They have been deprived nutritionally, or some illness has not been picked up, or they have not been screened for vision or hearing defects, or they have not had some kind of a chronic illness or error of metabolism picked up.
quote by C. Everett Koop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Let the Illness In
At first, we both make contact
With mucus membranes,
And we let the illness in.
The fevers we may contract
Fester in our brains,
And we let the illness in.
We won't know how to react
While writhing in pain,
And we let the illness in.
Yet, such is the fate we pick,
Choosing to be sick,
And we let the illness in.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Union Cures The Illness
For any illness,
The symptoms and signs are within oneself, but
The cure is obtaining medicines from source outside;
Whereas,
For the illness of a well jeweled mistress
Who is longing for union with lover,
She herself is the medicine,
Union cures the illness.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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The best doctor prevents illness, an average doctor visits when the illness is imminent, and the unskilled doctor treats your present illness.
Cure For Me
I acquire the cure for my ills,
The solution is final for my illness.
It is death that resides in the middle of life,
I ignore when I am like a fortunate man.
The illness will be cured due to beasts,
They enter the planet through the vacuum.
The illness is again discontinued.
My Satan is conquered for all those watching
So that ill men who see can nevertheless find
The very soul to be complete.
poem by Naveed Akram
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After An Illness
AFTER AN ILLNESS
After an illness
The feeling of being alright again
Is a special kind of happiness -
Gratitude and a sense of Blessing
Hope and the feeling of Beginning again-
I have been sick and troubled in my sickness for days now
How good it is to feel I can walk out into the fresh air again
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In my thoguhts i am alone
In my thoughts i am alone
where i fear no one understands
the pain the illness the sadness
the nightly terrors i handle alone
this experience i cant handle of this illness
they call bipolar the way im defined or labled that
one can not see past to see who i am beyond the illness
who is scared of herself who is caring for others more than herself
who will do anything to make another happy
but for one to meet someone who is 'bipolar' thats what they see
unstable depressed manic angry mood swing mess
but what they dont understand is how stable is not in our world
and it doesnt define us it makes us who we are
this illness we battle alone cause unless you have it
you can never fully understand and even if you do i dont think
we can fully understand it...
alone in this illness
alone in these thoughts
alone is how i feel
i cry alone when i feel alone
i sleep to be alone to feel nothing
to feel nothing or empty is what i need
it would be better than the saddness and hurt and
the feeling of alone
my tears fall alone
i enjoy being alone but the feeling of alone is
something i can not handle
to feel like there is no one
to feel like no one can truely understand or care
i only ache with this fear
i try to cry and scream for help but no one seems to hear
so lost in this illness and how to not feel alone
poem by Juliana Willsey
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You Picked the Right Day for Torture
You picked the right day for torture.
It was too quiet and serene,
To be left untampered.
You wanted your presence felt...
And it was.
You picked the right day for torture
With or without a diet regimen
Or implementation of facts.
What you do behind one's back...
Is left to your interpretation.
Your rules and dispositions are taught!
Although not followed,
And neither held in high esteem.
You picked the right day for torture...
Perhaps now you can see in bright daylight,
The victims you continue to abuse
Are of your own kind.
And of them none can say you frighten.
Yet all have been too quick to say you are crazed!
And today you are here believing you will be praised,
And honored?
You picked the right day for torture!
And how much of it you take...
Will not leave a witness to feel remorse,
Or show heartbreak!
They have come to watch you exploit,
Your own pain!
You have picked the right day for torture!
Everyone came to give you the limelight,
And the fame you claim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chronic Illness
Many addicted to chronic illness
Know not root, of why this is so
Disease is born of repressed emotion
Infects well-being, interrupts the flow
poem by Ray Lucero
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Fear is a question What are you afraid of, and why Just as the seed of health is in illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.
quote by Marilyn Ferguson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fear is a question: What are you afraid of, and why? Just as the seed of health is in illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.
quote by Marilyn Ferguson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I still when I wake up hit the ground running; and having an illness, I'm only one of hundreds of thousands of people that live with an illness, and I'm just in awe of the bravery and dignity of the people I see at the hospital.
quote by Karen Duffy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never Allowed To Heal!
Saddled by racism.
Their minds are addicted.
Regardless of a quality of life...
Strangling to exist,
From this twistedness.
And a society constructed,
By a promotion of it...
Finds itself lost in times.
And a collective mindset,
Found scrambling to find...
A way to deny a consciousness,
Clearly demented.
With beliefs what is seen,
Does not demean.
And this illness persisted...
Becomes a wound picked.
Never allowed to heal!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Its You
I look inside my crystal ball of desire
And know why rapid beats my heart
I see the spark, I feel the flame of the fire
Letting me know love wants to start
No more playing around
No more waiting around for the special one to come
No more wearing a frown
No more tears coming down cause I know what I want
And I want what I know
Is you
Nobody has to tell me so
Its you, its you, youre the angel sent from heaven above
Its you, nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre that angel sent from heaven above for me
(background-me for you and you for me)
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited my life would be undone
If only I had not waited I woul have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited for you (harmonica solo)
I look behind and what I sight is the mire
So very lonely was my heart
I look ahead I hear the sound of the choir
Singing that love will never part
No more hearing the sound of the rain coming down
No more I cant see the sun
No more hurting for fun cause the moment has come
When I know what I want
And I want what I know
Is you
Nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre the angel sent from heaven above
Its you, nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre that angel sent from heaven above for me
(background-me for you and you for me)
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited my life would be undone
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited for you
cause baby
Its you
Nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre the angel sent from heaven above
Its you, nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre that angel sent from heaven above for me
(background-me for you and you for me)
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited my life would be undone
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited for you
cause baby
Its you
Nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre the angel sent from heaven above
Its you, nobody has to tell me so
Its you, youre that angel sent from heaven above for me
(background-me for you and you for me)
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited my life would be undone
If only I had not waited I would have picked the wrong one
If only I had not waited for you
cause baby its you
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Depression Is an Illness
Depression is an illness
You don’t just feel depressed
You cannot eat
You cannot sleep
When you’re feeling overstressed
Depression is an illness
You don’t just feel depressed
You cannot cope
You have no hope
When you’re feeling overstressed
Depression is an illness
You don’t just feel depressed
You always cry
You want to die
When you’re feeling overstressed
Depression is an illness
You don’t just feel depressed
Please seek advice
It could save your life
When you’re feeling overstressed
poem by Donna Caldwell
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5. My Bitten Finger
Much bolder than a lion
As crafty as a fox
That little furry hamster
I took home in a box
In the pet shop looking cuddly
Picked quickly didn’t linger
I should have seen the warning signs
When it bit my middle finger
I picked it for its cuteness
Dark brown with bright red eyes
I pointed out the one I’d picked
Imagine my surprise
It reared up where I pointed
Its whiskers started twitching
Then bit into my finger
For sure it needed stitching
The owner thought it funny
I tried to shake it free
This furry little ball of fluff
Had certainly picked me
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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A Factor No Longer Hidden
I would not advise or recommend to anyone,
Who has grown accustomed to portraying themselves...
As innocent victims with no acknowledgement as to 'why',
They have been selectively picked.
I would not suggestion to anyone a continuance done of it.
Not in the application of the same direction...
For the sake of soliciting a quickened empathy needed.
Once maybe twice this tactic will work to suffice,
In a gathering of others to run to one's defense.
But using the same device to attract attention,
Will eventually get others to look precisely...
For evidence of a mental illness emerging,
Making to them more sense.
And it will be noticed as a factor no longer hidden.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ol Ben Lucas
(kinky friedman)
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
Well, ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
When its cotton picking time in texas,
Boys, its booger picking time for ben.
Hed raise that finger mean and hostile
Stick it in that waitin nostril,
Here he comes with a green one once again.
All right, pick it, eric!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
Everybody!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose,
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are We Ill?
How many men are against us when we are ill?
Illness desires you as a last resort, when ill.
The magnificent and the abhorrent ailments
Need both cures, again and again in the hospital.
The hospital is for doctors who care,
And the nurses are fearful of you.
Patients need patience to adore the health
Of a nation in pity for their condition.
The pities are seldom seen in youth
As they are in public or private.
May the men who are against us be quiet
Now that illness is the past.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Where No Bells Toll
There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow
When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells
When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin
There is a wood
where history plays tricks on us
and bluebells grow
poem by Roger Taber
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