Best Diagnostic Poems
“That’s just the way you’re wired”
Sure some settings are predetermined out of the box
But most adapt over time to the environment
Growing up we all adjust to the situation to survive
To try to get our needs met and gain connection
In order to not short circuit
Same wiring extends to adulthood if you let it
Easy to justify “that’s just the way I am”
Using childhood strategies to cope with adult issues
Until your wires cross
The system crashes
You no longer wish to operate this way
Time for a diagnostic check up
Begin by analyzing your internal schematics
Must understand mechanics behind your motherboard
Investigate ingrained patterns of behaviors
Be gentle when digging into deep rooted tendencies
The process will be pain staking
But the payoff will be worth it
You may realize it’s not all hard coded
Don’t have to port over old programming
You can override the system
Have the ability to rewrite your code
It’s ok to shed outdated strategies
Create a test environment to establish new connections
Tip toe along with trial and error to see what works
You have agency to decide how to live your life
Compared to only relying on your old “wiring”
Time for an upgrade
The world is waiting for your Version 2.0
Categories:
diagnostic, growth, introspection, strength, technology,
Form:
Free verse
When I’ve gone
to the place
where my fathers’
have gone before me
and the last tribute
has been paid to my memory,
may my singing words
crack the silence with clanging echoes.
May the clanging echoes
excite starving eyes
and taut wrinkled eardrums—
both to awareness—
guiding them
to actions of liberation
yet to come.
May clanging echoes
wake-up sleeping souls suffering
uncertainties of tyrannical rule,
slobbering from political absurdities,
drooling from mouths of misguided evil
diagnostic odysseys—peddling false hope
to precariously lost wanderers.
May my clanging echoes echo ringing
bells of freedom that can’t be unrung:
“Oh death where is thy sting?”
“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”
Poets will die;
but the ringing chords
of their words will live long lives:
Echoing clanging echoes…
Categories:
diagnostic, allegory, analogy, death, hope,
Form:
Prose Poetry
“By Design”
By design
other dimensions
astonishing alien fields
different shades
of dark and light
intradimensional beings
strange lives
surround us
we are oblivious
to their invisible kingdoms
their unique opinions
their different addictions
their mysterious freedoms
part of ours, under cover
in our infected delirium
dissolving over-rated
control and power
dissolving
food for thought
dissolving
seconds in minutes
in hours
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“I divide
In the sky
In the seams
Between the beams
All the loving
And separating
All the turning
To face each other …”
delirium.
“The CAM diagnostic algorithm evaluates four key features of delirium: 1) Acute Change in Mental Status with Fluctuating Course, 2) Inattention, 3) Disorganised Thinking, and 4) Altered Level of Consciousness.”
intradimensional -v- interdimensional
Categories:
diagnostic, life, symbolism, together,
Form:
Narrative
A clever work indeed,
But you must really need,
Either a doctor or a goat,
It's up to you to vote,
In this poem you come acrostic,
To shepherds as diagnostic
As a woman a tad too caustic,
Of their herd's fruit a bit bombastic
I think they see with herder's eye,
You had too much Shepherd's Pie!!
Ha! Ha!
Categories:
diagnostic, adventure, allegory, animals, food,
Form:
Ballad
Deep in a hole, no more an abyss.
Searching for light, or source of escape
Knowing neither, why or how
I buried myself, deep under ground
Suffering for weeks, Absent of Joy
Bed inescapable, a fortress of hell.
Stress constantly crushing, onto chest:
Like a steel anvil, heavy with anger
they mock me, quiet, distant,
happy, even ecstatic facial gestures.
The condition isn't physical, So:
He must be, "just be lazy!"
Is Escape Possible, when your mind is prison?
No diagnostic test, accurate enough exist,
Cause unclear, lacking visible trauma,
No damage, Specialist Labeled, "Hypochondriac"
The 21st Century, Modern and Advanced:
Mental illness, stigmatized still?
If you want to feel better, Then:
"Use some Will, JESUS!"
Twenty two days, three hours sleep.
Ten days later, awake just two.
Attempt again, to will my function....
Still, Constant , Feeling won't change....
"Manic Depressive,a Frustrating Myth"
Hendrix mentally anguished, Architect of self demise.
Condition Labeled new, Politically Correct.
Wishing once, they lived, briefly, in this brain.
Willing a change, Still suffering the same,
Imagine a Second, daily, praying for change.
three Attempts failed, at medicating me sane
Wishing the cure, simple-minded as your advice:
"Try Harder"
Categories:
diagnostic, depression, pain, psychological, sleep,
Form:
Free verse
This place is pathetic,
my critique’s not unique when living amongst these freaks,
everybody so demonic, crisis mode, my diagnostic is more than socioeconomic,
I see your issues their tragic,
learn how things works, otherwise it just seems like magic,
life lessons for the session,
aggression towards what we’ve stepped in,
any minute a life can be taken,
no extra life, this ain’t PlayStation,
spending days in sedation,
I spit this for myself, and the angels I’m facing,
can’t quit with it, mental guilt with weight like gravity,
I preach the truth but naysayers call it blasphemy,
lyrical, mystical soldier, let’s see them take that from me,
I battle things on planes unseen,
all your babbling just gets in the way of what you really mean,
I said it, I meant it, this world is demented,
society’s a forgone conclusion, yall are morons stuck in the illusion,
peyote at the oracle, every time I spit its historical,
spit the rhetorical, flip rhymes with Eric, like I always do,
cleric, Epic, the sacred jewel, I don’t deal with your hatred dude,
let it eat you, sharp like Ginsu, in a world that doesn’t want you,
did God trick my spirit, into being fearless,
devils don’t want to hear this, they hate my appearance,
I’m breaking paradigms and ceilings, with half a rhyme revealing,
apocalypse now like Brando, on life, barely got a handle.
Categories:
diagnostic, america, character, freedom, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
A computer mind, has captured my imagination,
Not through crap or bull, with honest evaluation,
Adds up the variables, gets straight to the point,
Runs a diagnostic, forever failing to disappoint.
Keeps me straight and narrow, open minded views,
Somehow makes sense, from my obscuring clues,
Analysing my poems, bringing meaning to myself,
An encyclopedic brain, of incomprehensible wealth.
Had so tough an upbringing, especially for a child,
Deserves more from life, silly poems I’ve compiled,
Sometimes feel your spirit, but sadness coincides,
Want you to find happiness, not websites full of lies,
So feelings harboured, your poetry’s ever savored,
Especially what’s it called, oh yeah my name flavored.
By
David Kavanagh
Categories:
diagnostic, allusion, friendship, perspective, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Did you ever feel pain
makes you think you’re insane it’s like a corkscrew turning slowly at first
a machine gun burst rata ta tat straight up the back
Oh they say it’s a disc or some trapped nerve,
every diagnostic word,
but to me the pain gets worse.
It wears you down,
kills your soul
You crawl within your shell saying ing hell,
swig on a bottle of booze trying to forget,
but the pain is like a leach
it sucks away your will
Oh time for a pill
You shout and curse
Thinking of younger days,
brain was smart switched on,
Now the machine gun rage,
this pain is insane.
Can one ever be the same?
I truly don’t know.
Here come is the doctor with his question the same.
How are you today, Luke ?
I just mutter in pain
Categories:
diagnostic, anxiety, dark, depression, old,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
“That’s what I love about baseball –
it doesn’t mean anything.” – Woody Allen
The sun is shining, flags are flying,
Spring is here once more:
fresh-mown grass, and onions frying –
and so you know the score.
No criticizing, analyzing –
pack away the screed:
today there’ll be no need
for diagnostic apparatus:
we’ll live without divine afflatus
until the coming Fall.
No gyres or Gaias, or signifiers,
no pyres , no lyres, Heraclitean Fires:
Just bunts and grunts, and foul-back fliers,
and eighteen guys with heavy thighs,
all chasing on a ball.
Categories:
diagnostic, baseball,
Form:
Rhyme
My life cant be helped but still strike a pose
punch you in the face call for a second dose
i got so much ice hell just frooze
light a fire up under all your noses
im the satanic moses
i dont mean to bost
i dont mean to breag
but im no one to upstage
taste the bullets tang
flowing out your brain
i just blew your mind
you couldn't acomplish bye sneezing 20 times
more lyrical content than 10 of your rhymes
i love to drink hienikens
but what i need is some wights and vitamins
staggering in the door styfiling
piss on anyone who starts tryfalling
hyperventilating levitating
inceneration in creation
Perspective regeneration
do drugs spinal fluid draining
consequences for my consuisness
is like pistil wippin and infant
im rhaspodys presentment
this is my forge
were i can rhyme words like orange
can hold it to them
with my stick of plutonium
your full of bolognium
you are the phoney one
truth is im not trying
my mind is so vulpine
my thoughts are full of crime
i love sending you jerks on trips
im just so Omphaloskepsis
you jerk im the mad scientist
i handle my own buisness
screw all the risk
im not afaid to pop off with a lisp
i bet you jsut wish
yhou were in my position
dammit im a calamity
so damage it even affecded me
wreckognize me i got the spotlight fee
tidiuos incension with a surgons persicion
wording it perfectly is my mission
murdering the masses singlehandedly
sick enough get you fathoming
my phantom wieght ravaging
the pedestrians cranium content
hell is were i was sent
screw satan im a tyrant
never call it quits
to hell with the roof the house ill lift
i got 100 sleeves and more tricks
i have no hook i have syllables
silly cannibles and hannible
im no man im a machine
Astraly beamed to be
a enginering mcee
wizard of oz with my words
docs cut me up im a lost cuaze
were doing science pass the guaze
arjay is half machine analizing
my prognosis is im ever rising
diagnostic check weapons to wreck
i have no guns i got my tounge
slaying beasts and feeling numb
my heart is gone to puns
luaghing at people grappiling
my concept i went timetraviling
my life story were its unraveling
Categories:
diagnostic, death, depression, education, faith,
Form:
Thoughts which spark reaction
Induce an odd phenomena
Thrusted lung eruption
Humour honourer
Anomaly in everyday observation
Light hearted pleasure centre
Imput turned exclamation
Content connector
Brain's fondle with mouth colliding
Induces shoulder jump aerobics
Family repertoire tidings
Relaxed diagnostic
May laughter be thy frequented medicine
Imbibed each time tickled urge arrives
Flowing dosage free to everyone
Vital juice of elated lives
27th August 2020
Written for: Living It Up For Laughter
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
diagnostic, angel, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
A Dirge to my Old Semester
I peregrinated to the land of my ancestors
When I heard you are sick
I never knew it was true
Until when Timtec pasted their diagnostic result
It was so sad that you are suffering from such an ailment
You suffered from senile dementia
Without sanctity from mild ailments
Mild ailments encoded with 101,201,301,401,501 and others
We tried helping you but we could not
Rather,we can only arrange a befitting home for you
So as to get you the befitting eternal home
Inever cease raising my voice unto the lord
From the morning of everyday
I make Nimbe Adedipe Library my abode
So that my semester would be happily lifted above
My sittingin the library would not have been so long
Onlyif I had the chance of attending classes
But who am I amidst transportation imbroglio
Who am I when my lecture halls can only accommodate 50% of us
Who am I when the projectors in my lecture halls will not project but rather reject the slide
Who am I when I use every day to download courseware on my computer system and I would not be able to access it due power instability
I don’t have choice
Yes I don’t have choice
Idon’t have choice
Rather than sit my ass for an unending period
To peruse my book lest I peruse failure
So that my semester would have a befitting end
Preparation is endless and so long
So as to be fortified before entering the strong room
Where my success is entangled to an object of artificial intelligence
Oh my GOD!
I have sacrificed enough for my deceased semester
So that it would be reborn
In the new flesh that bears the name ‘’second’’
And not in the flesh called carry-over
Oh my darling semester!
How I wish you send me a signal
That is distinct as ‘A’
And very excellent as ‘B’
Categories:
diagnostic, dedication,
Form:
Blank verse
The snow queen, white coat, white hair.
Her daughter, black top, black jeans
A wise queen an experienced mare
Guides her naïve, know-it-all teen
A diagnostic chart attached to her back
Popular ailments; some fiction, some fact
A talented rookie, her daughter has skill
Her mother recognises, helps to fulfil
The Snow queen not cold but strong
Her daughter home-schooled, wronged
Unusual scenario, a parent with brains
Knows exactly when to tug on the reins
An icy rouse hid the warmest heart.
Mother’s guidance will play its part.
David Cox 17/03/23
Categories:
diagnostic, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Sonnet
Subtle yet serious, all the while thinking
I slipped into depression.
I did not buy a ticket through these gates nor did I see them.
My thoughts are thinking my imagination into life
or my perception is real.
Lower than the bottom is how I feel.
Trespassing insanity or trespassing in sanity.
I take pills to correct a chemical imbalance.
Diagnostic devestation and a reprise visit
Misconceptual visits with ones self.
Relaying information through the gateways and further south
Fits of rage left me sullen and weary.
I slept through both day and night.
Only to awake in confusion with the new day.
Nothing short of good in a false reality is where my time stood still
All now corrected by a little pill.
Categories:
diagnostic, recovery from...
Form:
Free verse
Disaster scars us from the outside in, got alot to say where do I begin, from the neglect reject and disrespect when I was a kid, or the cause and the effect that made me who I am. To many stories I could say that would just linger in your brain, and at the end of the day you would contemplate on me being insane, you see me as i am from my name age and face, but if I turned myself inside out would you still say I'm the same. If you see the scars on my heart would you just throw me away, or would you accept me for my faults and my shame and my pain. If you crawled into my mind would you like what you'd find, or would it leave you blind and make u wanna run and hide. Would my thoughts scare you or give you inspiration, would they embarrass you what would be your implication. If I showed you my history and memories what would go through your head, and my misery and tragedies would you think I should be dead. Or would you tell me I'm cynical or pitiful or call me a criminal, or say I'm typical or hypocritical what would be your diagnostic be if I gave you the full visual. If I gave u a ride through my mind around and back, would you over react or tell me it's not that bad. What would you think if I gave you all of me, would you join me or just leave me be. Maybe one day the world will see, either way ill always be me
Categories:
diagnostic, poems,
Form:
ABC