Best Labs Poems
dadgum doctors, heads up their butts
poking, prodding, pricking skin
neurologist a psychopath
gets pleasure as electric volts pass through my body
family doctor showed little concern
made me paranoid about irregular heartbeat
EKG failed to determine cause
left me more in doubt than at ease
dentist like a character from Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man”
the more pain inflicted
the more he rejoiced
deep root cleaning caused severe infection
bloodwork done by Vampira clones
labs filled with tubes and needles
results not shared with me
yet I footed the bill
optometrist an Oriental who moved so fast
didn’t care if the prescribed glasses worked
boo on you, dang aristocrats
waving your credentials
nurses so slow to respond
MRI promised on CD, but couldn’t be obtained
just like the blood tests, needed a “report”
doctors driving me insane
each should share my mental hospital bills
*Based on ongoing health tests and written for PD’s contest. Assignment Free Verse, 25 lines, category slam, sad and educational, title: Mental Hospital Bills
If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
Should doomsday prophesies prove true
and our planet’s life cycles renew
mysteries of “people” will be more than a few
Provocative questions may await future life forms
blessed with intellects surpassing our norm --
creatures who live without doing harm
If they decipher man’s history
what will they think of our great mystery --
the one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers sleep side by side
wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
both red ants and black, free to colonize
More-evolved species might not comprehend
how women workers were paid less than men
and why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
how any believer in God denies
the right to free worship without compromise
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
would leave a perplexing legacy
sure to confound any new specie
New beings may thrive on diversity
of religion and genealogy
and speak of our inferiority
Its filtering down.' Over the streets and open ground.' From
Clouds to fog formation, just forget about coal burnt waste inahalation.' Do not bother with I C E car emissions
This is a ( total war condition ) carried out in hidden labs
Our ecosystem is now reserved for the slab.' In morgue
Unknown?? in slithering and stealth.' Its walls are built its
Roof the whole heavens.' Come to think a bit? Forests and
Farms and crops are harmed, the unborn and infants, and
Us. Yet dont be alarmed.? Just tune in to another tv show;
Like 'the view maybe?' Is that the place that informs you?
Or ( my kitchen stinks?) If you are in O Z.? Meanwhile you
Caring governments have got your bods? Inhaling such
Stuff as strontium graphene and barium too and also
Aluminum, its a potent brew; hundreds of particles can coat
One hair.! Human, animal, insect, yet do they care? W H O
Must know.' About this pandemic.? Which throughout the
World is now a systemic.' Along with flouride in the water
We must drink.' Hey why not; night cap in an injection? I
Must ask what do 'you think?' Do you know about this a
In fact is it your job.? To spray these poision particles.! Do
You get a few bob.? Or do you package the poision do you
Print the lables? In our modern Außchwitz whats on the
Table.? I hear the worlds top geo scentist Dr David Keith was popped
This very question.? Now isnt that a relief? Or maybe not.? If its
True.? Because the answer he chose, on ultimate effects
On our whole planet.?? He said I really do not know!
Meanwhile from Attenbrough and Thunberg.?? On all the above' its just a no show.!!
Time- a measurement done in the labs at the University--
We two, young, immortal, vibrant felt no time.
Grasping each other tightly as the world spun in space
We floated into the future
You-me as one- reassuring who we were
You drifted into a world I never could know
I remained in that space familiar to me-
Now, we are not we but you and I
Without thoughts of immortality-
I in khakis lost in a desert stung by an unknown
Fall into the sand reaching for you
Can you hear me?
Do you remember me?
I have never left you
Bring me home and do not mourn
For our love is like that river moving to a greater place
Into a future time of you/me
My challenge was not issued there! My challenge was issued here!
Which was why you threw me off, when, first, you ran in fear.
You, who had the reputation of being the best to play this game,
"destroying" all of your challengers, while gathering all of the fame.
But, maybe all of that fame went too quickly to your head,
As your audience ate up ev'ry word that you had said.
Respect for your battle skills was immediately reserved,
But, now, I have to wonder was all that respect really deserved.
As I stated in my "ODE," this is a game of speed and wits,
Where the strong throw all the punches, and the weak take all the hits;
Where a real poet accepts a challenge, no matter how many dare,
And is always ready to battle anyone, any TIME, ANYWHERE!
The last point, that I just made, is the one that you should read,
Giving it all of the attention, that it really needs.
I decided to step up, but you decided to run and hide.
I guess hiding is much easier, than swallowing your pride.
Ev'ry request that I made to battle was met with an excuse,
Which made me think that you were really trying to dodge all of my abuse.
Are you afraid to get embarrassed, or of losing all the fans,
After proving that you are unable to meet all of my demands.
If so, then you "officially" forfeit your claim to greatness,
Because any such claim, to me, would be considered weightless!
The number one spot is "officially" up for grabs,
So, now, the scientific minds are working in their labs.
"THE DOZENS" is the name of the game that we will play,
So, if you do not have the balls, then please stay out of the way!
But, if you do decide to play, accepting the fact that you just might get pinched,
Make sure you come alone, leaving your "boyfriend" on the bench.
I entertain the crowd, but from the crowd is who you run.
Therefore, your reign at the top is "officially" done!
Now, to more "worthy" opponents my focus has been shifted.
So, turn in your little crown, since you are obviously done with it!
Epitaph for the Test Dogs
What you did for us, not many know,
because you did it so long ago.
Victoria’s reign to flapper days,
you lived in labs while other dogs played.
Pancreas removed from each of you,
you were, then, rendered diabetic too.
Were insulin shots something to trust?
Since they worked for you, they were tried on us.
They worked like magic when they were tried.
Type I diabetics no longer died.
To you, furry friends, this tribute we give.
You gave up normal lives so we could live.
Contest: How you live or have been healed from a difficult and challenging health condition?
I am the fence
I let her see my holes
We discuss them at length
And hers mine.
My chair at a slight angle;
Instead of my coffee sip,
A torch lights my lips -
A flying insect in
Whose space I breathe.
It’s cool.
I wear my sweatshirt
And my jeans. My work’s
Inside. Friends need
Each other, to spill
For a spell. Her labs
Like lions alongside
A lawn chair throne.
I tell her so
And so much more.
Two hours like robins
Settle in and fly so fast.
Burnt orange underside,
Perched beaks
And precious few as these.
5/14/2020
We are ordered to provide notice to avoid a global psychosis.
Your dedication to take this medication will give you the perfect prognosis.
Take your pills to ward off those ills. They affect your brain, you’ll all find.
It’s better for society that we remove this anxiety from your very unhealthy minds.
It’s a worldwide confession that we all have depression, A phenomenon from the beginning of time.
The men in the labs provide capsules and jabs ... to refuse will become a crime.
I have often witnessed death
though not ever the last breath;
field mice frozen in a jar;
slaughtered lambs in abattoir,
dissected frogs in school labs,
cruel boiling of live crabs
for important luncheon meets.
Piglets torn from mother’s teats
roasted at a football game.
Hungry lions eat the lame
garden’s serpent kills the truth
mothers’s love that kills your youth;
little bug just stepped upon;
“don’t destroy my sweet salon.”
To embrace a death without;
that is just to be Boy Scout.
To embrace a death within;
to my father, was a sin.
They brought them back in the Age of Dust,
when crops failed and gods went quiet.
With DNA teased from marrow’s crust,
they rose--reborn, and violent.
In glass-born labs beneath dead cities,
the scientists whispered hope.
“Guardians,” they said, “not beasts nor pity,”
as they cut through time’s old rope.
But the wolves remembered ice and blood,
the hunt, the pack, the kill--
they moved like ghosts through ash and mud,
with a hunger time couldn’t still.
The world grew wild beneath their gaze,
old fences fell to claw and fang.
The sky turned gray for endless days,
and silence bloomed where children sang.
We learned to speak in signal fire,
to tread the earth with care--
for the alphas ruled from mountain spire,
and no one dares go there.
Now laws are written in howl and tooth,
in scent and scar and chase.
The price of playing God, in truth,
was the loss of the human race.
They roam where cities used to burn,
where glass lies sharp in bone--
and every full moon, we return
to pray they leave us alone.
Old Santa Claus is in the know now
he's changing with the times;
now, he speaks out against the GMO's
saying toying with foods a crime.
Santa hungers for organic kale
turns his nose up at cookies.
He's tired, he said, of being a whale
and loves the extra nookie!
See, Mrs. Claus now brags about him
points at his six-pack ab's
She's bought a Ninja Pro,and a gym
hates additives from labs.
There's No problem with the chimney's now
he could work for the Cirque du Soleil
Yes, Santa's on a fitness kick, wow,
the reindeer all shout yeah!
Under each tree Claus leaves sports gear
and ropes to mountain climb
new ice skates and snow ski's appear
with fruit baskets full of limes.
Buff Claus is dressed by Tom Ford now
in a fitted suit of red velvet
boots, and bow tie of black allowed
and a snowy silk shirt to sell it.
Contest: What's Up with Santa
Written by Gail DeBole on July 1, 2014
Updated on July 4, 2014
Fred Sr. doesn't like most things that start with e-.
Thumbs down to e-banking, e-books, and e-asy.
He's known to hollar, “I hate all this e-stuff!”
E-learning, e-coupons, e-love, e-cetera…
"E-nough is E-nough!"
Fred Jr., an e-cop, catches e-crooks online.
Thumbs up to e-everything! He thinks it's all fine.
He's known to hollar, “ I love all this e-stuff!”
E-stings, e-crimes, e-heros, e-cetera…
"I can't get E-nough!"
Fred Jr.'s son, an e-doc, helps patients online.
He lives an e-idea coming into its prime.
He's known to hollar, “We need this e-stuff!”
E-medicine, e-nurses, e-labs, e-cetera…
"Who would say "E-nough is E-nough?"
This lush green and putrefying smell is in what I rejoice.
Some humidity is enough for me to glide to and fro,
on dead leaves, under rotting branches...among preys and predators;
no limit of land and no society to dictate my behavior.
The earth of God, I revere for the livelihood it provides to me.
I know not why you brought partition in our unique home,
to rule ruthlessly upon me and other jungle lives.
I’m a danger to you with my venom but you are more dangerous
to me with a filthy mind, developed to victimize my race.
You track me even in this deep jungle, no longer your land.
Your toxin is far more toxic; you kill your own unnecessarily!
I work hard to find my survival and protect my family but
you exploit me to extortion, to enhance your own life;
in zoos, in labs, my skin in bags and wallets, my corpse
in museums and paradoxically revere me for fantasies and boons!
I defend my home as you do but segregation and discrimination
is your very nature, foolish man; you are thus doomed to ceaseless misery.
One dances to your rod, one wags its tail while another carries your burden;
you befriend them all deviously to discard them after use.
I pray one day you come back to where you belonged,
in the lush green, to know your worth and recognize God is only one;
certainly not as you describe!
7/02/17
Hypocrites’ oath
Dirt-cheep government clinics treat death
And disease just like they are dirt and refuse
Which in a way is just about fine.
Today’s multi specialities, housing as they are ,
A subtle tree branching off into labs,
A stethoscope hanging from every crotch of its,
Pre-set to prescribe a slew of tests whether it’s
Common cold or cancer,
Ninety-year-old or tiny tot,
Sugar coating their contempt for the medically illiterate
By glorifying life and ridiculing death and selling it to us
For a vulgar price, often a fortune for a sniffles.
How would they not? When folks are willing
To sell off homesteads to treat a harmless swelling.
Here, in one such, folks sit cursing their ‘fate’ology
Before a board which says Neurology
Like the rare cucumber slice floating about
In its chic eatery’s sambhar* hot. Thinking of how, once out,
They could wear the physician’s famous name around
Like a red and yellow flower garland
Bought at the wayside stall at a price, a hundred
Times over what the farmer who grew them got .
The good old physician seems gone, genial , suave,
Sitting in his modest office, respecting your illness,
Your money and the Hippocrates’ oath more than you
Which the new crowd misspell as Hypocrites’ oath too
Not because they did not pass the spelling bee
But acquired the all important degree
And an incurable greed for money.
11th Sept 14
Form: free verse