's what I told my husband but
He had a hearty lust for life,
And so he let a surgeon cut
Into his innards with a knife.
The sawbones swore: "The man's so fat
His kidneys take some getting at."
And then (according to a nurse),
They heard him petulantly say:
"Adipose tissue is curse:
It's hard to pack them tripes away."
At last he did; sewed up the skin,
But left, some say, a swab within.
I do not doubt it could be so,
For Lester did not long survive.
But for mishap, I think with woe
My hubby might still be alive.
And while they praise the surgeon's skill,
My home I've sold--to pay his bill.
poem by Robert William Service
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Suicide Scars
i look at myself in the mirror wondering.
wondering what happend to the girl i used to be.
wondering why there are scars on my wrist.
why i did this to myself.
then i think back to when my whole world was crashing down.
i seem to realize that these scars are suicide scars.
i start to cry to the fact that i will have these scars for a life time.
i grab my razor put it up to my wrist.
and i start to cut.
i start to cut them suicide cuts all over again.
i cant stop.
but i guess that this will be me forever.
makeing them ugly suicide scars.
poem by Teresa Johnson
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Suicide Scars
i look at myself in the mirror wondering.
wondering what happend to the girl i used to be.
wondering why there are scars on my wrist.
why i did this to myself.
then i think back to when my whole world was crashing down.
i seem to realize that these scars are suicide scars.
i start to cry to the fact that i will have these scars for a life time.
i grab my razor put it up to my wrist.
and i start to cut.
i start to cut them suicide cuts all over again.
i cant stop.
but i guess that this will be me forever.
makeing them ugly suicide scars.
poem by Trish Spencer
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Bad El Ess Dee
surgeon general's warning
dont eat this
seek guidance if you can
reject the fist
seek therapy if you can
just try to vomit
seek god if there is one
just try to remember
theres something extra in your pocket
call it profit
who cares how you got it
its there
smile loser
surgeon general's warning
know your acid dealer
Scars
I once knew a girl.
Who forever had scars and cuts upon her arms.
Hope was insribed.
Not in the colour of ink.
But in the colours of the scars.
With stitches on her skin.
Plus tears in her eyes.
And bumpy scars.
Filled with hate and shame.
For whats she done.
But she'll do it again.
She once saw someone.
They asked what is that on your arms.
Ciggerette burns came the reply.
Deep inside the girl was lost.
I once saw myself drowned in tears.
Cant understand the purpose of my being.
For the cuts and scars.
The pain goes so much deeper
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Scars From A Childhood
Scars from a childhood, some visible, some not
One on my palm from a grill that was hot.
Punishment came from nothing I did.
Clenching my fist, it was something I hid.
Why world? I'm only a kid.
Scars that are hidden by clothes that I wear,
or some on my neck covered by hair.
These are excuses for frustrations at home.
They will stay with me wherever I roam.
Why world? I'm only a kid.
Never understanding just what I did do?
accepting the scars, each one as I grew,
fragmenting my mind so I could not forget
all of these scars that are still there yet.
Why world?
I was only a kid.
Some are visible. They can't be seen.
They live inside me. They're there when I dream.
Can things be different now that I've grown?
Or will they stay with me?
Are they all that I own?
Why world?
I was only a kid.
The kids in this world that are like me,
I wonder with fear what their fate will be?
The world can be cruel when you have no defense.
Where is the decency? Where is the sense?
Why world? They are only kids.
Those that have suffered all of these scars
should see the inflictors behind iron bars.
Until this is seen as a travesty
it will continue so no one will see.
Please world, please let them see.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Scars of the Heart
Scars of the Heart
At times it seems like no relief
We can suffer long with our grief
Will the heart ever mend
Will the pain ever end
The tears come from my eyes
But it’s my heart that cries
People ask how am I
They would know if they see me cry
From when my wife passed
I have scars of the heart that will last
My heart may heal after time goes by
The scars of my heart will be till I die
poem by Michael Gelb
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Star Song
You got your tongue pierced once,
and you say you've got another,
that you can't show anyone,
unless it's under covers,
but you're running around showing everyone your new tattoo.
You got an A in class,
and you hoped no one would notice,
you're the smartest kid in school,
and it makes you self-conscious,
and your loser boyfriend is smoking out in the boys room.
I wish someone would tell you,
you're a star the way you are,
you know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars.
(everybody's got their scars)
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
I bet your mom was so happy,
you became a cheerleader,
home coming queen,
just like your older sister,
'till you dyed your hair pink
and they said what were you drinking,
and it never did sink in,
it don't matter what they think.
Cause you're a star the way you are,
you know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars,
(everybody's got their scars)
never mind how ugly they are.
(never mind how ugly they are)
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
Oh the way you are,
(oh the way you are)
oh the way you are,
(oh the way you are)
oh the way you are,
yeah.
You're a star the way you are,
You know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars.
(everybody's got their scars)
No matter what they tell you
you're beautiful you are.
You're a star the way you are,
no, you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars,
(everybody's got their scars)
never mind how ugly they are.
(never mind how ugly they are)
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I’m Proud Of Having A NORMAL Delivery
Child birth,
Which one is healthier;
And happier?
Is it natural delivery
or Ceasarian delivery?
One is (self) delivered,
another is (surgeon's help) to be delivered;
One is delivery by individual and self,
Another is a procedure carried out by surgeon
through Caesarian section;
A mother once said, I heard,
This is my child
I delivered this child;
I felt the pain,
enjoyed the pain,
with trembling of my thighs;
I am proud of having a NORMAL delivery,
It is a pleasant experience for everybody.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Something About The Trees
I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
There is an age when you are most yourself.
I know more than I did once.
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Only a single leaf had turned so far.
I know more than I did once.
I used to think he'd always be the surgeon.
Only a single leaf had turned so far,
Even his body kept its secrets.
I used to think he'd always be the surgeon,
My mother was the perfect surgeon's wife.
Even his body kept its secrets.
I thought they both would live forever.
My mother was the perfect surgeon's wife,
I can still see her face at thirty.
I thought they both would live forever.
I thought I'd always be their child.
I can still see her face at thirty.
When will I be most myself?
I thought I'd always be their child.
In my sleep it's never winter.
When will I be most myself?
I remember what my father told me.
In my sleep it's never winter.
He was just past fifty then.
Submitted by Jt
poem by Linda Pastan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scars Of Our Past
you say you wana know me,
But do you really?
do you see who i am?
Do you see my scars?
look closer, their carves straight into my arm.
Do you see my pain, the tears, streaming down my face.
you hold me in your arms, tell me you care,
but do you really?
How?
Im covered in their filth from what they've all done to m, no matter how many times i shower the filth wont ever leave, it will never go away. cant you see the scars that my past have left behind.
But thats okay becasue today im choosing to make a stand im leaving my scars and past behind.
poem by Alicia Tschantre
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Bulletproof
Hey, it's me. Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest,
Walking a battlefield, with scars only partly healed.
Bullets and rockets explode, as the dead's bones corrode.
But I got a kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Hey! Got nothing to fear right? I walk the alleys at night.
I'm a gun-toting machine, stop me if you can!
Bulletproof, gun in hand, tis this an invincible man?
But did I tell you where I've got most my scars?
They're under my kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Deep and hard, some still bleeding, jagged scars.
Many bullets have hit, but few through could they get.
So now you ask, from where are those scars you mask?
Most of my scars are on my back, the sad fact:
I'm bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest, might be bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Bulletproof...
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Wrinkles
Wrinkles
are scars of time
Scars of pride that show you
how much you struggle for your life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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