Long Doctors Poems
Long Doctors Poems. Below are the most popular long Doctors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doctors poems by poem length and keyword.
Often I hear people complain about the simplest of things
In seemingly going insane with the little details life brings
Perhaps it's the traffic or a long line at the grocery store
Just take your own pick for I know there are a lot more
When we have so much as compared to other countries
We seemed to have lost touch with what the eye sees
For so many have far less but rarely will they complain
For they don't see it as mess but they still feel the pain
Their lines are much longer even to just get some water
Oh if I was a bit stronger waiting in line to place my order
Having to wait a whole hour for a doctors appointment
You wouldn't be sour knowing most of them never went
Sitting there at that red light just waiting for it to turn
My goodness, such a plight as we never seem to learn
What will a big storm do If ripples can rock your boat
We need to act more like a sheep and less like a goat
..............Baby Steps Out..
..........There's a waiting world
.......Doctors nurses eager staff
......A doting father, mother in pain
.....It is said that we chose our birth
....An act of free will, desired destiny
....The paths are all charted by our will
....This birthday I decided to recall..loll
......A memory jog, back to time of birth
.........An unborn peeping into his future
..............The little steps on roads ahead
.................Unfolding destiny milestones
.....................Cherished moments in wait
.....................Some vivid some smudged
.....................Hand drawn on masterprint
..................Paths to travel people to meet
................The resting places n thirst stops
...............Careful leaps on stepping stones
...........The journeys that were yet to unfold
.........All vivid in storehouse before take-off
.....In the sojourn I was told: Precious is birth
...In baby steps or our giant strides a purpose
.The joys or sufferings are like passing screens
There is an axis a polestar guiding & connecting
A constant the unchanging in all that is changing
Distracted get our senses by colors cacophonies
.Not difficult to lose the picture in such a journey
...Precious is birth- holds many a promise....es ....
......like many seeds...finding ground.. ..yes !!
.........pods germinate ..stored... ..loved ..
...............friends near far ...unmet :)
......................thank you.....<3.....
.................................Fam ....frnds
.........................................................for remembering
.............................................................flowing wishes
as builders spend pennies
flipping profits on houses
lifestyle gurus
show us how to fold trousers
and chefs under pressure
scream out all their orders
while people in need
are labelled as hoarders
and bookies fix odds
for the afternoon races
as judges cast judgements
on bizarre family cases
and teams answer questions
to win mystery prizes
while traffic cops chase
young suicide drivers
and retirees escape
to a life on the Costas
as law firms inform us
it’s good to sue doctors
and super vets cure
lame dogs and sick horses
as folk with backstories
fail SAS courses
and dealers earn livings
from ducking and diving
while medics with agents
get judged Strictly jiving
and loan deals have small print
explaining their charges
while celebs enjoy cruising
on canals in large barges
and food critics chew
over masterful dinners
and. there. are. several. long. seconds
before we find out the winners
but when MPs dodge questions
on the numerous news’ panels
it’s proof that what bites
really sucks on our channels.
I haven't turned ninenteen yet,
and in this white-linen hospital bed...
that horrible scene of the car crash
keeps on flashing back and makes me sweat.
I could have died, but so grateful to be alive and out of danger,
breathing air despite the acute pain I endure,
my mom keeps watch and praying she awaits a miracle...
even doctors firmly believe that's not impossible.
Will I be able to walk pain-free and think clearly as before within a year?
That still remains to be seen, but I trust as mother
in the power of prayers...and believing in a God
who always keeps His promise by proclaiming Himself an awesome Lord.
The tremendous support I get from all makes me stronger in my fight.
and they bring me get-well cards and lots of flowers and teddy bears,
I stare at them and they comfort me when I look back and shed tears...
two weeks ago I felt invincible, now this tragedy has changed all that.
Will I ever forget what happened on that narrow, dim-lit street...
when I lost consciousness and fell into a deep sleep?
Ambulances and firetrucks wailed, but nothing I heard...
I could have died and not have been a witness to the story I've told!
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 |
Debate also should rage if doctors know
The mystery that human body is:
It takes two hundred muscles, all on go
To take but one baby step with some ease,
Body veins stretched, end to end were to ply,
Two rounds around Earth’s bosom well are made,
Body cells in millions when daily die,
An equal sum in even time gets bred.
And yet nigh little’s known of universe
That lies within— we know more of far space,
Of ailing body, it gets even worse,
Ah ignorance is bliss should God us bless!
If left are we to let sleeping dogs lie,
What happened years back would ever apply?
No, what happened would never apply,
For, human soul always knows how to heal
If can silence noise of mind raging high,
Few patients have due patience and will.
As every patient has to find his peace,
I too had to, and realized rather late,
Though I suffered, shed tears to seek my bliss,
For, things happen only at its due date.
To heal, we seldom go to a healer,
I perhaps approached not someone that heals,
Maybe, he was more meant things to trigger,
Maybe, I could not silent my mind’s ills,
My endurance did build a defence wall,
Two scores and more years back, as I recall.
________________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: With these last two parts, IX and X, the sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets is concluded. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the poem is the last line taken totally as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
These concealed agenda,
unravelling soon,
Stage by stage,
man a captive to man,
manipulated,
"Liberty" is lie,
they make the boundaries,
Locked in the prison in summer
separated in winter,
distancing like foes,
disguised as animals,
collective condemnation,
these theories.
That condemns congregation,
prohibits association,
suspends education,
closed the offices,
and makes me poorer,
compelling dependency on handouts,
These Fears that Originates from Wuhan,
embellished by the media,
accepted by the doctors,
empowers their reset,
depression and fears, the tools,
beleaguered minds consenting to the suspense of their brains.
apoplexy aroused before the force,
There goes your rights to say No,
Sick or not, a Jab.
vaccination by force,
consent unnecessary,
Your right fritters away.
Here comes the medical Rape,
without my consent,
Do not Rape me.
Veracity (story)
A horse galloped across a snowy field at the end of the pasture,
a fence jumped over a crazy gallop into the woods
came to a shuddering stop when meeting a moose
the moose charged the horse fled deeper into the woods were
the horse met a troll who took the animal into a cave and
served a bucket of hot chocolate drink
since the snow was deep that year, the troll also fitted the horse
with snowshoes and let it back to the field.
When the farmer came to the field and saw the shoes,
he had a nervous breakdown and was sent
to a clinic, where the doctors said it was all in his mind.
They wouldn’t let him free before he agreed
horses wear iron shoes and not snowshoes.
When he came back to the farm, the horse wore slippers.
When I was one and twenty
a moral with a twist ...
They say I am the key
That will unlock the cell
Yet how can I get free
for I’m wrapped up so well
Don’t wrap me or cell me
just give me what THEY want
At first, they say they want to heal me
synonymous with 'heel', you see
rather, they wanted to fix me
like bones being picked by doggies
Puzzled to be taken apart
Scrabbled for letters to impart
I own lost and found cellular
call there again and nevermore
I am the finder's, the loser's
and the weepers, and the keepers
I am crammed in a vacant space
Can't catch my breath, chasing from mace
I speak, and lost in translation
I'm Brit, spoke French to a Russian
So here I am midst some unknowns
Vultures who'd like to pick my bones
The flower uprooted my weeds
Went skydiving wearing my tweeds
Doctors say that I'm a bit strange
Yet they study me...found that strange
I say I hear and see things
they say it's all in my head
... where else would it be
I passed all their test
reasons I am kept there
They say that I do not give the wrong answers
... just the correct mistakes
They go fishing
in a fishbowl
I am the hunted inferno
A moving target, home can't go
I'm out in the world, day and night
Come from the cold, say when I might
A marked calendar, on a wall
What marked calendar, me—that's all
Lamb in want of its lost shepherd
Last seen, eating 'lamb chops', I heard
Wheelchairs and psychiatric knees
Be ike the sounds of rubbing reeds
I'm the hushed one, who makes the noise
I picked one, no girls, and no boys
Who did you pick? I picked my mom
You did not pick your dad, how come
He's trying to be, sea master
Can't if the sea's calm forever
The doldrums' subtle current ends
We row till the sails fill with winds
A river does not rise for pleasure ...
Nor does a drowning soul
An eagle soars skies of azure ...
Mouse sans any control
I am a pearl
they lust ...
like a diamond
and rust.
I was holding strong and steady
It was time and almost ready
For a new life to be born
On a bright and sunny morn'
Doctors and nurses all around
I wanted to hear the sound
Of my newborn baby's cry
There was no way to deny
The feeling I had deep inside
Holding her I'm petrified
I will not be a good mom
There's so much that could go wrong
I made a promise years ago
My children would never grow
Without knowing love and care
I would always hold them near
In my heart--no hurt of any kind
As they grow they will just find
All the joy and happy laughter
They'll keep inside and after
I am gone they will see
How much they were my destiny
Showing how much I can be
More of a parent than mine were
They'll never wonder--that's for sure