This gentle poem honors a lovely lady—“a hundred birthdays…give or take”—who gave her body to science. As the clinicians dissect, observe, and study, the poet juxtaposes the harsh procedures with softer observations. This lady was loved and cared for. The poem pays homage to a life well-lived, and to a final decision to help others learn.
In a poignant cry of honesty, [poet] takes the reader on a journey inside a mind experiencing crippling anxiety. The poem moves from a vivid portrayal of daily fear toward a gradual englightenment about the nature of the condition, and finally, to a warrior-like acceptance of what anxiety is—and most importantly, what it is not.
Download the article (pdf) Table of Contents This poem is dedicated to Doris Armour, MD. Leaving this season lush with life, you’ll connect
From Individuals With Aphasia and Brain Injuries to Poets: How the Book I Don’t Think I Did This Right Came to Be by Kathryn Paulson, Brendan Constantine, and Jerry K. Hoepner, relates how a group of dynamic poets developed out of a few workshops for individuals with stroke-based aphasia and traumatic brain injuries. Starting out as an idea to spur creativity and help participants share their stories, the meetings quickly developed into the Thursday Night Poets group. Their first published work, described here, offers poetry of deep meaning and resonance for anyone who has ever faced a challenge.
In this lovely poem, the author pays tribute to the love that restores the soul when an ordeal afflicts the body. He reflects on the healing presence of caring friends and family throughout the process of mending both the injured body and the deflated spirit.
This beautiful and deeply moving poem focuses on a tiny object in a clinical setting. One day, this toy represents incredible joy and possibility, but the next day it evokes sudden loss and tragedy. The poem ends on a somber note, reflecting on the continuous strength of those who care for patients in hospitals.