​

Rx: One Century of Medicine

 

Body exhumed, dissected and drawn

In quest to learn more, still the study goes on

The science has grown, while diminished in size

 

But the problem remains, despite microscope eyes

First challenged with simple techniques,  sanitation

Purification and Pasteurization

 

Each milestone measured by number of lives

Vaccinations so named to memorialize

He who discovered microbes of consumption

 

Lifecycles, vectors, and contamination

As each is identified, new comes a strain

More deadly and virulent, attacking the range

 

Of the aged, with lives scientifically long

While host becomes weaker, microbe remains strong

So chemical compounds must be synthesized

 

And fed to the sick, with an illness disguised

To be something more toxic than treatment itself

Overdosing on journals that sit on the shelf

 

Expounding of lives with expectancy great

Surpassing a century, outsmarting fate

Life’s worth is diminished, microscopic in size

 

And blinded to ending when somebody dies

Examining cells, and their permeability

Just parts of the whole, controlled vulnerability

 

Perhaps in the future, new medicine vast

Will teach us to value each day as the last

​

​

​

While Dad’s in the Hot Tub

 

 

Solemn face, a look of gloom

Escorted to the trauma room

Tonight I saw a father cry

As he watched his young son die

 

A business trip, a week of fun

A time to bond for Dad and son

A swimming pool, a hotel stay

Who was to know it ‘d end this way

 

How can he call the mom at home

Who knew he shouldn’t swim alone

The water only 5 feet deep

We pray the Lord his soul to keep

 

We ran the code for one full hour

With flat line on the monitor

To stop would mean that he was dead

While our kids rested home in bed

 

We’re all just hanging by a thread

​

​

​

Health Care Crisis

 

They say the law of averages

Will always equal out

Tattoos the source of ravages

With all but 2 teeth out

 

What say you is the problem

Do you need a work excuse

Or do you want a paper trail

For Medicare abuse

 

That sunburn pain

Requires Nubain

The wait is way too long

You can’t afford to fill your script

But for a “smoke” you’re gone

 

What can we do

To make it right

We’ll just write off that bill

So you’ll be here another night

To get some other pill

 

They say there is a crisis

In health care, and they’re right

Who’s got the system figured out

Not I, who works all night

​

​

 

Dr. Mami 

 

What kind of mother

Cares for another

While her son is sick at home

 

It’s my confession

No profession

Will appease or should condone

 

She dreams to stay

Home night and day

And nurture him to health

 

But in her plight

To work all night

She does not feel the wealth

 

When he was small

He used to fall

And bump his little head

 

She’d hold him tight

To make it right

And carry him to bed

 

A little kiss

“Mami is this

What you do when you leave?

 

Hug other kids

Who come in sick

And give them what they need?

 

I wish that I

Would almost die

So you’d take care of me

 

If I stayed sick

That’d be the trick

Then you would never leave”

 

A mother’s nature

Is to nurture

With Mami-strings so strong

 

To tug her heart

Tear her apart

And tell her something’s wrong

 

It’s in the blood

And thick as mud

Of family whom she cares

 

She knows her role

Won’t fill the hole

That grows for those she bears

 

For it’s not long

And  they’ll be gone

The job….. is always there…

​

​

​

Telling the Family 

 

Trapped

At the edge of the chair

Preparing to be tearful

Frightfully fidgeting

She and the tissue wadded uptight

Eyes darting

Looking at everyone

Seeing no one

Avoiding the contact

That will make it real

Others standing

Restless

Pacing

Protective

Acting strong

Acting

Trapping her in the room

Fortress to keep out the bad news

I painfully enter

Her eyes meet mine

Now she knows

What she doesn’t want to know

Now she can feel it

And cry

​

​

​

Grandma Hands 

 

Since I can remember

They have always been there

Those heavy lines and creases

That map out my life

          Upon my hands

 

While other little plump moist fingers

Molded clay ashtrays

For their mothers

Mine were sculpting shapes

          Without bases

 

Defying nature…

Much older and wiser than me

They tailored Barbie dresses

As if anticipating

          Suturing faces

 

Scaling the keyboard

They would lure my father in

Baited by the music

He would pace until he’d win

          And my fingers would

yield to his

 

They’ve grown accustomed

To turning pages

Highlighting phrases

Carefully selected to

          Always be remembered

 

And while drawing soft circles

On little bedtime backs

As eyelids get heavy

They sense the same lure of music

          Alive in one son 

And feel the same hands

With those lines and creases

Small reproductions of mine

In the other son

          Defying nature…

 

Hidden as a child

These grandma hands

Have patiently waited

For the rest of me

          To grow into them

​

​

​

Poetry About Poetry

​

Poetic Evolution

 

 

Poems are unanticipated insights

From some secret part of your brain

Or is it your heart?

Or is it your genetic code?

That has one little Valine

In that same place as your mother’s Valine

That nobody else has

Except, of course, her mother

And her mother

​

And your child

​

​

Poetic Crime

​

I know it is

Poetic crime

But God I just

Can not

Not rhyme

I learned it from

My idols three

Frost, Suess, and Emily

 

 

A Worthy Poem

 

You shouldn’t have to read her mind

To understand her story

Nor have her flying at full mast

To recognize her glory

 

You need not be an auctioneer

To figure out her worth

Nor have to hire an engineer

To measure width or girth

 

You really shouldn’t lawyer up

To get your own fair share

You needn’t be an English buff

If you will only dare

 

To swallow inhibitions

And let the words have you

It’s not the lines, but in-between

That takes you someplace new

 

 

Enlighten Me

 

Although we are not so empowered

To alter the length of our lives

The depth and the width and the passion

Grow with each choice, be it wise

 

The tricks in our pockets seem shameless

The words in our books so complex

The languages different with sameness

The rituals we practice, perplex

 

Our battles reflect of uniqueness

With weapons inflicting their toll

Our prowess adept to completeness

No training, just depth from the soul

 

While windowless walls that surround men

Are chipped away brick at a time

By caring and unreined affection

A shield keeps the power confined

 

And those without walls are enlightened

They see life so clear and so bright

But would they be wise to be frightened

Defenseless from all in their sight

 

The choice between battle or travel

A path with its valleys and peaks

I choose to go forth and unravel

This trip, without option to cease

​

​

 

Poetry About Children

 

Inspector Maria Esther

 

She lines us up

All in a row

Stairstep heads

Naked toes

Tropical tile

Cold on the feet

View of the street

Would be such a treat

 

That tapestry drape

Is blocking the sun

She thinks it looks great

To a kid it’s no fun

And the hole’s really small

And I’m really not tall

Enough to see all

And I don’t like to crawl

 

Just ‘cause that hole

Is at my eye level

And the scissors are mine

That sit on the table

I didn’t do it

It must be a tear

A robber or brother

But not me I swear!!!

 

 

Kids’ Play

 

Childhood pirates

Adventurers of the sea

Clear vast vision

Atop the willow tree

 

Theatre dancers

Tapping, wearing sparkles

Balcony seats

Upon the ping-pong tables

 

Wilderness explorers

Catching lightning bugs

Chasing frogs from under rocks

Freed when playtime’s up

 

Beautiful Bride

Walking down the aisle

Pearl gown train

Marries brother with a smile

 

Runway models

Brightly painted faces

High heels wiggle ankles

Spinning party dresses

 

Animal doctors

Patching wings, wrapping heads

Velveeta cheese boxes

Caskets for the dead

​

​

Poetry About Aging

 

 

​

I Don’t Want To Be The Oldest Tree

 

Standing alone in the black of the night

With no one to share all the beauty of life

I don’t want to be the oldest tree

While others tumble, all around me

 

I don’t want to be the oldest tree

Branches in arms, doing the wave

Reaching and reaching for higher grounds

Searching for sun rays that I’ve never found

Hit by the tidal waves year after year

Hey somebody…I’m over here

 

I don’t want to be the oldest tree

Saying goodbye to seedlings of mine

Watching the lives of others go by

While my roots grab the soil in the heat and dry

 

Blow me on by with the leaves of the season

No reason to cry while my chosen have flown

Blow me on by and I’ll know the reason

It’s time to move on, so others can grow

 

 

DNA

 

The helix transcends

No beginning no end

Masquerading as memory

Or déjà vu

Meaning nothing of you

Just synaptic recurrence

Simulating what’s new

Thought of once being there

But not knowing where

And questioning when

No beginning no end

Encoded in truth

Shaping each generation

A feeling that’s real

Or imagination

Mitotic the cells

Double the strands

The helix transcends

No beginning no end

 

 

 

 

Rancid Aging

 

They say that men age with such grace

With salt and pepper hair

The sensitive and wise man’s face

Looks more the debonair

 

But women who in youth were sought

Are told in not a whisper

That they don’t age, they only rot

Like fruit does in the crisper

​

​

 

​