Hospital - Acrostic Sonnet
Dull grey cabinets, posters on the wall,
Overalls in grubby white passing through the hall,
Stretcher beds, beige, blue, seating for a few,
The white welcome posts do duty all year through.
Awaiting diagnoses, anxious patients call,
Yet information filters slowly, at a crawl.
Patience, a virtue, tried and tested too,
Applies elastic strings to Time, judgements askew.
Through age, illness, accident, Death nets all.
Independence? – truly few retain the wherewithal.
Every day brings query, quandary adds to
New isolation, illness, tests as wills unglue.
Count all your blessings, be life fine or squall,
Each soon accounts must render, with Death’s pall.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Life Or Death?
Every day we live, we always face death
We get closer to it, every time we take a breath
Life is special but death brings peace
Life brings reality and things you believe
Death is hard for everyone around
Death is quiet, no more bad sounds
Life is also hard, all the things we go through
Life can never be easy, no matter what you do
Death is sad, for those who cry
Death is meaningful, for those who die
Life is a work of art, it's nice to look
Life is full of teachings, like an open book
Death is the new life, might as well be dead
Death is a lot more, for what's up ahead
Life brings new things, always something new
Life brings surprises, something out the blue
Death is scary, nothing we want to see
Death is negative, a place we don't want to be
Life is full of love, with the ones close to you
Life is full of money, for those who sue
Death is empty, nothing compared to this
Death is a lot of things, too long of a list
But life is everything; don't wait till there's nothing left
Death can wait, so don't waste your last breath
So just pick your choice, which one? Life or death?
poem by Triauna Hall
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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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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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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Beige To Beige
No songs on the stereo
That we could sing with anymore
No dance that I can do
That would not embarrass you
A sound bite here and there
With no reason for me to care
Chorus:
Its just beige to beige
Thats all it is these days
Little windows for you to crawl through
You just do whats expected of you
Its just beige to beige to beige
These days
Uniforms for this and that
To be in our club you must wear this hat
Charlies gonna look out for you
You just do what youre supposed to do
Youre gonna fit in here
Just like you should
Learn the rules and learn them good
Chorus:
Its just beige to beige
Thats all it is these days
Little windows for you to crawl through
You just do whats expected of you
Its just beige to beige to beige
These days
If you need a thought
Well give it to you
Our statistics show what we do is true
A world without color
Is a world without sound
A world to keep the rabble down
So close the deal, close the door
Forget about the colors that you knew before
Chorus:
Its just beige to beige
Thats all it is these days, yeah
Little windows for you to crawl through
And charlie gonna take care of you
Its just beige to beige to beige
These days
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More Exams Please
I am super crazy about the school exams
For I think they don’t let my grey cells jam
And what makes me sad is that they are few and far
The new board rule of a few exams is so bizarre
Everything we do should be evaluated and tested
If fact there should be a test on sleeping too
So that I enjoy the task and don’t feel depreciated
What fun tests are, all the weekly, monthly, bi yearly, yearly and of course the surprise tests!
My life is full of tests in the school, in the tuition cases, and the tests in judo and guitar classes just adds to the fests.
What more can a child ask for but, evaluated every second of their life for everything they do
Hey how about exam on breathing, eating and even smiling
Can’t wait can you?
And since we are on the topic of education can someone increase the load of homework too?
poem by Soma Mukherjee
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Ambulances
With screaming sirens
and flashing red lights
they cut right through traffic
and the white vehicles,
appear and disappear
at any time of day.
Where life flows away
with the passage of age
and time,
where destiny strikes
and robbers leave their mark,
cars join together in force
or illness impart
its impact on humanity
they rush
to bring a sense
of caring and hope.
White doors open and close
and some are helped
and in time
grow well again
and for others,
grey blankets are drawn
right over them
and in time coffin lids
are hammered shut.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Impressions Of Francois-Marie Arouet (De Voltaire)
I
Phyllidula and the Spoils of Gouvernet
Where, Lady, are the days
When you could go out in a hired hansom
Without footmen and equipments?
And dine in a soggy, cheap restaurant?
Phyllidula now, with your powdered Swiss footman
Clanking the door shut,
and lying;
And carpets from Savonnier, and from Persia,
And your new service at dinner,
And plates from Germain,
And cabinets and chests from Martin (almost lacquer),
And your white vases from Japan,
And the lustre of diamonds,
Etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera?
II
To Madame du Châtelet
If you'd have me go on loving you
Give me back the time of the thing.
Will you give me dawn light at evening?
Time has driven me out from the fine plaisaunces,
The parks with the swards all over dew,
And grass going glassy with the light on it,
The green stretches where love is and the grapes
Hang in yellow-white and dark clusters ready for pressing.
And if now we can't fit with our time of life
There is not much but its evil left us.
Life gives us two minutes, two seasons
One to be dull in;
Two deaths and to stop loving and being lovable,
That is the real death,
The other is little beside it.
Crying after the follies gone by me,
Quiet talking is all that is left us
Gentle talking, not like the first talking, less lively;
And to follow after friendship, as they call it,
Weeping that we can follow naught else.
III
To Madame Lullin
You'll wonder that an old man of eighty
Can go on writing you verses. . . .
Grass showing under the snow,
Birds singing late in the year!
And Tibullus could say of his death, in his Latin:
'Delia, I would look on you, dying.'
And Delia herself fading out,
Forgetting even her beauty.
poem by Ezra Pound
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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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A Metaphor For A Funeral
indeed it is wonderful to entertain
that constant idea that beds are made for
sex,
but i must be deluding myself for a long time
as time
swiftly corrects me
and so shortly,
that beds in fact are made more for the resting place
of the sick and the dying,
the anxious and the depressed,
the restless people engulfing one pill to another
to get the blessings of sleep
soon it will become
another metaphor for
a funeral
and euphemism
for death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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December Flower
Towards the rich archaic heavens
Towards the lack diorama
You are the artist and the texture
That plays with mantle of the earth
When the bleakest of powders
Lie rooted to the starched stones
And the roots that feed the peaking trees
embrace the sleeping stones
Archaic pearls of sleep and death
The voice of December losing its breath
As the floweryard of white and grey is haunted, is haunted
White as the down of flaking snow
The heroic emblems of life
Green is the colour of my death
As in winter-guise I swoop towards the ground
Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing
Archaic pearls of sleep and death
The voice of December losing its breath
As the floweryard of white and grey is haunted, is haunted
White as the down of flaking snow
The heroic emblems of life
We Are In Flames
Towards the dead archaic heavens
We Are The Mantle and The Texture
The alters, the mantle of the earth
Archaic pearls of sleep and death
The voice of December losing its breath
As the floweryard of white and grey is haunted, is haunted
White as the down of flaking snow
The heroic emblems of life
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Bed
I am bed ridden and admitted in hospital
I get disheartened on doctor’s arrival
May thoughts cross over in mind?
Doctors come treat me and be very kind
I am totally afraid of death
I know how people offer wreath
Hey will be sobbing and remain in tears
I go berserk and loose heart to bear
I know no harm will be done
All illness may disappear and certainly gone’
I shall be back home with full cheers
I shall smile again without any tears
It is time to express our gratitude
And this should be general attitude
No need to express grief, sorrow
He has done all well for tomorrow
The illness can’t be contributed to anything
That can take place with anybody for something
It is body and may fell apart any time
Don’t think negative about it anytime
Keep only one faith
That may avoid the death
Rest everything is decided and in time
We may miss and curse it sometimes
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Inevitable Graveyard
Death is the end of human life
Takes the soul to the heavenly light
Keeps the kith in hellish plight
None to help with all one's mite!
Think of the causes of death in serious vein
Suicide, murder, accident many - illness main
All that flows bring pain in rhyme!
Polydol, jumping to the engine, noose on neck
All are wild forms of suicide!
Puffing, drinking, drugging to death
Sure are mild forms of suicide!
Lungs are Gods, Liver is God
Show your respect sparing rod
Rod of smoking, drinking like a cod
Long road to inevitable graveyard!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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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.