En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Death Of Santa Claus

He's had the chest pains for weeks,
but doctors don't make house
calls to the North Pole,

he's let his Blue Cross lapse,
blood tests make him faint,
hospital gown always flap

open, waiting rooms upset
his stomach, and it's only
indigestion anyway, he thinks,

until, feeding the reindeer,
he feels as if a monster fist
has grabbed his heart and won't

stop squeezing. He can't
breathe, and the beautiful white
world he loves goes black,

and he drops on his jelly belly
in the snow and Mrs. Claus
tears out of the toy factory

wailing, and the elves wring
their little hands, and Rudolph's
nose blinks like a sad ambulance

light, and in a tract house
in Houston, Texas, I'm 8,
telling my mom that stupid

kids at school say Santa's a big
fake, and she sits with me
on our purple-flowered couch,

and takes my hand, tears
in her throat, the terrible
news rising in her eyes.

poem by Charles Harper Webb
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The Hospital Ship

There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a crimson cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
Lazily bearing my friend away,
Leaving me dull-sensed loss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Numb is my heart, but you carelessly dip
There in the drift of the bay.

There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Dim as the distance grows,
Speedily steaming out of the bay,
Speedily bearing my friend away
Into the orange-rose.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Dim are my eyes, but you heedlessly slip
Out of their sight from the bay.

There was a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a blood-red cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
But it went out with the light of the day -
Out where the white seas toss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Cold are my hands and trembling my lip:
Did you make home from the bay?

poem by W.H. Littlejohn
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Living in a House of Blue

Living in a house of blue
Waiting for a girl I knew
Living in a house of pain
Waiting for her purple shoes
To cross the threshold to my door
Like she did a thousand times or more
Looking for a perfect rhyme
To entice her back to the scene of the crime

Living in a house of blue
Waiting for I girl I know
She likes to go to the picture show
And watch the wicked witch cast her spell
She cries for the princess all night long
And falls asleep in my arms
When she sound asleep
I take off her purple shoes
And lock up our house of blue

poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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As the earth spins through space, a view from above the North Pole would encompass most of the wealth of the world - most of its food, productive machines, doctors, engineers and teachers. A view from the opposite pole would encompass most of the world's poor.

quote by Barry Commoner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open House

Please
Come over to 81st street Im in the apartment
Above the bar
You know you cant miss it, its across from the subway
And the tacky store with the mylar scarves
My skins as pale as outdoors moon
My hairs silver like a tiffany watch
I like lots of people around me but dont kiss hello
And please dont touch
Its a czechoslovakian custom my mother passed on to me
The way to make friends andy is invite them up for tea
Open house
Open house
Ive got a lot of cats, heres my favorite
Shes lady called sam
I made a paper doll of her, you can have it
Thats what I did when I had st.vitus dance
Its a czechoslovakian custom my mother passed on to me
Give people little presents so they remember me
Open house
Open house
Someone bring the vegetables
Someone please bring heat
My mother showed up yesterday
We need something to eat
I think I got a job today they want me to draw shoes
The ones I drew were old and used
They told me to draw something new
Open house
Open house
Fly me to the moon
Fly me to a star
But there are no stars in the new york sky
Theyre all on the ground
You scared yourself with music, I scared myself with paint
I drew 550 different shoes today, it almost made me faint
Open house
Open house
Open house
Open house

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Age

For six weeks,
I was in isolation.
To have every single secretion,
Coming out of my body analyzed.
Then scrutinized with x-rays and blood taken.
And for five months I laid up in a hospital,
Back in two thousand and four.
Being ignored,
While the nurses and doctors used me...
To explore.

And to have someone come up to my face and say,
Today...
I don't know what it is like to be criticized,
As if I stood naked! ?
They absolutely do not realize,
I thank God even my right eyebrow doesn't raise...
Not like it use to especially,
When I hear such ridiculous comments.
Not that I have anything against being naked.
It's just that I get fewer requests to do it as I age.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Doctors at the beach

Dirty needles
med waste too
some plastic gloves
a used tounge depressor
and some human goo

Slimy bags
with xxx writen across
a condom floats by
what was that used for
walking in the ocean
amazed at what you find

A hospital gown
maybe a heart or two
a liver
which you hope aint from some one you knew

Its is fantastic what doctors can do
use the beach as there office
get away with it to

Soon there wont be a beach
just a human waste dumping ground

For the doctors to throw away
the disreguarded parts of me and
all of you

poem by Vincent Armone
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Waiting For The Sunrise

Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can take your hand and stroll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go on the streets and see the people smile.
Give me your hand,
So I could tell you that things will be alright.
The rooms still dark,
But it wont be so long,
And I can take you outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the park and roll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the docks and watch the boats go by.
Come on, love, give me your hand,
And things will be alright.
The rooms still cold,
But it wont be so long,
That we can go outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I could see your hair shining in the air.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can see the sky reflected in your eyes.
Come on, love, dont be depressed,
Things will be alright.
The rooms too low,
But it wont be so long,
That we can be outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come On Be Brave! ' (By My Great Niece Kitty Cotton 11 yrs)

Doctors rushing everywhere,
Up and down the aisles,
Patients crying, panicking,
‘Are there any rooms to spare! ’
The parents would say.

Nurses rushing everywhere,
In and out of rooms,
Patients crying, panicking,
‘Don’t worry, all our nurses care! ’
The chief doctor would say

Into the staff rooms,
Into the offices,
Doctors crying, panicking
‘Oh come on be brave, it’ll all be over soon! ’

© Kitty Cotton

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Deadly Disease

With only so many cocktails
To a disease that eats at your arteries
Keep it down but never kill it
Each cure will only keep it decolonized it for so long
Then it to the next
I'm speaking of something similar to mrsa
The only difference is it is contained in the blood
No contagion risk.
Mysterious is such a bacteria
So rare that that CDC is called in to investigate
What caused this?
Was it the hospital or nursing home
Can you sue, and should you
All very good questions
But the man says no, and continues on with his life
He could live for another 20 years
The doctors just don't know
It's one of those make the best of whatever you got left.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Smokey Hued

My doors smoky open
ethereal;
right and left corridor
compartmented.

I see patterns
and rooms
to the right and left.

Here my Room of Tears,
weeping walls that caterwaul.
All my sorrows hang here
and Deep Regrets lie on the floor.

All My Loves
are in this room
in hues rosette
most past;
their glow
shimmers
even outside
in the corridor.

My eyes lid as I pass
my rooms of Cardinal Sins;
faces there
I'd wronged or mislead,

I was relieved to see Repentments Rooms next
where Atonements array the walls
and below on tables are
Just Due Parchments properly signed
for deliverance to Justice Hall.

I did make some things right there.

Upstairs are my Best Regards
in alcoves 'round my Heart
very soft
healing arts applied with care there.

I'm now down to Secret Sins,
its door ajar with Gambolments,
Inexcusables-Mindless Hurts-
all Unspeakables.

Oh, each time I make this trip

my energy's spent;
and I vow
next time
to make of it
a more pleasant trip
through this
my Soul's House.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Invocation II

COME to-night in a dream to-night,
Come as you used to do,
Come in the gown, in the gown of white,
Come in the ribbon of blue;
Come in the virgin's colours you wear,
Come through the dark and the dew,
Come with the scent of the night in your hair,
Come as you used to do.

Blue and white of your eyes and your face,
White of your gown and blue,
Will you not come from the happy place,
Come as you used to do?
Tears so many, so many tears
Where there were once so few--
Can they not wash the gray of the years
From the white of your gown and blue?

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Waiting At The Gate

(carly simon/jacob brackman)
An occasional joint, a glass or two of beer
Still I would never have guessed that youd wind up here
In a half-way house, on a dead-end street
In a run-down part of a one-horse town
But just do what they say, dont worry bout your girl
cause I wont run away, and I wont run around
And I wont let you down, and without a doubt
Ill be waiting, waiting
Waiting at the gate when they let you out
You set the world on fire, dancing after dark
Now youre playing solitaire in a fenced-in park
Im not the one to judge you, so baby dont be scared
No one gets a free ride, none of us is spared
Ill be back on the ninth, Ive circled the date
Three oclock sharp, and I wont be late
Youve been through hell I know what thats all about
And Ill be waiting, waiting
Waiting at the gate when they let you out
The doctors have so little faith
They say you were a classic case
They said the chance is eight in ten
Theyd see you back in here again
But Im counting on you to prove the doctors wrong
Im imagining you, healthy and strong
Your papers all stamped, your eyes so bright and blue
Looking like a baby picture of you
Walking down the path, your suitcase in your hand
The howling at your back, a brand new man
Be a perfect little camper, be a brave little scout
And Ill be waiting waiting
Waiting at the gate when they let you out...

song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Laboratory for Radioactivity consisted of only two rooms at the time; at a later date, when tests of radioactive substances became more extensive, it expanded into four rooms.

quote by Walther Bothe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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North Infinity Street

The alarm clocks tick in a thousand furnished rooms,
tick and are wound for a thousand separate dooms;
all down both sides of North Infinity Street
you hear that contrapuntal pawnshop beat.

Hall bedrooms, attic rooms, where the gas-ring sings,
rooms in the basement where the loud doorbell rings;
carpeted or bare, by the rail at the head of the stair,
the curtains drawn, a mirror, a bed, and a chair,

in midnight darkness, when the last footfall creaks,
in northeast rain, when the broken window leaks,
at dawn, to the sound of dishes, the kitchen steam,
at dusk, when the muted radio croons a dream,

there, amid combs and the waiting shoes and socks,
and the bathrobes hung in closets, tick the clocks:
on the chest of drawers, on the table beside the bed,
facing the pillow, facing the recumbent head:

yes, from here to forever, from here to never,
one long sidereal curve of ticking fever,
all down both sides of North Infinity Street
you hear that contrapuntal pawnshop beat.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Instrument

Make me your
hammer.

I’ll pound
the stubborn nails down
til all boards become one.

Let me be a fierce nail,
and I’ll pierce your living flesh,
number all your bones.

My rough hand will smooth
away sin’s sharp edge
and bring low life’s
knot of corruption.

With gleaming blade
will I open a wound
pulsing joyfully in your side

to anoint with living blood
the guilty hands
of soldiers.

So use me, O builder,
and build your house
of many rooms.

poem by Steven Federle
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0017 The Philosophical Goldfish

Doctors’ waiting rooms.
Dentists’ waiting rooms.
Goldfish etc.

What have goldfish done,
what fishy business have they been up to
in the murky underworld of the unpoliced,
to be incarcerated in public view
of the apprehensive, the fearful,
the distressed out of mind, those bearing
all the myriad aches and pains
that flesh is heir to?

Looking up from the Horse and Hound Gazette
which I noticed I was holding upside down
my eye was caught – or did he, or she, catch mine first? -
as if it heard my thoughts about its welfare

It swam towards me, pressed its mouth against the glass
in perfect O-shape as if singing,
or perhaps sounding some universal Om
(the final consonant difficult to catch for the dry-eared)
and it seemed to wish to communicate.

I sensed it was not a cry for help (and indeed,
what help could have offered, without
a plastic bag and in view of others who still
believed me sane? No, it seemed
peaceful but chatty; even helpfully inclined.

I got up, walked discreetly as if calmly passing time
and – almost tempted to kiss the glass, but instead
simply mouthing a friendly mwaa –
and though my lip-reading isn’t all it could be,
I believe I identified this message:

‘As above, so below;
as without, so within’

Sometimes one’s view of Creation
seems to have been hitherto
singularly unimaginative

poem by Michael Shepherd
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As I Sat On My Hospital Bed

As I sat on my hospital bed, many things went around in my head. They had told me that I had suffered several mini strokes. They were not real strokes, but just enough to make me alter some things in my lifestyle. I couldn’t drive my car for at least a month or more. That wasn’t going to be a great loss. I was going to be off work for a couple of weeks or more. That would give me time to relax.

My diet was going to have to change, which was any thing that big. I had to eat less fatty foods and more vegetables. I could on occasions treat myself, but treating myself didn’t mean everyday. When it came to cream and sweet cakes, they did not really bother me.

The biggest crunch and my biggest crime is that I smoke, that would have to go. They realise that it won’t be easy going, I agree with that, but when I think of all the things I’ve got, family, friends and everything. The chances of losing all of them in one gigantic swoop. The smoking can go if it will help. It won’t be any great loss. It may not be easy for me to do it.. The support for me to do it will be there from my family and friends. Let’s hope my will power will stand the test of time.

This has been a warning sign, and believe me I’m taking heed. You only get one chance at life, and you have to give it all you’ve got. If you see a danger in front of you, you eradicate it and carry on. So here, I am sitting on my hospital bed, with all these things buzzing around my head. I am listening to every word said now. Life is too precious to me, to want to throw it all away. Therefore, when I leave the hospital, a new life will beckon that day.

5 October 2007

PS

To all my friends up here a PH. If you don’t find my name appearing in the comments of your poems over the next few weeks. Don’t think I’ve deserted you. I’m not ignoring you, but I’ve been ordered to take a total rest. Therefore, I’m following the doctors orders and resting big time along with getting lots and lots of fresh air. So until near the end of the month when hopefully I will be fit and well enough to come back again. I will simply say Good Luck and God Bless to everyone. I am going to miss you all my friends.

DVH

poem by David Harris
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Tart Tart

When he came out to the lock-up
He said Im looking for something better
He made his shock announcement
And backed off, backed down, backed off
And then he got up off the floor
He said Im wealthy enough, not to do this no more
And he made it all known with his hands held up, palm
Out
And she said dont know if I should
Cause I worry too much about the tests on the blood
And at first it was a yes, and then a no, then a
yes.
A maggot sleeps on her desk
H wears a sleeping bag as his vest
And hes getting too too bothered
About the spots on his chest, chest, chest
Now shes (blank)...she laid it on
And a few days later shes gone
So its back to the womb
To get drowned, drowned, drowned, drowned warm (? ? ? )

song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pole Dancer

Sweat drips as she swing around the pole
her heart racing

She smiles at the guys as she pulls herself around
her eyes shining

She looks into the croud as she dances on the stage
her mind steady

She watches the guys who look intersted as she strips
her lust showing through her eyes

She spins around the pole again as she grinds with her body
her fingers wrapped tight around the pole

She lets her hair fall over her face and body as she stops
her body ready

She stands in a pose as the guys flood to her
her chest pullsing

Her eyes watch them as her mouth pulls into a wanting grin
her mid longing for their bodies

Her eyes searc through them as she sees him
as she walks away with him into the rooms and the music continues

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Poems and Life

her poems are her life
her life is her poems
they tell a story
of the one that’s dead
but yet is not
“the miracle child”
dead at four weeks but is now 15 years old

the child was not going to
walk
talk
or even feed her
“she’s going to be a veggie”
the doctors said
she can now do it all
all at once if you would
like for her to

“she’s going to die from a seizure at four weeks”
the doctors said
but now 15, has fought though epilepsy
thanks to her brother that always was there for her
always supported her
and has been scissure free for
five years
(since her dad died)

is the child a miracle
doctors think so
she’s in the record books
but is she a miracle or was it just luck
I’ll let you diced

this child i talk about is almost a women
and
she’s standing right in front of you

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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