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.
Thank God for Them,
They who help those less fortunate than they.
They who assist the mentally challenged
struggling with the pressures of life everyday.
Where would we be without Them,
these unknown heroes who give us hope?
There are so many lost, so many confused,
so many unable to cope.
Few recall the social worker
who helped find many homeless a home,
or the psychologist who assured the depressed
that they need not face hardship alone,
or the psychiatrist whose medicine helped
to bring many lost souls back to earth.
They All Should Be Honored,
because whatever they're paid,
certainly can't be what they're worth.
**********************************************************
Unknown Heroes
The Lost Verse - To Kamar
I've known many such heroes throughout my life,
but among them, one shines, as does the brightest star.
This tribute is for you, along with my eternal thanks.
It's a privilege to have known you, Kamar.
***********************************************************
Ophthalmologist
Checked eyes
Have styes
Proctologist
Drop drawers
Up yours
Plastic Surgeon
Replace
Plain face
Gastroenterologist
Pass gas
No class
Dermatologist
All sorts
Of warts
Audiologist
Can't hear
Bad ear
Dentist
No Floss
Gross dross
Psychiatrist
Your bean
Not keen
Podiatrist
Big toe
Must go
ENT Specialist
Ope' maw
Say ahhh
Allergist
Please sneeze
Don't wheeze
Cardiologist
Poor bloke
Had stroke
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Judy Konos' "Your Footle Poem" Contest
She said that the stars were listening.
She said that her gift was a curse
but that was four years ago.
She said that she hoped
we would understand.
She added that she was proud
that her daughter had a child
but daughter had stopped speaking with her/
She never mentioned a date
or possible cause of death.
This summer, four years later
she told a friend she’d been drinking
since her boyfriend died of cancer.
She said that had cirrhosis
of the liver—
she said she couldn’t stop.
She refused detox—
she couldn’t stop.
She couldn’t let go
of her delusions,
her friends.
My friend and I looked
to see her website
about her poems and visions
had been taken down
and only her obit remained.
It was a clear day
when she called my friend
to tell him the news.
as she stood on her patio
and peered at clear skies.
knowing an overhead satellite
was reading her thoughts.
The psychiatrist gave her meds
to ease her delusions
as she bore the weight
of a body of knowledge
no one else possessed.
My friend called her
and called again
and she didn’t answer,
he and I pondered her fate
not knowing if she was
alive or dead.
It hurt thinking
maybe she wouldn’t
want us to know.
My friend and I reminisced
about the times we sat with her
on the sidewalk outside a coffee shop
and traffic passed
as we shared poems.
Back then
we always understood
her fears and aspirations
and we always loved her
as we listened between the lines.
growing up
my body
stopped
sane brain
chemicals
that are in
others naturally
passed by me
completely
stopped
reflecting
because
not absorb
ing i've been
reflecting
lately on
my childhood
and misunderstood
of who i was or would
become
so many factors
in making a fact
ory made human
being by being
programmed
without yet
within but not
knowing what
is missing and
so i grew up
a short history
no mystery of
what i've be
come since Mum was
always randomly turn
ing the radio dial of
reality so we grew
knowing and knew
all styles and forms
but adding more
my Dad military sworn
dictated discipline but
also liberalism since
he was an artist of many
sorts and banned books
were in our library
paint was freely fingered
for feel and application
no matter what our
family's destination
on the move from
place to place
always some
thing new to see and
taste leaving a mind
open that had already
been cracked i look
back and remember
what doctor's didn't
know then
so now here i am
in the here and now
thinking i'm a free
thinker but as music
plays continuously
in my elevator mind
i'm going up and or
down without a
ground wire
so now i am
a brain in a b movie
beaker keeping
kept in bodily
form from turning
Virginia Woolf or
Platt or perhaps
Hemingway since
i'm a man so can
relate but too late
my psychiatrist
and i have found
a proper balance
in mind meaning
my mind for what
was not provided
for if so Darwin
would have had me
extinct by now not
able or capable
to survive
so pharmaceuticals
balance my attitude
and keep me alive
then after years of
song singing i was
being bored
by the musical form
so changed my mind
to my university degree
i had for all time
then i knew not
by chance but
a strictly not
happenstance
when you were
introduced to
me, i, like a junkie
had the fix and
like an election
my votes are all in
and as i A D D
i simply need sleep
and
another
dose of
you
Form:
In real missile defense
There is this notion
These are native to you
And these are foreigner
SVOI CHUZHOI
In Russian language
This missile is GOI
There was this shameful event
VINCENNES
And we hit AIRPLANE
passenger iran 655
It was HUMAN MISTAKE
it wasn't intended
but it is victimizing
via bias of people
taking action for a sign
I hate myself for this mistake
MY THE COMMANDER
MISS make take
try solving this as psychiatrist
as spy as physicist
BUT DO
I hate being looping in this hook forever
where is this deepest depth the dag
THE SCOOBY DOO
He was fearful that if he fell asleep,
lithium batteries in his cells would leak.
A new prescription his psychiatrist wrote
and that's how he started on Depakote..
His ups and downs were hard to endure.
One day he seized on the kitchen floor.
There wasn't a history of seizures before.
In time he grew so darn depressed that most
mornings he could barely get dressed.
His psychiatrist put him on Vraylar.
Soon he was flying high, like a rock star.
Eventually became delusional and wrecked his car.
The psych. scribbled while drumming one thumb,
and put him back on his Lithium.
People stop blaming "the elevator man."
He's taking his meds. He sticks to the plan.
Guns Don’t Kill People
Guns Don’t kill people
People kill people with kindness
Guns are evil
Guns kill guns
Psychiatrist treat themselves to candy
Nothing else, since fire arms are inanimate
Don't respond well to therapy
Guns sneak up on one another in the night
They don’t use knives, poisons or potions
Train themselves on one another with their sights
With bullet certainty
To commit their crimes
Gun One waits for gun Two in the dark
Both stoked to pull the trigger
Just then, baby gun jumps into action
Although it is a little pistol
limited experience in lethal explosive force
It fires on them again and again
Both senior guns are dead but really dead
It is not an illusion
You can draw your own conclusions
Don’t jump to them
And do so in your head
Bang bang
Foundation.
Does writing letters help purge negative emotional feelings after a breakup?
Title:
Catharsis
(A man writes a letter to put with many others. He writes one each month to try to calm his mind, regarding breakup advice from a psychiatrist)
Thinking about you and the first day we wed
Spiritually
As I sit here
Under our once favourite tree
Writing to you again through poetry
In the form of a letter I'll save with the many others
So time won't forget us
I still find myself having a familiar feeling
Where originally
I couldn't sleep
Kept awake each night with the lone thought which beat like a heavy drum within
With such zeal
Does she still love me
My Lucy
For love has planted a seed
Then I always used to get a supernatural feeling like I'm being watched by someone who too
Like me has a special touch
A gift of second sight which lets them see too much
For whenever I closed my jaded blue eyes
I used to feel you there
Waiting like a new Lola Carmichael
Ready to judge
Behind my open eyelids
Slowly taking
All in
I sometimes used to hear your low breathing
And when the air turned suddenly colder
And my hair turned a little bit grayer as I got older
I always used to say aloud
May peace be with you
And God carry you
Whenever you need to be to renew and carry in your heart
This thought that our old love which I pray still binds us
And we will never be apart
Amen
And the sudden being watched sensations used to stop
So hopefully,
Wherever you are
You will forever feel satisfied, our relationship was so special
And something so magical
Still in the twilight hours of living
Survives
For it's now transcendental
For although we both once had to wrestle hard like Samson and Goliath with the Devil
Our old love still blooms like a lone red rose
So sentimental and vibrating with such vigour and bliss
And still follows me wherever my life
Goes
And will stand the test of time
Like something once painted by the legendary Michaelangelo
Goodnight and god blessed
My love
For I can feel you're here reading this
Forever yours
Terry
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
The world’s leading psychiatrist
sat beneath fluorescent light
with a legal pad full of storms
and said:
There are people
who notice too much.
Not intelligence alone—
no, intelligence is cheap now,
diploma mills
sold by universities and politicians
like cigarettes once were.
I mean the curse
of seeing the machine move
behind the curtain.
A twitch before betrayal.
A smile with murder hiding in its gums.
The way a woman says “fine”
while sharpening emotional knives in silence.
The way a cop touches his belt
before deciding who is guilty.
The way crowds repeat lies
until lies grow bones and begin voting.
Super pattern recognition.
The brain becomes a prison guard
watching every shadow for fingerprints.
You notice repetitions.
Abusers with different faces
but identical appetites.
Friends who become enemies
using the exact same sentences
as the last ones.
History wearing fake mustaches
pretending it has changed.
Soon sleep becomes impossible.
Because once a man sees the pattern
he cannot return
to ordinary blindness.
The psychiatrist lit a cigarette
he was not allowed to smoke
and stared through the hospital window
at the city twitching below.
“Most people survive,” he said,
“by ignoring connections.”
But some people—
the wounded ones,
the hypervigilant,
the ones forged in chaos—
their minds become radar.
They can hear tension
before voices rise.
Can smell manipulation
like rain before thunder.
Can predict abandonment
three conversations early.
It is more useful in war.
Terrible for love.
Because eventually
they stop asking
whether danger is present
and begin assuming
it always is.
That is when pattern recognition
becomes prophecy.
And prophecy
becomes loneliness.
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