Health Poetry

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Health Poetry

  • We here at Progressive Health would like to thank you
    For being one of the generous few who’ve promised
    To bequeath your vital organs to whoever needs them.

    Now we’d like to give you the opportunity
    To step out far in front of the other donors
    By acting a little sooner than you expected,

    Tomorrow, to be precise, the day you’re scheduled
    To come in for your yearly physical. Six patients
    Are waiting this very minute in intensive care

    Who will likely die before another liver
    And spleen and pairs of lungs and kidneys
    Match theirs as closely as yours do. Twenty years,

    Maybe more, are left you, granted, but the gain
    Of these patients might total more than a century.
    To you, of course, one year of your life means more

    Than six of theirs, but to no one else,
    No one as concerned with the general welfare
    As you’ve claimed to be. As for your poems—

    The few you may have it in you to finish—
    Even if we don’t judge them by those you’ve written,
    Even if we assume you finally stage a breakthrough,

    It’s doubtful they’ll raise one Lazarus from a grave
    Metaphoric or literal. But your body is guaranteed
    To work six wonders. As for the gaps you’ll leave

    As an aging bachelor in the life of friends,
    They’ll close far sooner than the open wounds
    Soon to be left in the hearts of husbands and wives,

    Parents and children, by the death of the six
    Who now are failing. Just imagine how grateful
    They’ll all be when they hear of your grand gesture.

    Summer and winter they’ll visit your grave, in shifts,
    For as long as they live, and stoop to tend it,
    And leave it adorned with flowers or holly wreaths,

    While your friends, who are just as forgetful
    As you are, just as liable to be distracted,
    Will do no more than a makeshift job of upkeep.

    If the people you’ll see tomorrow pacing the halls
    Of our crowded facility don’t move you enough,
    They’ll make you at least uneasy. No happy future

    Is likely in store for a man like you whose conscience
    Will ask him to certify every hour from now on
    Six times as full as it was before, your work

    Six times as strenuous, your walks in the woods
    Six times as restorative as anyone else’s.
    Why be a drudge, staggering to the end of your life

    Under this crushing burden when, with a single word,
    You could be a god, one of the few gods
    Who, when called on, really listens?

  • We live in a world where sickness abounds,
    Sometimes stumping the best of providers.
    Symptoms and tests almost always expound,
    While the emotional costs grow wider.

    The travel and care and expenses we bare,
    In dollars and tears for a healing.
    Pale when compared, with the voluminous prayers,
    Our reverence and humility kneeling.

    Seeing through to the end, great strength we must take,
    And the position that attitude matters.
    A stiff upper lip and a smile sometimes fake,
    Anything less, and fragile hope easily shatters.

    Yet until we’re called home, to streets paved with gold,
    Or abodes filled with love and affection,
    Widely known in the hearts, of the young and the old,
    Laughter remains, life’s greatest healing medication!

  • Rich or not
    We all have got
    Chances in lifetime
    To live quite sublime

    More rich people become richer
    And the majority poor more poorer
    It’s not how much money brings boost
    But having enjoyed life not its cost

    Healthy body makes an active mind
    Once sick can’t make good things rewind
    Beware of taking too much of everything
    Good health is wealth and the best thing

  • I had a loose tooth, a wiggly, jiggly loose tooth.
    I had a loose tooth, hanging by a thread.

    So I pulled my loose tooth, this wiggly, jiggly loose tooth.
    And put it ‘neath the pillow when I went up to bed.

    The fairies took my loose tooth, my wiggly, jiggly loose tooth.
    So now I have a nickel and a hole in my head.

  • My insides feel messed up
    It is all dirty and sinful
    I need water
    But it isn’t a good source of vitamins

    Maybe place fresh cucumber
    That will help
    Drinking until the last drop

    I feel better already

  • A national
    fears abound
    losses loom darkly
    i lose mine
    if we are covered..
    i versus we..

    from this dream
    a new lucid vision..
    there is no i
    nor a we..
    a bewildering surprise
    the linkage
    our real constitution..
    the real

  • It has been said that “Health
    is better than wealth.” The truth
    of this statement is difficult to
    refute, especially when one’s
    state of health is so debilitated
    that he must depend upon others
    no less than a baby who must
    depend on his parents to do for
    him basic things such as feed
    or bath him. But even when the
    debilitation is not that extreme
    or incapacitating it is easy to
    recognize that good health is at
    the top of the list of people’s
    most treasured possessions.

  • Take care of yourself;
    At the top of the list is your health
    that means far more than wealth.
    And spiritual health that
    is transcendent of heredity
    and the environment enables
    you to do good, enjoy life and
    have peace.

  • It’s a special kind of feeling
    Lightness in the breeze
    Lightness in your limbs
    Moving one’s fingers with ease
    A special kind of feeling
    Heading towards real gold
    Spiritual wealth and thriving health
    Treasures and riches untold

    An invaluable, precious feeling
    Life as it’s meant to be
    Breathing with the full confidence of being
    A healthy body enables a life worth living

    An exceptional state of living
    The condition of living is giving
    With every breath of life we’re giving
    Empowering life on earth with healthy living

  • I once heard the whisper of falling snow,
    saw a spark in the eye of a coal-black crow,
    felt the power and awe of a swift river’s flow,
    the older I get, the less I know.

    My hair was once braided in golden cornrows,
    by Jamaican friends in an island below,
    a psychic once asked me about Jericho,
    the older I get, the less I know.

    The hot southern asphalt that scalded my toe,
    the rope swing that swung us, to and fro,
    Christmas Eve and the tree in the firelight’s glow,
    the older I get, the less I know.

    Everyone’s gone, but where did they go?
    Why is my spirit sinking so low?
    Is it true we reap only what we sow?
    the older I get, the less I know.