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Popular Sickness Poems

يومان قد مرا ولم - Poem by خل

by خليل السكاكيني

يومان قد مرا ولم
يدخل طعام في فمي
لا أستطيع أن اقوم
من شديد الألم
وليس من يسأل عما
حل بي من سقم
ولم يكن بين الجميع
من يُرى مكلّمي
وهكذا ظللت
بي ن سقم وسأم

......

On a windy summer day the well-dressed
trustees occupy the first row
under the yellow and white striped canopy.
Their drive for capital is over,
and for a while this refuge is secure.

Thin after your second surgery, you wear
the gray summer suit we bought eight
years ago for momentous occasions
in warm weather. My hands rest in my lap,

......

Faustina, or Rock Roses

by Elizabeth Bishop

Tended by Faustina
yes in a crazy house
upon a crazy bed,
frail, of chipped enamel,
blooming above her head
into four vaguely roselike
flower-formations,

the white woman whispers to
herself. The floorboards sag

......

Hospital Writing Workshop

by Rafael Campo

Arriving late, my clinic having run
past 6 again, I realize I don't
have cancer, don't have HIV, like them,
these students who are patients, who I lead
in writing exercises, reading poems.
For them, this isn't academic, it's
reality: I ask that they describe
an object right in front of them, to make
it come alive, and one writes about death,
her death, as if by just imagining

......

A letter to a sick child

by Dr. Robert Ippaso

There once was a little snail,
That wondered why It didn't have a proper tail,
She asked all those that passed her by
If there might be a rather simple reason why.
None proved to be that kind,
Which put her in an awful bind,
Until one fateful sunny day
She met a hare along the way.
My friend he said, looking awfully smug,
A tail Is something others often tug,

......

Recent Sickness Poems

A letter to a sick child

by Dr. Robert Ippaso

When we met

by Dave Newman

WHEN WE MET
----Flowed like the creek which babbled alongside.
WORDS
----Ricocheted like shrapnel around the nauseous confines of the skull I locked myself inside.

WHEN I FELL
----Swirled in the daze of a hued cloud like embers coughed from a campfire.
MY DREAMS

......

At the age of four

by Awwab Paracha

At the age of four, I saw perfection. I saw it in the crystal-like tears that ran like a river through my mother's soul. Reality cracked, within a shiny glass, creating reflections of my weak body. At the age of four, I was finally told, "You’ll never be perfect." But then, I realized that perfection is broken. It's fragile, it's weak, it's flawed, and it's beautiful. Tears became my rain. They became my joy. I spent days in hospital rooms while my mother's tears caressed my heart with their perfectly warm hands. Those tears fought with me, fought for me, lived for me, and died for me. At the age of 15, I saw perfection, again. I saw it in tears that broke out of the confines of hazel brown eyes and ran like a heavenly river of honey through the maple-sweet soul of a broken honeycomb. I saw perfection in a cracked looking glass. At last, another portal to the land of rainbows and diamond-white tears. Another girl, my girl. You should see the way she holds me. You should see the way she kisses me. You should see the way she loves me. You should see her. Because then, You would finally understand... that perfection is not perfect... It's more like a cracked diamond, a messy apple-pie, a fading rainbow, a giant spoonful of Nutella, a mother's tears, red petals that roses wear, the smell of freshly shampooed hair. A girl who talks to herself. A girl who talks to my heart. A girl who made me feel like I was four-years-old again. Earth's lucky charm. My baby girl. Lexi. I love you

Silence

by Man Mryt

I vh.

Fibromyalgia

by Julia Shaw

Fibromyalgia

Fibromyalgia is an illness that often besets
Women and men who can not help themselves
It's a syndrome that causes great pain and distress
It even causes its victims to feel overwhelmed

And cold damp weather only increases the chance
That muscles will cramp and increase the stress
And though one looks the same at a glance

......