Best Physical Therapy Poems
In novels, love is the obstacle overturned by the ardent swain
In song, love is a grandiose solo in melodic chains
In poetry, love is fervent rhyme in syncopated refrain
In movies, love is a monologue in the rain
In real life, love is made of little things
Of scraping burnt crust off the grilled cheese
Of putting his favorite soda in the fridge, to be cold when he gets home
Of giving up the comfy chair to his aching back
Of putting ice in plastic bags to sooth the shocking jolts of pain in his spine
Of slipping his shoes on and off because he can not bend to do it
Of sleeping alone in the king-size bed upstairs because climbing steps is too excruciating for his weakened legs
Of driving him through rainy rush-hour traffic for his physical therapy
Of watching his face contort when he walks and knowing there are no words of comfort to abate his agony
Of smiling at his goofy jokes, just to have an instant of relief
Of linking fingers while waiting for what the doctor will say
Little things are the cushion
When the world comes down.
2/7/19
in an
angst- saturated
moment i find you there in
my travel bag, injured by the neglect of
a poorly screwed-on sparkling water bottle cap:
my beloved poetry notebook of fifteen years. You are
now one-third soaked and stained at the top. I shudder to
think of throwing you away or burying you in the cemetery of
old college diaries and love letters. You were my faithful collector of
anxiety and pleasure, cleverness and drought, loneliness and victory;
oftentimes tucked away for months at a time as creative energies were
diverted to other outlets. Like a loyal dog whose master travels away, you
never gave up on me. How many times the tears stained your inky pages
long before I even knew that sparkling water was a thing! When friends
moved away, or betrayed me (how i wished THEY would move away), when loved ones died too young, or old ones lived too long (how they wished THEY could die instead), when my son was slaying dragons and my daughter was breaking up with an inattentive boyfriend; when my wife struggled with her sisters, or when I agonized through physical therapy or cancer surgery, you were patiently there for me. Even as my joints and stitches eventually healed, you continue to be my invaluable companion, both for my history you contain to the left, and for the blank, hope-filled pages to the right. Like me, you are aging, stained, lumpy, scarred, but two-thirds useful as i write under the stain.
///NOTE: the shape above roughly mirrors the unstained portion of my notebook, which I will continue to use in its deformed and lumpy new state!
Also, no poems were harmed in the making of this poem. I write in pencil, so the water didn't render any previous pages unreadable, thankfully!///
Our grandson who has Huntington's Disease has been going to physical therapy for a couple of months now at our local hospital. Huntington's Disease is an inherited brain disease that came from his father's side of the family but it can crop up in families where it has never been before. The disease is an abnormality on the DNA with too many repeats on the CAG which causes a problem with the protein gluten. It causes a condition called chorea which is only a small part of the illness.
worker repairs glass
second floor hospital room....
falling, falling tool
The illness causes many personality/cognitive/emotional problems as brain cells are no longer able to function normally. The person gets in trouble with the law sometimes because they try to self-medicate their illness. They have trouble sleeping, handling their emotions, and that is only to name a few things.
daredevil chances life
each minute upon the rungs....
pink crepe myrtle blooms
He is somewhat like the worker upon the ladder's rungs each second of the day his life is in danger. We never know what reaction he will have to anything. His chorea is gradually, slowly getting worse plus he has some rigidity which is uncomfortable for him.
second ladder up
eighteen inches higher....
blue skies reflected
The reflective glass of the hospital displays a beautiful scene. Verdant leaves of the great thicket of oaks is reflected in the glass. It seems they are high up in the puffy cottony clouds which are seen in the glass. Such a placid scene which helps me to relax a little.
will the worker fall
from higher orange ladder....
a swift prayer said
Will there be a treatment or cure in time to help our grandson?
Brought my daughter to physical therapy appointment
She is filling out three long pages of paper work – front and back
I am listening to other people’s conversations
Learning about strangers keeps me in writing material
My ears are as high as an alert rabbit as I listen to others
I keep my head down, pretending I am not writing down their words.
Dear Mom’s Multiple Sclerosis,
Thank you. I know it’s odd to thank a disease.
Especially when it’s bound to take the one person that will always love you.
But thanks.
You have made my mother stronger in the face of pain.
You have made me stronger in the face of uncertainty.
But, thanking you does not mean you don’t infuriate me.
You have made her future look like wheelchairs,
medicines, and a useless right half of her body.
You have made my future look like hovering over my sick mama,
constant fear and never knowing what is next.
Her past looks like hospitals, physical therapy sessions,
and missing senior prom so she could relearn to brush her teeth.
Mine looks like remembering what she couldn’t,
filling in sentences when her words went missing,
and making dinner for kids whose mommy couldn’t move.
No matter how many books I read about you,
and trust me, I’ve read more than you think,
I still can’t find the words to properly explain to
my eight year old sister
why mommy sleeps so much
and is always in so much pain.
Physical Therapy came in the door
To take him out in the wide hall to walk
He got to go places he hadn't been before
He saw folks that hadn't seen and to them talk
P.T. helped him get up so he wouldn't fall
Nurses came to help him take a shower
All obstacles placed against gray wall
Minutes upon minutes turned into hour
With just a normal old age human ear
We listened to noises in hall by day
If animal outside alerted by brey
Tightly enclosed in hospital room we couldn't hear
The situation sometimes made me feel
As if in this case I was simply third wheel
Help me
He won't wake up these weekends
I came back home
I help him get unsick
Mom runs her usual parade
Dad just watches TV and escapes
He wants to change
But can't make himself rearrange
Disk problems in the back
Ironically im schooled in physical therapy...
he doesnt want to listen to me
So time putters on indefinitely
I wade into the water that is my aquatic sun,
suited to perform miracles, refusing reprieve until work is done.
I exist as a modern day Hercules, striving to discover my strength,
seeking beneath the surface, striving to greater lengths.
My arms tremor, causing ships to break apart,
during my exhale, all sailors start
to curse…
yet my grunt of thunder remains the worst.
My legs propel me forward, though possessing not one gill,
the underwater highway provides an ongoing thrill.
Mere mortals I glimpse at while stifling tidal waves,
as they struggle against the current, candidates to save.
Their bodies act as limp seaweed, very weak
while others remain bloated buoys, struggling to seek
a sliver of stamina, however slight,
their sun is not yet lit, they remain in a moonless night.
My ears discover the sirens, bursting into song-
they talk of candy sweets my appetite yeans to sail along.
However, my orb of strength is not yet found,
until then, I’m forbidden to go above ground.
Below in the underworld, Hades attempts to send
fingers of flame upon me, yet my armor shall not bend.
My joints ache,
my muscles quake,
yet the ember of faith I shall not forsake.
Eventually, I remain erect, not on bowed knees,
and have resisted pain’s pitiful pleas.
A son of Zeus reaches in to grasp my hand,
his grin stretching wider than the holy land.
His eyes are that of a seaweed sage,
with a chiseled exterior only Aphrodite could have made.
His words light my face with a single shining ray,
“You’ve completed your pool exercises for the day.
Are you ready for the gym?” he asks, hoping I should stay,
and I reply, “I’m in need of hot compresses today.”
I proceed to immerse myself in towels of steam,
while considering my ultimate dream
of strengthening my image, in the future I will see
the bountiful benefits of physical therapy.
We've all arrived at the point of our
homecoming and have come to realize
That life can be a stumbling block or
a stepping stone towards the heavenly prize
And our departure our homegoing
will surely come one day
Just make sure you fought the good fight
as you journeyed on your way
Yes life is a struggle, a tug of war
a push and a pull
But never forget to move forward
to progress like a tenacious bull
For power concedes nothing
we must fight for everything
There will be tears, there may be fears
Just don't stop til the final bell rings
My 1st Lady Dr. Angela Farr- Griffin
was a fighter most supreme
A progressive praying warrior
who lived out her dream
A valedictorian in high school
who earned her Masters and Ph.d
A promoter of health and wellness
a Doctor of Physical Therapy
A mother of 2, a grandmother to 2
and wedded for 40 years
She fought cancer to the bitter end
and never showed any fear
A life worth fighting for
that's how we all should live
To put on the full armor of God
and the Holy Spirit to us He did give
A soldier in the army of the Lord
she battled and fought every day
Her homegoing has come to pass
and towards Heaven she's made her way
She witnessed, worked and worshiped
to increase the kingdom of God
She always put her faith first
and from Him she would never depart
Passionate about many causes
Which led her to start many ministries
She believed if you stayed idle
you can't claim the victory
But most of all she was a worshipper
she continuously praised the Lord Christ
She danced, she sang she exalted Jesus
everyday of her life
But the devil is a liar
who only wants to destroy
But Angela was a jubilant warrior
consistently filled with joy
She fought the good fight
she had a life worth fighting for
And now she with her Savior
Our Lord Christ forevermore
I'm changing my name to bee. I'm busy as a bee. Cooking meals, paying the bills and then there's the groceries. Floors to sweep, floors to mop and the laundry too. So much to get done, always on the run. I'm busy as a bee.
I'm busy as a bee. Doctors appointments and physical therapy. Wash the car and fill up with gas. Taking out the trash. Watching the clock, no time to stop. Gotta move fast.
I'm busy as a bee. Takes my mind off of me. Life's too short to sit in self pity, so if I'm feeling down I guess I best get up and get busy.
Physical Therapy.
This has a meaning and a term.
It's such a *****.
I'm sure you're gonna regret it later?
Nah I'm sure I'll find a new way of living.
Coming to think of it,
I find the devil takes,
Jesus listens,
Buddha teaches,
Now it's time to watch the on.
Well time to lay down and watch movies.
If I can get just more.
Looks like the wind blows again.
As well as the cold wind blowing tears in my eyes.
These years have sure grown fast.
Might as well turn into another lover.
So a combo of all beers?
I just feel lonely in my arms.
Wow...I actually wrote a poem today?
I guess that's a cool thing.
Yeah?
So who wants me?!
...Continued from Part 1...
Poor little Evelyn, her poor physical conditions at birth puzzled local doctors,
It was a mystery she was born with a dislocated hip and a deformed right foot.
And evidence of bone damage whilst within her mother’s womb, that happened,
9 months of exhaustive tests, Evelyn the baby is confirmed a OI type III patient.
Today poor Evelyn is small in size, as typical of OI patients, her mobility limited,
She is constantly in need of a new body and leg brace with special shoes fitted.
With an anxious and loving mother and sessions of unending physical therapy,
Evelyn must have monthly doses of intravenous drug to increase her bone density.
At 4 years old now, imagine the frustrations and the helplessness in Evelyn,
She knows she is different, why she is so fragile, her little mind cannot fathom.
All the various injuries and the many broken bones about in her tiny body,
Life is such a challenge, why is she born so unlucky and so much different.
For every 100,000 individuals, six to seven are born with such dire conditions,
If there had been a more fortuitous mutation at a genetic level, these individuals...
They could have been born as legendary mutants, imbued with fantastic abilities,
But a twisted play in Fate's hand, OI children, they struggle even in normal activities...
Only with advances in Science and Medicine can OI sufferers have a normal life,
With bones so brittle that shatter like fragile glass, they have only sheltered lives..
http://www.star2.com/people/2016/01/03/her-bones-are-so-brittle-they-can-break-like-glass/
The Senior Center was a beehive of active waiting
to die.
Bingo
but not ballroom dancing.
Knitting
but not garden expansions.
Physical therapy
but not yoga
and not chi gong,
much less mindful meditations
sung in four part harmony.
The new guy,
just growing into sixty-five,
asked them
How would we like to be remembered
one hundred years from now?
That doesn't seem likely,
I know,
but perhaps more likely together
than playing Solitaire
side by side.
I would like to be remembered
as healers of The River
said a somber SeptemberGenerian woman
surrounded by ancient lady friends.
No one needed to ask why.
We all knew
what was coming downriver
for future regenerations
of thirsty toxined minds
with biodiverse bodies.
And so we found younger allies
who owned property along The River,
beginning with the railroad company,
and the Mohegans
and the Pequots,
where a Senior knew a Senior
with a well-placed daughter,
and sometimes a son
of unusual cooperative and long-term focus.
Together we planted firs
and cedars along polluted and denuded banks,
for future generations to manage,
harvest for housing
and furniture
and fiber
and possibly even coffins
waiting for memories of polluted rivers
to die.
That was one hundred years ago
we started
in this regenerative Senior Center,
and still going strong
as each year
a new incoming class
of those who finally reached sixty-five
joined our river healing project,
more recently also producing fruit trees
and berries,
flax
and hemp,
mushrooms
and nuts
and sweetgrass baskets
woven by SeptemberGenerians.
Women and a few surviving men
and some more in-between
smiling together
at the round cedar table in the back,
remembering Elder healers
of our barren land
and naked River.
Tito David Rodriguez recruited me to Filipino American Multimedia Entertainment (FAME). He was my choir mate as a base at St. Andrew Catholic Church, Daly City. He and Tito Willie Totanes are my best supporters. When you call a person “late” it means the person passed away. The late director Jesse Pangilinan and Mr. Prospero Luna, a comedian actor and assistant of FAME. He was a very good friend of my late father Mayor Leonardo G. Mendoza who passed away, former mayor of San Pascual Batangas, Philippines. My loving mother is Ms. Dorothy Ann Ramirez to where I am staying right now by the Daly City Bart station, she can cook a good Filipino food. I was an Uprising Star at FAME when all of a sudden a tragic car accident happened on October 11, 1999 with my late best friend Ms. Adiel Rallos and she passed away, my left arm was crused to 41 pieces due to her car seat and was left to coma for or 6 weeks or a month and two weeks. I was in 3 hospitals Stanford ICU, Seton Med but the prognosis at Seton was not good so I was brought to and St. Mary’s, SF where I had Speech Therapy (ST) Occupational Therapy (OT) and Physical Therapy (PT). The late director Mr. Jesse Pangilinan also passed away so the FAME disbanded. I previously met Ms. Regine Velasquez with her songwriter Mr. Ogie Alcasid on early 2000. I thought that God took away my singing career and replaced it with being a part of Heart and Soul’s True Hope at North County, Daly City with Mr. John Zamora as my Case/Social Worker and Mr. Chito Crisostomo M. D. as my Psychiatrist and with writing poetry- it’s therapeutic you know whatever feeling you have, all you need are a pen and a piece of paper and start writing how you feel. I am with “Poetrysoup.com” where I paid $150 for a lifetime member years ago because it increased as years passed by. I was able to convey or deliver the messages to the people. I started with writing a couplet or a 2 lines poem, a Haiku or a 3 lines poem or a Quatrain or a 4 lines poem. When I think I’m ready to write longer words I jumped to learning Sonnet or a 14 lines poem.
Out in the thickets
Time stands alone
Limping around
Minute by minute
Not hearing a sound
But a melodic siren within
Off pitch and piercing
Hold back the pain
No longer
March on it screams
March on
Let the beast devour my flesh
And allow me to
March on
* How my body feels after stepping my physical therapy up a notch