Best Scrubs Poems
The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
Over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.
Stands the Combine in the shed;
The unripened apples hanging rosy red.
Stands the caped heron all alone -
His glinting eye as cold as stone.
And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles:
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.
And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time -
Absolves the guilt from the crime!
Categories:
scrubs, august, nature, poetry, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
She's dressed in freshly laundered scrubs,
a floral top and pants pale blue.
There for a moment to hand me a gown,
and tell me what to do.
As I'm getting undressed, she checks on a man,
he's in the room right next to mine.
He's crying in pain and begging for help,
I hear her tell him that he'll be fine.
A few moments later, the crying has stopped,
as she leaves she turns out his light.
Whatever she did, it's done the trick,
he'll be able to sleep tonight.
She's back with me now and with her this time,
she has her tools in tow.
It's 3 in the morning and she must be tired,
but if she is it doesn't show.
Thermometer ready to check my 'temp,
lift my tongue and tuck it under.
As she wraps the black cuff around my arm,
I watch her and I wonder.
Working twelve hour shifts,
three days off then four days on.
Has she a husband or any children,
who miss her when she's gone?
Does she like cooking or singing?
Does she paint or like to read?
The needle, she pricks me, with such precision,
I hardly even bleed.
My IV's in place, my medicine given,
she says goodnight with eyes so kind.
Just as I'm drifting off into sleep,
a thought suddenly enters my mind.
To this woman I leave my health in her hands,
a serious matter, this isn't a game.
It strikes me as crazy just how much I trust her,
when all I know of her is simply her name.
By~Michelle Lacey
Categories:
scrubs, caregiving, health, work, me,
Form:
Light Verse
Max is mad at Molly
Samantha’s sore at Seth
Freida’s freaking out at Frodo
While Hobbits hold their breath
Jack jokes about poor Jill
She hits him with her pail
Humpty cracks open Dumpty
For drinking all his ale
Mickey Mouse and Minnie
They both make quite a scene
Playful Pluto gave her paw
and stroked her jumping bean
Rub is furious with Dub Dub
She has another man in his tub
His bubble has been bursted
So he scrubs Dub with a club
Cats in cradles cows and moons
Forks running away with spoons
Coyote catches the Road Runner
In the end we’re all Looney Tunes
Nothing makes us happy
Sticks and stones me oh my
Kryptonic grade destruction
Broken Superman can’t fly
The Beatles Battled Yoko Ono
Because she broke up the band
They sang ‘Give Peace a Chance”
a dream they didn’t understand
So I walk down to the River
John the Baptist please begin
Separate me from human nature
Cause I’m tired of our sin
Categories:
scrubs, angst, conflict,
Form:
Quatrain
Barren fields of November
Corn stalks ragged
broken soldiers
bleak beauty
stripped of green
Beige bones on autumn's carpet
Margins of daylight that disappear
blending frost to the pinched ground
Corrosive wind like a wet slide of mourning
seamlessly folded into what
the landscape feels
Crows circle in their swoops of survival
seeking the scarce sweet zones of
lost kernels
Momentum to snatch scraps, bits of decay
in field rows that crack like smiles
Under a moody sky, gravestone gray
sparked by the cawing of crows
that scrubs us clean
in the exit wounds of autumn.
Categories:
scrubs, autumn, bird, dark, environment,
Form:
Free verse
She wakes to scrub the walk with brine
as endless tales pile in her thoughts.
This, shy young maid named Caroline,
she fears labors will be her lot.
Reprieve, a pen is her best friend;
wearisome work, few hours to lend
for frivolous pursuits and cares.
Alone, flowing words wash her bare.
Late night, find her by candlelight.
She writes until her fingers bleed.
A writer born, her words alight
with blazing pen, an innate need.
She scrubs clothes in the stream each morn,
admiring roses, pricked by thorns.
The struggles she cannot foresee,
will one day make for great stories.
Categories:
scrubs, devotion, girl, words, writing,
Form:
Rispetto
i am dying aren't I
there is no box in time
where we can keep the truth
the knowing within
always betrays our deepest wishes
the dying needs a hand to hold
strokes across the forehead
the feeling they are not alone
with few words whispered
i am here my love
i am here my love
no deeper softness can life give
i am here my love
it was in a white room father passed
every nurse was dressed in white
we watched his last breaths
as that moment came to a conclusion
i pulled my sisters into an embrace
mother tugged his arm
a parting gesture calling his name
this was the finale of months
trips to the hospital
to share what in life we were doing
as leukemia swallowed his existence
our holidays together ended
on that Thanksgiving
years later God would call me
from the soup kitchens
and into the halls of the hospitals
where i would see this occasion
played out now and then
my scrubs were powder blue
with an angel above my heart
i matched the walls
nurses' scrubs were fields of flowers
or an aviary alive in jungles
sitting with them for lunch
i often thought my dad
would have loved the colors
but more so the ending of life
is not a sterile white room anymore
OKC 9/22
Categories:
scrubs, bereavement, death, family, memorial,
Form:
Free verse
Courageous men and women wear scrubs,
masks, white gloves, and black net caps.
They, too, eat their meals from plastic tubs,
what's left over from supper scraps?
At night, their bones begin to break down.
In the outpatient and hospitalized wards.
On the other side of the earth, in clinics around.
across the middle of the COVID swords.
Do not remove pricey clothes or freeze.
Their newly cleaned blues made for a breeze.
They have what they need to get the job done.
If you firmly grab your hand with a striped tone,
Unfortunately, it was the start of a new day.
while fresh, sickening showers beat cruelly away.
Categories:
scrubs, analogy, appreciation, caregiving, health,
Form:
Sonnet
The sun is setting in the west
While crowned in gold, the eastern crest
Stands sentry in its scrubs and sighs
Offering its sage advice
A single lizard darts about
Driven forth by searing drought
Towards healing waters beckoning
Seeking Horeb’s rocky spring
Among the endless rocks and weeds
Between regrets and sinful deeds
Above, a pale blue sky so clear
Who knew that Heaven was so near
And through it all, this wayward soul
Uprooted outcast, blindly rolls
By gentle zephyrs carried on
Comforted by desert psalms.
Categories:
scrubs, nature, prayer, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
A cowpokes life is a rough one and when he draws his monthly pay,
He mounts his hoss and gallops to town to visit the local cabaret.
He scrubs the manure from his boots and dons a decent pair of jeans,
Hopin' to find some tolerable grub instead of bacon, biscuits and beans!
He spends his days herdin' ornery longhorns and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Ridin' in nasty weather and eatin' dust 'til he nearly loses his senses!
Fer all of this he expects some decent grub at the end of ever' day,
But Cooky dispenses bacon, biscuits and beans the same as yesterday!
Chuck is served up on battered tin plates and tin cups fer slurpin' joe,
And if'n you don't like it, Cooky is mighty quick to tell ya where to go!
The fellers complain to the trail boss but it don't do a damn bit of good.
He tells 'em, "If'n you don't like it here, find yerself another livelihood!"
At the cabaret he's confounded by the chinaware and fancy silverware,
And instead of sittin' on the ground to eat, he sits on a rickety chair!
He consumes a colossal steak with sweet peas and smashed pertaters,
A couple of beers and a salad of onions, lettuce and fresh termaters.
He and his old cayuse slowly meander back to the ranch to hit the hay,
But he'll return to the cabaret next month when he collects his meager pay.
He savored his scrumptious meal of countless calories and proteins,
'Cause he knows that tomorrow he'll be eatin' bacon, biscuits and beans!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
scrubs, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
entering into the Sea of Words contest by Leighann Anderson 7/3/2011
Remembering...
I was 27 years old, and in my second year of working for my first real "grown
-up"
job. There is something powerful about wearing a pair of pressed matching scrubs, a
name tag addressed by first name only, and a stethoscope around the neck( a lot
heavier than the plastic one I was so accustomed to in my junior doctor kit.) I
thought I had the answer to any medical problem thrown my way...I was wrong.
In between bringing patients to their rooms, the receptionist, who is the spitting
image of Barbie, minus the plastic legs, informed me I had a phone call, and is very
important.
Being my first "personal" call at my job as a registered medical assistant, I
immediately had to remove my "work hat" and don my "me hat", something I tend to
lack some knowledge in.
My head overflowing with a thick fog, I try to navigate everything out before saying
the usual greeting, to no avail.
My sweaty palm takes hold of the receiver and a voice I barely recognize mouths the
appropriate greeting;
This is the phone call that would change my life forever...
I could sense through the black receiver plastered with a large "911" sticker, my
mom has been crying for quite sometime. Her trembling followed the same route I took home from work everyday after I left work and went
home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home
voice cracking the words of an accident.
With the word accident replaying over and over like a 33 vinyl record skipping at the
best part of the song, I hung up the phone.
I began to wipe the stream before it formed a puddle on the dirty blue carpet of the
doctors office.
Coworkers hands patting me on the shoulder, back, hand and arm, I was taking on the role of the patient, with not a clue of what to say or do.
I got in my beat-up white Mazda 210, not sure where the road would lead me. I followed the same route I took home from work everyday and went home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home sweet home, where
everything is so routine. I so longed for that right now. I pulled into the driveway, alone, scared, confused, and filled with the question of why .
I stumble to the front odor. to be continued....
Categories:
scrubs, losswords, me, work, home,
Form:
Narrative
Vacant bloodshot eyes
Stare at one spot on the wall
Feeding tubes and scrubs
I should let him die
Mercy killers dropped the ball
So I pull the plug
Categories:
scrubs, death
Form:
Senryu
Tough skinned -strong, take it and dish it out.
Thin skinned - overly sensitive.
Skin of our teeth -
struggle for life, survival.
Skin defines and designs us,
the skin we’re in, through pain, color issues, death and life.
Skin-If skin could talk.
Fascinating story.
Not just color of skin but skin which is our body fabric, the material that wraps our
soul and our innermost parts silky, splashed with water, warmth, cologne, love
and labor-skin.
yes john heck this is prose but...the skin I'm in Part One
Touch comes through skin and touch informs us of so much. The way people
touch us tells us if they are comfortable with us and with themselves.
It can be hostile, strident touch; rough, accusatory, disciplining, invasive or it can
be sensual, exciting, invigorating, accepting, encouraging, loving, comforting.
Skin Talk
too frequent breakouts, rashes, allergies, sores, impetigo, suffered
embarrassment, pain and shame. Scars! Coco butter for every nick and scrape.
But my black knees and those scars embarrassing in
swimsuits or shorts
legs were scarred with black spots.
Marvin Taylor called me leopard legs in fifth grade and fifty years later,
I remember the sting, shame and pain of it.
Campaigned against my scarred legs with scrubs and other potions until the
spots began to fade and a sense of perspective...
skin challenges, burns, rapid tissue growth that should disfigure -yet the
elephant man walks with dignity and grace in his could be monster face
severe acne in the face, severe psoriasis and yet their character and ways of
dealing with these problems determine their real image, reflection and persona
life is a gift that can not be determined by black spots on legs.
Categories:
scrubs, black african american, health,
Form:
Narrative
Contest; "FLOWERS, TREES & SCRUBS I LUV HAIKU"
Sponsored by: Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Naked willow boughs
Nature has staged occasions
Blue Bells wait in fields
August 6, 2010
Categories:
scrubs, nature, seasons
Form:
Haiku
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love (hubby) sent to me
12 baskets of laundry
Eleven dishwashing liquids
Ten laundry soaps
Nine vacuum cleaners
Ten frying pans
Nine oven toasters
Eight soft brooms
Seven kitchen aprons
Six sheers for mowing
Five hair netsssssssssss
Four dustpans
Three floor scrubs
Two rubber gloves
And a pretty nanny for my baby
Dec. 14, 2012
By Leonora Galinta Merry, Merry Christmas to All! Please sing with me;))
First Prize
Contest: 12 days of X-mass
Judged: 12/25/2012
Sponsor: My greatest Poet, PD/Linda
Categories:
scrubs, christmas,
Form:
Free verse
one, I want to scrub your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.
two, I hope that candle I gave you finally burns out. I hope the scent will still linger in your pillows.
three, I know the sound of trains too well. sometimes I still feel like jumping.
four, summer still tastes like you.
five, I hope she won't mind that I still live in your thoughts. my stuff will only ever take up one side.
six, rip out my throat. I still am choking on "I love you".
seven, I am a burn victim. it still stings.
eight, sacrifice me. saw through my always like birch. snap my promises like cedar.
nine, the screen prints of you are still plastered to the back of my eyelids. it makes it hard to fall asleep.
ten, dreaming of you is a nightmare.
eleven, I don't know how to cry anymore.
twelve, I still remember your favorite color.
thirteen, is that why you fell for a girl with blue hair?
thirteen, snake eyes always reminded me of yours. the devil appeared to eve dressed as you.
thirteen, apartment 101 is lodged in my artery. loving you always felt like a stroke.
thirteen, I heard stroke victims begin to stutter.
thirteen, I still think of you.
thirteen, I still think of you.
thirteen, I still think of you.
one, why does your ghost still haunt me? you were the one who said you were leaving.
two, why? I was good to you. you're the moon pulling me like waves to the shore. I hope the sand scrubs your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.
three, I hope the bruises fade away with me. the word friend always felt like the swing of a bat. you were only ever interested in scoring a home run.
four, I haven't wrote a poem since you left. my muse isn't as sweet as I can recall.
five, it's hard to build a bridge when the wood is decayed.
six, I'm lying when I tell you not to call me.
seven, July 2nd will always sound like your voice. I want earwigs to feast through my drums. I want to go deaf.
one, I want to scrub your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.
Categories:
scrubs, boyfriend, break up, first
Form: