Long Psychiatrists Poems
Long Psychiatrists Poems. Below are the most popular long Psychiatrists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Psychiatrists poems by poem length and keyword.
You do not care and now I can't feel.
How unlike the situation between us,
we both have changed but we do not reveal.
Under social esteem, we both are dealing
with no emotions left perhaps and less appealing.
How unknown we have become
but we hardly reveal.
Perhaps that's how emotions breathe their last breath!
Born by the adrenaline finally into the hands of psychiatrists a clinical death.
Now medicine calms my nerves and brain cells,
but these used to be calmed by long-distance kisses and your essence.
Once the vows we had taken for eternity
are now the prisoner of maturity.
We have become the perfect social component:
that we like each other on social sites
but the conversation never starts again!
Now medicines give me that relief
that I used to get from long conversations and fell asleep.
But you had to die a premature death
as you were becoming heavy in my mind and I couldn't breathe.
Therefore I buried you alive in the core of my heart,
but my feelings were not fallen apart.
At last, my emotions breathe their last breath
in the hands of psychiatrists, a clinical death.
My days were filled with limp lifts of your hands,
each a tear steeped in lost compassion.
You made me swim in a cold, clammy sea of sorrow~
and shaped me into a voiceless, motionless
s c u l p t u r e.
My cries were your joy~
your face and the devil’s wore identical masks.
Your indifference became a disease
to my heart, soul, and mind...
and you dimmed the r a g i n g f i r e of love
once emblazoned on my spirit.
"When yesterdays become devoid of compassion."
You wished me ceaseless tears.
You filled your heart with whatever floated your boats~
and most of what you swam with was worse than hatred~
yours are I n d i f f e r e n c e and n e g l e c t.
I knocked on psychiatrists' doors~
only to find them latched behind,
walls unspoken like the ones you built.
I tried to smoke, to numb my mind~
but thoughts were too heavy, too thick to lift.
Even alcohol grew placid on my tongue~
its burn too dull to matter.
Thank God I met Jesus~
on my wounds, He rubbed a healing balm,
His sunshine blossomed as treasure in my chest.
In the rubble of devastation, I found your love again.
But what am I supposed to do with it now?
Only that I am now made fearless, tearless..
by His
s c r I p t u r e.
Uma Carta de Amour
A letter of love I never wrote
“But I remember it well.”
as Maurice Chevalier sang
Once, I loved a dolphin
A swam along the ship
We sang a duet
People said the cook is mad again
The man is crazy again
As the dwellers on iron ship
Who had a pedestrian love affair
With **** magazines
This unequal affair of true love lost
As the sea got colder
She returned to the tropics
Fell in love with a harbour master
He was always there
At there at the end of the molo
Singing words of love.
Those in charge said he was mad
Yes, he was madly in love
He was sent to an asylum, were
Psychiatrists convinced him
His love of the dolphin was wrong
He disappeared when swimming to Martinique
But a love story never ends.
Every day...in fact, every 15 minutes,
someone, somewhere in America
picks up a gun and kills another person
for reasons unfathomable
It's a harsh, scalding reality...
Every now and then in our society
someone who shouldn't have an assault rifle,
takes it to school, or into a bar, a shopping mall
and starts using people as target practice
It's madness; a new normal!
Cowardly captains of complacency
in Washington continue to kick the can
down the road and feign interest
in gun reforms. Their cavalier disregard...
for domestic terrorism is beyond the pale!
Gridlock in the Senate means more casualties
from mass shootings in the future and GOP
politicians will keep playing armchair psychiatrists,
tagging the next active shooter as "mentally ill"
Why humanize them all? Some are heartless killers!
Mitch McConnell is as Mitch McConnell does,
as you and I know. "President" Trump is too busy
jumping from one scandal to another
to do something about gun control
Now he has his impreachment to worry about....
Campaign promises he made, still unkept.
Actions to be taken, he leaves to chance
with a predictable "We'll see what happens"
That seems to be his favorite go-to one-liner....
"We'll see what happens"?
I see nothing happening anytime soon
to curb mass shootings in America, do you?
It's very hard to make things happen...
when Washington is broken!
Date written: 09/30/2019
We’re on the same boat
Nurses and teachers,
Doctors and farmers,
Mr. Moreno and his “maricon”
Enrico Macias and his dry guitar,
We are on the same boat,
The Sevillans and the Marseillais,
The Brazilians and their forests,
My sister Anne and her diabetic patients
Catholics and Muslims,
we are on the same boat,
firefighters and butchers,
The jellyfish and the ancient Greeks,
Psychiatrists and Carl Jung,
the Breton cakes and the scholars,
We are on the same boat,
The astrophysicists and mangousts,
Tarzan and the pizza eaters,
The farmers and gold miners,
We are on a steaming boat,
That of men who seek God.
Aniruddha: Knowing too much might overturn you, completely.
Do you even know that?
Revati: Then perhaps,
it is better not to know too much..right?
Aniruddha: Knowing this way is quite irrational.
It is quite impossible as well.
You may say.
If you have to know,
know the whole truth.
So that you may decipher
the logical and the illogical too.
Know them both.
Revati: Started knowing all about that, gradually.
Started knowing you.
Knowing your reasons.
Your debates and unfolding stories of life.
(Empty teacup,
left alone with stains of leftovers.
Leaving behind the unended resonance
of spoken words,
stories foretold.)
Aniruddha: I am almost finished here.
Now, it’s your turn to speak...
About you.
As you truly are.
Intrepid, genuine and unambiguous.
Revati: Your words seem so familiar!
Exactly fitting and perfectly making sense!
Aniruddha: Is it so? How is it so familiar?
Could you be a little clearer?
Revati: Those psychiatrists also treat
almost all patients this way.
Exactly the same way!
Aniruddha: Wait a minute!
What makes you say so?
Why are you so prejudiced with complex?
Not everything rests on the food plate
of that tasty potato smash,
you know that, right?
Revati: Yes, indeed.
I know that for sure!
As long as there is a possibility
of landing at the posh airport,
is it not?
Higher-end dedication,
humming with a wise thought of placid height!
Aniruddha: Okay! Quite a word there.
Are those your own words?
Revati: Exactly, what else do you think?
Could you also be a little clearer?
Yesterday, Aniruddha posted his last mail.
His mails are glimpses of the heavens.
A cherished rainbow in dreams.
Killer cancer did not spare his body.
He had to return, one last time.
His last words were exactly this.
Even after reading for a thousand times,
Revati felt those words.
Those words were exactly this!
“How many death penalties are there
in one lifetime
you and I are not sure about that…
Perhaps one day
I will meet
at heaven's gate
To pick up the answer.”
Where there is a will, there is a way.
(Empty teacup,
left alone with stains of leftovers.
Leaving behind the unended resonance
of spoken words,
stories foretold.)
darkness into daylight
i want to kick the darkness ‘till it bleeds daylight
i want to expose the darkness
that permeates the souls of
passive aggressive fathers and mothers
who live in their own denial
and lay the foundation
for future psychopaths
i want to tear down the cancerous wall of denial
that eats at the soul of our society
and continues to turn the beautiful promise of humanity
into a sick farce.
i want my poetry to go into
psychiatrists offices
jail cells
and bedrooms that resound with deafening sorrow and misery
wish my poetry
could get her to turn the barrel away from her mouth
and believe
get the kid away from the crack pipe
and believe
get humanity to organize
and believe.
Time marches on but the story doesn't change.
Innocent lives being taken by a person whose deranged..
Last weekend in Pa. it was our state police, one is still
critical, and the other is now deceased..
The unstable shooter is also now gone.
Will this ever stop? What keeps going so wrong?
This tragic story truly rings home for me.
I had a person with mental health struggles in my family.
Psychiatrists rely on the pharmaceutical industry and
prescribe new medications that alter patients' brain chemistry.
Family members are often leery to commit, because our mental
hospitals discharge the patient still unfit, and they are left to
deal with the brunt of it.
At home, these families struggle to keep things in control.
Many times that stress alone will take a major toll.
How many more peacekeepers?
How many more innocent lives is our society willing to sacrifice?
Triskaidekaphobia
And so, you have “Triskaidekaphobia” on your mind.
Indeed, fear of the Number “13” does have a real and
a certain palpable feel and meaning for people who
harbor this particular phobia and carry it with them in
their lives. With triskaidekaphobia, superstitions abound
regardless of any rational explanations that are proffered
in western societies. The history of mankind is rife with
superstitions and old wives’ tales dating back through
the centuries as human societies grew and evolved over
time and became more or less sophisticated by their own
enculturation processes.
Nevertheless, next time you’re on an elevator you may
notice that a button for a “Thirteenth Floor,” doesn’t
exist, and that Floor 12 progresses to Floor 14. And,
with a “Floor 13” being non-existent, this may give a
person, a pause for a moment, with a certain mental
flavor of the phantasmal aura about everything that
surrounds a “Floor 13” existing and being listed on the
elevator’s button-panel selections—let alone even being
mentioned at all.
Sometimes the slack in this oddity of the floor numbers
may be deflected with a listing for the “Mezzanine” that
is an intermediate second floor that’s open to the ground
floor by a stairwell. It’s also worth mentioning that many
old hotels in the past that still exist today were built with
the inclusion of a “Thirteenth Floor.”
What to do? Do nothing. “Triskaidekaphobia” will exist
regardless, and this phobia, among many others, will help
to keep psychiatrists employed, occupied, and busy with
all of their various professional endeavors.
When in doubt, just remember that the “Loch Ness Monster,”
a la “Nessie,” does, in fact, really exist. And, never push that
button for that “Thirteenth Floor,” or else . . . !
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 29, 2018 (Narrative)
The birds understand us, it’s true,
They understand us better than men,
Observe the grey heron when it is afraid,
listen to the Robin
Who asks to play with you,
Go for the lint
She doesn’t want any wrong notes,
The birds understand us,
The thief has always known you,
She knows how far to go,
They understand us better than our ministers,
Better than the gendarmes to guard you,
They understand us better than the bakers
too busy making croissants in the morning,
The birds understand us,
listen to the duck, who chooses beautiful oranges,
listen to the Blackbird,
who whistles when you are depressed,
When you think of Martine or Marie Noëlle,
listen to these dear birds,
They interfere with what you think,
They are wary of alley cats, domestic cats
They are suspicious of everything, of the time that passes slowly,
They guess your dreams, your fantasies,
They have nothing to lose by watching you,
Let them speak to you of God, of Bonaparte,
The idea of lying never crosses their mind,
They understand you better than psychiatrists,
They know what you think,
let them, they have a thousand things to say
Let them sing the coming of spring.
NB When I go for a walk a little before dawn, the singing of birds is like a medicine, it gets rid of the physical and moral heaviness, due to sleep.