Best Hospice Poems
To Work In A Hospice Just Be There and Care.
Bring yourself, It's all that you have and it's real,
Everyone needs to be understood and to feel.
Treat others in the way you want to be,
Hear what's unspoken, listen for the key.
Encourage folk to say what they need,
Remember your limits , try not to exceed.
Every time you give, someone receives.
Allow yourself feelings, You are not perfect,
Never share outside except with the staff elect,
Dying is a lonely journey, let your care be your gift.
Care and love, let yours show,
Anxieties of your own, just let the staff know.
Recall happy memories, folk like that a lot,
Empathy's good but sympathy's not.
A way to remember the rules of engagement in The Hospice.
© Dave Timperley. October 30th 2014
He was angry when they came
And said he wouldn’t go.
“You can’t make me leave this house!”
“I’ll fight you all, you know!”
He spread his arms like giant wings
As if they were set to soar,
And grabbed the facing either side,
To hold himself in the door.
Mom clinched tired eyes and dabbed her tears.
She tried to say a prayer.
She knew that once her mate was gone,
Only she’d be there.
When we broke his iron-like grip
He took a final look
At what a man could call his own.
And remembered the work it took.
Friends stopped by to visit him.
Buster, his Best Man was one.
He smiled as they recollected
The days when they were young.
Robert and I, at Dad’s request,
Sung the chorus of “For the Good Times”.
Ray Price was his favorite—
And he smiled, a final time.
H elping
O thers
S imply
P ass
I nto
C alm
E ternity
Very sick with leukemia toward the end. It almost seemed as if mother was giving up after what she considered a hard and disappointing life. She still held her boys in her eyes in the fading light.
“I'm not planning your funeral,” the doctor said.
winter sun
stretched to twilight
faint stars
Her hands shook
as they wheeled
him away.
Had his lips
been dry?
Had his body
ached?
Had he longed
for a touch
against his
fragile skin?
Could she
have done more
to relieve
his pain?
Could she
have loved him more,
needed him more,
begged him more
to stay?
Her head swam
in the deafening silence
of guilt and sorrow
as she
buried herself
for feeling
relief.
An icy wind blows,
Freezing winter snows.
Icicles hanging from trees,
Like jewels in a wintry breeze.
Cold hands, cold feet,
Hail, turning to sleet.
The sun now shines bright,
But the cold beckons an icy night.
No tables outside the shop today,
Come inside the assistants say.
We have hot tea, coffee and cake,
Please buy from us for the Hospice sake.
Come in, browse, and pass the day,
Maybe buy a coat, keep the chill away.
Sit at a table and drink your fill,
Warm and safe from the winters chill.
Take a look at our books, we have many in stock,
If you don't want a book, you can buy a clock.
The choice is yours, there is no pressure,
Come in and chat, browse at your leisure.
The staff at the shop are volunteers all,
They give up their time to answer the call.
The money you give this day will be well spent,
To build the Hospice with every cent.
Soon the time will come when the doors will open,
To welcome it's clients both young and old.
When the hospitals have done their best,
The Hospice staff will do the rest.
It is only with help from people like you,
The money you give for that coat, shirt or brew.
The staff at the shop have nothing to gain,
The money donated helps relieve so much pain.
Please visit us whenever you can,
With God's help we will fulfil this plan.
I wrote this on a rare wintry day in Paphos, Cyprus.
Where I work in our Hospice shop.
© Dave Timperley 2012
death’s pain the grieving know all too well
but I’ve another story to tell
near the end of days my friends remained
where their dignity was not defamed
hospice visits may be sad for some
but that’s not true for the dying one
nurses and visitors brought them cheer
as the white light was edging so near
we held our tears and gave them our smiles
when their life’s journeys had fewer miles
the last farewell was finally said
we carried our sorrows to our bed
but the hospice offered another round
volunteering – a chance to rebound
people in hospice like to listen
a smile sometimes, or tears that glisten
stories of romance, life and heaven
I’d read to them each night at seven
so quickly I came to realize
folks need escape, even in demise
the thankful expressions they gave me
made me feel like I’d won the Grand Prix
later I would come to call again
as Last Rites closed with the word “Amen”
letting go is just a part of life
but life’s end need not be filled with strife
*Written April 11, 2014
Giving up,
we lose ourselves
in soft denials,
tally up bone-tinted
Kodaks – recall
brief glints of eye,
succinct resemblances
of generations.
Listlessly,
we wait
death’s domination—
cool brushes
of wind,
flutterings
of waxen wings
& last breaths,
dusky, distant
as the webbed
membranes
of memories.
Hospice is the rest stop between heaven and earth
They care for you for all your worth
They are with you in your final days
Taking care of you in so many ways.
Relieving many burdens, and helping family and friends
Consoling them till the end.
The care givers are with them thru their pains
And they don’t do it for fortune or fame.
Finding care at the end of life
For a husband, sister, brother, or wife
Or a family member who may be alone or in pain
When needing help there is no shame.
They are health professionals and volunteers
Who help the dying from their fears!
It takes a special kind of person to help others
In their hours of need, and on their help the dying do feed.
A little smile, a kind word, a gentle hand
Are things that they understand!
Let them leave this world with a mind full of memories
And a heart full of love, given from you as they travel above.
If I could nominate a charity St Bridget’s would be my choice
They care for the sick and the dying, their service is like a Rolls Royce
Nothing is too much trouble for the patients in their care
The nurses they are angels and they are always there
Over the years we have lost many a special friend
St Bridget’s is there for them to the bitter end
Some go in just for respite care, to give their loved ones a break
Other’s go in when they are dying and for the lord to take
They rely on donations from the public just like you and me
The cost of care is covered, so for the patients it is free
I’ve visited the hospice many times to see friends who are in there
The devotion of the staff is awesome they provide outstanding care
They need to raise about £3.5 million every year
This is a task they do annually and always with great cheer
With fundraising events held for everyone
They do not rest till the task is done
So if I am picked I am sure you’ll agree
St Bridget’s hospice deserves the vote from me
We never know when we may need to use the service they provide
But we are so lucky to have them; it fills me with great pride
This was written for an on-line competition - i didn't win the £200 for the charity but I wanted to share it
In cooler time the sun still slept,
The clock stood still, an angel wept,
The covers stirred, then breath no more,
The man was gone, the silence roared,
Now calm the rain this summer's day,
Let hidden light break sodden gray,
Oh, why, we ask do some go, some stay?
Are human hearts built to break away?
Of this, be sure, he'd not have us weep,
Mourn a man who does not sleep,
He's passed the veil, in shining fields,
Smiling joy at mysteries revealed,
This story's beginning had to end,
Hello, before. Now, farewell friend,
Together, here, we loved, we cried,
But stand alone when laughter died,
But what we were will never fade,
What God creates cannot be unmade,
For love, triumphantly, you'll see,
Will be there when you next see me.
We find ourselves with you in time,
Thoughts of you are roaming our minds
Angels playing music at the Gate
Heaven will be Home; let's call it fate.
Do not be weary or troubled, my friend,
With words I write but not to offend
They are written down to help us, too
It's become part of our plight with you.
You'll always be this ray of light,
In our hearts, you're one of a kind
But when that day comes around
It will break the hearts of the abound.
We'll always celebrate the life we shared,
So, please, Mary, do not be despaired
We're closing now with this in mind
You're almost Home: The Angels are flying.
The Gate is open, a reception has started,
Music's playing for your departing
God's arms are open, ready to embrace
Your presence here was not disgraced.
*Special credits and thanks:
Co-Author & Sister, Deb Kellison
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
life has left this sterile white garden
bent as a willow, I keen above blossomless beds
grieving those roses that once grew here
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
She’ll be leaving soon I see
The ambulance has arrived,
Waiting for another guest
To take a long, hard ride.
A malicious, microscopic serpent
Invaded blood and bones
Leaving this sweet young lady
Ravaged, scared and ominously alone.
Looking out her window now
At the roses she planted and pruned
Hospice is her final stop
Before sailing past the moon.
She takes one final, languid look
At her weeping bedroom walls
Before they load her listless life
She does her best to stall
Those made to come and carry her
From her house of torment and tears
She bows her head and genuflects
Fighting back the fear.
Knowing the end’s inevitable
Yet staving off all she can
Smelling the roses wafting scent
Of a magnificently more preeminent plan.
Postscript:
The young lady left this world today
Floating far beyond sky blue;
Now nothing more to do or say
Except God bless, “Adieu.”
His Limbo Soliloquy
Actually, I like lockdown. I already was before COVID anyway,
but now I’ve got my privacy. No family feeling forced to visit
or hold vigil in my netherworld, he confides through the phone.
Both of us former Army soldiers placing us on common ground
made introductions easier with the usual “where were we when”
comparisons of duty assignments all military members embrace.
Though sharing multiple telephone calls these past seven months
since my assignment to be his companion as a hospice volunteer,
I have yet to meet him face-to-face due to pandemic restrictions.
Using his bedside number at the nursing home I can call anytime,
not worry about visiting hours, ask if he’s busy, got time to talk.
His answer’s most always the same, Just busy here being alone,
too close to death to complain. Clicking me to speaker he begins
what he calls “me-memories from a time when when was when.”
Mostly musing of being anywhere but there, lost in an actual place,
blurring “what was with what is” behind and in front of his shadow,
recalling dreams as a younger man, of a future in past perfect tense.
And times talking of present times from his no man’s land outpost,
All days end as they begin in purgatory, today recopying yesterday,
cared for by hosts of faceless masked angels not letting me die alone.
Forgive me only thinking of myself, I just need you to hear I’m here.
Inside I’m your age, the two of us sharing a brew at the NCO club,
years ago and oceans away, comrades-in-arms talking of our day.
To me he’s the sergeant with permanent change of station orders
in transition for his final mission, ending his time on active service,
in hopes his God is religious and his terminal assignment is good.