Long Psychiatrist Poems
Long Psychiatrist Poems. Below are the most popular long Psychiatrist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Psychiatrist poems by poem length and keyword.
Hospitals are designed
(a) to make you appreciate your bed at home
(b) to prompt many unanswerable questions
(c) to facilitate smooth patient care
(d) to never complain about your wife’s cooking again
Referrals to a psychiatrist are made when
(a) you become catatonic after having no sleep for a week
(b) after complaining about a noisy roommate you start convulsing with frustration
(c) you ask the nurse for a sleeping aid and she brings
warm milk
(d) You are all set for discharge but the Dr is delayed in surgery all day
Reflecting on a hospital stay makes you
(a) wonder how you survived the long nights
(b) vow never to eat chicken broth again
(c) appreciate there are no drafts behind when you get up for a walk
(d) note how quiet the house really is
The doctor asked, “Any bizarre thoughts occurred to you?”
Mr. Trexler, the patient, had many since age two.
However, as he would mention with hesitation,
“Bizarre” was the psychiatrist’s reiteration.
The patient noticed the analyst’s keen scrutiny.
Despite all the thoughts, there was no spontaneity.
He felt pressured to produce answers in a hurry
Trexler’s mull would be, “How about the rhesus monkey?”
This patient had realized the doctor’s time was short.
He wondered which item might elicit a retort.
The Madison Avenue bus incident would stall
any possible response from the patient at all.
Mr. Trexler responded to the doctor’s question.
“No bizarre ones” he said with some slight inhibition.
This patient’s session dragged on for twenty minutes more.
At the end, the psychiatrist let him know the score.
“You’re scared,” said the doctor. “Do you want to know what for?
You have pushed your chair away from me across the floor.
Moving back a few inches is an indication
that you are overcome with a slight trepidation.”
They shook hands as the patient showed a mendacious grin.
As Mr. Trexler left, the next patient entered in.
A previous experience would pass in review:
This was riding the bus on Madison Avenue.
A week later, Trexler was back in the patient’s chair.
For many weeks thereafter, he would find himself there.
He began each session with thick vapors in his mind.
Other physiological symptoms he would find.
This man harbored neurotic feelings of the worst kind.
They were all too common and each rendered him resigned.
The doctor asked, “Have you found something giving relief?”
Trexler replied, “Yes, a drink” was his answer quite brief.
The patient saw each time had almost no difference.
He would soon assume psychological transference.
By placing himself within the psychiatrist’s stance,
Mr. Trexler soon discovered pattern resemblance.
This proved to be nothing new to this doctor’s patient.
Vicarious events came from things that were latent.
Trexler might see himself in other occupations
as a barber, cab driver, or priest with oblations.
To be continued
Dedicated in memory of Mr Dangerfield, Rodney.
He was a comic few will ever forget.
He is most known probably for his classic routine;
"I Don't Get No Respect.
When I was born the doctor delivered to my parents the very sad news.
"We tried everything, but I'm sorry, he managed to pull through."
I Don't Get No Respect.
I remember taking my first steps so vividly
and then dear old Dad tripping me.
I Don't Get No Respect.
I asked Dad if I could go ice skating on the lake with all of the others.
He then said to me, "Wait until it gets warmer."
I Don't Get No Respect.
My mother practiced this form of birth control constantly.
Whenever Dad wanted sex, she'd show him a picture of me.
I Don't Get No Respect.
"I lost my parents. Do you think we'll ever find them?" I cried.
"I don't know," said the policeman, "There's so many places they can hide."
I Don't Get No Respect.
In the kidnapper's note to my parents for ransom
it read, "Give us five thousand dollars or you'll see your kid again."
I Don't Get No Respect.
Last night, my wife wearing a sexy negligee met me at our front door all alone.
There's just one problem with this scenario. She was coming home.
I Don't Get No Respect.
My wife phoned and said, "Come on over. There's nobody home."
When I arrived, guess what? There was nobody home.
I Don't Get No Respect.
During sex my wife always wants to talk to me.
She called me from a hotel recently.
I Don't Get No Respect.
One day I came home from work early
and saw a man run naked jogging past me.
I asked, "Why are you jogging naked buddy?"
He replied, "Because you came home early."
I Don't Get No Respect.
"What'll ya have?" the bartender asked me.
Indecisive I replied, "Just surprise me."
So he pulled out a naked photo of my wife for me to see.
I Don't Get No Respect.
I went to a hooker, thinking it might be nice.
When I dropped my pants, she dropped her price.
I Don't Get No Respect.
My psychiatrist said that I'm going crazy.
"I'd like a second opinion," I replied to she.
"Very well," she said, "You're also ugly."
I Don't Get No Respect
I told my psychiatrist, "I'm going to kill myself when I get the chance."
She told me I'll have to start paying her well in advance.
I Don't Get No Respect.
No Respect At All.
I've had enough of all of this.
This is my final curtain call."
Major depression crept in,
seeped through my defences like smoke,
the devil shimmying off my shoulder,
setting up a nest in my brain-
a puppeteer of despair,
fingers dancing on my strings,
turning thoughts to marionettes
that contort and squirm in shadows,
a cacophony of whispers,
a choir of chaos.
I had to confront those demons,
childhood phantoms pressed in the attic,
now bursting forth like weeds,
thick and thorny,
clawing for air,
their voices, echoes of innocence lost,
demanding an accounting -
a wildfire licks my skin.
Dismembered by the psychiatrist,
each session a surgical strike,
my thoughts on display
upon a cold, sterile table -
this, my autopsy,
a catalogue of fragmented dreams,
my heart caught in a jar,
tender pieces examined,
wondering how they fell apart.
Features of psychosis wrap around me,
a mantle sewn from a bunch of uncertainty,
trapped within this home,
a labyrinth of lost hope.
My organised mind,
once a temple of clarity,
now a broken shrine,
debris of sanity scattered
like confetti at a wake.
But now,
I’m facing truths,
telling truths,
my voice a tremor,
each syllable a battle cry,
the echoes of my past
still haunting the corridors.
The unnerving ghosts
linger like unwanted guests,
whispers slithering
through the cracks of my mind,
taunts cloaked in shadows,
doubt’s relentless parade.
Yet when the weight of the world
crushes my spirit,
when I crave a sliver of light,
the fireflies appear -
small sparks lighting up the dark,
their glow a resistance,
a dance of resilience against hopelessness,
a flicker of warmth in the cold -
a signal from my unresting mind,
reminding me that, amidst the ruins,
my heart can still flare up;
that beauty resides in the fractures
and hope, like fireflies,
lights the path home.
We first met in high school during my last year and your first year. We hung out the entire year all the way until I asked the question of going out with me. Your rejection at the time was not fully felt until years later when you would come back what do I do with interest. You were never truly interested in me as I was within my whole desire back then to be interested in you. We would try to hang out and try to rekindle memories from the past as we are both now adults period of course, unusual to be with me was more based upon the few of you never having a family. While the interest was no longer prevalent as I had moved on. A different friend from high school is in my life.
You never meant to fall in love with me, well, that love was diminished every time we saw each other and jazz band, and you would mention something about a boyfriend. You did not have a boyfriend as he would not have been comfortable with you having lunch with me. There were never any pictures of no tagged events or anything showing that you were in a relationship. The fantasy you had was on your head just like in the land of Narnia. So, saying goodbye to you was not hard. Only a few would know of your story and only a few would call you brave for that been a part of me since we were in high school.
The spirit you talked to are not of your loved ones. It is possible that you have not asked them simple questions to see if there are truly the spirit of your relatives. Instead of your church and instead of doing these readings, you need to see a psychiatrist.
Can you honestly answer 3 important questions for me to ever consider you as an extended family member?
Do you truly love me or is it a matter of running out of options?
Do you see yourself contributing to the relationship in a manner that is beyond that of a custodial?
If we are reflection of one another what makes you think that you reflect me when it comes to how you present yourself to the wall and to me?
I am stuck in the darkness of another sunny day
The demons inside of me, prescriptions cannot slay
My psychiatrist is demented
I’ve got psychoses she invented
For each new diagnosis, extra I must pay
The world inside my head is a scary place to be
Sometimes I am unaware of which persona controls me
I am alone in a crowd
The silence is too loud
But it is too crowded when I am in solitary
Positive forces are in a negative state
If everything is normal – there must be a mistake
The reinforcements are arriving much too late
The euphoria I feel, I know will soon abate
My masculinity is crying like a child
My libido is running around wild
My id has started to let go
There is nothing super about my ego
I can no longer function
At this neurotic junction
Compassion is out of fashion
And pierces like acupunction
Individual personalities inside
Have been born and died
Some committing suicide
A tact I do not abide
Left to devices of my own
Captive in my home
Not casting any stones
Decaying to the bones
Dialing 9-1-1 on the telephone
My husband and I watch a show
Which was aired quite a long time ago –
In 1955;
(Were you even alive?)
Think of all that those folks didn’t know!
For a panel of four had to guess
Occupations, so they would address
Guests with questions for clues
About topics they’d choose
To be answered with “No” or with “Yes.”
Certain jobs were exotic back then,
Like “psychiatrist” (strictly for men)
Or a skunk-breeding guy
Or a worm raiser (why?)
Which led up to the big moment when…
It was time for the mystery guest,
Who would leave everybody impressed;
So the panel was masked
For, of course, they were tasked
With a name-that-celebrity quest.
In the days before Google and such,
Which today is a much-needed crutch,
Simple games could be played
And intelligence weighed
In a manner with which we’ve lost touch.
Oy, he has the answers to all!
He is psychiatrist, pollster,
Self-righteous, pompous
And that will be his downfall.
Beady-eyed, he is just waiting for you.
A snake charmer who loves to destroy a poet or twenty-two!
When you see him slither down Poetry
Soup Lane,
Better watch out for he is verified, hurtful!
He will humiliate you, and tryto swallow you with, sharp, famous fangs.
I have been bitten, boy, do I know!
He is coming to poison you with his intelligentsia show.
His name, not signicant, his heart cold
as ice.
You will know when you have been bitten,
as he shreds poets like Wuhan rice.
Your poetry, your feelings mean little to
him.
So many of you already think his demeaning
others , is delightfully quite in?
You best not ever disagree with this snake,
He will turn and humiliate you as a fake.
Best ask his permission before you post.
Or you will be a joke, no kidding ,the most?
7-5-2021
*Image of Eventful 2023 by NBHA.
Parodical Resolutions 2023
Conceding the current aspects of conformity, I have constructed a perspective of 2023 resolutions in a parody.
I will turn off the light so that I can see in the dark better,
I will heed my Yoga instructor's advice, "Do what you can do," and then I'll leave,
I will tell my fiancee who wanted our wedding to be in white...to pray for snow,
I will always agree with others, that way we'll both be wrong,
I will tell my mother-in-law, not to tell me how to raise my kids, since she didn't do a good job either,
I will start smoking cigarettes again so I can quit the habit of chewing gum,
I will go back to drinking alcohol so I can finally drive on the street instead,
I will obey all traffic laws whenever the police are nearby,
I will see the psychiatrist every day before I go to work...as we wave goodbye from across our neighbor's yard,
I will be a good Christian and attend every Sunday service at the Synagogue,
I will tell my wife that she looks very pretty before I put on my eyeglasses,
I will tell my kids to do their homework and be smart like me, but first, they must beat me in video games,
I will say out loud, "I'll always be true and faithful!", but this time without laughing,
I will be going out on blind dates, hoping that they won't hit me with their cane,
I will always remember the three important things in life...okay make it four,
I will join a bridge club because my wife said that I'm a loser...I leap off next Thursday,
I will choose between World Peace and a billion dollars--the color of my new Lamborghini,
I will always tell the truth whenever it's convenient,
In conclusion,
I will enjoy 2023.
2023 January 01
I've written about chickens with big fat legs
Told of eating my way through the fridge
My psychiatrist says I'm really quite normal
Though I feel unbalanced, a smidge
I've heard of a place, can't remember where
They can treat an affliction like mine
Problem is though, it means a lobotomy
Sends a quake up and down my spine
Don't wanna be mumbling naughty verses
As I wander the streets in my socks
Or talking about inappropriate subjects
Like armpits, halitosis or snots
One reviewer said I was absolute bonkers
But still sings along with my songs
Seems like she might have the same affliction
Methinks both of our mind's long gone
The bottom line to all this nonsense is
Not much can be done so I'm stuck
Wearing this crown of a silly old jester
And quacking all day like a duck