Poetry

"...So far the days keep coming. Seize the day gently as if you loved her.”

Words—an excellent reflection of the soul.

"My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams..."

"My love, I am pledging to this republic, for however long we stand..."

Justice in the form of humanity.

“...sweetness comes as if on loan, stays just long enough to make sense of what it means to be alive, then returns to its dark source.”

Nurturing, growing, and harvesting wisdom…

How do poetry and medicine interact and relate? One doctor shares his journey.

"... unconscious as hope that we sense around us now borne back into the earth..."

Reform school, a place where workers smoked with the boys, a place where fathers were AWOL and mothers begged us to save their sons.

A bear under the snow turns over to yawn. It's been a long, hard rest.

So I sit on the edge, wagging my feet above the abyss. Tonight the moon will be in my lap...

"The world was immaculate, new..."

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?, you are completely screwed, because the next question is How Much?

Catharsis expressed in a pen, it was a tool to get through the hard times, even medical school.

"...remember this one life is a gift each of us was handed and told to open..."

My life pasted on his wall to analyze, a flash of insight came to me: Training had begun.

“...the life thing in us that will not let us die...”

When, where, and how to use poetry in a clinical setting.

Hospital food has the reputation for not being very restorative...

And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water...

"... laboring to transform death to praise, never wearying, never once losing faith."

How has COVID-19 given us a heightened appreciation for each moment?

As the COVID-19 battle continues, reflecting on successes against viruses like AIDS may serve as a hopeful reminder.

"...inhuman forces hard at work in their own time and place..."

Celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr Day with us!

Walking on water might just be possible...

A faceless full moon glowing through a cloud, contorted like the tree . . .

"O Southland, sorrow home, melody beating in my bone and blood!"

One doctor reflects on how America continues to capitalize on racial unrest.