My Favorite Elementary School Teacher
As the yellow-orange sun slowly rises
Memories of your class's fun flood my heart
Thoughts run to your teaching and enterprises
You brought those tiny guppies to our class
A creative shiny diorama's great art
Sunshiny person and dedicated lass
You lifted us up when you said
All the gifted books available we'd outsmart
Sad you to your death drifted from your sickbed
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Categories:
sickbed, 2nd grade,
Form: Rhyme
Courage of the Heart
How does a Wallenda fly on a trapeze
How does ‘Houdini’ escape with such ease
How does a warrior rise from his sickbed
Is it courage of the heart or that of the head
How does a marathon runner persist
in howling pain from a severe ankle twist
How does a fireman jump from six stories high
brush off debris and say, ‘Nothing’s awry’
Is it courage of the heart or that of the head ~
or perhaps heaven's hand overspread
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Categories:
sickbed, courage, heart, heaven,
Form: Couplet
Graveyard Groupies
Look out you might see them
scuttling down your street
patting the neighbour’s dog
nodding to people they meet
They lurk on hospital corridors
wearing their black shiny shoes
then scour obituary columns
for all their latest news
They follow people on stretchers
to sickbeds, funerals, and wakes
asking for extra cups of tea
turning their nose up at cake
They might just take an interest,
if you should start to feel ill
checking on your temperature
your welfare and your will
So, keep your curtains closed tonight
lock all your windows and doors
the graveyard groupies are coming
it’s you they’re looking for…
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Categories:
sickbed, death, funeral, funny,
Form: Rhyme
Looking Out My Window From My Sickbed
Looking Out My Window From My Sickbed
Longdead treeshadow
Creeps across the face of a nurse-white house
Immortalized in sunlight
A mantis
Stealthily
Touches the shattered eye;
A window at the bottom corner of the wall
Makes it more aware
I am watching it
With cool interest
To see how much it knows or cares
About the spectator
Watching
Through the eye of its companion.
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Categories:
sickbed, surreal,
Form: Free verse
Tale of An Eager New Groom
The new groom
Loved his bride so
One day she took ill
He took her in tow
I'll clean and I'll cook
Set you up with a book
In a day, maybe two
You'll be as good as new
To eat, what's your request
I'm at your behest
Tell me your heart's desire
And I'll crank up the fire
Hard-boiled eggs, she smiled
So he dropped two in a pot
Turned on the stove
But they didn't get hot
He waited and waited
The morning grew old
But those two raw white eggs
Stayed cool, if not cold
The gallant groom paced
Even stamping his foot
Yet all he got for his efforts
Was some dust and some soot
Up from her sickbed
The bride took her groom's place
Lit a match to the gaslight ~
Put egg on his face
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Categories:
sickbed, care, dedication, food, giggle,
Form: Narrative
Psychic Remains
see this happen
one night, a night
as white as a phosphorus star
left her (and all of us)
blind beggars with holes
in our clinking tin cups
an awful bluebeard
a redblooded villain
was to charcoal blame
said this cautionary tale
that stirred in the fireplace
for one full calendar page
the bellows of heartache
keep pumping stale air
in spite of smiling intentions
the blackbirds of hate
perch in somber authority
on an island unseen
the stars change their orbits
before archaeology sets in
some memories lie in sickbed
then crawl off to the graveyard
the blinding light of yesteryear
awaits rebirth in the clouds overhead
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Categories:
sickbed, dark, emotions, evil, hate,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Care Package
A stomach virus laid me out,
My husband down as well
And then we were surprised to hear
Somebody ring the bell.
Two bags delivered to our door
With Gatorade and soup,
Saltines and even Alka-Seltzer,
Quite a sickbed group.
Our son arranged to save the day
With Amazon – the Prime –
To help recuperation
And give fodder for my rhyme!
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Categories:
sickbed, sick, son,
Form: Rhyme
One Night Late In Autumn
For the chrysanthemums in the back yard
Are overly dignified,
For the cosmos in the front yard
Are simply too tall…
When I alone looking at the troubled world outside
through the window, the Cyrano’s bluffing fades out
but, instead, the brownish smell of the dead leaves
fill the mouth.
For the loneliness unbearable, on this very night,
even a cricket behind the sent of brownish leaves
does not chirp because his wings were torn to pieces
from last night’s hoarfrost.
At dawn, the consumptive maiden, the moon,
sits by the window of the white ward sickbed,
hiding her face with the curtain, weeps
because Roxanne cried twice for her one and only
true love. Sobs because she had to be blown away
like a last leaf on the wall in this autumnal chilling wind.
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Categories:
sickbed, autumn, flower, sorrow,
Form: Free verse
Gott Mit Uns
lonely as a dried up hero
legend only to the past,
as a world moved on
from foolish children’s faith,
energy of generations
arrives at perigee,
blown out like flatulence
snuck into polite conversations,
snide groupthink on
a notion of good sport
and fair play,
while eyes and hands
itch to turn main street
into charnel houses,
the foolish ones
barking dulcet tunes
get frog marched to the wall,
can it even be,
anymore with visions dead,
above in a hawk eye
clear cold wind and azure sky,
high over every thing, everything
the squabble, the blood
the raging teeth,
godless empires and ideal,
the line of never ending human hearts
blazed away,
flaring like desert sun,
burning,
shining like moon rockets
over the sea of tears below,
the very world gives off a sickbed air,
damned
damn
damn
the creator for demanding
to know ourselves
before we know forgiveness,
of chemicals,
of realpolitik,
of biocentric theorem,
a life,
like this republic,
if we can keep it...
gott mit uns.
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Categories:
sickbed, confusion, life, power,
Form: Free verse