Long Typhoid Poems
Long Typhoid Poems. Below are the most popular long Typhoid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Typhoid poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was in high school,
I had a fall,
It was from a cycle,
but changed my all;
I had ligament tear
in my right foot,
Could not go to school, got
typhoid to boot;
Weak in my body and
stressed in my mind,
When I did go back, I
fell way behind;
I lost my life's purpose,
Despair set in,
I failed in my exam
to my chagrin;
Had a nervous breakdown,
Redid one year,
Mind full of sad questions,
Heart lost all cheer;
Today, when I look back,
I wonder why
such a thing was allowed
by God on high;
To teach me a lesson
about setbacks,
To increase my small faith,
In God relax;
I learnt to lean on Him,
when troubles come,
He taught me to stand strong,
not to succumb;
All things happened for good,
This I know now,
Eighteen years have gone by,
I've grown and how;
That phase transformed my life,
It was a test,
In hindsight, I perceive
God knows what's best.
I hate beginnings, plenipotentiary prattle, use-
less sedimentary-sounds. A preface and first chap-
ter betwixt the suc-
culent kiss, the marvelous mystery unfolding.
wash your hands, bobbleheaded-yes.
that was the third part. typhoid
mary, not important to this quiz,
yet she opened the door and peaked
through. i slammed
it
shut, rolled my eyes.
how yummy pages
that jump into the deep end
and we drown in ecstasy’s eaglet
nest. eggs cracking cuckoos
collaborating.
long, drawn………..out
beginnings not
for
me
the setup goes on and on and
oh kind of like this steam
letting off
done
1/22/2021
Africa is the extreme nirvana of the world
She gives us beauty in the form of beasts
And joyful children whom we see on no other continents
Lions, giraffes and hippopotamus to name a few
Africa is a proud woman. She lives her truth.
She makes no apologies for her wildness,
Because it is her strength and her fortitude.
She is a survivor, of typhoid, AIDS and other things
Africa is the ultimate gift to the world.
We cannot go anywhere else and experience this many dialects
This many smiles, this many hands of friendship.
The African nations are unique, and golden; a reflection of love.
When I was a little girl
My grandfather had a tin
With a sailor smoking a cigarette on the lid
It was what he kept his medals in
He called them Pip, Squeak and Wilfred
And I asked him what they were
He said the nineteen fourteen star, the British war medal and the Victory medal
From World War One, but they're not rare
He told me his war memories
Could fill many a page
Then said he’d been recruited
Even though he was underage
He told me he’d had a shock
When on the internet he'd seen
That a quarter of a million young men had signed up
All under the age of eighteen
He said recruits had a medical
To make sure they were fit to fight
They must have a minimum chest size of thirty-four inches
And five feet three was the minimum height
He told me he’d heard something
That had really filled him with rage
That recruitment officers got two shillings and sixpence
If they turned a blind eye to someone under-age
He added that he and some old army friends
Used to spend hours chatting on a bench
Recalling a soldier they’d known
Too short to see over the edge of the trench
My granda had asked his friend, a fourteen year old recruit
What on earth he’d signed up for
He reluctantly replied he had clamoured
For the excitement of fighting in a war
He told them of my father’s brother
Who had been the first born son
Blown to pieces at fifteen
Recruited by passing for twenty-one
He didn't survive to get medals
His parents thought of him as brave
Many times since then
I have visited his grave
No remains are buried
Just a plaque that bears his name
A list of lives that were lost
No bodies left to claim
He also told them about the time
That my late Grandma spent
Visiting her beloved Alexander
As he lay in a fever tent
He had typhoid fever
And he managed to survive
The doctors and nurses told her
He was very lucky to be alive
My grandfather would tell war stories
That would chill you to the core
Tales of the atrocities
And casualties of war
She carried no Fever — in her Cheek —
No Scarlet in her Breath —
Her Pulse was civil — as the Clock —
That tidily counts Death —
The Kitchens knew her gentle Hand —
The Spoon — obedient — stirred —
The Custard kept its secret sweet —
The Ice — no Warning — heard —
They named her not for what she was —
But for what followed near —
A Phantom riding in her wake —
A whispered Atmosphere —
She felt no Thorn within her Blood —
No Ash upon her Tongue —
Yet Houses folded — one by one —
Where once her Apron hung —
O Woman — Well — yet feared as Plague —
How silent is the Crime —
To harbor what one does not feel —
And answer — still — for Time —
An Island kept her like a Thought
The City would not claim —
North Brother held her solitude —
And History — her name —
Was she a Vessel — unaware —
Or Willful with her Art?
The Science spoke of unseen Germs —
The Law — of Public Heart —
Between the Body and the State —
She stood — without a plea —
The Woman who was always Well —
Yet never — could be — Free —
Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,
before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,
and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,
and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),
and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).
And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,
the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."
EPILOGUE
Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.
But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:
“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”
and
”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”
It’s voice causes the shiver
its name causes the stagger
tremours boiling
fettle downpouring
Heartbeats panicking
families isolating
Like a turret, it oozes
like a trumpet, it blows
emanating shockwaves
spurring Venom
hissing sparks
scything down humans like grass.
Some say the states gave it light
But Daddy says “Wuhan”, without delight
Basking with the thought
“Does Wuhan Gloat,
is it a calculated attempt to free land
Or Divine justice sent from God’s Hand”?
Cities,laid on Siege
Borders, Borded and armed
Starvation creeping
bereaved weeping
unemployment surging
Media, reeking.
But on the Ocean’s Horizon
Africa resides
Its citizens, quite in oblivion
Of the fangs of Poseidon
For whispers says black is a curse
But i tell you, is the reverse.
Born to toil and forever toil,
That’s our only curse;
Brazen for the Saharan sun,
we Suckle the anopheles
Drink from potholes
What then is Covid 19?
Tell Covid 19 that Am black
Wuhan won’t knock on my door
For Toiling from birth to death,
My body is brazen against It
For am Black,
And am food for the anopheles
Tell Covid 19 I banter with lions
Feed the fleas
And though I drink with cows from the gutters
Typhoid fears my face
And though I sleep on the grass,
The cobra bites me not
Tell Covid 19 I endure hell on daily basis
And that it’s but a speck
To that log I carry
That if the world sinks on it
My black Africa would stand
For am black.
Porch is hilariously messy
Anyone else would be ashamed to live here. I am amused.
Vastly and proudly amused; it keeps away burglars, right?
And salesmen.
Green striped hose, red scooter, pink Barbie helmet,
Fluffy blanket, mean cat, selfish dog, dead mouse in two pieces.
Correction.
Headless dead mouse in two pieces.
Fluffy purple rug, desperately in need of a vacuum,
pile of catnip, sixteen pieces of lawn furniture, we never sit on.
As I am allergic to Shark, the cat, and my husband is too prissy
to be out here with a headless mouse.
Waterbowls, green with algae, look like typhoid fever soup.
Golf ball, bouncy ball, blow up ball, deflated ball, bowling ball,
ugly faded pink flowers probably full of wasp nests, garden shears,
one green garden glove, two empty Amazon boxes.
Hey, did they deliver something else yesterday?
I jump up and take a peek.
False alarm.
Last week’s dead mouse.
I had forgotten I put it in there.
I would have more to add, but I think you get the drift
and I want a nice warm bath….
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SOMEONE IN THE WORLD DIES FROM Diarrhea,
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SOMEONE IN THE WORLD DIES FROM Cholera
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15 seconds SOMEONE IN THE WORLD DIES FROM Dysentery
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15 seconds SOMEONE IN THE WORLD IS DEAD FROM Typhoid,
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15 seconds SOMEONE IN THE WORLD DIES FROM Guinea worm
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15 SOMEONE IN THE WORLD DIES FROM Hepatitis
Where is the funding for clean water/ sanitation to stop them?
Form:
Where do I stand
When presented with a choice
Transported by a full force
That lands me in a false chance
Yet, I stand.
Breaking the shackles
That held me in my ankles
So tight like a buckle
Wrapped in my knuckles
Yet, I stand.
What is given is a Token
The heart that bleeds is broken
The life that fades is taken
Certain thoughts can't be driven
Yet, I stand.
I tried by following the trace
Which led me to climb the trees
That blew away my tears with its breeze
Then I felt my soul soothed by a kiss
Yet, I stand.
A Concentration was needed in the motion
But Consideration paved way for a failed emotion
Without caution moments became illusion
With a precipitation of low evaluation
Yet, I stand.
All of these void I tried to avoid
Because it placed in me a typhoid
The fever in me which devoured
And my body left to divide
Yet, I stand.
The sour in my body was bathed with gingers
Especially at the tip of my fingers
Sending a message of dangers
Yet, the pains still lingers
Yet, I stand,
Yet, I live.