Poetry

"But where are the songs of praise for church basements? That lower level, that rock bottom room sunken & reverent with flickering lights..."

"For we are a healing and a growing greenhouse..."

"We were three men alone in a ward room built for fifty, dust film on the floor..."

"For you and I, know that this space, this pace, this race is a gift to be shared, craved, and loved."

"In the corridor, he demands a confession: Who peeled back his bandage? Who let him look?"

"Soon the train will stop. The border guard will give me back my passport – but I know we’ll be back again soon."

"As we enter the old hilltown graveyard, stone rows rise toward the church like a long flight of stillness..."

"I’m never finished answering to the dead."

"In the corridor, he demands a confession: Who peeled back his bandage? Who let him look?"

“In the realm of psychiatry, the therapeutic value of poetry lies in its ability to transcend the limitations of prose, offering a space for the unsayable and the ineffable.”

"The river is famous to the fish..."

"He's dying on dialysis—I’ve known him since my first days as a doctor, and now he wants to quit."

"He’s dying on dialysis—I’ve known him since my first days as a doctor, and now he wants to quit..."

As Martin Luther King Day approaches, a psychiatrist shares his thoughts... and hopes we are in within reach of those dreams and ideals.

"For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is."

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world..."

A psychiatrist reflects on a new year and anticipatory growth.

"Spray the perfume of your smiles on the incision. Inject the song of life into my veins to wake me up. Gently beat the drum so my mind may dance with yours, my doctor, day and night."

Here are some highlights from Frank A. Clark, MD’s, Poetry for Inclusion from throughout 2023, as seen in Psychiatric Times.

"...my eyes searching for the one skater in every crowd who glides graceful as a god, like my father years ago in his black leather racing skates..."

"This letter I write from the heavenly ashes wishing that ebony and ivory twirl as one into the arms of divine humanity."

"My black cat sprints through the kitchen door, a glassy-eyed cottontail hanging limp from his jaws."

"Walk through the garden's dormant splendor. Say only, thank you."

"You will love again the stranger who was your self."

How does one heal? Perhaps by "degrees of revealedness," according to a psychiatrist's reflections.

"Hat factories closed quiet as prayer books, and loss lingered in my father’s guts like unswept garbage after a big parade..."

A psychiatrist reflects on gratitude and Thanksgiving...

A psychiatrist reflects on how much we all have in common and the need for healing...

A poetic conversation among a Palestinian Israeli psychologist, an Italian Canadian psychiatrist, and a Canadian United Church Pastor in a time of war.

"Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite."