Nurse Nicole, with calmest eyes,
Moves through halls where silence lies—
Right hand steady, strong, and sure,
To Dr. Gabriel, she is pure.
Level-headed in the fray,
Guiding hearts from night to day,
With hands that heal and words that mend,
A fierce protector, faithful friend.
In every room, her kindness glows,
Like rivers where the soft wind blows,
Or streams that twist through shaded land—
She reaches out with healing hands.
She speaks in tones both firm and low,
Where pain and panic often grow,
And patients, lost in weary hours,
Feel her strength like sudden flowers.
Among green leaves and tangled trees,
She finds her peace in ocean breeze,
But never shuns the blood or bone,
The mess of life—she stands alone.
Empathy flows like summer rain,
Through aching hearts, through fear and strain,
And though the world may spin and call,
She’s busy, still, among us all.
A light in white, with soul so wide,
She walks where mortal hearts collide,
A woman made of will and grace—
The world feels safer in her place.
In one sterile theater where whispers flow,
A healer walks with steps that glow,
His touch as soft as falling snow,
Yet keen as dawn's first piercing light.
Through quiet eyes, so deep, so wise,
He sees the storms within my veins,
And though my weary spirit sighs,
He slows my pulse and relieves the pain.
His hands, a map of skill and grace,
Trace pathways time and trials conceal,
He listens close, he knows my face,
And speaks the words that start to heal.
A problem-solver, steady, sure,
He bends to find what others miss,
With heart so steadfast, strong, and pure,
He turns the tide with care's sweet kiss.
Though pain still lingers, dark and deep,
A gracious light has touched my soul,
And in his hands, my faith will keep,
A thread of hope to make me whole.
For kindness hums in all he's done,
Like morning's hush, like twilight's tune,
And though my battles are not won,
His voice still shines, a silver moon.
In the darkest hour, when hope was thin,
A healer appeared, with wisdom within.
Doctor Krolick, with steady hand,
Guided my heart to a safer land.
The beat was faint, the pulse unsure,
Yet you found a way to make it endure.
With eyes that see beyond the pain,
You stitched together life's fragile chain.
A guardian of hearts, both weak and strong,
In your care, I found where I belong.
You turned the tide, you gave me breath,
Wrestling my life from the jaws of death.
Doctor Merrill Krolick, forever in my soul,
The one who made my shattered heart whole.
I have been to my heart doctor
she noticed I had been smoking and banged a delicate
fist on the table and her stethoscope danced over her
firm breasts, she was furious,
did not listen to my lame excuses that a cigarette
was given to me the day before and polite as I`m
couldn`t say no. She was not mollified.
What do I know perhaps she is worried by her son?
who doesn`t want to be a doctor.?
The tests I had shown no avers affect, she calmed
down and I gave her a copy of my latest book:
“alternative poetry and political opinions.”
I promised to not smoke again and gave her my latest book.
His cardiologist says
Fred's doing well
for a man of 80.
It won't be his heart
that kills him.
But he needs to
exercise more.
Fred goes home
and tells his wife
he needs to exercise more.
She reminds Fred
he can't get out of bed
without her help.
And her back she says
is a wolf howling.
So Fred sits down
and wiggles his toes
n his old recliner
and waits for the day
the hearse pulls up
and takes him away.
Donal Mahoney
A bee and a cardiologist
I have patched it up with my cardiologist
I sent her one of my books and when I saw her apologised
For my behaviour, and with my new eye
I could see her clearly, but didn`t say so,
I like to burrow my head in her wonderful hair.
Sleep with her in a bed of feather till my heart is cured
Told my wife I was in love with my doctor,
She called me an idiot and said fetch the car while she
Waited In the foyer as it was raining.
I wonder why I`m so angry at time it is like having a bee
Inside my head sting me to be unpleasant and shout
At people, no point seeing a psychologist when
An apiculturist might be cheaper to help me getting rid of
The bee; if so, no more honey on my tongue