Long Bronchitis Poems
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Arriving from unknown somewhere
He set up clinic in the market square
Declared he could cure any disease
Using herbal drugs of plants and trees
Townsfolk being credulous
Soon to his shop began to rush
Diabetics, rheumatics, asthmatics flooded
None over his degree brooded
A few weeks later, afloat was this rumor
He cures for he rightly detects the humor
Realizing that every client is a prospective fan
He talked in technical terms even with laymen
He would expose his victims to numerous medical terms
Also trade-names, contents, firms, diseases and germs
Just to exhibit erudition and sound philosophy
Without occasion he embarked on learned topics
Often dwelt on sedatives and epilepsy
Or discoursed at length on tumor and biopsy
Then in a torrent of rodomontade would relate
Histories of cases cured with specific names and date
Discourses full of references to Ayurvedic treatises
Madhav, Charak, Susrut and other varieties
To prove his point he recited aloud original excerpts
As a result ,he soon won the epithet: "expert of experts"
"Discourteous ingrates! They even do not thank
Though I give 'em new life" exclaimed the mountebank.
Always eager to spar against allopathy
At the slightest provocation he would lecture on allopathic hazards
Or would lament on untidy hospitals and unhygienic wards
Boldly averring: "To hide anything from patients is a deadly sin"
Within no time he became a celebrity
His tricks worked and brought him publicity
After a year DHO came to see him in person
And sought his counsel for his sick son
A minister's car at his doorstep halted
Just to enhance libido and weakness treated
He gave the minister powerful mercury dust
Which triggered his vigor and inflamed his lust
Then to CM's ears reached his fragrant fame
Who called him secretly telling him not to declare name
MPs in turn heard of this rare phenomenon
And turned up to consult him one by one
Director drug control came to seek his advice
For chronic dysentery and perennial bronchitis
At length PM had to send him his compliments
For service to nation and" particular "patients
The whole world acknowledged him as master of his craft
But a person knew his truth in his own staff
His compounder knew his master was a fake
But he swallowed the secret for heaven's sake
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
Hi dear friends, I’m back after a bad shingles attack and straight after that bronchitis verging on pneumonia.
Little Robin red breast bobbing up and down,
Would take away with glee, anybody’s frown
And friendly buzzing Mr Bumble bee delights,
Us one and all, he does not sting, it’s not his thing.
He visits flowers , red, yellow purple , pink and blue,
Which attract him, loves their pollen and alluring hue.
One day bumble bee and little robin decided to be human,
So prepared for tea and pancakes, without the gluten,
They saw Katy the caterpillar crawling on the lawn,
And invited her to join them, the following morn at dawn,
They all met for this fun occasion by the nearby river,
But an uninvited visitor arrived with shiny wings, such a diva.
A Hadeda elegant and loud of call thought she was an opera
Singer, had one thing on her mind, which was Katy Caterpillar,
She slowly walked on her stalk like legs towards this prickly
Little insect, wanting to swallow Katy who was so wiggly,
Down her gullet, but Robin red breast said no no, no,
And Bumble bee agreed and said, I think you ‘d better go
So with his wide spread wings the Hadeda flew away,
Leaving Bumble bee and little Robin to enjoy their day,
How wonderful was their idea for pancakes and tea.
Another visitor arrives, so famous, known to you and me,
Can you guess who.
He wears a top hat, mutters crazy sayings,
And carry’s a full tea pot , ‘do you want a cup of tea,
Oh dear, oh dear, my or me, he or she or maybe you.
He takes his watch out of his waist coat pocket and says,
‘I’m late, I’m late for a a very important date, no time to
Say hello goodbye I’m late I’m late I’m late’
‘It’s time for me to go,
Au revoir from your dizzy beau.’
It was the Mad Hatter, of course,
An Alice in Wonderland source.
What happened to Katy caterpillar, well fearing
For her life, Katy crawled under a nearby bush,
Did not intend to be a snack, or mealtime mush.
NB – THE WORDS UTTERED BY THE MAD HATTER – are both from the book Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and some of my own.
HADEDA IBIS - referred to in South Africa as only Hadeda.
No winter postcards of deep snow and bliss
No winter postcards of mistletoe kiss
Winter was cold, winter was tough
Winter was long and we all had it rough
No Father Christmas, no Saint Nicholas
No bright blue, glass baubles, no presents for us
Fantasy Christmas, fantasy tree
We had to live, through the reality
Dad was long gone, the man did his best
When chronic bronchitis, seeped into his chest
The place where he toiled, was all he had known
But it's dust and it's damp had now left mam alone
What would befall us, what would we be
Who would care for us, if we did not have, she
Mam did her best for her nine hungry brood
But I will never forget, there was so little food
Mam had her pride but the children came top
She burnt all the cupboards to keep the rooms hot
Furniture smashed for the fire was the norm
Furniture burned just to keep the kids warm
The hard times as a child sit deep in my mind
The emotions and memories, I remember, unkind
The hunger, the cold, the panger remain
So little food, again and again
The times were of hardship, poverty, pain
Coats on the bed was the name of the game
No warm fancy blankets in my childhood
Just old duffle coats and we fought for the hood
All of the cooking, from one frying pan
Hunched round a fire, nine kids and their mam
All I remember is fried porridge oats
Dark dankie bedrooms and old duffle coats
Snotty nosed kids crying hungry and cold
What bread there might be would be covered in mould
All of the clothing was hand me down stuff
Nine children to dress, there was never enough
One stocking each and sometimes one shoe
In all of my memory I can't recall two
Now most of the children, have just what they need
Warm clothing and food and laptop PC.s
Ipods and kindles with mince pies for tea
Have they ever heard of the word, poverty
I am not angry, I am not sad
One learns to accept, what one had as a lad
Would you swap that Hulme time, to be young in this day
With modern technology and regular pay
Would you sell your soul to escape poverty
Then sell it elsewhere, your not swapping with me
- Junior piece of acephalus
go to sleep !
"If you do not do what I tell you,
I'm going to give you serious bronchitis ...!
And if I do, I'll give you a headache.
followed by migraine ...!
your face of stroke ...!
"Father, today you're a maniac,
manic-depressive...
- I do not know bucephalus, it's this virus
that circulates around ... this one of
neurasthenia...?
"What's the matter with you, have you otitis?"
- Not father, it's because of cramps ...
- Cramps, this is your sister's thing!
- It's not that father, it was something I ate ...
- Again eating ...!
-Take this stopper, go ... and go.
sleep later ... take some tsetse flies
to the bedroom you soon sleep ....
- Dad, I'm using another method.
more natural! I loose the lambs.
who are stuck in the closet and start
to count ... and you, your constipation
How do you do ...?
"Now, you little , I use a little
of poison extracted from the Amazonian toad ...
it's shot and fall ... I die instantly,
I mean sleep instantly ...!
"And poor mother, father!"
always with their anxiolytics ...
- It's your mother always with her methods
pseudo scientists, this medicine
allopathic ... with nothing!
It's this passiflora, serene, sleep well,
all natural ... Legal is your sister,
who sleeps all night only with
the hammer I put on her head ...
- Steel hammer, father ...!?
"What, nothing, rubber hammer, these
of disassembling car body ...
- Good evening, schizophrenic father!
- Good evening your diarrhea ... or better
that scientific word dysentery ... he, he, he,
I do not know... !
We Take For Granted:
Lungs Filling, In – Out …
How Respiratory Come About
But Resuscitation To Our Mouth
Keeps Soul, from Going South …
But Just Imagine:
Stitch-in-Side, Pleurisy
Emphysema or Drowning At-Sea !
Pneumonia, Bronchitis or Oxygen-Gone
And Asthma, are Just a few Suffocating Wrongs
Of Breathing Passages, Swollen … Blocked
Adenoids and Snoring, Wake-Up… Pop-Pop!
Try Pillow-Smothering, or Panic-Attacks
Choking, Gasp? … Need Gas-Mask?
Ahh … Short and Sweet and Necessary
Hold and Count to 30 … In A Hurry?
If It Stops … Then Start To Worry
… All This, is Very Airy-Scary …
… The Brevity of Breath …
Had Enough?
(Loud) Puff – Puff
I Know, It’s Never Enough Fellow
Whether Gulping-Deep, Nor Panting-Shallow
Some Have Quick – Spurts
‘Til Side Hurts
Hacking Cough … Then The Wheezing
Can’t Catch A Breath … That’s You Leaving
… Next Stop Death … or Joint-Machine-Breathing
… Are You Receiving ? …
… The Brevity of Breath …
“ … Breathed Into His Nostrils, The Breath of Life … “ (Gen. 2: 7)
Morning Breath ? … Relax Honey … It’s Just Your Wife …
… Checking On The Brevity of Breath …
Topics of conversation seem to change as we approach maturity.
As kids we talked of love - now it's lumbago and social security!
It once was enlightening to simply discuss the weather,
But now it's a litany of their ills when oldsters get together!
When a teen we bragged about that first voluptuous kiss.
Now all we can do is talk about such and lamentably reminisce!
Girls whispered amongst themselves and cast a furtive glance,
At the high school "hunk" pining for a torrid romance!
In our courting days, sweet talk we'd whisper in the other's ear.
Now it seems we must yell to be heard unlike in yesteryear!
As married folks we debated about money, bills and kids,
Exasperating table-pounding sessions where we'd flip our lids!
Seems that no matter where senior brethren congregate,
With each other their aches and pains they must enunciate,
Discussing the woes of arthritis, phlebitis and laryngitis,
Bronchitis, bursitis, gingivitis, dermatitis and gastritis!
I reckon I could simply say, "Gee, you're looking swell!"
Then perhaps upon these gloomy topics they might not dwell.
I enjoy repartee with folks about religion, politics and sports,
But talk of doom and gloom leaves me sorta outta sorts!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
We don't know how long we have left to live
and meanwhile I have filled up with petrol
and wait for the electric car.
Drawing-room oracles descend imberbi
on the sandy shore
soiled with supposed truths.
We witness the comedy:
"the pension system must be saved"
and for this our dæmons are expelled from the chorus.
All right, all this becomes a mockery
of the sacredness of an advent that never happens.
I prefer to read the Greek classics,
since I have little time left
rather than the good Chomsky,
ashen prophet of a world I shall not see.
I still try to understand economic cycles
and try to decipher between the lines
Schumpeter's thinking.
Then I say to myself what do these people know about infinity?
What do they know of the crumpled intimacy
of those who have lost hope
and sees bare life and that's all
without the laurel wreaths of thinkers
of good bourgeois education.
Science for the living who do not realise they are already dead.
I look for the phrases suitable for the buen retiro from life,
when the time comes.
Maybe I will take up smoking again.
Cigarettes cost money,
but life preserved by triglycerides
and bronchitis by health-conscious people
armed with flaming scales,
with each passing day
loses its value