Best Xix Poems
Unquotable quotes: Nurses – XIX
A nurse well-dressed is a nurse well-thought of, even if she administers the coup de grace.
Prick a nurse and she’ll pamper you; pamper a nurse and she’ll prick you.
Displease a nurse and no doctor can save you.
Report a nurse’s malfeasance and you’ll find yourself on a stretcher at the morgue’s entrance. (This is from personal experience.)
A nurse a night can make a patient feel much better over-night –
since the bed is paid for already for the price.
Always address a nurse as “doctor”; she’ll not think you need a doctor.
Always make it a policy of hoarding the presents you receive on your hospital bed; the nurse will almost certainly help you lighten the load.
To relieve the back psychological itch, always ask the nurse to scratch your back facing you.
When the nurse is absent from the ward, so is the ward doctor.
Always ask the nurse how she spells her first and last names while pretending to write on a pad; you’re bound to raise her hopes about the contents of your last will and testament.
Always remove the ring on your third finger whenever a nurse enters your room.
In the presence of the nurse, always remark aloud how the nurse’s uniform fits her Brigitte Bardot form.
Never fail to attribute the low humming and buzzing sounds emanating from nurses around hospital beds to Maria Callas.
Whenever a nurse approaches your bed, just whistle: “Jeepers, Creepers, Where d’ya get those eyes?”
Must the percentage of patients dying in hospitals always stay the same when nurses go on strike?
Marry a nurse and become an eternal patient.
A nurse in need calls a Hemingway to arms.
A nurse in bed raises the Dead.
Nurse a nurse and you’ll always be fed…..up!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
This is meant to be read with a French accent to aid the rhyme scheme:
WikiLeaks has tapes with Assange
Where Donald asks Vlad to arrange
More Russian hookers
Who are the best lookers
To pee and tint Trump’s hair orange
Author's note: His die hard supporters should be required to die their hair orange too. At least that would be funny.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XIX
IF you pull a long plucky face
Even when I-Ee-You let you have your way
Placed no impediment for the divorce
Let you keep key to backstop exit doorway
You yet keep pulling that long stubborn face
Yes you want out when I want you to stay
House in utter disorder your comeuppance
Mary Queen of Scots no tough Liz will obey
If you keep pulling that long war-weary face
What must I do or say your fears to allay
The fault lies squarely on Henry the VIII's mace
Even Papal Borgias did male heirs coolly lay
Yet you keep pulling that long staunch face
Again and again for you Excommunication I delay
You want both : eat cake while pulling a long face
Even Luther would think twice such customs waylay
So if you must pull a long navel face
Build yourself a Wall right round : call it Isles of May
Expel your Blacks and Asians born with jus soli grace
Turn Old Vic plays into Tower Terror bloody display
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 17, 2019
Abandoned realities that the Kings have sought,
Biological bacillus organisms left to rapidly rot…
Absorbefacient annihilation the pawns have brought,
The bacterium Bishops are pernicious in their plot…
Ambient affliction plagues the progressive parasites,
Of the nuclear noxious nomads reaching hellion heights…
Agents of abrogation numbing the nefarious nights,
Euthanized eradications amidst the landscape lights…
The King's command contaminations in their control,
As the Queens seduce seclusions upon their scroll…
Panic in the pandemic for no one is left to stroll,
Catastrophic consumption within the havocking hole…
Syndrome soldiers segregate indisposition of infirmity,
For the wolf lies down with the lamb in symptoms sordidly…
The sheep that surround and move about accordingly,
Incoherent innocent inoculates of distraught diversity.
((((( Check Mate )))))
...my heart, thoughts & prayers go out to all affected by the Virus~god bless...
March.13.2020
Coronavirus COVID-19
Sponsored By TeamPoertySoup
N/A for contest
Contest Judged:5/12/2020 8:33:00 AM
Re-entered June.16.2020
N-A re-run 8
Sponsored by~John Hamilton
Placed 3'rd...Thank You
IF ever I had a country : XIX - XX
XIX
If ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Industry
I'd put a stop to the production of machines that disturb the peace
Electric-drillers motor-bikes clanking street-cars trains infested with fleas
Exile all Formula One champions to Singapore and Monaco
Where only the reeking rich besides you-know-who go
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Industry
And even if I never ever had no country
XX
If ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Technology
I'd clamp huge fines on manufacturers of machines without silencers
Banish all noise-making inventors wifeless to the Antartica's fastnesses
Lock-up for life all architects and engineers who build tenement-flat cities
With walls and floors so paper-thin to permit all kinds of sleepless atrocities
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Technology
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 8, 2018
Dreams,
There you were again
in front of me, or was it behind
pressing in, I pressing back
no drifting off this time
we were still but still not still
I stirred, you drank
we bled, then sank
me into to you
a kaleidescope of colour
caressing each tiny bit
you bit and I chewed
on ever daring thought
I pressed deeper and pursued
you whispered
I love you
there was no need to go much further
for we were here
not frightened by the bear
or by the wolf
thru the forest we disappeared
eating morels and making love
An array of flavor
Paints our summer scene
With the striking colours
That in time the two of us
Like fawns had grown to cherish
Aristocratic and original
Was the infinite portrait
The tired soul,
that exerts energy like wildfire,
preempting dark truths of this world,
God questioned of His fairness
The one that lives in assured hope,
Who sees the world's beauty
Beyond its messy evils—
She sings the Father's dreams!
And the moderators—
The ones in the middle—
They can taste the dark and light,
Always chasing infallibility
We need all of these souls,
To unite in their perspectives,
Growing and rising for the other,
To learn to love each other
2.19.20
Note: In this world, we may very well know or run into people with altogether different perspectives - we can find beauty in our differences. For those that don't believe in God or higher power for instance, we can learn how to question things more, and from those that do, we can learn the beauty and value of hope...and to those who are in the middle, we can learn how to be more open minded and levelheaded. Just some thoughts going through my mind... Thank you for taking the time out of your day/evening to read this poem.
Love,
Laura
SONNET XIX
In You I’ve Come to Thrive
Into the Race of Life
Innocent we came, Pure was our Heart
But I’ve found Myself on this Track
Track so Crooked and Compromised, the Vices of Nations
All over My Dreams are the G8s and 20s, the World Powers
Indeed, the Grass looks greener on the other side
But on this Track Lord, Why Me, Why Here?
The Potter, we are told the Clay doesn’t question
Vile is our Track, the Country of Our Birth
But, Like the Rose, the Cactus and the Crown of thorns
My Character I’ll uphold, to Dignity I’ll cling and to Prosper I’m Resolved
I Pledge to Nigeria My Country
In You I’ve Come to Thrive
So help Me Lord.
@APRIL 2017/©M.H.O.G Unveiled
IF ever I had a country : XXIX - ***
XXIX
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian`
I'd drag every under-elected village township city and national politician
Handcuffed to the Sistine Chapel-domed book-lined reading auditorium
To read aloud and commit to memory every act of the Grand Inquisition
And swear by Oath Torquemeda their natural Father denounce Demosthenes the subverted Athenian
That is, if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian
And even if I never ever had no country/education
***
IF ever I had a country
And if ever by chance I were but the Director-General of Prisons
I'd make the Metropolis the strictest Concentration Camp for political malfeasance
For those who run the State without the slightest prick of even animal conscience
And there force them to read aloud plebian-voiced Athenian magnificence while they bake in the heat of the ovens
As a reward for bringing Our World day by day to the brink of Hitlerian Final Solution horizons
That is, if ever I were by chance but the Director-General of Prisons
And even if I never ever had no country/education
© T. Wignesan, Paris, July 13, 2018
IF I were
a broken soul
who could mend me?
The cobbler down the road?
With his crafty skills and many tools,
the awl or maybe stretching tool?
He surely would know
-- and should I go?
My shoes, so worn but my soul so full
of these empty holes!
My Cobbler, sir!
Repair my soul,insufferably
i plead!
:: ~~ ::
A stony gut mi come from
Long march through the bruising night
Vex in mi soul without rum
Me in dis Morant Bay bright
Deh yah since broad day mek it lights
To seh me is man fe mi rights
A stony gut mi come from
Dry dust and parched pass of bush
Hungry gut and idle thumb
Custos and Governor crush
Big dream of freedom from wi doubt
Nobody nuh hear so-so mouth
A stony gut mi come from
God boned and God hearted mad
Load wi up like Abraham
Nah tun back long faced nor sad
Every man must tek him place
In de fight dest'ny cum face.
A stony gut mi come from
Mi only want de queen know
No more thicket full wid ram
Nuh suffice de wicked blow
De colony a deal wi
De colony a steal wi
Heng mi good and heng mi high
Dis country gwine bruk weh sah
Independent like the sky
Stony gut blood nah guh dry
Till crown and colony gone
Bring Jamaica betta dawn
IF I were
a broken soul
who could mend me?
The cobbler down the road?
With his crafty skills and many tools,
the awl or maybe stretching tool?
He surely would know
-- and should I go?
My shoes, so worn but my soul so full
of these empty holes!
My Cobbler, sir!
Repair my soul,insufferably.
I plead!
::12-24-2013::
EARLY POEMS XIX
Bound
by Michael R. Burch
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.
Published as “Why Did I Go?” in my high school journal, The Lantern
130 Refuted
by Michael R. Burch
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ...
— Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
Seas that sparkle in the sun
without its light would have no beauty;
but the light within your eyes
is theirs alone; it owes no duty.
And that flame, not half as bright,
is meant for me, and brings delight.
Coral formed beneath the sea,
though scarlet-tendriled, cannot warm me;
while your lips, not half so red,
just touching mine, at once inflame me.
And the searing flames your lips arouse
fathomless oceans fail to douse.
Bright roses’ brief affairs, declared
when winter comes, will wither quickly.
Your cheeks, though paler when compared
with them?—more lasting, never prickly.
And your cheeks, so dear and warm,
far vaster treasures, need no thorns.
I believe I wrote this poem as a college freshman, age 18.
With my daughter, by a waterfall
by Michael R. Burch
By a fountain that slowly shed
its rainbows of water, I led
my youngest daughter.
And the rhythm of the waves
that casually lazed
made her sleepy as I rocked her.
By that fountain I finally felt
fulfillment of which I had dreamt
feeling May’s warm breezes pelt
petals upon me.
And I held her close in the crook of my arm
as she slept, breathing harmony.
By a river that brazenly rolled,
my daughter and I strolled
toward the setting sun,
and the cadence of the cold,
chattering waters that flowed
reminded us both of an ancient song,
so we sang it together as we walked along
?unsure of the words, but sure of our love?
as a waterfall sighed and the sun died above.
This poem was published by my college literary journal, Homespun, in 1977. I believe I wrote around age 18.
Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenilia, sun, red, lips, seas, light, flame, fire, oceans, roses, thorns, winter, cheeks, waterfall, daughter, rose, roses are red
Sir –
More epistles are waiting:
Redress the truck-pusher first
Before speeching at the truck!
Sir –
Excursions are forced for a lull
Into further excursions
Coaxed by the vicar’s levity!
More epistles are waiting:
Addressed to the strong sister
Whose redsear in a nurture crypt
Marked a new devotion to the deity.
Form: