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.
[Intro]
I miss you mama...
[Verse1:]
In this cold weather...
I read your last letter...
It burns like a cold cold ember...
There's nothing here, but ghostly whispers
My heart has become an empty chamber.
[Pre-Chorus ]
It says "dearest daughter"
"Cold days, don't last forever “
I know it’s getting cold outside
But let my love, keep you warm inside
[Chorus]
Darling please,
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Darling please,
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Even in the, coldest weather
Remember me.
[Verse 2]
Kiss your brother, goodnight for me (mh, mh, mh)
He’s too young, to understand...
Inside here, is my photograph...
Keep it close, within your heart..
[Pre - Chorus]
And let the words of this letter
Be a fire, to warm your heart
In the, coldest weather
(mh, mh, mh)
[Chorus]
Darling please,
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Darling please,
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Even in the, coldest weather
Remember me.
[Bridge]
We had such perfect plans
And so much laughter ...(mh, mh, mh)
But these bedside pans,
And these doctors pens
This cancers hand,
Cancelled every plan...
[Pre- Chorus]
Be the strongest that you can be (mh, mh, mh)
Don't you shed a single tear please...(mh, mh, mh)
We will meet, in heavens rest
[Final Chorus]
Darling please, (mh, mh, mh)
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Darling please,
Remember me. (mh, mh, mh)
Even in the, coldest weather
Remember me.
[outro]
Remember me.
mmmh..., mmmh...
Remember me.
From the early days of your inclusion
in the ranks,
marching in formation.
Some of you fighter pilots, clerical,
galley workers, medics, nurses,
doctors, mechanics.
When fear met courage,
some of you died with your
brothers,
a duty of sacrifice,
sisters in arms.
It takes such bravery to sign up-
women in uniform be proud,
labors of the soul and body,
sweat, determination, grit.
When your career peaks,
you’ll carry your legacy wherever
you are,
as you age in grace,
sisters in arms.
Someday buried with your brethren,
the taps will play for all of you,
in the revered resting place of
rolling lawns.
Sisters and brothers in arms.
My Hero
Ever since I was a child he tore a piece of sun and stitched me whole
working himself to the bone so I could have a bed and home
he never complained and he always made it back ,even during storms
He was my Father, My Hero, my best friend ...
When I was overwhelmed submerged in ether
listening to bells go off in a not so distant medical bed
he walked in to pick me up, gave me a giant doll
then scooped me in his big strong arms and took me home.
When I was left behind for reasons I could not comprehend
mistaken for crazy and sent to a medical facility,
he spoke to the doctors then gently brought me back to health.
When he was dying from cancer and I could not sleep
I drove hours to get to him,
Stopped a a nearby village, and found a perfect blue rose
When I placed it by his bedside, holding my hand he said to me
"Daughter, its time for me to go home. "
I wasn't ready but I released him and let him go,
how I found the strength, I will never know.
Until this day when I think of heroes I think of my dad
those starlit eyes, that golden smile, those strong arms.
Today, inside this broken heart of mine there lives a hero,
one that I could never replace, nor misplace. My dad.
July 27, 2022
A Doctors touch
Subdued by agony of illness and throes,
When thoughts knead and whirl,
to rest in solitary cells,
And abate the confess of dark night’s duress;
Beats frail as soft white downy fibre of lisle,
Reasoning and logic fail;
When weary hearts have ceased to dream,
And hope is nothing but a distant gleam…
A Doctors touch …
Brings calm to the suffering’s place,
Those gentle hands, that steadfast grace;
Soulful balm, to not just heal,
As patient starts in on subtly feel.
Today we stand at threshold of remarkable times…?
Where silicon learns,?
Algorithms reason, swift and wise,?
And find what hides from human eyes.
Yet, beyond every image interpreted,
pattern recognised and prediction made,
No machine has ever held a hand
That trembled in the face of fear,?
Or stood beside a silent bed?,
Just so a soul would know, “I’m here.”
No circuit can sense a mother’s flailing tears,?
No software can divvy up a father’s pain;?
No coded voice can bear the weight,?
Of hope that rises after rain.
For healing lives isn’t merely a skill,?
It breathes through kindness, calm, and grace;?Comprehends the silence between the words,
A listening heart, a caring face.
The doctor’s hands do more than cures,?
The patient touch that comforts, strengthens and reassures.?
Their greatest art is not in tools,?
But in empathy, in compassion, so very pure.
Medicine isn’t just the science of disease;?
It is the privilege, of entering into another man’s suffering;
So let the future proudly bloom?,
With every marvel science brings;?
Yet guard the oath, the human heart,?
The soul from which true healing springs.
For medicine is much more than knowledge,?More than data, more than art.?
It ushers in with gifted hands…?
And blooms within a grateful heart.
A Doctors touch…
Engulfs the anguish, calms the tides,
Tunes the melodic dulcet reverberate,
Soothes as tranquil aurora of dayspring,
Sparkles the serene silvery moonlit night.
©?Dr Upma A. Sharma
Ever snorted cocaine?
I watched some partiers snort cocaine last night,
in a dark, Manhattan nightclub corner celebration.
But I’ve never crossed that line. The white line.
When offered some, with unctuous camaraderie,
I shrugged and said, “No, sorry, I’m allergic.”
What are you supposed to say, “Crack is whack,”
or “I prefer my coke with rum and ice?”
The white line. I don’t cross the line.
It’s not the first time, of course, I saw more drugs
in high school than I have at Yale. I’ve mostly seen
“study drugs,” there, like provigil, adderall and alza (concerta).
Do they give students an advantage? I don’t know, maybe.
Call me a boxcut or a squarepants, but my parents are doctors,
and I just don’t cross those lines - those little white lines.
.
.
Webster: Unctuous: “an obvious, fake friendliness”
Slang: ‘boxcut’ ot ‘squarepants’ = a square, a no fun party-pooper
*I use artistic license for colors: for instance, adderall can be a blue, orange or yellow pill.
Generation Z is my child—our future.
I know them completely,
and yet I do not know them at all.
How strange, isn't it?
When they sleep, they do not wish to wake;
when they are awake, they do not wish to sleep.
Though they eat everything,
they have never learned
to snatch from others
or even to share with others.
How strange, isn't it?
They become doctors, engineers, scientists,
teachers, professors—so many things.
Yet they never let
the wandering minstrel,
the mystic within,
the music,
or the solitude of their hearts
fade away.
How strange, isn't it?
They never longed for marches,
protests, or blockades.
Yet they were driven to the streets,
and they never forgot
to raise their flaming torches.
They never sought power,
nor did they crave the throne.
With the dream of a radical transformation,
they are shaping a new tomorrow.
How strange, isn't it?
He doesn't play by the rules. He does his own thing.
He's a brilliant genius medical diagnostician.
When other doctors can't figure out what is wrong with you
your case then gets referred to this medical guru.
He doesn't care about his patients. His bedside manner is crude.
He cares most about solving the puzzle than he does of you,
but when it looks as if your life is about to end very rapidly
because no doctor can unravel your medical mystery,
the doctor you'll want on your case will most certainly be
the obsessive pill popping Vicodin junkie
otherwise known as the ornery Gregory House MD.
*
I logged this in the "film" category
because there isn't any category for "TV."
I didn’t want to leave you in the place where you had died
The doctors heard me singing as I sat by your side
And the people with cut fingers and burns from the chip oil
Wondered what was happening and came by for the ride
You do not get free music on Emergency Ward Ten
Death is just a shadow but we don’t know the end
People wander happily holding broken nails
I was so delirious that I saw round the bend
They take away the catheters, the drug lines and the charts
They expect you to be normal in the grave that was a heart
So wander down to Costa’s and imagine how it feels
Drinking from a tea bag, the cup broke , it’s that stark
The doctors who were frozen by a woman’s singing parts
Feel themselves still melting in the cavern of the dark
They hear the swish of gossamer, the window opens smart
Well, go there if you want to, it’s just a different park
We wander in the shadows of the here and of the there
Stumbling over pavements, taking photos of the Ark
Listening to the symbols, seeing what’s so dear
Rattling all the funny bones and winding up the larks
I didn’t want to leave you but they had got no empty bed
There’s no room for the living let alone the dead
The body is dissolving and it flows down from the heights
Goodbye, it’s all over now.Do turn off the lights
For a bit of theatre it’s cheaper than the Royal
Find someone who’s dying and take love to appeal
If it’s your own sweetheart you’ll have an empty bed
Buy a real stone tablet and swallow all the blood
My wife maintained her spirit and humor all through the pre-op preparation process. She
joked and laughed with the nurses, assistants and doctors as they poked her, pushed her, squeezed her, took blood, took measurements, poked her some more and basically, just abused the hell out of her in preparation for what we knew was a serious operation.
Many of the healthcare professionals did not know what to make of her smiling face,
sarcastic tone and bubbling humor as they were all well aware of the seriousness and risks involved with the upcoming surgical procedure. But her good humor was unwavering.
In the six months since her dissection and the two months since the decision to perform this operation, my wife did her homework. She knew exactly how serious her condition was and the risks involved with this necessary operation. And yet, she kept her spirits high and her optimism never dipped.
When the anesthesiologist came out just minutes before they rolled her into the operating room and explained, for what seemed like the one thousandth time in the last two weeks, the risks and seriousness of her procedure, for the first time, I noticed signs of fear on her face and saw tears well up in her eyes.
Holding my hand as we approached the operating room where I was to be left behind, she looked up at me and said, “Take care of yourself and our Spencer”. The doors swung close and the six hour operation commenced.
It’s now seven days later and Cindy is well on her way to a full recovery. The doctors could not be more pleased with how the surgery went and with the rapidity of her recovery. There is no reason to believe that, within 8 – 10 weeks, she cannot be back to her normal, active self.
She is back to joking, being sarcastic and a regular pain in everyone’s ass – she is slowly
becoming Cindy again.
I will never forget, however, in the one second of fear and worry, how her concerns were
about the well-being of me and our son – and, not about herself.
I love you Cindy Flach.
And, I hope that if you ever decide to read any of my poems – given you do not understand my obsession with writing these silly things – I hope like hell, you choose to read this one.
Welcome home, love.
Do we not euthanize our terminally ill
because it is not ethical?..
..or do we not do it because of something MORE unethical still?
It costs more to keep a terminally ill patient alive.
It costs much less to euthanize.
The longer you keep alive the terminally ill
the more the medical community can charge on the bill.
Perhaps paranoia is paying a visit with me,
but I smell an ulterior motive in the medical community.
My friend dying from cancer was in chronic pain.
I begged the doctors to give him more morphine.
They refused saying that an increase would probably kill him.
"So what!" I screamed, "Haven't you noticed? He's Dying!
He's going to die any God damned way!
He doesn't have to die this God damned way!
Have some God damned mercy You God damned quacks!
He's in constant pain and he shouldn't have to die like that!"
I screamed the above however within me silently.
It was out of my hands short of the "killer" being me,
but Chris, if I could only do it all over again
I would have put an end to all of your suffering
even at the risk of going to prison.
It would be a small price to pay for my little brother friend.
I was confused at the time and wasn't clearly thinking
so I just played it safe and did absolutely nothing
other than stay with you until the final end
through 18 long hours of constant suffering.
It may sound horrible, but I found such joy and relief
when in death I finally saw you truly at peace.
Imagine your tooth being drilled without any Novocain.
Imagine that going on forever with no relief from this pain.
That's the kind of suffering I witnessed my friend sustain
and ever since then I haven't been the same.
Think of me what you will, but I love and support Dr Kevorkian.
This Is In Honor Of Him. A Very, Very Great Man.