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There is no cure for emphysema, but you can start treating it and have a better quality of life.

quote by Loni Anderson
Added by Lucian Velea
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My dad had emphysema and both of my parents had chronic bronchitis and ended up with cancers - all smoking related.

quote by Loni Anderson
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Good Time Girl

The Good Time Girl

She was beautiful in a floozy sort of way too much
lack in her hair and dramatic make up.
When I was young and before I married I used to
visit her when the need was there.
Well I got married and was happy for some time,
but my wife left and we divorced.
I visited the old tart again as she had been accommodating,
but her life style had taken bitter its toll.
She was glad to see me, but when she undressed her
body had cigarette burns that spoke for itself.
I put her dress on; she had a defaulting breathing yet
lit a cigarette… I called for an ambulance.
She died in the night of emphysema and I thought
why didn’t I love her instead of my ex wife?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Perhaps I Will Never More See Him

Perhaps I will never more see him we shook hands in saying goodbye
He seems to be getting quite feeble he turned seventy four last July
He suffers of asthma and emphysema the years on him are taking toll
Time does not wait for anybody and growing old is beyond our control,
A generous and kind hearted old fellow and one who
has a 'heart of gold'
And wise in the ways of the World 'tis sad to see him growing frail and old
I am leaving soon for to live elsewhere and him I may never more meet
The old bloke who lives in the one room flat in the retirement Village off of the Main Street
On shaking hands with him in parting the tears I struggled to contain
Perhaps this goodbye is forever and perhaps I won't see him again
He smiled and said see you soon I answered surely at such a time one has to pretend
For his sake I hid from him the way I was feeling to me he is such a dear friend
I must say he looks rather feeble and is showing every one of his years
We shook hands and as I walked homewards my eyes misted over with tears.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Death Of A Beehive

Its geometry was fractured
With the flash of the first bulb
The shelf-life of her membrane
Became our sacrificed mascot

From Southgate to Manhattan
You swarmed stages with entrapment
Pouring nectar from your voice
While falling through your private void

Simon said, 'where is that girl? '
She hummed, and bused, but had no sting
Instead, she laughed with black eye pearls
Doomed without the keys to spring

Limousine dreams and red carpet galas
Hollywoods down the yellow brick road
You gave us the taste of your contralto honey
But we neglected your poison, with all that money

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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From Son To Father

Another past is gone.
Another breaking dawn.
Lifted even higher.
With all my heart I desire.
Inspired by generosity of a newly founded friend.
I know I will have him till the very end.
A person in which I can always depend.
Upon throwing my coins in the well I couldn't wish for anything better.
Accommodations in this letter are to you.
You have been like the father I've never had.
It is kinda sad.
Never before have I ever had a teacher teach me.
Not in this way.
Living my life with no guidance.
And now I have that mentor.
With the lords grace I embrace in everything I've been given with the utmost joy and happiness.
So much so, that the tears flow down my cheek.
Emphysema will take your life eventually.
And the thoughts of this bring so much sadness.
But in all matters of life and death we are still powerless.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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In Remembrance of Grandma - Poem & Background

Now that people are becoming more aware of my poetic efforts, interests are being expressed regarding the background of my poetry - in addition, to my spiritual muse. In this installment, I share the background and poem 'In Remembrance of Grandma'.

I recognize that most of you reading this article will not know much about my maternal Grandmother, other than what you're able to glean from this page. However, there are universal lessons that need to be shared. This poem was originally written for her funeral.

For nearly forty years, I was blessed to have known my grandparents; blessed - because many people don't have the opportunity to know their family history personally from those who came before them. Within about one decade, mine were all gone - with my maternal grandmother being the last one to die. Of the four of them, I had spent the most time with her. My grandmother had moved to Portland, Maine; this came about as the result of two significant events in her life. First, her husband Al Massa died unexpectedly; second, her oldest daughter (and my mom) had gone through a divorce. So they decided to purchase a home jointly and move on with their lives. Also living with them was my aunt Tina, my mother's younger sister.

My grandmother was an intelligent woman; she was one of those people who completed the New York Times crossword puzzles - in ink and usually in under an hour. And she grew some of the most beautiful roses in her tiny backyard. It was wonderful to see the joy in her eyes when it came to her flowers. The problem was that she was heart-broken when Al passed away; for decades they would go dancing at night, just to hold one another more often. With him gone, she stopped living for herself. Less than a year from his retirement, her husband died on the picket line at work. Although I can only imagine her grief, it was difficult to see the affects of this tragedy slowly eat away at her soul. She rarely left her home, with the exception of going to Church, the grocery store or some of the neighbors' homes a few times during the month. She and Al were to go to Hawaii for a second honeymoon, but she could not bear to go there without him. In The Word, we are essentially reminded that 'people without vision perish' (and yes, I know that there are variations of interpretation of this concept) . Despite our ability to absorb pain, we must learn to move forward in life and not let the pain consume us.

For many years, she smoked cigarettes and was unwilling to give them up. She did so eventually; my mother moved out of their house, Tina got married; she and her husband lived with my grandma. Tina and husband Greg started their own family, raising three boys - thus giving her the incentive to quit. As most everyone knows, smoking increases one's risk of having cancer. My family were under the impression that she had managed to escape the misery of that disease. Less than two weeks from her death was when most of the family learned that she had contracted cancer and emphysema.

Although I understand and appreciate the need for privacy, it was selfish of my grandmother not to share the condition of her health. Her justification for not telling anyone, was that she had decided not to go through with the cancer treatment. By not telling us, she figured that no one would be given the opportunity to dissuade her from her decision. After all, it was her decision (and rightfully so) . Before she died, Tina started quickly gathering information about cancer - to better learn about what to expect regarding the few remaining days of her mother's life. One cancer brochure shocked her; as a result of reading the material, she was now having to deal with guilt. This particular pamphlet laid out symptoms and patterns of human behavior of those suffering from this fatal disease - stuff that Tina had observed, but never realized the meaning of until it was too late. So in effect, my grandmother caused her family more pain by not sharing. In addition, not everyone who cared about her, had enough time to say good-bye (while she was alive) .

Although I had time to compose this brief poem in her honor, I did not have enough time to process my grandmother's death fully (prior to the service) . I was supposed to read the following poem and share a few words. To my surprise, I was choked up with immense grief, which kept me from delivering my eulogy; my wife kindly stepped in and presented the poem. One of my brothers was extremely upset for my inability to talk on behalf of my grandmother; so he spoke on my family's behalf. It's one of my few regrets in life; however, she was the only grandparent of mine that got to read my poetry manuscript. Less than two months before her death, she had taken time read my poetry and was pleasantly pleased with my efforts. During her appraisal of my work was the first time I learned that she wrote poetry - as of today, I've never gotten to read a line of poetry that she wrote. So it breaks my heart not to know what she composed, as well as not being able to share any more of my writing with her. And so here is my tribute for her...

In Remembrance of Grandma

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poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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