Long Diagnose Poems
Long Diagnose Poems. Below are the most popular long Diagnose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Diagnose poems by poem length and keyword.
imagine if all your heroes,
all your idols, all your
“spiritual leaders,” who
have supposedly written books
(or had books written for them/
by them), whose “lives” have
been depicted as such by those
who never lived when they lived,
who never saw what these
people were supposed to look like,
who tell us that they themselves
never had even an iota of
ulterior motive
in the making of these characters---
imagine if the characters themselves
were all in a room today,
a room somewhere in the middle of
nowhere, surrounded by psychiatrists &
sociologists, psychologists & representatives
of every normative leadership franchise
(full of presidents of nations, CEO’s of
companies, heads of military, heads of
churches, temples, mosques, etc.)---
imagine that they actually let some of
us “common people” into the room as
well & then imagine if those in charge of
the gathering allowed these
supposed heroes & idols to speak.
one after another,
those who have been looked up to for
guidance, those who have been painted on
walls, formed into sculptures, those who
have been killed for, those who have
“inspired” whole nations to kill each
other, those who have been talked to
by the zillions on bended knees with
their eyes closed for century upon
century---they all spoke &
as they did,
those watching who hold power, those
who gear the cultural trends for our
puny existence & all of us “common
people” as well, began to
diagnose these individuals in accordance
with the parlance of our times, whereby soon,
these characters would be found to
have multiple personalities…they’d be manic-
depressive…they’d be schizophrenic…they’d
be writhing with all the imperfections,
chemical imbalances, phobias, flaws &
disorders that are used now to write off every
single aspect of human behavior that
extends even the slightest outside that perfect
little square (like a child coloring hard along
the lines in a coloring book…never venturing
outside them) &
most of all,
all these once followed would be found to be
nothing more than as wretched as the rest of
us---one could go further &
assume that no books would be written about
them, no books would be “written by them” &
in a few years, much less than how long
they presently have all been looked up to for
the ages,
all these followed would disappear &
yet,
without any of them, we would all still get on---
yes we would.
Here I sit, on an examination table
bored, swinging my feet to and fro
waiting for a doctor who will be able
to diagnose the reason why I feel low
I study the body posters while I wait
in my unfashionable blue paper gown
I must remember to sit up straight
to keep my tushie from being found
Another hour goes by, maybe more
I'm sure I got forty winks in a nap
I can hear him now, outside my door
clicking his tongue then 'rap, rap, rap.'
A cheesy smile then he reads my chart
I could tell him what he needs to know
and doctors are supposed to be so smart
Well, he should have been here long ago.
He shakes my hand then off to the sink
where he washes with ten squirts of soap.
"You think I'm contagious?" I ask with a blink.
"Don't know," he says. "Maybe there's hope."
He inquires, "Now, what seems to be wrong?"
I ramble symptoms; there are many to convey
while squirming from the pinch of my thong.
Shouldn't doctors be old, at least turning gray?
"Lie back," he mumbles, "and I'll check you out.
Blood pressure's high. You have a fever, too."
Into his stethoscope I was tempted to shout
but he hands me a cup and I'm off to the loo.
I clean off the seat from someone's neglect
sit quite impatiently, and desperately I try
to get enough of a specimen for him to inspect
while maneuvering the cup beneath my thigh.
Back to the room and the nurse peeks in.
A frown on her face makes me start to worry.
She seeths the words, "Where have you been?"
"My pee cup runneth over," was my true story.
Dr. OneSoYoung returns and takes a chair.
Eyes of blue, handsome face, but I digress
while I'm sitting here with my bottom bare
Wondering if my thoughts, I should confess.
"Get dressed," he orders, with a look of dread.
Must be bad news, I tremble, cold with a chill
thinking that by tomorrow I surely will be dead.
"You just have a bad cold and here is your bill."
I spent all morning thinking I was near death
and his diagnosis claims that all I have is a cold.
I peeled off my wrap and said in hissing breath
"Your bedside manner sucks, if truth be told!"
To the pharmacy, I strode with a disgruntled look.
I have to pay a fortune for prescribed medication.
Druggist or physician, which is the biggest crook?
Now I suffer from the malady of acute indignation!
Drift Away
By Kevin Robey
March 19, 2013
Let me drift away, and walk into my dreams
She said soft and sweetly, to avoid a scene
I saw her hair line; it was bursting at the seams
Put my hand to her eyes, wiped her heartache clean
Her pain was his, but he could not make it slow
Saw crimson cuts that went deeper than blood lines
Couldn’t slow her descent to the fiery pits below
If he was a superhero, he could turn back time
Try as he might, she still slowly turned to stone
He couldn’t stay, but promised to return again
This next part you will have to do on your own
When you feel lonely, reach to me with a pen
The day came when ship was set to sail
To embark on this journey without her hand
His heart ached more than words could show
But he put on a brave smile, and told her his plan
I love you, and I’ll tell you every single day
Tell you the strength I feel when our lips collide
You’re beautiful, and I’ll tell you without delay
Tell you the warmth I feel when our hearts confide
She did not believe him, but he did not care
He set off to sea, with her heart on crimson sleeves
He penned these words in the cold morning air
Feeling the bond only the two of them could achieve
With unsteady hands, he set foot on this land of lost souls
She wasn’t there; her steady hand was not in sight
Thinking of the day where he would once again be whole
Rolled up his crimson sleeves and prepared to fight
There was the threat of violence rather than chaos and misery
The demons they were contained by the promises he made
To the girl who made him see the man he was meant to be
Whose heart was so heavy it was impossible to weigh
Tethered together, they braced themselves for stormy weather
They looked to the sky searching for a break in the clouds
To find that piece of sunshine that they found together
Long ago when they never slept and they dreamed out loud
When they hurt themselves then, it brought them close
Now their hearts were clean, full of love that they found
It brought him to a place where these words could diagnose
His ailment, his cure, was the thump of her heart beat sound
He smiled to the future as the sunshine broke through
Knowing that if the sky does fall, he will be all right
His heart will continue beating, this much is true
When demons dance again, he’ll make it through the night
Colures transposed orbits closed whence derive the rains of rose?
Across million mileage magic and magnitude are striding
O'er holistic horizon svelteness and smoothness are sliding
Meridian framed parallax tamed whither swash the rains of rose?
Spray by spray, knuckle down to my mood pensive
From ethereal to real, from sparse to intensive
Soon drenched head o'er heels
I found the root of my romance's route
Under a bracing baptism bringing fine feels
From amazed to aplomb, from something uneasy to nothing moot
Memo peeped murmurs eavesdropped how to diagnose
My long-overdue romance syndrome, rain of rose?
Among infinitesimal traces palpating sentimental palpitations
And probing their pathetic derivations
Throughout infinite engrams pinpointing fugal focuses
And precluding their maudlin metamorphoses
Tender spot perceived hardened navel-gazing detected
Rain of rose, how to track and treat my vulnerable veins well-directed?
Self-moderating little by little
Instilling solace into me trickle by trickle
Yarn by yarn, untangle my yearns intricate
From aggressive to assimilable, from inquisitive to intimate
Rosy, rosy rain
Messenger from ineffable Cockayne
Where comet breeze fondles her finery of frieze
Into my laps leap swaths of her lusty ease
Rosy, rosy rain
Sharp switcher of memory lane
Where murk and melancholia of yore
Transfigure into present horoscopes and kaleidoscopes galore
Rosy,rosy rain
Recoverer from romance drain
Ripple by ripple streams into her likeness, lusciousness lacing limpidity
Alleviating my lovelorn insipidity and rigidity
Rosy, rosy rain
Precise pacesetter of telepathic vane
Wisp by wisp floats familiar fragrance and grace
My well-oriented paces in lockstep with her fairy trace
Rosy, rosy rain
Shuttle through sensorial chain
Calm inside, my premier ego as huddled as a musing esthete
Passion outgoing, the alter ego as loosened as an effusing synesthete
Rosy, rosy rain
Seamless scourer of sour and pain
Inch by inch rinses away blue waves of woes
Rousing the resting redolence of rose
Rosy, rosy rain
Merry melody with voluble refrains
Note by note, elicits dulcet endearments of old years
Fleeing from errant mindscape, destined to attentive ears.
x
x
x x
x x
~~~~ x x
&~~~~~~~ x x
The archer x x
(stood very x xx
still by the x xx
oceans x xx
edge His target was a buoy, tossed far ==================>
from his ledge Aiming high against the sky he xx
let his arrow go Ele- xx
ments unforgiving x xx
bounced the buoy x xx
to and fro The x x
archer through x x
experience had ad- x x
justed aim In account x x
the wind and waves x
he aspired to tame Al- x
though the arrow mis-
sed its mark,
it was quite (\_/)
close Few could call (-.-)
that chosen path that he would diagnose In (“)(“)
life the ones who love you, can help form a plan About the wind and
waves, and where you might land What you might encounter I
don't pretend to know But with a plan you just might land
where you want to go!
He was cold, and, suffering bad...
She was far too hot,
A cooling breeze...
She wished that she had...
So he turned up his temp,
And her's, she turned down,
And it's more than hard to believe,
Just how fast one can be turned,
Into a sad clown...
Further up, he turned,
His heat control number,
did he dial...
While she turned down,
On her's, praying for,
Relief, all the sweat soaked while...
But he just got colder,
While she started to roast...
But he just got colder,
While she started to roast,
It was fast becoming unbearable,
My dear aunt very near,
Turned to burnt toast...
And my favorite uncle...
Now near frozen solid...
In frozen fear he did clutch...
His oaken bed post,
Which, oddly, now seemed quite warm...
And this was, for sure,
Never before the norm...
Now was the time,
For drastic action,
Each turned their temp dials
Up or down to the max...
Would'a been much more easy,
For each to learn, in a mere hour,
Just how to play jazz sax...
Now each was quite desperate,
And anguished beyond belief,
Burning and freezing,
There seemed no relief...
Who sold them this defective blanket?
Just who was that nasty thief??
Almost as if well practiced,
and seemingly on cue,
Each jumped out of their,
Respective torture device,
Seemed all they could do,
Ready now to call an electrician,
Or psychic, for some sorely needed advice...
Next day, when their bedroom door,
They did finally unlock...
To finally check on inside,
Expecting some horrific shock,
Like the bed partly frozen,,
And part melted away...
Knowing that, if such should be,
They would have not a clue,
On just what to say...
The electrician soon did come than...
A $160 call...
For a 2 minute peek...
And even that was half stall...
One thing you could count true,
He was pissing off us all...
He explained to them...
The problem, he did diagnose,
It wasn't evil spirits...
It was not a ghost...
See each had,
their wires crossed,
The dual control temp dials,
Oh, brother!!!
And they had only controlled...
The temperature of the other!!......."
Here’s a twain of siblings so delicate—
The tenor and its weary vehicle,
Similar are, nor yet so disparate
O lady, art not thou so fickle?
In seeming sameness struts lady contrast,
Harmony jars to sing in unsure doubt,
Oxymoron shows a cynical pout,
Obscure ironies whilst little light cast.
Gambol ling as proxies, some sign-symbols,
Try hard to match ‘sleep, a shadow of death',
But fail to break down bulwarks of old walls,
From whereso might fount the poetic faith.
The whole hinting of part, part of the whole;
And few know O lady Metonymy,
What sets apart ye from Synecdoche,
Yet, neat-picking does rob poem her soul.
A poet’s not a spring, shocks to absorb,
Nor yet a punster he is out to shock,
A planter of paradox in vague orb,
Nor yet one, pundits often put in dock.
Beware, poets might few metaphors pick,
But zero in on befitting apt word,
The Muse at high O happens when to hick!
Ye’d better stay as art, O thou rare bird.
O ye poem, by nature art thou fickle,
Fains if forced metaphors can ever tickle,
So, lady, let my Muse, a freer hand,
E’en if she were to lead to arid land.
_______________________________________
Some critiques and academics analyse poems in the manner doctors diagnose patients— on faults that ail, focussing little on patient as a whole. ‘Life is but a walking shadow', (Macbeth). Here, ‘life' is the tenor, and ‘walking shadow' the vehicle of the metaphor. But metaphors can also be used without knowing their precise grammar and definitions. ‘Sleep as an adumbration of death', said Robert Frost, but one can use the signs and symbols without knowing them accurately. Symbolism comes natural to a good poet. The poetic devices like paradox, understatement, hyperbole, and irony can come to the poet's command without him knowing their technical names. Further, there are people fond of ‘paraphrasing' a poem. Now, this is something beyond me. Why need one do so and put a piece of verse (and a thing of beauty) unto prose, and kill it in the process?
Ode | 04.08.2008 |
Welcome to your new home!
Tucked away in this lovely town of harmony
where tourists visit often
and our bears wander in society!
Please, make yourselves comfortable
feel free to settle in
should you have any questions
my numbers on this napkin.
Charming place
-cheap too!
We certainly lucked out
I knew I could count on you!
We hugged, laughed
unpacked our things
arranged furniture
and prepared for the evening.
The excitement beginning
our new life was real
yet a heavy air lurking
was strong and surreal.
What felt like walking through fog
congested by malice energy
I chose to ignore
for the sake of my sanity.
Months had passed
strength indeed-spirit grew.
Doors constantly slamming shut
items falling over
a good night sleep-next to none.
Anxious nights I spent awake
until this spirits final outbreak.
Alone at home on a winters night
I sat anxious and afraid.
3AM on the couch
watching the clock
slowly tick away.
It was then I heard-above my head
footsteps sluggishly dragging.
Loud and evident
across our bedroom
toward the hall-coming at me!
Could this be an intruder-I thought?
Or maybe a ghost?
The sound is too real
for me to sit and diagnose!
Out the door-in a hurry
I certainly did not stay to see
Off and away in my vehicle
felt safest to me.
Tired and terrified
I began to ask questions
who is this spirit
why hasn't it gone to heaven?
My husband gave-way
FINALLY
putting my "sanity" at bay- knowing all along.
HE- an anger charged blood
in a flowing stream of liquor
set forth a determined man.
Gripping his gun with tears in hand
to keep his children
in lieu of division.
Rise to fail
he would not stand
surrounded by sirens
-Our Home-
belted in confinement
he would not let them go.
Until his last shot
until his final blow.
Thereafter-we found a new home
no longer did I stay
in the shadow of- He
who took his own life
who dwells the house of dismay.
The house of sadness
the house- He lays.
March 20, 2016
"To those still confined in the worldly
realm, no legacy I leave, just a kiss
that carries rapidly vanishing memories,
my final farewell" _ Carolyn Devonshire
___________________
since your death Carolyn ...
I have been in ... a void unfathomable
the diagnose of cancer a few weeks ago
had left me in shock and denial
and there was no hope ...
~ the cancer had spread all through your body
and your fate was written
in the book of life and bargaining was useless ~
so I have been meditating
as I often do when I feel hopelessness
I breath in and out like ocean waves and close my eyes
and I am falling into emptiness ... until I see blue ocean waves
crashing on a beach
~ and you are barefoot and carefree ... kicking the waves
you look up smiling and wave to me
and then one thought to the next merge and mingle
as I reverie our friendship over many wonderful years ~
in a trance I write words to honor you
and abandon myself to pockets of time
words we said and words you have written
and flickers of your memory that will haunt me evermore
oh, I have been in a daze ... a void of grief
in a waking dream where I stumble lost
~ you are at peace now free of all pain
walking some heavenly ocean ...
Carolyn, I must accept your death and these flickers
and memories ... holding each one inside my heart
where reveries and reality meld
and I will treasure each gift given
... especially the ocean shells ~
_____________________
August 8, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Grief: A Tribute to Carolyn
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1379-509-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Void
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 08/11/2021
Eighth Place
Dr. P.D. Feel Good vs.' Doc the Poet (#2
Doc, you can keep wearing my CROWN.
It goes perfect with your pink hospital gown.
I am the one that damaged and demolished all your goods
Now you’re like a tr@mp roaming the hoods
Diagnose your poetry under a form of drug abuse.
If you want to be a real princess, cover up them bruise.
Step into my office, -I'm the Dr. Feel Good of abuse.
My assistant will stamp and shave you like a sheep.
With the consumption, you’re not for human use.
Doc, I will be your worst nightmare.
My ambush of words will leave you in fear.
My assistant Nathan will leave you babbling,
As he gives you a PAP SMEAR.
You cannot escape my mental destruction gear.
STUTTERING as you get donkey punched in the rear.
You will cry for mercy as I hammer in your head.
Begging my assistant to put you out of misery.
Screwing with your mind, laughing at your history.
Cooking your words like chicken cacciatore.
Forgetting to add herbs to your so-called poetry.
Now who is the one with the ALZHEIMER'S poetry disease?
Now I have you on your knees.
Making you suffer while you foam at the teeth.
Spiting my speech disorder all over your face.
Your slam has no speed to continue with this race.
You’re nothing but a rat, running thru my maze
My assistant is setting traps in your house
Starving and making you trip like an experimental mouse.
Crushing your amphetamines high thread.
I'm going to take your poetic head,
Cram it into the hospital bed.
Awe Doc, All them tears I will make you shed.
Doc, your poetry will be crying for mercy instead.
My pen will inject you a poetic black and blue full of lead.
Refusing you Penicillin, for your infection, over bled.
Adding salt to your wounds, screaming (DR. P.oetic D.read!)
All in time Doc, you will fear me until you go brain dead
Asking for an over dose wishing you were dead.
Knowing that Dr. P.D. Feel Good~is laughing in her head.
By the time, you snap to, I am still way ahead of you.
by;p.d.