Long Nurse Poems
Long Nurse Poems. Below are the most popular long Nurse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nurse poems by poem length and keyword.
Having a CT Scan in a couple of days
Most likely looking for a brain
Hope they find something that resembles such
Not finding one might be a strain
Might think the Scanner is no longer working
Nothing's showing up on the screen
Came up with an idea for having some fun
Pulled the plug and heard someone scream
“Look at this, this man's missing a brain”
Never in the annuls of medicine
Have they come across this rare phenomenon
His head's filled with a stuff like gelatin
Literally ten doctors were quickly summoned
All looked astonished and took notes
Chuckled to myself at the fuss I'd created
TV stations were looking for quotes!
Finally had to tell them of my fun little gig
But most didn't find it too funny
Told me, “Lie down and no more shenanigans
Or the nurse will call your mummy!
In the beginning when the Godhead decided a new race to create,
He made Adam and Eve and gave them the ability to procreate.
With God as Creator and Adam as father,
Eve was destined the nations of the world to mother.
The serpent so subtle and cunning caused Eve to sin,
And in that very moment the consequence of dying did begin,
As punishment God said Adam’s life would be toilful,
And the process of childbirth for Eve would be painful.
Eve was so elated when she gave birth to her firstborn son Cain,
But little did she know that he would be the cause of much pain.
Soon after she birthed her second son named Abel,
He God’s command did obey, but against God Cain did rebel.
When God refused his offering, he let anger boil up in his head,
And when it was all over his brother Abel was dead,
Even as his birth brought joy to his mother Eve,
His violence against his brother caused her heart to grieve
Though our mothers the perfection of Eve do not possess,
We their children throughout our lives must confess,
They surely inherited all her maternal qualities,
As evidenced by our mothers’ numerous abilities.
They carry us for nine months often in great discomfort,
Then have to endure the physical torture of childbirth,
After we are born a lifetime nurture and caring commences,
Often in the face of numerous obstacles and sundry offences.
The roles mothers perform are too many to number,
Nurse, wife, chef, chauffeur, broken heart mender,
Psychologist, teacher, activist, referee, entertainer, nutritionist,
Alchemist, gardener, homemaker, law enforcer and home economist.
When God the family did establish and roles for its members did assign,
A special role for mothers he did wisely design,
This multifaceted role which required such skill could be filled by none other,
Than the indefatigable, amazing person we simply call mother.
So, on this day devoted to the honor of mothers,
We pay tribute to the ones who spend their lives caring for others,
Whether they are alive or dead,
We will never let the memory of them fade from our head.
The Mariner ashore
the night in the hallway paled into a yellowish screen
showing a black&white movie ca 1963
A time machine of memories sent him back to the years
to meet people long since gone.
A family at the dinner table of people he knew too well
the shadow of his 125 years old father, was not there
nectar drinking Colibri exotic as Christmas present never received, the one in the toy shop, a red firetruck
with wooden wheels
And he, the son of the oldest man in the world, had gone to sea, and when he returned nothing was as remembered, differently by the people around the table
A lacuna of missed years, a distance that was unbridgeable whenever he came home, a stranger silent
augmenting the gap filled with politeness.
They had known and seen him grow to adulthood, but his character remained a mystery, sitting in the living. room
somehow they were related to him, they knew he would leave soon.
A nurse gently touched his shoulder, are awake?
Yes, mother, I'm home from the sea
He blinks in and out in a wingchair,
overhears what visitors say
when patients
can be talked about
as if not there.
People speak well of the dying,
even of dying strangers,
to him their words
prematurely shovel earth.
The terminally sick
must be accommodated,
penciled into time slots,
eased gently into oblivion.
He listens as he slips downstream
on a raft of morphine.
These last trips are scenes taken
from childhood books.
His own life story has become
absurd, it is almost as if
he is a character in someone else's life,
a Huckleberry Finn
whistling through Dantes Inferno.
What he really wants
is a rocking horse and ice-cream.
A nurse brings him ice-cream,
but it's the wrong flavor.
He wonders if anyone can see
the horse he rides upon,
his ten-gallon hat is as white
as a flying nun's Cornette.
The occasional visitors
watch the dying in dreadful relief.
Hypnotic minds drone like trapped bee's.
Frank Sinatra jets in from wonderland,
hands him a coloring book.
If only he had crayons
to fill in the blanks.
The doctors did everything they could to save you but it wasn't a success.
I knew you were dead when I saw you lying on the hospital bed motionless.
When the nurse examined you, she confirmed that you were gone.
I knew life would never be the same and it would be hard to go on.
You were buried with a stuffed Easter Bunny and a card that I bought for you.
When they lowered you into the ground, saying goodbye was hard to do.
You died on a Wednesday which was your least favorite day.
It has been six years since the date when you passed away.
This year, the anniversary of your death has landed on Wednesday.
You despised that day of the week and your death made my life gray.
When you were in the hospital, you were also visited by your niece.
You were the greatest mother on the planet, may you Rest in Peace.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013.]
I hope you never get old!
Can someone
take me downtown?
I can't drive
my car anymore...
I've got to get
my prescriptions filled...
I've got to
make it to
the drug store...
I never thought
I would ever
see the day...
When the body
controls the mind...
Maybe tomorrow
I won't know
my own name...
I hope...
that will be
the day that I die
Chorus
I hope you never get old...
It's such a shame
how time wears you down...
You can't go back
to your childhood...
Would you want to
if you knew how?
Remember the swing
on the old oak tree...
when you fell off
and broke all your toes?
And the teenage years
brought you so many tears...
but it's much better
than being old.
I hear old Joe's
got his own room...
he can finally
sleep safe and sound...
I bet he'll keep on
sleepwalking at night...
and in the morning
hope he will be found...
The day nurse
smiles when she sees me...
I think
it's my day for a bath...
I said "sometimes I wish
that I was fifty years younger"
She replied
"you're always good for a laugh".
Chorus
repeat two times
fade
John Derek Hamilton
December 11,2016
January 20, 1919
My Dearest Ernie,
I don't know what I expected ... this is what I wanted - what I requested, but now that I'm here, I want no part. The screams, the blood, the limbs, stacked like firewood in the corner, it's all I see ... even when I'm asleep. A nurse is supposed to be emotionless, I suppose, so I have learned to hide it well, but in the dark of my tent at night, my pillow gets the worst of it.
Each man who comes through reminds me of you ... of US, and I keep expecting one to have your face. Tell me you won't be seeing action again - promise me - you MUST promise, or I won't survive this. God forgive me I am so sick of it ALL. I have left this hell a hundred times, (I even got as far as the canteen one night), but then I think of these poor boys without me, and I have to turn around ...
Forgive me, my love, but guilt and duty hold me like a cross, and I must remain until the war is over. Hold onto the ring, and get it blessed ... THAT is my promise to you. I dream of when this madness is finally over, when we will see this world together, and share the mysteries of our travels ... inward AND outward. Do you know what I desire most, Ernie?
Just you, love ... and your angry charm.
Truly,
Agnes
( This is an imaginary letter from Agnes von Kurowsky to Ernest Hemingway )
Six wives - three Catherines, two Annes and a Jane
were married to Henry in the course of his reign.
An Anne and a Catherine met their end by the axe.
Anne Boleyn was too haughty, Catherine Howard too lax.
Henry's very first wife was Catherine of Aragon,
both pious and faithful, a virtuous paragon.
Producing no sons, she incurred a divorce.
Anne of Cleves followed a similar course.
Her face was spotty; she had bad teeth and bad breath.
Don’t trust a portrait, the wise man saith..
Jane Seymore very sadly died as she gave birth.
Henry's last wife, Catherine Parr, was a woman of worth.
More a nurse than a playmate, she bathed Hal with affection
and did a good job to relieve his dejection.
Envoi
So that's the close of this ditty,
which I think is rather a pity.
No, I'm not the Poet Laureate,
as the Royal Court never saw to it.
If I were paid to do so,
I'd keep writing like Robinson Crusoe.
Dear POETRYSOUP, Hope this finds YOU and YOURS Healthy and High in the Spirit. I am writing this on the Inspiration of Heather Ober's Contest "Love Letter". First off I want to Thank-YOU all for YOUR many Gracious Comments. They are appreciated and Inspirational. Some of YOU know about my strokes and the handicap they cause me, as far as writing any comments back to YOU. I am sorry.A few of YOU know about my stomach cancer,and how the doctors removed half of my stomach and replaced it with whatever they replace stomach lineing with. However that lining ripped and I go for surgery tomorrow. Here is my delima; After the recovery from the surgery they want me to move back to the apartment (they pay for) and leave my Cabin on the mountain for ever. I have a 24/7 nurse,(and my Spirit Nurse; Suzanne Delaney) his name is Nick and he said he would stay with me at the cabin (with a cut in pay). now I do not know why Nick is a Nurse and not a Doctor, he can do everything but surgery. sorry I am rambling.
YOU are probable saying to Yourselves "What has this got to do with LOVE? By my cabin I have a house, actually a Shrine : to my DEAREST Most Only Beloved LENORE : my
Wife. I have her POETRY, her Pictures and her Butterfly collection. I had the only thing left from Our Everlasting Day; Her Transparent White Wedding Vail, stolen 4 years ago in a break-in. So my ? to my Beloved Family : POETRYSOUP is :Should I go to the Apartment(across the street from hospital)or spend the next 6 moths to a year at the cabin where my True LOVE abides,with Doctor Nick. I LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Loyal Liege...HGarvey Daniel Esquire Aka - Harry - HG
We are soul first and body second, not the other way around, the body being the transport system for the soul.
Speaking to a nurse she explained to me the purpose of opening a window when somebody dies.
When my dad died, there was a shift in energy. The phones wouldn't work.
I felt a rumbling go through the floor, the same as the feeling of standing on the curb when a very heavy truck drives by.
I had the feeling of strong wind, like a herd of horses running by or angels flapping their wings strongly.
This wavy cloud of energy, a distorted water like substance came down the path and I walked through it.
I returned to my human form the moment a fireman placed his hand on my shoulder.
But insects too have personality because they have soul.
We all came from star stuff, we all go back to star stuff, the universe wastes nothing.
I don't need scientists to prove what I already know and experienced.
There was some experiment when doctors measure the weight of the body.
The brain floods itself with DMT just before death and if you know what DMT does then it explains why we have an afterlife.
Eating molten lead could cure cancer, nobody has yet proven that it doesn't so, however unlikely it may be.
My father passed away and he talks to me all the time from the spirit world.
Could be the fact we run on electricity, factually speaking.
People around me and even on the news were answering questions I was asking quietly in my head.
The night he died, I was sound asleep. I woke up to 3 violent knocks on my bedroom door. There was nobody there of course.
For those who don’t believe, there will never be enough proof.