Best Ambulance Poems
What bird is this, I ask the man, that flies
The silken skies with shining knives for wings
We watch it slice the light above The Vize
And swoop and rise, and circle as it sings
Its melancholy song. I see him smile
A bird that beats the sparrows to the crack
Of dawn, he says. We stand a little while
I blink. It flies to Bristol, and flies back
He smiles again, and suddenly a tear
Appears to dance a trickle down his face
The bird has flown a sickly chick, my dear
To half a chance, and half a hope of grace
It flew me once. I look at him. Flew you?
Yes, me, he said. And someone else I knew
© Gail Foster 21st January 2018
the toy ambulance
a kind relative gave him
I try to accept
but the siren goes hours and hours
more than even a god can bear
The ambulance raced to cross the tracks,
Good intentions were the driver’s facts:
To save a life if he can pass,
The freight train’s undeterred attack.
And so the politicians dare to ask,
Never expecting to be unmasked,
Only judgement on good intentions,
Rejecting damage and self implications.
Glass
Pelts my face
Like sharp, cold snow
Blood
Oozes from my skin
Curdling as frozen wind touches my skin
Muscles
Torn and shredded
Tried to save myself from hell
Bones
Cold to the marrow
Bitter winter makes them jump
Nerves
Quivering with adrenaline
Twitching, shaking with pain
Death
Glares at me
I glare right back, walking away,
a smirk on my face.
Its siren is annoying;
Its flashing light disturbs.
Its speed propels pedestrians
To back up to the curbs.
It zigs and zags on city streets
Ignoring lights turned red,
Determined to respond, no matter
What might lie ahead.
A heart attack or vertigo,
An accident or fall;
A suicide or murder –
The attendant’s seen it all.
To passersby, its presence
Is forgotten in a minute
Except, perhaps to thank their stars
They’re not the patient in it.
Transport has arrived to take him away.
Was he awake in that apartment?
Will he stare through dead eyes,
or living eyes that cannot see,
lacking attention?
So many old are claimed
from this block of flats,
put into ambulance or hearse.
We raise an eyebrow somewhat.
It makes such interesting traffic.
(Jun 2022)
frozen and alone
still clutching her phone
awaiting an ambulance
The Ambulance
There is a midnight caller a blue light do a shimmy
on the ceiling in my room; mercifully the ambulance
didn’t use its siren;
a group of women murmur near my door.
Dogs, our nocturnal sentinels,
nervously whine I know something serious is up,
hushed voices and soft slam of doors
as they carry old Manuel out
on a stretcher, his face is bluish pale.
Uneasy silence I take a heart pill, switch on TV,
something about six pack abs,
young people worrying about and are obsessed with their health
and how they look.
When I awake, it is morning
The TV flickers a mass of white and black dots.
Manuel didn`t make it funeral at five.
I go back to bed,
don’t want to face this day yet;
as I dream, the scent of flowers overwhelms me
I was a paramedic for many years until a work injury put a stop to things and so this is a poem reflecting on my career
my blood was pouring into him
while his blood stuck
my feet to the floor
a floor vibrating over wheels
screeching corners with road signs
flickering lights, shouting back at us
how we disturbed sleep
this night of every night
this shift of every shift
there's something about
metal and bone
how artistic, exquisite,
we shared our mettle
and our blood back then
my ambulance was theirs too
I hate ambulances because when I hear their sirens, I know that people have
been hurt.
I'd give anything if accidents were something that people could avert.
Ambulance sirens make me sad because people may be dying or dead.
It's terrible to know that they're in pain and that they've bled.
When people get hurt, that's no good.
If I could save them, I would.
I feel so much grief and so much sorrow.
These unfortunate people may not have a tomorrow.
Form:
they're cold but they don't judge
blue lights respond to everyone
even her, so small, hiding
in a wardrobe
tree lights are other lights
sparkling joyously, festively
it was difficult watching my own play
after her, so small, smoke filled,
never getting to play with whatever
she got under those other lights
Ambulance chasers
have morphed into
Civil Rights Attorneys...
salivating at the gurneys – a big
paycheck a chance to obtain,
making a living by inflaming
already blood-red, fiery pain –
Compounding perceived
prejudice -- hate; propagating
color-division...though good
blindness has been of late
on many lips and in loving sighs
contradicting rank media allies
(conspiring enclaves – perpetuating
malicious, racist lies)...
manipulating facts for
evil purpose; they are
the “Mess” in cesspool...with
only one rule, win at all cost,
and a healthful society though
not so gullible as they think
forced to wade through
foul sewage
a shyter's manufactured
legal stink....
what’s the bloodiest, the goriest
it’s what they’re really hoping for
but bread and butter routine falls
uninjured, aging vulnerables
just needing putting back to bed
or in their chair, their blanket days
with smiles as they’re left alone
strong but crying inwardly
the cold and lonely prison home
we drive away hoping that
someone will check up on them
and after shift when we’re in bed
thinking are they still there sat
where we left them hours past
have they eaten, have they ‘been’
that’s the toughness no-one sees
or wants to hear or gives a damn
or interested when they ask
what’s the worst call that you had
I hear no ambulances at night
Secure sleep brings wishes accepted
When the sirens are whinging
Sanity slightly, briefly unhinging
Silence bulges with restful respite
Rural city living, sanctity protected
Chatter, coo, call of bird community
Bud eardrum with broken two way tune
Tickle of pigeon scale evocative
Constant chirps mosaic cooperative
Chime in with flight twit sweet carefree
Siren counterpart halts song, confuses
I hear no ambulances at night
Tells me that little city sleeps as one
Metropolis echoes layered havoc
Rising pitch navigates dense traffic
Granted nestled peace, place polite
Midnight rest farewells sirens sung
Comfort gained without the wonder
Will the police chase end in tragedy?
Whinging sore implore of sirens
Gradual damagable sanity expiring
Are you able to roughly number
Amount of sirens you heard today?
Types of fall
We all taste the physical one
After Earth’s Gravity has won,
With zest we rush at the fallen,
No big deal there, so no stalling
“You’re okay! Please, don’t mind the slip”
That is: if uninjured one’s hip;
Victim, Helper back on their feet:
More miles to deal with by the feet
Hundred times worse fall from some peak,
Climbers luckiest scar: a bad streak;
I tell you time for ambulance,
Where one shall have to first balance…
For First Aid or treatment proper:
Anything that might save dropper…
As much we’d see the other fall,
When feuding failure makes a call
And so badly hits one’s image
One scuttles off to one’s village
For a life more indoors than outdoors,
Still, at night moving on all fours…