Best Medics Poems
If you ever drive through our small Oregon Town
You won't help but notice the house that's run down
A man called Bill Disney lived there for ten years
When we learnt of his story it brought many tears.
He was covered in burn scars and walked with a limp
As kids we knew no better and called him the gimp
He rarely went out, sometimes stood at his front door
The only one that spoke to him was a girl at the store.
When folks in town died we'd always show respect
What happened at Bills service we didn't expect
Ten Vietnamese women stood by a general’s side
When the general told his story many of them cried.
"It happened in Vietnam in the year sixty five
These women standing here are lucky to be alive
An orphanage was on fire when Bills platoon arrived
Thanks to Bills heroic action everyone in it survived.
He rushed towards the entrance kicking down the door
And he kept going back in and bringing out more
Went back in one last time to check all was clear
So full of determination and he showed no fear.
The heat was so intense and the building ablaze
You could just see the outline through smoky haze
He finally came out and collapsed on the ground
With third degree burns that's what the medics found.
An honourable discharge and then he came here
And a medal of honour for the man with no fear
That rescue changed Bill he was never the same
People avoided him they should bow down in shame.
He was born in New York city but didn't go back
And settled down here to get his life back on track
He'd been missing for a week so the police called around
And got in touch with us when his medal they found ".
The general then added" Bill was one of the best"
And asked for volunteers to carry him to his rest
I looked around the church at all the hands in the air
Felt sad that when he needed help it just wasn't there.
Never judge a book by its cover my mother told me
I wish I had listened to her and helped Bill Disney
At his graveside seven soldiers fired shots in the air
A great shame it took his death for people to care.
Written 12 August 2019.
For bring a character to life poetry contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux.
Categories:
medics, death, fire, funeral,
Form:
Rhyme
As I wave goodbye and walk away the kisses and cuddles from my loved ones still fresh in my mind I set my sights on what will be my new daily grind. To Afghanistan I flew to fight for my country, I’m with my brothers, never alone, a promise made to my family. I’m coming home.
Day in day out protecting the base, going on patrol our sole aim, avoiding deaths ugly face. Living in conditions that are a right state whilst civvies whinge with hate “you joined up so why do you moan”? I don’t care but if they think they can do better they are welcome to take my place, if they dare. I only know. I’m coming home.
Taking fire, it’s all go now need to get across this streambed then, “ pow”, feels like I’ve been punched like a boxer in the final round. All I can hear now is “man down, man down” will this be my last sound? I can see the medics and my mates working on me till I breathe my last as I’m carried from the field under the rotors hurricane blast, it’s finally got through my dome……. I’m coming home.
Now they are all gathered round, family crying, mates recalling the best of times, the only sound, I’m carried in my union flag draped coffin on my final journey and laid in the ground, no more crying no more sound….. I’m home.
Categories:
medics, emotions, military,
Form:
Rhyme
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing, the metal tips on her heels dinged on the metal steps.
The sound reminded John of bullets ricocheting on a tin roof he had heard two weeks before.
She reached the stage and joined the other dancers and then one of the girls sang Brahms lullaby.
John was enjoying a day’s leave at the hotel, last week it was full of German soldiers, Paris was now liberated and the look of joy on the Parisians was evident on their faces.
Tomorrow his regiment was being deployed, to where he did not know, it was just after midnight when they got back to their camp; a couple of miles from the hotel.
At the briefing the next morning the orders were given to assist US forces at a town called St Louise, It was 04.00 as they drove up a steep hill and from here the city churches pierced the mist.
They arrived at the town and he could hear sporadic bursts of machine gun fire, an American captain signalled Johns regiment to keep their heads down.
He soon found out why as the whistling of artillery shells hit their target at the far edge of town.
Silence now, and then they began a sweep and search operation going from house to house.
Then he heard music, cautiously he entered and at the far end was a young girl of about ten
John approached her and she smiled, he picked her up and she was still clutching the music box.
He went outside and in case of snipers he closed it and now smiling crossed the square.
There was a field ambulance by the fountain and John handed her over to the medics there.
He started back to join his patrol and then the girl opened the music box which started playing, yes of course he had heard it before, the unmistakable sound of Brahms lullaby.
Written on Wednesday 6th June 2018
For one nine and sixteen poetry contest sponsored by Viv Wigley
Categories:
medics, conflict, music, soldier, war,
Form:
Free verse
This happened to me twenty-two years ago. I thank God I am still alive.
I feel the ripple in my life's cycle,
impending risk that could rape my soul.
I look in the mirror, but no tears flow.
A virus cramps my shallow feelings,
an ominous glare that obscures.
The pungent smell of disinfectant
the impersonal looks of nursing aides,
the indifference of certain medics,
the fearful looks of other patients,
the smell of living death.
The surgeon comes,
examines,
prods,
feels
listens.
Like an auctioneer's hammer,
going, going, gone.
The verdict is announced,
a triple by-pass,
serious but operable.
"Don't worry, man!"
I look up at the wall
that surrounds my cell,
and see Him hung
on old worn wood.
Is it so difficult, Lord, to die?
Am I on my own in here?
Will I survive?
A tear trickles slowly down my cheek,
but now my inner self is lit.
I wake up from my stupor.
Life is a pattern,
mapped 'til our death,
but no man walks alone.
I smile,
I receive faith.
A glow illuminates my soul.
Tomorrow I may be dead,
but I am sure, Sweet Jesus,
I will survive, for meekly
I accept Your will.
Categories:
medics, hope, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Maybe it’s unacceptable
Live a life capable of a true fable
True friends never end
But take you back to where it all began
But hey misery gave us something to believe in
Stress became a greater award as we achieved sin
What could I say? Our savior died on a cross tough as pig skin
Never once cried over the loss
Forbidden fruit, Eden garden
Excuse me, my lord, I beg your pardon
And so what if these medics carry life in a carton
But I ain’t trippin
Simply because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
That’s right until my dying day
True lost souls from the dark side
Forever, we as mortals ride
Peace is nothing, I fend for quiet time
Rebels in riot lines
Previous high school graduates
Symbols of an adjective running toward fate
True personality suffer the privilege of inmates
How could you hesitate to ask
There’s no stranger under this mask
Lonely and unholy, who’s there to console me?
I want to get away, forever restless
You can see my similarities with the ocean
I’m stress less
Because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
My son, my friend
We are but pieces of eternity
Mesh on, mesh off
Even at our best times we’re soft
Who’s to say I’d regret my decision
To lead a sinners life without God’s supervision
On a one man mission
And I know I don’t come around much
Got my palms in reality
Searching for something softer to touch
Whisper in my ear, death makes me blush
And Hell only flatters me
One and one, through matter the winds scatter me
I ain’t trippin, baby girl get off your knees
You’re in the arms of a future me
And I can’t see heaven from a distance
Fire me over clouds like a piston
Marching through blood
But it’s all mud and water to Darkhouse
Stand still let me mark my spouse
Live my life as an outcast
How could you even picture me at my last?
Dear lord show some mercy on my followers
Bless those that swallow dust to follow us
No need to borrow sympathy
Unforgiving sorrow made my enemies envy me
Categories:
medics, death, family, friendship, lost
Form:
Free verse
Scene 1:
There once was a man
filled with joy
a wife, a home
and a cute infant boy
Everything was grand
with twins on the way.
A spontaneous dog
who liked to play.
One day in the spring
He'd receive a call.
It was about his family.
the phone would suddenly fall.
Scene 2:
The car came out of nowhere
smashing head on the passenger side
Killing the infant son immediately,
in the ambulance his wife would ride.
Para-medics rushed frantically
to relieve the blood draining from her head.
With the severity of the wounds
death was inevitable,
They said!!
At one thirty-four this spring afternoon,
Four citizens were pronounced dead.
Someones wife, someones children
That is what the obituary read.
Scene 3:
A month later in the basement
of his quaint little country home.
He sat for hours thinking.
Sulking,
alone.
The thoughts of re-uniting
with the family he once had.
Drunk now thinking suicide,
he knew it would be bad.
Palms sweaty, vision blurred.
Vexed, praying for what comes next.
Reaching for the instrument,
his mind perplexed.
Scene 4:
He lifts the Smith & Wesson revolver
from its resting place.
Thinking of nothing but his family
placing it in the middle of his face.
Pulls the trigger,
at that moment all went black!!
Scene 5:
He wakes up
SUDDENLY...
His puppy licking his eye.
He looks at his dog,
then begins to cry.
When pulling the trigger
of this canon of a gun.
Instead of death he passed out.
As for bullets, there were none..
Jared Pickett
10/17/09
Asavvy1
Categories:
medics, loss, , cute,
Form:
Free verse
Bill prodded his sebaceous cyst
‘Twas massive the size of his fist
It spurted green pus
His wife made a fuss
“Get treatment NOW, I must insist”
Blue lighted to the A & E
Huge spurting cyst medics could see
Bill’s livid butt boil
Made doctor’s recoil
Needs lancing now, they all agree
They bundle Bill onto a table
“Don’t sedate him” said his wife Mable
I will succinctly put
He’s a pain in the butt
I’m leaving him when I am able
The medics gave Bill’s boil a prick
Green gunky pus splurts, it’s so thick
Poor Mable was heaving
She said, “Bill I’m leaving
Because you’re an ignorant dick”
“You wouldn’t seek treatment for years
Your constant moans left me in tears
I’ll file for divorce
I’m leaving of course
I’m going to live in Algiers”!
Bills visage turned ever so pale
His final breath he did exhale
The cad passed away
There’s no more to say
I’ve finished the end of this tale!
Categories:
medics, body, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
”Christmas is for celebrating with those near and dear, the day that the world was kissed with God’s glorious gift.”
Quote - Poet’s own
It will be lonesome my darling
On this special day of the year
Yet feel the love I am sending
Whispered heart to heart sincere.
I hear joyful church bells chiming
With a message ringing out clear
All will be well from this day on
For sweet baby Jesus is here.
Tidings of elation sweetheart
Jubilance from heavenly love
You are in safe hands I promise
Medics skilled with gifts from above.
There placed beneath the Yuletide tree
Is a poem for you dear heart
With words written only for you
The inspiration of my art.
Home is wherever the heart is
There is nothing that could compare
Being with you by the fireside
Snuggled up in a cosy chair.
Santa Claus by special request
Direct my love back to the nest.
Categories:
medics, blessing, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
We had a desert mission
Just north of us in Zarghun Shahr
But little did we know that day
We wouldn’t get that far.
We did not doubt the intel
That led us up the road of dust;
an IED exploded,
in up armor we trust.
To check if there were wounded,
The hatch went down and out we went.
The medics tended to the wounds
And I my ammo spent.
I fired on them with fervor
Though til then I’d not shot
a single round in battle;
Sharp shooter I was not.
I focused on the basics:
steady, aim, breath, trigger squeeze;
Before my second shot was fired
I’d brought one to his knees.
A second man was running
but Cam was by my side.
Adept at all things gunning,
He shot, the second died.
How their eyes danced with darkness
and no more saw a beam of light,
Turning us into killers
Baptized in blood and fight.
How their eyes turned to rapture
When they died in the Stan
and darkly dancing, stung me,
those eyes of Taliban.
How their eyes danced with darkness,
the cursed strangers on that day;
for what they’d done, fate would demand
A heavy price to pay.
I lay there, panting heavily,
and Cam gave me high five.
Our training had not failed us,
and we were still alive.
Categories:
medics, war,
Form:
Rhyme
“What’s going on, what’s next?”
(Medi-Vac on the way, keep pumping!)
A faint roar and whop-whop-whop-whop
(No not there! The south-bound lane! Over...)
The median grass was newly cut but still tall
(Lean over him so the grass won’t get in his face!)
The chopper landed about 30 feet from my car
50 yards behind, traffic backed up out of sight
A ramp dropped. Two men, another stretcher...
(Would you gentlemen mind giving us a hand?)
It took six of us to pick up it up...
The biker and me on opposite sides
The two medics, the two ambulance drivers.
(Sir, I need you to take my place back here
I’m having trouble holding up my end)
We slipped. We fell. The median was steep.
(It’s alright! It’s okay! Ready? Lift!)
We made it.
Back slapping and high-fives...
(Thanks fellas, couldn’t have done it without you)
I walked slowly back to the car and got in
A low-pitched whine, then louder, screaming
Whop-whop-whop---Violent wind, grass blowing
Tilting slightly, the Angel of Mercy soared
Smaller now, smaller. A black dot...Gone.
I wonder if he made it.
Stopped at a rest area on the way home
Washed dried blood off my hands
Splashed cold water on my face
Looked in the mirror...
She was waiting for me at the front door
I held her crumpled, bloody jacket in both hands
She looked into my eyes, calmly took it away
and dropped it in the washer...
Categories:
medics, life,
Form:
Narrative
My cousin’s just earned his degree
He majored in fartology
Now he can impart
What foods make me fart
He’s obsessed by scatology
I confessed that beans give me wind
(It matters not if fresh or tinned)
And onions and sprouts
In any amounts
cause farting that I can’t rescind
The wind I produce is quite drastic
as medics say my colon’s spastic
my poor tummy swells
I release foul smells
I’m thankful my waistband ‘s elastic
FICTIONAL POEM FOR FART-TASTIC CONTEST
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
09/15/21
Categories:
medics, body, humorous, wind,
Form:
Limerick
Despair
lonely empty
slipping sliding sinking
medics doctors friends family
helping healing nurturing
precious new
Hope
Categories:
medics, health,
Form:
Diamante
as builders spend pennies
flipping profits on houses
lifestyle gurus
show us how to fold trousers
and chefs under pressure
scream out all their orders
while people in need
are labelled as hoarders
and bookies fix odds
for the afternoon races
as judges cast judgements
on bizarre family cases
and contestants light buttons
to win mystery prizes
while traffic cops chase
young suicide drivers
and retirees escape
to a life on the Costas
as law firms inform us
it’s good to sue doctors
and super vets cure
lame dogs and sick horses
as folk with backstories
fail SAS courses
and dealers earn livings
from ducking and diving
while medics with agents
get judged Strictly jiving
and loan deals have small print
explaining their charges
while celebs enjoy cruising
on canals in large barges
and food critics chew
over masterful dinners
and. there. are. several. long. seconds
before we find out the winners
but when MPs dodge questions
on the numerous news’ panels
it’s proof that what bites
really sucks on our channels.
Categories:
medics, life, society, technology, today,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh, what am I going to do, today?
I've got so much time on my hands that I
Will simply go mad if I don't find a way
To fill it all up with some stuff to get by.
I try to stay busy with this and with that
And sometimes it works but at others falls flat
I think at such length that my head starts to hurt
And then I relax with a cup of yogurt.
I once had a job where they worked me to death
I grunted and groaned 'til I gave my last breath
The medics restarted my heart with a jolt
I thanked them, then, wisely, decided to bolt.
I could someday make a good living at rhymes
But all I might do is to fall on hard times
I'm cracking my skull like a ripe coconut
To pull myself up and well out of this rut.
A jack of all trades but sad master of none
Among all that's not new now under the sun
I can't just go out there and find a nice niche
It makes me so crazy I want to yell, "SHEESH!"
Categories:
medics, anxiety, confusion, depression, introspection,
Form:
Quatrain
I get paid driving a farm tractor
with sideline job as chiropractor;
I massage, soothe muscular pains,
move circulation through your veins;
though never trained in orthopedics,
I've got some real skills like the medics;
strained tendons or twisted ligaments,
come, just suit yourselves, my compliments;
I rub and press, and even squeeze
your bodies, limbs, extremities;
be yours the size of whales or eels,
your aches, your ills this masseur heals;
the contours of your anatomy
are easy topographies for me;
I've learned skills of a land surveyor
from years of driving a farm tractor.
Categories:
medics, funny, happiness, on work
Form:
Rhyme