Theophilus
By the seashore of love,
Those who are well have no need of the physician!
But i am Theophilus still in search of you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Theophilus
By what serene malevolence of names
Had you the gift of yours, Theophilus?
Not even a smeared young Cyclops at his games
Would have you long,—and you are one of us.
Told of your deeds I shudder for your dream
And they, no doubt, are few and innocent.
Meanwhile, I marvel; for in you, it seems,
Heredity outshines environment.
What lingering bit of Belial, unforeseen,
Survives and amplifies itself in you?
What manner of devilry has ever been
That your obliquity may never do?
Humility befits a father’s eyes,
But not a friend of us would have him weep.
Admiring everything that lives and dies,
Theophilus, we like you best asleep.
Sleep—sleep; and let us find another man
To lend another name less hazardous:
Caligula, maybe, or Caliban,
Or Cain,—but surely not Theophilus.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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A double edge sword
They say love is
a physician,
or a medicine for
the hearts pang.
But is not much
accurate when love
slugs you many times
and it never heals
the heart,
Much more then that it
shatters it every time.
For my heart is wounded
in numerous ways it is not
a proving thing,
Is like a myth a
fairy tale;
Love is a double
edge sword,
they might say love
is an antidote that
heals or an aspirin to
ease the pain,
Not in my world,
in my veins,
but yet the only
love that heals my wounds
and my aches is
the Lord's love.
A mans love
has no remedy,
it is the worst love you
can conceive
love is a tainted touch
when coming from mortal,
A dark veil with
poison desires,
love has come to me
with untainted eyes,
and hidden thorns,
covering his identity,
A pet can give away
his best to you,
a pure innocent love,
with meekness eyes
and pure soul.
Love is not a healer
to the heart,
to me it is a thieve of my
peace and bliss,
a harmony turn to war.
So love is a physician,
that's what they say,
but medicine posthumous
is unreachable unless by
Godly
The love of God is
a true love,
it has no envy
no confinement,
no conditions,
is perpetual and
immaculate.
Don't tell me love
is a physician,
a physician is
what I need after having
the love of thee.
Jehovah is my physician indeed
copyrightElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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A physician without a knowledge of Astrology has no right to call himself a physician.
quote by Hippocrates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Live good
Search You
Seach you...
Truley search you...
Same time
Safeley Love
And search with you...
Love with you
And search with you...
Live good...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Metamorphosis Catalyzed
Conformist habits meet metamorphosis
at dawn when night stars pale,
or enhaling dunes on seashore.
Contrasts holoistic encourage divorce
between who sips, who drinks
Pierian spring catalyzing source search.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Search It
search anything
in your life
search any thing...
you search u got it...
you did not search
waste of life time...
you search any thing
any time search...
not only google.com
search all ways
what do u want...?
search it
the life is search only
you search your inner
you got many more...
search with you...
search the another's
and search the world...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The young physician starts life with 20 drugs for each disease, and the old physician ends life with one drug for 20 diseases.
quote by William Osler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind.
quote by Philipus Aureolus Paracelsus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A physician is not angry at the intemperance of a mad patient, nor does he take it ill to be railed at by a man in fever. Just so should a wise man treat all mankind, as a physician does his patient, and look upon them only as sick and extravagant.
quote by Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead
and the restless water is boisterous.
On the seashore of endless worlds
the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats
and smilingly float them on the vast deep.
Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children,
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children,
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
ships get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Love
Love,
Is like the wind,
It passes by,
And leaves nothing,
Behind,
Just passes through,
My heart,
My soul,
And never let me,
Enjoy the feeling,
The sensation,
Of being cared for,
By someone,
Who really loves me.
Why is my life,
So desperate always?
Why is love,
Treating me,
So unkindly?
I look forever,
I search forever,
Look everywhere,
Search everywhere,
And all I end,
Up with is,
A love that,
Never lasts long.
My heart is a,
Heart of pain.
It has never,
Been able to love,
Someone longer,
Than it wants to.
I always love,
But does,
That person love me?
The answers,
To my questions,
Are always,
Painful,
And different to,
Take into term.
Am I suppose,
To search,
The rest of,
My lonely life?
Where will I go?
Where will I search?
I am tired,
Of searching,
And wondering,
Day by day.
Why must my heart,
Be all pain,
And none of love?
poem by Heather Noble
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I Search
I search for that something called an Identity
I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me'
I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope
That'll steady my walk on life's tightrope
I search for that stroke of Brilliance
That'll make me stand out among millions
I search for that much-needed Common Sense
That'll help me to decipher utter nonsense
I search for that slippery thing called Fame
That'll erase all my past memories of shame
I search for that quality called Tenacity
That'll help me cope with life's complexity
I search for that something called a Carefree Life
That'll remove me from worries and Danger's knife
I search for something called an Identity
And I still search for that being called 'me'
poem by Rony Patra
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The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease.
quote by William Osler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind Masters
Search for attention and recognition;
Search for food, clothes and shelter;
Search for love with opposite gender.
Mind dictates the three for a compromise.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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As the shells upon the seashore, are the sorrows that Love engenders.
Ovid in The Art of Love, Book II, translated by J. Lewis May
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Love in Rubber Balls
From a seashore wedding
all that’s left at ebb’s tide are
discarded hot air balloons.
Once inflated egos
now in flaccid condoms
are the only ephemeral remnants
of flushed adulation
feeding foreign shores.
Lovers gone,
paramours in search of passion,
only barren lovers’ wishes
fill imaginary baby carriages.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
AD Something
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Mari
I will be in your wilderness of love and,
That is what change looks like;
For i am your lover and you are mine,
And our footsteps will be left in the sand of the seashore.
Mari my love,
Come and marry me! !
For your love is all over me and,
I cannot sleep easily at night.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Love Is Gone
I search my soul and it was empty.
I search my heart and nothing was there.
I look into your eyes and nothing i felt.
What as gone wrong
i asked my head.
The morning you came,
you were not my old same.
Though immaculate as an angel
yet i could not feel your present.
Where is the love i once cherished?
The love i once hold dear?
The love that makes me
high without wine?
Like trooping soldiers,
questions engulfed me.
I search for scars
that you never left,
and there was nothing.
Nothing to hold for a reason
As drops of salt in the ocean
My Love is gone.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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I am Afraid of My Nothingness
I am afraid of the ocean, not the
seashore with its magic gifts of shells
and sand-dollars or the bars and
nearness of sliding bodies on poles
but that sea without boundaries
Oh, I’ve seen the seashore erased
by tides and hurricanes, its people and pets
flotsam bloated in stagnant aftermath but
that is blur of ink and the astigmatism of
the reluctant lens in disasters, but erased?
Foolish, erasers on art pencils and charcoal
but the ocean can erase those images, paper
and all unnoticed before a museum door closes
all things go to the bay, no dumping
the starving artists are in the long room
the Remington Room at the Hilton, nothing
greater than thirty dollars, in oil impervious
to erasure above the velvet couch from the
flea market, a seascape, a ship at the seashore
tall, sails full and lanyards medical alerts attached
And so as I sail my craft round the world, with
Balboa, again and again, as I find the spice islands
decked out in my Sunday best I deliver a cargo
to Charleston and sing a hymn but anticipate the
gavel at the seashore near warehouses, shells
carve lot numbers and families are erased within
boundaries of harbors, safe harbors at Rio or New Orleans
I am afraid of the ocean with its myriad mysteries
I am afraid of the ocean without any fences, a good
neighbor that erases me, like two facing mirrors in the dark
poem by James Niles
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