Sonnet: The Patient Poor!
The smiles of gratitude on being healed,
That lights the face of patients very poor,
Gives satisfaction more than covers sealed
From patients wearing shoes high-heeled and fur!
The etiquette of villagers unread,
Surpasses that of urban men ‘degreed’,
Well-dressed in foreign cars, overly fed,
With haughty laughter, showing off their greed!
Oh, what a lovely heart, the poor man has!
His humble voice and stance can lure the Doc;
Diseases strike more poor bodies; Alas,
For them, the health-providers scarcely talk!
The coins of love that patients poor empty
Are worth more weight in gold than dollars free!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-1-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Clinic
My clinic is a ‘church’ in which I pray;
Not many patients flock in anyway;
Some rosaries I manage to well say;
This keeps both devils and my foes away.
The ones that come are poorer than they seem;
‘The rich in cars come only in my dream.’
Most patients brush their teeth with only neem;
My words of solace make their faces gleam.
So, can I fleece my brethren poor and ill?
Can I then hand them inflated a bill?
Can I charge them for just a sample pill?
They live despite the doctor’s care by ‘will! ’
I long to see more patients but be wise;
I dare not try to anyway entice;
My profession is sacrosanct and nice;
I cannot let it turn into a vice!
The only thing I hate is waste my time;
The other thing I hate’s a rainy clime;
But everyday, I write aplenty rime;
I never mind if I earn just a dime!
I scooter daily not more than a mile;
I feel so happy seeing patients smile;
Becoming rich is not my beloved style;
My heart abounds with joy when poor souls file.
When will my practice pick up? - I don’t know;
To God, my art of healing, I just owe;
Rewards in heaven wait for righteous, oh!
To ways God makes me walk, I say not, ‘No! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-10-2006
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Advice to Doctors
No patient’s mine; no patient remains yours;
The patient comes and goes from Doc to Doc;
If he improves, we simply then rejoice,
Though God’s the key to the diagnostic-lock!
All patients ail and expect some relief;
A doctor’s duty is to help him out;
All patients speak the truth; Time is the thief;
To use his knowledge best, all Doctors ought.
Fleece not the poor; cheat not the ones who’re sick;
God is the Healer prime; He uses us;
Off not life’s candle-flame with intact wick;
The Doctor shirking work invites God’s curse!
Lose not Ethics; lose not your morals, Doc!
Like patients, Doctors are part of God’s flock.
8-28-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I’m Proud, an Indian Doctor
I’m proud an Indian doctor;
I have a billion lives to save;
In practice, let me not falter;
But with my patients well behave.
’Tis thrilling to serve fellowmen,
Suff’ring from newer disease;
Let me use my fullest ken,
And teach them how to live in peace.
My country is a poor nation;
My brethren need my treatment;
So, let me serve with passion;
And free them from their ailment.
God turned me to be healer great;
And serve my fellowmen ill;
Let me improve patient’s fate;
By using my God-given skill.
I’m proud to serve my brethren;
God will bless me some day, some way;
A Doctor turns earth to heaven-
Some day, my patients will sure say!
poem by John Celes
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My workplace
Some men had pledg'd their hard-earn'd property,
To men with trust to make profit somehow;
The latter’s performance was so dirty,
They aimed to loot and blamed poor worker's show.
These kingpins brought in such corrupt workmen,
Who stripp'd the place threadbare to skeleton;
And turn'd it soon into a vice-filled den;
No one can crack the whip or use baton.
No soul is honest or dedicated;
The corruption-level is very high;
To fools all power is relegated;
The patients poor come here mostly to die?
Oh what a place, so fine and wretched yet?
It needs revamping right from scratch, I bet.
poem by John Celes
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Poor Baby
Orbison/c & r price
Glittery eyes; witchy smiles
A good time is all you are after
Skin tight thighs; little white lies
Put you in the center of the laughter
But your reign of queen is over
Your fortress has been broken down
You're still the center of the laughter
But your role has changed to the clown
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Someone broke your heart in two
Ooh poor baby
Who would have thought it could happen to you
Poor baby
A pretty face; sweet talkin' ways
Got you a part of the action
A come-over-touch, glances and such
You always had to be the main attraction
Now you're the one who's crying
You lost at your own lonely game
You're still the center of attraction
But now i'm gone, you've got yourself to blame
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Do what you said you'd never do
Ooh poor baby
You let someone get much too close to you
Poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Boy
Never sing for my supper
I never help my neighbour
Never do what is proper
For my share of labour.
Im a poor boy
And Im a rover
Count your coins and
Throw them over my shoulder
I may grow older
Nobody knows
How cold it grows
And nobody sees
How shaky my knees
Nobody cares
How steep my stairs
And nobody smiles
If I cross their stiles.
Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health.
You may say every day
Where will he stay tonight.
Never know what I came for
Seems that Ive forgotten
Never ask what I came for
Or how I was begotten.
Im a poor boy
And Im a ranger
Things I say
May seem stranger than sunday
Changing to monday.
Nobody knows
How cold it flows
And nobody feels
The worn down heels
Nobodys eyes
Make the skies
Nobody spreads
Their aching heads.
Oh poor boy
So worried for his life
Oh poor boy
So keen to take a wife.
Hes a mess but hell say yes
If you just dress in white.
Nobody knows
How cold it blows
And nobody sees
How shaky my knees
Nobody cares
How steep my stairs
And nobody smiles
If you cross their stiles.
Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health.
You may say every day
Where will he stay tonight.
Oh poor boy
So worried for his life
Oh poor boy
So keen to take a wife.
Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health
Oh poor boy.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Doctor's Day 2012
Most Doctors…
Try their best to heal;
Do not try to steal;
Use their ken to deal
With patient's problems and do feel!
All Doctors…
Are just humans too;
Try to be humane and do
Their duty with ethics due,
Upgrading knowledge new.
A few Doctors…
May make errors great;
May fleece patients poor;
May not perform to their best,
And earn a bad name for the rest!
Doctors…
Are a noble lot and lucky slot,
Whose toil is praised but soon forgot;
Sacrifice their life-times but cannot
Find time to check own health from rot!
Wish Doctors all, ‘A Happy Doctors Day! '
May they labour, come what may;
For their kind work, may God repay
With heaven, and bless them His way!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 29-05-2012
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Lamentations of an Upright Doctor
Oh God, my lord, I want to be upright!
Could I send patients with pockets empty?
When poor and sick a person comes to me.
My conscience tells me whatever is right.
Though he be rich, could I him ever fleece?
Where is the need for too costly treatment,
Except to take back money for my rent?
I can’t charge him hence, exorbitant fees.
When cure can come for rupees only ten,
Then all I need to do is speak kind words;
Can I waste money ev’n if he affords?
Where is the need to admit him often?
God, let me keep my ethics in this world!
Heaven is not attained by any gold.
poem by John Celes
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My dears…
Lend me your ears;
Lend me your eyes;
Lend me your words;
Our attitude, we must mend.
We must make amends;
Sometimes, we must bend;
The stalemate must end;
Our faults, we can’t defend.
To our patients, we must well attend.
On them, we all depend;
They are our Godsend;
Our ways, we must wend!
Let smiles and laughter, the air rend!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-09-11
poem by John Celes
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Workers’ Lamentations
This place isn’t thrilling anymore!
There is no fun or work to do;
Most things in shambles lie for long;
There is no soul who bothers much.
Corruption rules the roost to core;
The honest workers are ignored;
The lazy ones are most favored;
The sincere ones are shown the door!
The patients’ numbers keep dwindling;
New doctors are not attracted;
Touts direct patients to clinics-
The Management is well aware!
The contract system works too well;
Poor employees are temporary;
A kind of cheating continues;
They call it ‘ADMINISTRATION’!
A lot of trees have been cut down;
The place is not getting good rains;
The Cauvery-water is off;
The current-cuts are frequent now.
Some quarters are in ruins too;
Private-roads are not laid within;
The changing bosses do nothing,
Each one retiring without blame!
There is no one to ‘bell the cat’!
No one cares to revamp the place;
It is no doubt a beauteous one;
The glory seems to fade with time.
A sorry state of things, Alas!
No one is dedicated much;
The place has lost its magic-touch;
They do not give you a bus-pass!
But students do read well o’er here,
Although the faculty is less;
May be, some kind of curse is on;
May be, God’s rod is upon all!
The righteous workers are scapegoats;
Luck favors dishonest doctors;
I see no clouds of changes now;
A desert-like, place looks somehow!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-28-2007
poem by John Celes
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Poor Little Girl
Poor Little Girl
Nobody cares what she does
She only lives what she was
In her mind reliving thoughts of yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Why can’t she love what she’s seen
People don’t want her to’ve been
Wasting time and living in her yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Her heart will shoulder
Who she’s intended to be
She may never know her
Until she has set herself free
Harboring the darkest nights of yesterday
So until she finds her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
She’s so important to me
I admit I use to be
Runnin’ never knowin’ of my destiny
Blessings in disguise today that end that play
Poor little girl,
Poor little girl
Poor little girl
Little girl’s me
Copyright 1969, Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
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Sonnet: May Doctors Heal with Love
Let all the world's people remain healthy!
Let scientists find cures for every disease;
Let health make everyone happy, wealthy;
Let's hope that mankind's pain and sufferings cease!
Let doctors make their profession nobler;
Let ethics guide their minds in decisions;
Let love of life covert their art simpler;
Let scalpels cut out better incisions!
Let doctors put their heart and soul to heal;
Let love of brethren bring out soothing words;
Let God help doctors, patients' anguish, feel;
Let words be magic potions and not swords!
Let doctors do just good, avoiding harm;
Let them serve God by making patients warm!
Dean of IRT PMC &H Perundurai, Tamilnadu
Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar MD wishes
"Happy Doctor's Day,2012! " to all doctors in India
Copyright by Dr John Celes 30-06-12
poem by John Celes
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Whispering Hope!
A girl of beauty, shy and innocent!
She liked to stay aloof in her own world;
She read a lot of books while in convent:
Stood first in school in every exam held!
She had few friends and stayed away from boys!
Her dress was neat although simple and cheap!
She sang some songs alone in high-pitched voice;
She prayed a lot and in her heart did weep?
My elder sister, lovely, sweet and nice,
She joined Health Service as a Government Doc;
'One blunder in her life proved her unwise! '
She serves the sick and poor by hearty talk!
Did God ignore her desires in life?
Lord, save her soul and keep her safe ’midst strife!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-8-2006
Fondly dedicated to my belov’d, elder sister,
Dr. A. Mary Sugagemma M.D., Cbe
poem by John Celes
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Wallow in the Greed
If you could know how much I earn,
I'm sure to see you blush!
To earn the stipend that I do
Will mean therefore, I look at you
From high above in my success
And say to you, 'Poor thing, God bless.'
The greedy bastard that I am –
I love to drown in bling!
Unlike you – so bloody poor, and
Picking coins up off the floor!
But sorry mate, I'm not to blame –
The fact your bank account is lame!
Come and see my flashy car,
Awash inside with leather –
I saw the battered wreck you drive,
Spewing out its oily smog!
Your banger, friend, is such a dog –
Clanking out its dialogue.
I shall die in gleaming wealth,
Floating out in gentle stealth –
Having bought an excellent health.
As for you, my hard-up mate,
You'll fade away a slave to fate,
Surviving on the welfare state.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Greed, greed, greed, greed
Greed, greed, feed the greed.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Lay of Poor Louise
Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way,
Think on Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high,
It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye,
The woodland walk was cool and nigh,
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie
To cheer Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair;
The wolves molest not paths so fair-
But better far had such been there
For poor Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldric was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told
To poor Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine;
For peace of mind that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine,
Ah, poor Louise!
Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft!
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left
To poor Louise.
Let poor Louise some succour have!
She will not long your bounty crave,
Or tire the gay with warning stave-
For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave,
Poor poor Louise.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Austerity
My mobile phone rings twice!
I took and it's a familiar voice.
'Hey! I am close to your heart
And see I am behind you.'
I looked around but nobody's seen.
'May I know your good name please? '
'It's me your breath Catherine
And you're my poor Peter the Great.
I can see you wear a Red T shirt my poor Socialist
And a blue denim patches here & there my Capitalist Rasputin.
Not only that my Sweetheart
We missed our scanty breakfast
I can see you are without the underpant
And I saw it's on the washing basin
Darling we're poor lovers with borrowed smiles.'
I heard she laughed and she's kidding me
My beloved!
A humble dedication to the poetess Fay slimm in gratitude!
* 'True affluence is not needing anything.' -Gary Snyder
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Paradise Apothecary
Dear Patients,
You have the right to know about the proper use of medication and its effects.If you need more information please ask.
-The Pharmacist
'Yes Sir, I have a question
Do you have the right to ask
The health Insurance
When poor people were in suffocation? '
nimal dunuhinga
*Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.
Charles Dickens
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Skeleton Steps Out
Poor skeleton steps out,
Dressed up in bad blood,
Bad brains, bad thoughts, and others deeds.
Poor skeleton no doubt,
One of these days,
You can cast aside your human, be free.
When the cities run with blood,
And you drink our health in mud,
All flesh be gone.
Save your dry and joyous shout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Sprung from his life sentence,
Deep inside some muscle mask.
Poor skeleton devout,
Propping up truck drivers,
Filmstars, thieves or queens, your brave task.
When technology is rust,
And you write your book in dust,
All flesh be gone.
Cant buy tickets from a tout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Liberated from sex organs,
And brown, black, white skin.
Poor skeleton you lout,
Dont you think that we might,
Like to have been asked to join in?
For good skeletons are we,
And were dying to be free,
All flesh be gone.
I will scream or sulk and pout,
Until my poor skeleton steps out.
Better watch out, here comes bony boy.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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