Long Hospitalized Poems
Long Hospitalized Poems. Below are the most popular long Hospitalized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hospitalized poems by poem length and keyword.
we plan our future
but have not added our broken leg
Bam!
Ouch!
Things change fast
We begin to heal
filled with optimism
We can still reach our goal
a temporary side road
we replan, replenish, rehearse
Refocus on our future
Car wreck!
What?
We’re hospitalized and helpless
Rehab takes a long time
Depression might set in
We are disabled, disillusioned and disheveled
Is there a glimmer of hope?
Can we continue our path?
Some of us cannot go on
These souls have not rallied, refreshed or regrouped.
Despair holds them down in the ditch of the side road
Most of us can continue
The luckiest ones find strength and stories in the side roads
Understanding that the goal is not the future,
The journey is the test
and the road we have travelled for a reason.
We are the optimists, and we do well
In our world plenty of light has got brutally put out
In our faces a lot of orange leaves no more sprout
In your sorrow just hollow floral bunch I hand out
The dark shadow of Erebus becoming more stout
Prayer for concord are burnt out and hospitalized
Had there been around today the famous Orpheus
In our tongue and lips and the restive unconscious
Had there been some scraps of broken lyre wires
Our music could have somewhat cured our distrust
Escalating with the universe in its space and time
With your lyre as you would walk the paths of pain
Like the mother of night the stars in a sweet strain
Like the palm of morning a harmony would contain
All the lions and tigers that we nurture in our brain
And they would all act like their blond and mild fur
This very Orpheus however got wobbly and fragile
As his partner Eurydice he looked back at to fondle
She vanished in the air leaving a pain and puzzle
Gloomy and vagabond he was slain by a scoundrel
Though eminent our cognitive poise we mustn’t lose
October 10, 2017
For Poems that paint a picture Poetry Contest 4
Sponsored Contest by Silent One
My Hurt,
My Hurt seems to still be there.
It is almost 15 years ago it happened.
I usually like to help people.
This one time, changed the way I am today!
My Hurt,
I was asked on Facebook to help someone.
I went over there thinking there wife was there.
Wrong, he sexually assaulted me.
My trust, dignity and identity disappeared.
My Hurt,
I ask why was I the one hospitalized?
Why wasn't he. He was the one who needed it.
I do forgive after all these years.
He played games and tormented me.
This was before blocking, and reporting.
My Hurt,
I keep asking why me?
What did I do to deserve it.
Stay safe when you agree to help someone.
Please head my story. It changed me forever.
Saving my breath for next time...I get offended for no reason some of the times...sometimes, I wish I wasn't a joke in your eyes...at times, I wish I was taken not lightly or taken for granite by you! I feel that I'm insignificant and worthless in your eyes when I should be gold and silver on the spotlight...a celebrity with fame and fortune is what I deserve to be because of all the busy work and effort I've done with my perfect pick of being a singer songwriter...I should've been famous by now and I crave recognition and appreciation daily and nightly...but, alas, to no avail! Temporary, natural highs transform to hideous lows of disappointing desolation
Don't put me down...don't shame my name of fortunate fame...don't humiliate me with your upside down frown...don't hunt me down with your negative ways, for my positivity can be hunted down like untamed game; friendemy you came out to be and I'm nervouscited by the way you make me feel...anger got in the way, but you overlook that and understand me like it's no big deal...you are forgiving and I know I'm forgiven, for you and He has given me many chances, but I didn't pass the test of loyalty a few months later...I got hospitalized 6 times for my emotional pain that has been captive in my inner being for a long period of time...bipolar bruised my self-esteem, but you and I are on each other's team no matter what circumstances we encounter...my past is behind me and I paid my vows to you with my trust, so we are moving forward in light of a fantastic future of gracious glory...sorrowful in love...regrettably from down above
***********************************************************************
My first session with Kamar had gone rather well,
despite the fact that I felt as if I’d just returned from hell.
My Son had another episode and had to yet once again be hospitalized.
He lost his housing privileges also, which in turn left me somewhat traumatized.
Of course Kamar was supportive and tried to make me come to see
that I’ve been more than a true loved one could ever possibly be.
I recall Her going on and on about all of the good things that I’ve done
to try to help and rehabilitate my loving but sick Son.
I know that She means well but my attitude is, “So What.”
All that hard work and all the time spent and what have we got?
A young man who most likely will never be able to care for himself
because he’ll probably always be in the worst mental health.
I can’t live forever. What will become of him when I’m gone?
Thoughts like that haunt me daily. Sometimes I think I just can’t go on.
That’s why these sessions with Kamar are so very important to me.
She shows me strength hidden within me that sometimes I’m just too blind to see
and she constantly reminds me that Hope comes in many forms,
that there’s new research on the horizon that may someday right all these wrongs.
***********************************************************************
We covered most of the tragedy that was the life of my Son’s Mother.
She too is also a hero of sorts and she’s one unlike no other.
She was pretty much abandoned at her very moment of birth
by her mom who disappeared off of the face of the earth.
Her mom took off with her father’s best friend.
She probably had legitimate reasons,
but she left her children behind in the hands of a fiend.
He was the ultimate in child perversion.
So at the age of eight, she was on her own.
She had no choice but to run away.
She’d rather eat from dumpsters and sleep in depots.
Living at home had a far worse price to pay.
The cold of some nights were never as cold as his cold and clammy old hands
all over her sweet innocence whenever he desired. Whenever Her Daddy Demands.
***********************************************************************
To continue click NEXT for Sessions Shared With Kamar Part 2
An intoxicated man hit a woman's car when he decided to drive.
She didn't die when her car was struck but her son didn't survive.
She couldn't even attend her son's funeral because she was hospitalized.
She lost her only child and she's also paralyzed.
She's paralyzed from the neck down and she will never walk again.
He drove while intoxicated and two people paid for his horrible sin.
That drunk driver learned that drinking and driving is a stupid thing to do.
When he hit that woman's car, there wasn't just one victim, there were two.
When that man became intoxicated, he drove and without even thinking twice.
A stupid decision was made and because of ignorance, she's paying the price.
The drunk driver feels remorse for his mistake and as he sits in a jail cell, he sheds tears.
This story is nothing new, there are many thousands of drunk driving fatalities every year.
(This poem is fictional but it has been and will continue to be reality for many people)
I’m in a psychology class and as part of it we filled out several, detailed, personality evaluations. They said these were helpful in forming a psychological profile of the freshmen classes each year and of particular interest were these COVID years.
The professor said she’d be available, before finals, to review them with us if we were interested - and I volunteered. So in our review we’re going over my results and she says: “Your trauma history could produce this constellation of wit, wiriness and attachment-anxiety.”
I flinch, irritably, thinking, my “trauma history?” What, “trauma history?” Wondering if - maybe the professor was looking at the wrong paper?
She read my reaction and the consternation on my face, started flipping through the papers, and said, “According to the history you submitted, your father was killed when you were seven and you were hospitalized for...”
“OMG” I thought, blanking out what she was saying, “How could I have forgotten THAT?” Even for a moment. Then I sag with this oppressive, blanket-like wave of guilt at having put the crash so far out of my mind.
“The dismissal of childhood trauma is quite normal,” she said, putting her hand on my arm, “You have to put trauma out of your everyday thoughts - to get on with your life.” She assured me. “It’s quite normal.”
How many blind sides do I have? I wondered
Time stood still,
Darkness seemed to overcome me,
When I received that call,
I made frantic calls to my relatives,
Trying to breathe out the sadness,
You had been hospitalized,
As the family gathered around,
we were busy like bees trying to seek the best treatment,
My world seemed to turn upside down,
Every day I had to visit you ,
Trying to make small talk,
Conversations in whispers,
Time stood still,
As days became nights,
In my eyes seasons seemed to come and go,
As we arranged for the surgery,
You woke up from that coma,
Only for a few seconds and minutes,
Sprayed tears, seemed forever in my eyes,
a thousand voices in my head,
I was in my own world,
As the day turned into night,
As the blue moon emerged,
You passed away,
Gone forever from us,
My tears soaked my pillow at night,
I could see your pain, but could not let you go,
Now its been years,
My mum is not yet over your lose,
Sometimes vivid dreams come to me,
Remembering those old stories about our tribe,
Outside the fire place,
When the night was young and silence filled the air,
If wishes were horses,
I could wish to see you again ,
So you could brighten my smile granny,
These memories will remain painted in my mind,
What a sweet soul you were,
It’s sad the lord called you home,
To live grandpa behind,
Today I visit you once again,
To remember the good old times,
I can still feel your presence as the wind blows my sad tears away.
You called to share you miss your family.
Crying, you choked that you wanna come home,
want home to be more than just fantasy
and wish to end your long bi-polar roam.
I know you’ve no address or even comb,
so, say, are your words styrofoam or chrome?
Brother, you’ve pressed my sibling love button,
so well-worn from emotional pressing.
I am not a dysfunction scene glutton,
but how I now hope your call’s a blessing!
Ten years have my bro-miss feel progressing.
God help me, I want what you’re expressing.
Many are the miles separating us,
but no state-count can break our sibling chain.
You talk of making can cash for a bus,
then share problems with liver, heart and brain,
say you’re hospitalized and termed insane.
My own tears swell with new hope and old pain.
Hold tight Bro, I will drive straight on to you,
cherish you, share all we knew and loved thru.
... CayCay Jennings
January 26, 2018
We sat down at the kitchen table
Under an overhead light
And talked about my mother
My wife understood
I was the oldest, she said
Don’t wait for the others.
So I took care of mother
Paid the bills
Spoke to the landlord
Went food shopping
And did what needed to be done.
On a cold winter day
Mother was hospitalized
For the third time
I waited in the hall
Facing two red leatherette lounge chairs
The kind that are
Inexpensive and easy to clean
Vending machine just a few steps away
All designed to make someone
Feel comfortable.
Startled, I turned
T o see a nurse
Coming from nowhere
Her face a masquerade
As if she wanted to stop
And tell me something
But couldn’t
When she walked past me
I listened to her padded footsteps
As she disappeared
Down another beige corridor.
Absent mindedly
I returned to random thoughts
Odds and ends of an old woman’s life
When a heart aches
And memory fails
All is that left
Are promises
And words
Dangling somewhere
“Call us if you ever need anything.”
No one visited
Not the nieces
Not the nephews
She sent Christmas cards to
Stuffed with cash
Written in an old style of writing
Some misspellings
But always signed
“Love Grandma.”
Eager to show their concern
They call me now
And ask how she’s doing
I cradle the phone on my shoulder
And listen to their words
With a blank stare.
Mother has taken a turn for the worse
Cancer has spread
There is pain
But the medication masks it
And she sleeps most of the day
Seemingly in peace.
Occasionally she calls me
By someone’s else name
She’s forgotten a lot of things
After considering
What she’s been through
Perhaps it’s better this way.