To a Senior Pediatrician, on His Turning Sixty-Seven
Fondly dedicated to Dr.N. Ramachandran MD. DCH
Formerly HOD of Paediatrics & DS IRT PMC & H, Perundurai.
A child
Grew up
To be a man;
And donned
The cap
Of an expert on
Children’s ailments.
Dressed in white,
He taught the art
To medicos right,
From the start.
And now,
He’s touched years
Sixty-seven;
Wizened and wise,
Still, first to rise!
He’s spick and span;
A perfect man;
With rosy hue;
Talks to a few.
He walks by march;
His food is starch;
He keeps his word,
And loves the curd.
He sings ‘slokas’;
He loves ‘vikas’;
He cooks his food;
Rarely is off-mood!
His voice is low;
All student bow;
He teaches well;
And is never ill.
He does the job
that’s him, assigned;
He’as worked so well,
and now resigned.
Being an ex-
Air Force person,
He’s so perfect
for that reason.
I salute him,
With reverence,
For common sense,
And his prudence.
God bless his life;
God spare him strife;
God give him years
Of joy, with dears.
And now,
In his second childhood,
He is just,
One year old!
poem by John Celes (20 September 2007)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Melancholy Mood
A little collie weed to ease I grief
too much agony living in the limits of big city
a little collie weed to meditate
too much insanity in this society
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
rise this morning smile with the sun
oh I'm blessed another day has begun
everything in life has its purpose
find its reason it has its season
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
tears leave my eyes I just want to fly
deep down I feel pain
but I know I must rise again
from this melancholy mood melancholy mood
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mother Child
A mother is a child
She is younger than her children
That is why she learns from them
She learns the value
Of overcoming sin
Temptation passes her by
Her Children are her mentors
She teaches them while
They teach her…… Perfect
A Mother loves her child
With her life ……. Nothing more
She is burdened by love
She cares, She loves
She’s our mother
We love her
A team of the greatest
A mother and her child
One can’t live without the other
They run a race
A relay
Her love powers her
She can over come
All things
Just dig a little deeper
They are the strongest
A mother and her child
Nothing can separate their bond
Emotions pay a truce
A battle can be mended
Strongly from their hearts
She follows a God
A being not be seen
And so does her child
Her child follows her
They make her feel the love
What more could we want
poem by Dustin Bennefield
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Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Children Die: Malnutrition
Think of the children that die each year, each minute, every couple of seconds, and think of how lucky you are. Please, spread the word of this poem, help me educate people about malnutrition's effect! ! !
Lying awake,
A yound child cries,
Her stomach is empty,
She'll probably die,
Could you have guessed,
That every 3.6 seconds,
A person dies,
From malnutrition and hunger,
One out of eight children,
Go to bed hungry each night,
Aged under twelve,
They soon lose the fight,
One-hundred-and-sixty million,
Children, years five and under,
Are malnurished,
And filled with hunger,
Fiften million children,
Die of hunger each year,
Their parents dead,
Or filled with tears,
Many of us worry,
About such trivial things,
Think of those children,
And what their fate is,
Please don't waste food,
And think of how lucky we are,
That we are all fed,
And not dead from malnutrition each year.
poem by Kelly Aragon
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In Praise of Someone
A perfect person, rarely seen;
A teacher always kind, she’s been;
A face of calmness, rare to see;
Soft-spoken soul (you name someone) !
Expert in English – her domain;
Conducting seminars – her lane;
Perfect in everything, she stays;
She loves to help others always.
A strong believer, she fears God;
A lot, she prays – a thing quite odd;
She won the’ Best Teacher Award’;
She’s a director, singer and bard!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-15-2009
poem by John Celes
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The First Lady
She is
A white pigeon
With brown hair
She loves reading
She loves culture
And cultured people
That's why
All cultured people
Of the world
Love her
More
In Egypt
We love her
More
and more
When she talks
Specially
When she talks
To children
Mother
Of Egyptian children
God bless her....
poem by Eman Elbadawi
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The Canvas
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The stories that it tells.
Oh how she loves to paint her thoughts,
And etch a perfect spell.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The memories that it holds.
Oh how she loves to trace the lines,
And tell if new or old.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
Her stability in an unstable world.
Oh how she loves to fret away,
At all of her unfurled.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A standstill of art and truth.
Oh how she loves the feel of it,
To reminisce her youth.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A long work of her life.
Oh how she loves the twisted colors,
Splashes of red upon white.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
She crafts each inch with care.
She hides her canvas well away,
Though she often earns a stare.
Do not tell of her canvas,
Keep the secret- she insists.
But perhaps some time take a second glance,
For her canvas is her wrist.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Primary
The innocence of sleeping children
Dressed in white
And slowly dreaming
Stops all time
Slow my steps and start to blur
So many years have filled my heart
I never thought i'd say those words
The further we go
And older we grow
The more we know ...
The less we show ...
The very first time i saw your face
I thought of a song
And quickly changed the tune
The very first time i touched your skin
I thought of a story
And rushed to reach the end
Too soon
Oh remember
Please
Don't change
So the fall came
Thirteen years
A shiny ring
And how i could forget your name
The air no longer in my throat
Another perfect lie is choked
But it always feels the same
So they close together
Dressed in red and yellow
Innocent forever
Sleeping children in their blue soft rooms
Still dream
The further we go
And older we grow
The more we know ...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children Dressed In Tatters
We’re sorry!
We have no manners!
But ...
We’re your children and you’re our Mom!
Send us food on golden platters.
Give us love
amidst life’s storms.
If our faith is
less-than-perfect,
do not notice;
We are yours!
Errant children,
dressed in tatters,
Tuka says,
You can’t ignore.
poem by Sant Tukaram
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A Rationale God
A Rationale God
It is true there is but one God
It is also true that it is a God for all.
If God loves my children
Then God loves your children.
If God loves me
Then God loves you.
If the above is fact and true
Then there is a God; the children; and me and you.
God does not need a religion or such
Neither do I very much.
God does not have a chosen people
It is the people who have a chosen God.
God would never sanction human suffering
But severly judge those who harm his children.
God loves you and yours and also me and mine
God shares and cares; and at the very least; is fair and kind.
A child is taught and a child does learn
Responsible teachers should question and also discern.
10-30-06 Aho Speak.
poem by AHO Speaks
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Perfect Part 2
I don’t need perfect cloth
I don’t need perfect hair
What I need is a confidence
I don’t need perfect score
I don’t need perfect job
What I need is a support
I don’t need perfect word
I don’t need perfect dream
What I need is a chance
I don’t need perfect agreement
I don’t need perfect control
What I need is a solution
I don’t need perfect holiday
I don’t need perfect memories
What I need is a peace of mind
I don’t need perfect home
I don’t need perfect family
What I need is a comfort
I don’t need perfect love
I don’t need perfect life
What I need is an understanding
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I Would Do For You
The Mother looks into the eyes of her child,
With the love that is so deep and true
Then she hugs her child and loves her child,
And says, “ there is nothing that I would not do for you”.
She loves her child more than she does herself
She’ll places her child above all others
For the child she would die, And not even ask why,
As the child is hers, and she is the mother.
She knows she’ll will always be there for her child
No matter the pain or a reason why,
Just to see it smile or hear it laugh
It is the greatest joy that a mother wont hide.
She will follow her child throughout her life
That being the reason why she says she lives
The love is so great for a mother and her child,
That there is nothing that she would not do or give.
She thinks of her child constantly when she is alone
She knows no pain or discomfort when the child is near,
She is only here to make her child happy and wise
While hoping never to bring her child a tear.
I now look into the eyes of my wife,
The woman who I love with a love so deep and true,
As a mother loves her child, a man he loves his wife
And with her in mind I say, “ there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you”.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Ramdas Choi Chang Poems 2
Isn't it perfect to think everyone is perfect,
Everyone is perfectly fit
to their own place!
The Great Engineer know which spare can fit,
How to fit
where to fit,
that perfect Engineer perfectly fits everything to His own purpose!
Poem2
Whoever we meet, may not be perfect,
Who ever is perfect,
We may never meet,
Life is that strange thing,
Only imperfect can fit into it,
Whether may it be one or any one around!
Poem3
A flower that looks perfect,
Insects surround it and spoil it,
Below that the frogs wait,
And snake can safely find its food there,
Even the eagle has an eye on perfect flower,
Where it can get some thing to eat!
So, is the story of perfected saint,
Some come to him for their own purpose,
Some start service and service turns to business,
And a saint can be food for thought,
Or he may be source or inspiration to worldly man's business!
Poem4
Men wants to praise,
Woman wants to be praised,
so many write on love,
But no one yet met one's perfect love,
As perfect love is that warmth,
All are dolls made of ice,
And can only melt and flow into lap of love!
Poem5
Nothing is perfect,
No one is perfect,
Everyone can be perfect,
until one continues with a perfect thought that he himself only is imperfect,
As perfection is aim and only aim of all!
Poem6
Infinite particles infinite space,
Infinite time,
and infinite
Thoughts,
I can't find the infinite any where than in me,
When that ant climb on my legs,
Ant came to may ears and said, 'on the tip of my legs infinite bacteria lies '
Bacteria about virus and so on..
I learnt that every thing is relativistic,
Even me and my death are close relatives!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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This Will All Make Perfect Sense Someday (Live)
this will all make perfect sense someday
i'll be ok....
this will all maker perfect sense someday
theres got to be a reason for the rain
all my bills have all gotten paid
i shaked the bet, i broke the bet
this could have been a slow song
a laundry list of all the wrongs
but at the end of the day
this is my beautiful disaster piece Ive made
and it goes, and i quote, and i never would lie:
this will all make perfect sense someday
i'll be ok....
this will all maker perfect sense someday
theres got to be a reason for the rain
i don't understand the numbers
but my faith is in the math
and the odds are all that they believe
(inaudible)
and to all the hearts i've broken
and the ones that once broke mine
i've got suspicions all will be forgive in time
all you gotta do is call them up and say:
this will all make perfect sense someday
i'll be ok....
this will all maker perfect sense someday
theres got to be a reason for the rain
and if it ever gets bad, i mean really bad
i'll move to Nova Scotia and forget the life i had
be up at nine each morning down by the shore
collecting things that fell off boats in storms
look here, so i might never but its nice to know the options there
the options there...
this will all make perfect sense someday
i'll be ok....
this will all maker perfect sense someday
theres got to be a reason for the rain
a reason for the rain, a reason for the rain
the reason for the rain, for the rain
and is it a habit i keep biting my lip in the same place
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life With God (5-19-08)
Life with God is what a Christian
does. Life with God is doing things
that God wants you to do.
God wants you to do what is right
and try not to make mistakes. Yes
God knows that we cant not me
perfect, but he still loves us.
God still loves us even when
we mess up and sin. Life with
God is to give messages
to people who need it.
Life with God is spreading
the word of God.
Do what you think is right.
What God would want you to do!
A Little Child Is My Master
A little child is my master
I'm met by him to my nature
He does not worry his past
He does not care to future
Smiles dance on his face
In the joy and serious case
He is hurt he forgets
He lives in joy with bless
He teaches me a holy lesson
I can live happy in the tension
An elder does not know love
A child knows he is above
I started respect the children
He shows me a way of heaven
We are wise but we get zero
He loves us he is a hero
I get a child when I meet
I feel I'm child it's sweet
poem by Aroon George
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My Perfect Sister
MY PERFECT SISTER
My perfect sister holds me tight
My perfect sister kisses me goodnight
My perfect sister knows when I’m mad
My perfect sister helps me when I’m sad
My perfect sister is so smart
My perfect sister has my heart
My perfect sister is good and nice
My perfect sister holds me at night
My perfect sister loves me lots
My perfect sister ties the knot
My perfect sister is here to stay
My perfect sister I have until this very day
My perfect sister I wish you well
My perfect sister yes I can tell
My perfect sister asked if I lied
My perfect sister knows if I’ve cried
My perfect sister has moved away
->My perfect sister is in my heart to and will always stay
poem by Megan Sandifer
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Who Loves Me
Who loves me?
Is it the woman who carried me in her womb for 7 months?
Or is the man that I am the spitting image of that I call Pop?
Who loves me?
Is it my three siblings who I grew up with?
Or is it their children who call me Uncle Ronald?
Who loves me?
Is it my friend I known for most of my life?
Or is it the woman I Instant message and hopes to one day make my wife?
Who loves me?
Well out of all those people I mention
I can’t tell you which one of them loves me.
From my mother to the woman who’s more than likely my future wife.
But I can tell you this I know at least one person who loves me,
and that is me.
That’s right
it is me
who love me!
When She Played It Was On Her Piano
As a kid I had ambitions.
And the first of them was to do my chores,
Before my mother would come home from work.
And she would pack them on too!
'I told you to sweep this floor.'
I did!
'With what?
A sandwich?
Do it again.'
My sister, Mimmie, would look at me.
And smile!
I couldn't wait,
To give her the spray can...
To kill the roaches!
I didn't know we weren't suppose to have them,
Until I was eight years old!
And that's not a joke.
One day when my mother went to work,
I made sure Mimmie got introduced.
She's a grandmother now.
And every once in a while...
She will mention how mean I was to her.
Nobody is going to sit,
And enjoy me getting whipped!
And that has been my philosophy...
Learned very early in my life.
Those days are long gone.
And being assigned to responsibilites,
I believe every child needs.
However...
Too many parents have raised lazy and spoiled children.
Believing one day,
They will awaken and be accountable for their actions!
Today as I reflect on my childhood,
I am glad my mother did not allow me to go to sleep...
To chance an awakening to what I knew I should do.
What I had and was going to do got done,
Before I had an opportunity to give it thought.
Procrastination,
Was not a lesson my mother taught.
I've seen parents,
Do everything possible for their children.
To wonder at a later date in time,
Why their children disrespect them.
Even 'if' I looked as if I wanted to say something back,
My mother would put a 'switch' to my behind.
AND...
I would have to fine one she liked to use on me.
That was before the calling of 911.
Today...
They would call that child abuse.
When I grew up...
We got our 'butts' tore up.
Just for looking as 'if'...
We did not enjoy getting whippings!
And I aint hardly kidding.
How does that 'old' saying go?
~Spare the rod and spoil the child.~
Well...
Mimmie and I were very spoiled.
But...
A rocking of a boat,
Did not float at all...
With Ms Edna!
When she played,
It was on her piano!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Hurts Whom?
Hurt, is that lesson of life,
Perfect pool of Imperfects,
A kid may get hurt
Or may hurt its parents too
its parents may hurt
Or may hurt their kid too,
A brother may get hurt,
or he may hurt brothers and sisters too,
Sister gets hurt
Or she may hurt her brothers and sisters too,
Mother gets hurt or she my may hurt father too.
Father may get hurt Or may hurt mother too,
A friend gets hurt
Or may hurt his friend too!
A lover get hurts, or may hurt one's lover too,
Teacher may gets hurt
Or may hurt student too
Student gets hurt Or he may hurt his teacher too,
Life is a pool of Imperfects
And only Imperfects can perfect life,
And life is that greatest class room,
Where the greatest and perfect teacher teaches perfect lessons,
But life when teaches, we just close the chapter,
'saying it is our fate! '
Is it true that one has to hurt others to make his living?
Living a life, and make a Living aren't the differ?
People are determined to build life than live a life,
Where one may hurt others,
This the story of Buddha asking kisa Gouthami ' I will save your child, but bring handful of mustard from a home where death not entered! '
This is the story,
'I will heal your hurts, if you can bring some dust of a man's feet, whoever neither got hurt nor hurt others! '
Life a that teaches and hurt is that lesson,
Which shows the one who hurts is Imperfect than who gets hurt,
Both are still imperfect,
The one got hurt is more imperfect,
And he is the one who hurts himself,
by his desires and expectations,
He is the one who gives chance to others to hurt,
With his misunderstandings!
Hurt is the result of our own imperfection say those have seen and understood life in perfect!
God is that only perfect and he is out of life cycle,
And He can only be healer of all hurts!
Perfection can make us hurt free, but imperfection is the life,
Those who ant life let them adjust themself with imperfection of own first and with that of others,
What you say, is it perfect or imperfect? You please, decide and tell me!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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