Best Caregiving Poems
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Caregiving
Poem
First Communion
The powdery snow
gloves the fingers of maple forest
protecting barren bark
with the expectation
of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point
between pristine innocence and
the veiled promise of spring ripening.
Each trunk and limb
mirroring the action of man
Reaching, arching, swaying, creating aisles
of church-like splendor,
a sacrament
where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God.
Inward
toward the birth of faith
and outward
toward the wedgwood sky
in celestial sight.
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Caregiving
Poem
Who Is the poet ? (Dedicated to great poets, friends and my P.S family)
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,
the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.
The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart and the symphony of Bach,
the tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.
The Poet is the Blue Danube in waltz and The Swan lake in ballet.
The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,
the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.
The Poet is the fantasy of each sunrise,and the illusion of every sunset,
the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle,printed in honey beige sands.
The Poet is the believer,the dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,
the magician who creates fables and fairytales out of dead realities.
The Poet is the worker who works till late,to survive,to cope,in this expensive,
sophisticated,stigmatic world.The Poet is the thief of time,His eyes fluttering,
still holding the pen,thinking in verse,writing a bacchus of fragranted words.
The Poet is the Omnipotent humble servant, with a will to ask,a crave to learn.
The Poet is a philosopher,who's always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.
The Poet is an eternal slave of the muse,and the beverage of inspiration.
The Poet is the artist,the musician,the actor,the story teller of destined paths.
The poet is the man married to literature,the adulterer of lyric and prose.
The Poet knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.
The Poet is the mold of cheap clay carved in the great sculpture of the next century,
The Poet is the Unfinished book,the chapter of yesterday,the Nobody of today,
and the rememberance of tomorrow.The Poet is the Red Rose Petal book mark.
THE POET IS YOU !!!
This poem is goes to the following talented poets,friends below,who
in this past year used their thought to dedicate a verse for me..
I want to show them my appreciation and care....
They go in alphabetical order,Hope I won't forget anyone.
This poem goes as well to those many,I can't write all the names down
there are a lot,who offered friendship and Inspiration,they Know who they are!thanks!
Dedicated to..Carolyn Devonshire ,Christopher Higgins,H.G Liege, Highlander James
Fraser,James Perenteau,Jared Pickett,Jimmy. Matthew Anderson,John Henry Loving,John
Rhinem,Sir.Joseph Spence,L'Nass Shango,Marty Mowens,Poetry Destroyer,Raul Moreno,
and Ruben Ortellao......
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Caregiving
Poem
In The Chill Of An Open Door
Cleaning out my refrigerator, an ice cube slides to the floor
startling the cat, and interrupting a locomotive of thought
that often tracks me down in a beam of light---
Today it streams through a window, where everything seems marred,
by doubt, and dust, crusts of ice and sticky jello spilled on a glassy shelf.
Oh, not the first time, this revelation of light,
I've had it before while kneeling on the floor as I do now,
and many times that I've knelt on a floor,
praying for forgiveness...
knelt on a floor to clean up my messes...
and now on the floor to sponge up melting ice, the water and tears
Raising a young family...a life so demanding...
Caring and nursing...two sides of the coin...
My father and children....my husband caught between...
We did what we could...but never enough...
Those years took a toll....but now turns my blood cold....as cold as the ice
I would have thought twice.... I could have been stronger...
A little while longer....
Am I shivering with memory,... or is it guilt, and regret?
Is it only the chill of the open fridge door?
Or is it more?... So much more?
Hmm, interesting metaphor, "a open door"..........
did I leave it open long enough,... wide enough?
Did I do all I could? All I should ? Was I patient enough? Was I all I could be?
Was I tough enough to watch someone linger,
...strong enough to watch someone die?
How long it seemed, at the time...oh I tried, ...tried and cried buckets of tears.
Yes...difficult years........but just a fraction of my life, is how it appears, now...
Looking back, looking back.... black and white, fades to gray..but it comes back today
Funny somehow, how simple it seems now...it was a matter of days,
that was all that was left him...I wish I had known ....this regret..... how it owns me
I could have kept going on.....I could have kept him at home...
A little while longer.....
I should have been stronger....
_________________________________________________________
For Frank's Contest: "Regrets"
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Caregiving
Poem
Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old
You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless,
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
cautiously,
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too?
I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
But
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately,
"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "
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Caregiving
Poem
The Malkavian..Part 1
The Malkavian..Part 1
His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
His family, drained and defeated, finally retreated
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming
The doctors sent in talked of hope and healing
The drugs administered only made him more demented
Cementing the feeling, that his life is just an echo
Of the endless, timeless, all consuming screaming
His best friend is a dis-proportioned bird appropriately named Buddy
Who’s monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being
Though not potent enough to stop the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stared into the emptiness of nothingness contemplating the beauty of its
existence
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite define
It's hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles haven’t dropped to the appropriate
level
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness in mindless task of mass mayhem
It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn't’t save him
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prisons and medications
Meditations and mantras had given him a sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming and maybe even end it
\
Four years preparing and plotting the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flame fueled by an accelerant
Raced through the halls up the walls and killed all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what seemed like and instant
Such little time to search through the bodies looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth floor clinging to the bathroom faucet
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of nurse Denise
And to his amazed mind he was astonished to find the screaming was silenced
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Caregiving
Poem
Windowpanes
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
our café.
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
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Caregiving
Poem
Show Me Your Face
Do not hide your face
Let me see your beautiful eyes
Do not hide your tears
Let me wipe them away
Do not hide your wounds
Let me comfort you
You should know that
you are not alone
Do not be subdued by falsehood
jealousy and backstabbed
Raise your head and be proud
Show me your face your grief
No one has the right to judge others
They must sweep for their own door
15.04.2013
A-L Andresen :)
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Caregiving
Poem
Before the night is Over (He's coming back) pt.2
Well my friend, my conscience would not allow me the pleasure.
The pleasure not to report the news that I treasure. That as I
open the book, the book full of new's, a book full of true's.
All that I know, and them to be in doubt, one day they will all
shout, "He's coming back", "Before the nite is over". That's what
the Bible (the book) is all about. "Enter ye in at the straitgate: for
wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction.
Lord (now): "Show me the way Home", the poem is all about subduction.
"Before the night is Over, the attempt is to capture your mind". So may
you be aware, as he is lead, lead like a lamb to be slaughter. He is
beaten like as if they don't care, he look like news I cann't share but
the book (Bible) say's the reason he suffer for you and for me.
Because Love, Well yes my friend, [Love] is the reason to feel free!!..
My conscience want allow me the pleasure, that I too was less inform.
That, cause of my sin, I couldn't be reform, and many amonst many was
also in doubt. "Before the night is Over, hope all once blind, now see".
Before the nite is over, before the night is become dawn and just before
the dew hit's the ground.
"Give your life to what is living and not to a deadless Clover". Do this, feel
this.
"Before the night is Over".
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Caregiving
Poem
Faith, Trust and Irony
She's dressed in freshly laundered scrubs,
a floral top and pants pale blue.
There for a moment to hand me a gown,
and tell me what to do.
As I'm getting undressed, she checks on a man,
he's in the room right next to mine.
He's crying in pain and begging for help,
I hear her tell him that he'll be fine.
A few moments later, the crying has stopped,
as she leaves she turns out his light.
Whatever she did, it's done the trick,
he'll be able to sleep tonight.
She's back with me now and with her this time,
she has her tools in tow.
It's 3 in the morning and she must be tired,
but if she is it doesn't show.
Thermometer ready to check my 'temp,
lift my tongue and tuck it under.
As she wraps the black cuff around my arm,
I watch her and I wonder.
Working twelve hour shifts,
three days off then four days on.
Has she a husband or any children,
who miss her when she's gone?
Does she like cooking or singing?
Does she paint or like to read?
The needle, she pricks me, with such precision,
I hardly even bleed.
My IV's in place, my medicine given,
she says goodnight with eyes so kind.
Just as I'm drifting off into sleep,
a thought suddenly enters my mind.
To this woman I leave my health in her hands,
a serious matter, this isn't a game.
It strikes me as crazy just how much I trust her,
when all I know of her is simply her name.
By~Michelle Lacey
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Caregiving
Poem
Let it be
'
World of Insanity
Cold war,main destiny,
Death is the symphony,
Blood shed and heroes be
Great men in history.
Mourn's drums in melody,
No peace for you and me.
If only it could be
not just a fantasy
lit candles by the sea
White flags of Victory
Nations in Harmony
One world,One family
the voice of let it be.
I was inspired by Carolyn Devonshire's last contest,a Monorhyme with a message,
I don't know if this poem passes as a Monorhyme.. I tried.. and the message is for peace..
Inspired by the BEATLES song too..Let it be... One of my favourite songs.. Charma
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